#and everything else is his fault even though it was an accident

[unavailable-fan]

Thoughts after ep 8 of Bucchigiri?!

Maybe spoiler-ish, mostly about Matakara and Arajin

Like i get what Matakara is literally the sweetest boy that we need to protect at all costs, but there is a reason he has to grow as a character too, because, yeah, he's the nicest person, but nice people like can get themselves in trouble very easily (him getting close to Shindo, as every viewer screams internally for him to run out of there, for example), so in order to continue to be a nice living human, a person has to be selfish too, a person has to build boundaries and try to see things as they are. And in order to be brave you have to be afraid of something and then still decide to face your fears. It's not about not having flaws but about living with them and managing the horrors in your live and trusting yourself to overcome bad stuff, to maybe fall and then gather yourself and only then rise back again. And Arajin is obviously the silliest guy with zero communication skills sometimes, but well, at least he knows his limits and what he does and doesn't want. But he has the guts to be honest even though he's scared of disappointing the person that looks up to him and also too scared to face his weakness and his past, and he still doesn't choose the easiest way out which is lying to the person who will believe anything he says. Because he obviously cares, and in his own way he still tries to protect his childhood friend with his own two weak hands be it simply supporting him after fights, shouting nonsense to distract his opponent or helping with a party. That's not much, but that's still an effort, because it's easier to cut off the person you wronged before from your life and then make up some excuse to justify your behavior, than to face guilt and regret every day and still care. They're very similar in many ways and very different in others, they have different ideals and goals, but they make the same mistakes, and i love this, this makes their connection that interesting, and it makes me want them to ultimately resolve their issues and become the bestest buddies ever cause it seems possible. Their relationship will benefit from personal growth, and their personal growth relies on their relationship. They both could learn from each other and they both need more self awareness and confidence. I like how the plot just collides everyone's delusions, insecurities and conflicting motives, not giving a universal answer to all problems, instead it shows how this doesn't work, but people still can be together and do cool stuff and have fun even with all their differences, as shown in two previous episodes especially. I'm invested into relationships between each member of this ridiculous cast more and more each episode

[luveline]

gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing

thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k

Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated. 

You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong. 

"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?" 

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks. 

Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach. 

"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong." 

"I'm just trying to figure something out." 

This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance. 

You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein. 

He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?" 

That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop. 

"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something. 

"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention." 

He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights. 

Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done? 

You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time. 

I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again. 

You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears. 

This is all so messy, and it's your fault. 

I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me. 

You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid. 

—

The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help. 

"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?" 

He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go." 

He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention. 

Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up. 

He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell. 

Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you. 

"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it." 

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry." 

Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel. 

Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug. 

He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes  

He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon. 

His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset " 

"I'm an idiot–" 

"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"

"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–" 

"I shouldn't have–" 

"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away. 

Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up." 

He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into? 

"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me." 

Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile. 

"It's not okay." 

"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even." 

"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked." 

"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?" 

"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back." 

You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better." 

"I know, angel." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you." 

What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful. 

"Does it look really bad?" 

"N–no. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Are my eyes puffy?"

A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already." 

"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to." 

Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid." 

"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask. 

Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not." 

You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure." 

"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."

"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want." 

"Can I give you a hug?" he asks. 

You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it. 

"That feels nice," you mumble. 

He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?" 

"Don't," you warn. 

He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?" 

"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it. 

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry, angel." 

Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.

[zarnzarn]

i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

[onelittlespiral]

Tf where someone's huge musky cock keeps turning others into massive muscle bros on accident?

FML: Cursed

Up front, I’ll say this one’s a bit different. Let me know if you all like it. -❤️

Everything was too bright. My head was pounding. Memories were fading in and out from last night. Fuck, how much did I have to drink last night? I stumbled out of bed, trying to forced myself towards the bathroom to take a piss. I had made a New Year’s resolution to quit the bottle. Yeah, so much for that. I managed a quick piss and splashed some cold water on my face. That helped a bit. At this point all I wanted to do was bury my head back in my pillow. Slowly, I shuffled back towards my bed:

“Yeah? You coming back for more of this?”

A man. A man was in my bed. A hunk of a man was flexing in my bed. My mouth hung open for a moment as my brain chugged to life. I couldn’t quite believe it.

“…God damn it! Uggh, what did I let happen?”

“What, not in the mood? I can be quite,” he started a little pec dance, “persuasive.”

I was not in a mood to be amused by his flirting. “No, no it’s not you-or at least it is you now but-” I stammered, “Look. It’s complicated. Get up, please, I need you out of here. If you take some time to… cool off… it should pass.” I paused a moment, “I’m sorry.”

Quickly, I started pulling together what clothes I could find that would fit his new stature and tossed them at him. Even facing away from him I could tell he was a little taken aback. I’m sure in his current brain he couldn’t quite believe he was being rejected. But I knew it was better for everyone that he leave now. I scooped up his old clothing and threw it all into a tote. It wasn’t his fault he was here in this situation, getting kicked out of a stranger’s house early in the morning. Maybe that’s why I scribbled down my contact info and slipped it into the bag. He would have questions later, he deserved some answers. By now he had managed to put on the cut off tank and the shorts I had thrown him. The shorts were a size too small and left nothing to the imagination, but it would have to work. I doubted his canvas shoes would fit over those behemoths. He would have to go barefoot. After a few awkward pleasantries where he asked me if we should lift together some time and I politely declined, he finally got the message and slipped out the door. I locked it behind him and slumped to the floor. I still had a headache.

It was going to be a long day. At this point I was awake, so I just decided to hit the shower. The steam helped clear my mind so I could try to piece the night together. It had been two years now and it was still happening. I wish I knew how to stop it. But looking back, I’m not sure what else I could have done. Every time it happened though, every time I saw his face, I just replayed that day again in my mind:

We were sitting at our favorite cafe when I broke the news.

“What do you mean? You’re breaking up with me?” my ex boyfriend was stunned. Truly, I don’t think this had ever happened to him before.

“Please don’t act surprised. We both knew this was coming. We aren’t good for each other.”

“Baby, we aren’t good for each other,” he cooed, leaning over and cupping my jaw, “We’re great together. You can’t pretend to deny it. I can feel that cock twitch, hear every moan when you’re inside me. Come on, let’s go home and I’ll bring you to your knees.”

“No. This isn’t about us in bed. This is everything outside of it. I don’t like how you talk to me, how you treat me, how you touch me,” I said, slapping his hand from my face, “and how you treat everyone in the world as your plaything. I just can’t put up with it anymore.”

That finally set him off, “Oh, you have no idea what I can do.” He snapped his fingers.

I watched as a man in a suit next to us dropped his book. He began to convulse, and I watched in horror. He reverted from his fifties to his late twenties in a moment, smoothing his wrinkles as his hair turned from silver to brown. His skin tightened around his swelling body, as his muscles easily ripped through his shirt and pants. A deep moan escaped his mouth as his clothes reformed themselves into a tank top and gym shorts. As a snap-back hat formed and tightened around his head, I grimaced, knowing that his mind was being assaulted with a new identity. I knew the look on his face well as drool flowed from his open mouth. Then, all at once it stopped. He just picked up his book and kept reading. No one else even seemed to notice what had taken place.

It was a thinly veiled threat and we both knew it. “See? This is the shit I’m talking about. What happens to him now? He had nothing to do with this, you just can’t contain yourself.”

“Oh relax, he’s fine. I didn’t dumb him like I do to you. No one will ever remember anything different. Though I imagine whatever new hires at his firm will be confused why the new boss is a jacked gym bro while everyone else in the office is pushing 40 and wearing suits.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“I can’t! I can’t do this anymore. I don’t ever want to see you again.” I gathered my things to make my exit.

He came round the table, in a far less joking mood, “You’ll regret that,” he grabbed at my groin and cupped my package, “from now on, whenever that gets going, I have a feeling you will be seeing a lot of me” I felt a stirring in my sack. Something had… shifted?

“What did you do?” my shouting had finally drawn the attention of onlookers.

“Good luck, baby. You ever want that resolved, you’ll have to find me.” With that, he turned heel and left.

Now, two years later, he was right. I had seen far too much of him. The water had gone cold. I turned the faucets off and stepped out to dry myself off.

The first time had been a shock. I had given myself time to heal from the relationship, but about two months in I decided to head to a bar. Immediately something was off when I entered. I saw a few old flings, and a friend or two who were surprised to see me there. But it was like when I entered the whole place shifted towards me. Men were buying me drinks and fawning for my attention. The bartender even slipped a few comments in. They all looked smitten with me, trying to get just a little closer. By the end of the night I had some twink sitting in my lap. I decided it was time to blow off some steam. I took him to my place, where he immediately began tearing off my clothes inside the door. I managed to get him back to my bedroom before he had my boxers off. Immediately he buried his nose into my bush. Admittedly I hadn’t been keeping shaved since the breakup, and I guess that was doing it for him. He went to town on my cock. I wasn’t prepared for him to take it in one thrust, but he wasn’t waiting. All I could do was grab his hair and hold on as he worked my cock like a pro. I felt his hair curl beneath my fingers as I held on for the ride, moaning as he pushed all my buttons. He knew just when to pull back to keep me edging, his thick fingers holding on as he devoured my cock. Finally I knew I needed to fuck him. I pulled him off of my cock, but as he stood up and his dazed expression met mine I screamed.

“Fuck baby, where have you been all of my life?” he said.

He was the spitting image of my ex. The hair, the muscle, even that stupid nickname. In shock I pushed him away as he gave me a look of confusion.

“What are you doing here? I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

He looked back at me confused, “What are you talking about? We just met like a few hours ago. You invited me over. Sorry.”

Something about the statement rang true. I only realized later it was because he apologized. My ex would never. “Did he put you up to this? What’s your name?”

“Hey, I’m not sure who you’re talking about, okay? I’m Justin. I was just looking for a good time.”

“Have you seen yourself? You don’t look like the twink I met at the bar.” I retorted

He looked in the mirror, and his face seemed to puzzle for a sec. I knew that look. He was trying to reconcile memories he had. Fake memories. Then he smirked, “Yeah, pretty hot right? I’ve been working out, getting that more twunk look going.”

So he was clueless then. It was weird seeing someone look so much like him, and have a mix of his mannerisms and others. He had certainly made sure his cockiness was implemented. The asshole.

“Look, I’m not sure tonight is going to work out. I need you out of here. Now.” That was a little mean, it wasn’t his fault. But he had to go. I gave him some of my ex’s clothes he had left lying around and pushed him out the door without saying goodnight. It was only next week when I went to the bar that I saw him again. He had seemingly gone back to normal, besides a very distinctive mustache and stubble he was growing now. It didn’t fit his thin, hairless body and it made me chuckle…

*BZZZZZT*

My phone was getting a call from an unknown number. I guess it was time to answer some questions:

-Hey, I found this number in my bag. This the guy from last night?

*Sigh*

-Yeah, it’s me. Are you, uh, feeling better? More… yourself?

-So I’m not crazy! What was that? What happened?

-I am so so so sorry. It’s a long story. Let’s just say my ex is… a looot.

-Well hey, who’s isn’t?

I chuckled

-You’re taking this surprisingly well. Most guys don’t want to look at me after all this.

-So this has happened before?

-Yes. But I promise I didn’t mean to. I must have gotten too drunk last night, and I know that’s not a good excuse. But I’m not sure what to do about it and at this point I’d starting to think I never will

-Woah, woah. Calm down. Would you want someone to come over? To talk to?

I paused.

-No, I think I’ll be fine.

-Please, I want to. I want answers and it seems like you need someone.

-I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Plus, I don’t think I can see you like that.

-I promise. I don’t think I have anything the same.

-Promise?

-Here, look

He did look back to normal. And he was quite cute. I can see why drunk me decided to pick him…

-Still, I’m not sure…

-Nope, it’s decided. I know the address, I’ll be there later tonight around 6. *click*

What had just happened? I think, against all odds, I just got roped into a second date.

God damn it.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Nothing's New...

Can't help but think of:

"You were a wonderful experience.."

"And you were... everything..."

With Sunshine!Reader and Ghost

To you, he may have just been an experience, but you were everything to him. Doing everything he never expected anyone to do. You were new, something different from what his whole life had offered him.

You were safety, you were warmth but most of all.. you were his. You were there when he needed you the most, his safety net. Taking care of him when everyone else was busy fending for themselves. You took care of almost everyone but who took care of you?

Though he never was blatantly obvious, Simon cared. Maybe too much, finding ways to make your life easier or at least make you smile. Simon who took it upon himself to make your safety his priority despite all the risks that come with working along side you.

You meant the world to him, he'd do anything to rewind time. To see you, talk to you and be with you for so much more than he already had in hopes it would be enough.

A petty fucking argument, that's what caused this, it wasn't your fault. It was an accident, yet he called you carelesss. Maybe it was true, what people used to say...

No one would ever truly care if you were gone, you thought about it, how it seemed like they cared very little, how he cared very little. Not bothering to even acknowledge you exist even when you're trying so hard to communicate, he went cold, like he never had before.

You knew 141 cared but not enough, that your disappearance will be easily taken and that at some point they'll replace you and be content there.

if only he can take back the shit he said.. It was too late, the last words he heard from you...

"Bomb my location, Captain.."

Unbeknownst to your static radio, you didn't hear how Simon begged and pleaded Price not to. Never had Price seen Ghost so vulnerable, but that wasn't Ghost, it was Simon.

Those dreaded letters next to your name..

"KIA"

He thought he was used to it by now, but like in old fashion you proved him wrong. Just like how you proved him wrong when he thought he himself was unlovable.

He failed you, he fucking did. Just like everyone else in his life he lost, just a glimpse of it all. You felt like a distant memory, he is never going to be as happy as he was with you. Never again will he see that smile that lifted the world from his shoulders. That's the second time someone left his life... Yet the feeling was far worse..

Nothing's new..

A/n: Apologies to everyone, I wanted to write something good but this seems so half-assed.

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hiya! I'm happy that You enjoyed my idea! And I realy liked how you wrote it! Especialy the Furina part :D

I'm not sure if you are okay with writing this, but if you are: Which of the Genshin characters would handled their lovers death the worst?

- 🐶 anon

oooo this one was really good! i couldn't pick just one so i did five little short ones! I hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including lots of talk about death, delusional behavior, childish temper tantrums, making puppets of reader, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Furina would throw an absolute fit, upset at the idea of you dying on her, of you leaving her. She has to be pulled away from your corpse by Neuvillette because she’s screaming as she shakes it in a panicked manner. She’s desperate for you to wake up, screaming and crying as she tries to convince herself that you aren’t really dead. That you haven’t left her. She has to take a leave of absence from the court for a while, grief is a difficult thing and she doesn’t handle it well. 

Yandere!Raiden would be enraged. You promised to spend eternity with her, and now you were trying to back out of it? She won’t let you. She does everything in her power to bring you back, from creating a puppet of you to trapping your soul in the Plane of Euthymia. Nothing is right though, the puppet doesn’t feel the way you used to, it doesn’t behave like it should. Your soul isn’t any better, it can only replay strong memories from when you were alive, leaving Raiden feeling like she’s talking to a movie. She destroys the puppet and hides your soul away in a far corner of the Plane, though she feels equally as awful afterwards. 

Yandere!Wanderer is distraught when he loses you, he had lost so many before and yet, this one hurt the most. He sits on the outskirts of Sumeru City for a while, remaining stock still on a bench as he just feels. While he seems composed on the outside, on the inside he’s in pure agony. He doesn’t want to think or feel or move or do anything at all because everything just reminds him of you. It takes months for him to move from the bench, sitting there day in and day out despite the weather, and when he does move it’s only to sit in front of your grave. There he sits for another month, just staring at the name that once belonged to his loved one, now passed. The lover who left him, just like everyone else did.

Yandere!Xiao blames himself for your death, whether it's an accident, intentional, or simply of something you couldn’t stop like aging or sickness, Xiao will think it’s his fault. It’s always his fault, everything was because he wasn’t strong enough to protect you. The next year is spent with Xiao hardly being seen by anyone, not even food could lure him out. He spends all his time fighting, killing anything and everything in sight that deserves it as he tries to let the burn of his karmic debt distract from the ache in his heart. He refuses to visit your grave, making Zhongli bury you and not even attending your funeral. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he can’t bring himself to attend. He thinks he’s the reason you’re dead and he didn’t think you’d want him in attendance. He spends the rest of his life span thinking you died hating him, blaming him.

Yandere!Diluc is unsure of how to feel when you pass. He’d felt the pain of losing his father, and while he’s not dead, Diluc had lost his brother for many years in a way. But your death was different, it didn’t make him so upset he was driven to violence like his father, but rather made him want to simply lay there and cry. He spent a week straight just in bed after your funeral, hands idly tracing over the side of the bed you once slept on. He keeps everything exactly how you left it, never touching a thing incase one day, somehow, you came back to him. He wanted you to know that he loved you so much that he left everything just how you liked it.

[another-lost-mc]

The Wild Side was so adorable and my heart wouldn’t be able to take it if you wrote something for the other characters (and Azra!) Maybe their animals from the Magical Eggs event would work, but I’d love to see your take, too.

a/n: I’m using the dateables’ onesies for their animal inspiration. I wouldn’t put it past solomon to jinx them somehow during a sleepover.

the wild side: slumber party edition | the dateables + azra

1k words | sfw | more silly fluff + humor

cw: relationships can be romantic or platonic in nature (your choice) except for luke, he is our baby brother and must be protected at all costs.

Lucifer arrives at the Demon Lord's Castle with little fanfare. You were supposed to be having a slumber party with Diavolo and the residents of Purgatory Hall, and he incorrectly assumed there was no possible way things could go wrong. He started receiving a series of alarming messages from staff at the castle that something strange was going on. He hears a disturbance as soon as he lets himself inside the main entrance hall. A loud ruckus coming from the ballroom, typically used to host the young prince's lavish parties, draws his attention. He opens the door and is completely stunned, shocked into silence by the chaos he finds within...

The Dragon (Diavolo)

It's a minor miracle that he's not a full-sized dragon. He's a bit smaller than Cerberus is and the ballroom is spacious—he has plenty of room to stretch his wings.

Judging by the scorch marks across the ballroom's marble flooring, he hasn't figured out how to control his flames yet.

(As soon as Lucifer walked into view, Diavolo snorted happily through his nose. He shot flames across the room and another set of curtains is currently on fire.)

Diavolo's still aware of his size and potential danger. He does his best to keep away from you and Luke who are at the greatest risk of being stepped on.

His scales are very warm to the touch. Barbatos can't land on him without injuring himself, so he squawks angrily at his young master from a safe distance.

He was excited to host this little sleepover for everyone to watch some new movies together, but he thinks this is even better!

The Owl (Barbatos)

He's very anxious, but you can tell he looks at you differently vs. the way he looks at Diavolo Solomon everyone else...

He doesn't believe in regicide, but Diavolo is going to be punished severely after this. And Solomon, too—this is his fault!

(Being a dragon is no excuse for his master to engage in such reckless destruction. He's going to burn down the whole castle at this rate!)

The Little Ds are enjoying this far too much and slacking off on their duties while they watch the madness unfold. The least they could do is help put out these wretched fires...

Barbatos doesn't seem to be nearly as intimidating in this smaller form. Diavolo rolls his eyes when he hoots at him, and the Little Ds keep tugging on his tail feathers teasingly and dashing away.

(If they think he's going to forget this, they're sorely mistaken.)

He gives up on trying to reign in the mayhem and tries to stick close to you instead. You're so small and fragile in your little sheep form, he worries the others might hurt you by accident. He pecks at them to remind them to be gentle.

When everything gets too overwhelming, he flies up and rests on one of the sconces on the wall or the chandelier.

(He nearly falls to the floor when the magic spell finally fades away mid-flight, and that makes him even angrier.)

The Panther (Simeon)

His main concern is keeping an eye on you and Luke. It's amusing to watch the others though; he's content to stick to the edges of the room and observe the chaos.

This is actually great inspiration for a new novel! Or maybe he should try writing a children's book. You would make a cute main character!

He carries Luke somewhere safe when he inevitably falls asleep from all the excitement.

(Solomon and Azra get so distracted picking fights with each other that Simeon picks you up by your collar and carries you to where Luke is sleeping. He curls around your little sleep pile protectively until the spell wears off.)

The Red Panda (Luke)

He's too small to get into too much trouble, but he has a surprising amount of fun—probably the most fun out of everyone, except for Diavolo.

He's not used to having a tail and he trips on it a few times by accident when he runs too fast. He swears that Simeon chuckles in a weird, cat-like way when he falls on his face with a growl.

He follows you around the ballroom, but the other animals are so much scarier bigger than he's too nervous to get close to them.

There are still trays of desserts on the table from dinnertime, and he helps himself to some sweets.

(The spell and abundance of sugar knocks him out cold in less than an hour.)

The Wolf (Solomon)

He didn't mean for this to happen, but he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

He saunters around, swishing his fluffy white tail and showing off his stunning wolf form for you to admire. For some reason, you don't seem that impressed.

You squirm and glare at him when he tries to kiss lick your face, too.

He lays down and rolls over, hoping that you'll curl up with him because his fur is so warm and perfect to snuggle in.

Maybe you're just shy? The hellhound won't leave you alone but Solomon's not sure he can take him on in a fight...

(Really, can't he enjoy your company for once without one of the demons butting their nose where it doesn't belong?)

The Hellhound (Azra)

You said this was supposed to be a fun little sleepover. He even put on that stupid onesie you bought him because you're cute when you pout you said it would be more fun this way. This was supposed to be a chance for him to get to know your friends—and now he's stuck as a dog!

You weren't immune to the mysterious magic either, and you and the young angel are the tiniest animals here. He's extra-vigilant about trying to keep the others away from you; he's scared they're going to hurt you by accident.

(He's never seen this side of Diavolo before, and he hates to admit how much fun it is watching the young prince set half the ballroom on fire while he shoots fireballs at random objects for target practice.)

He's very agitated when Solomon tries to approach you. That damn wolf keeps stalking you around the room with a hungry glint in his eye.

You don't seem happy with either of them when they start growling and snapping at each other and he's already thinking about how to make this up to you later.

(Maybe when this is over, he can convince you to go back home with him.)

read more: the demon brothers version | obey me masterlist

[lovebugism]

Oooooo how abt shy reader & Steve at the movie theater? 🥰

thanks so much for your request, angel! i hope you enjoy!! steve takes shy!reader to the movies to make up for a bad date, featuring a wee love-bomb (1.6k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Even though it’s your fifth date, you’re nervous like it’s your first.

It’s been a few months since then. Four of them, to be exact. 

Steve took you to a drive-in on your first date. He confessed some weeks ago that he thought it’d be easier for you — doing something that wouldn’t require a whole lot of talking outright. By the end of the movie, a reshowing of Rocky Horror, you felt more comfortable with him and less like the buzzing ball of anxiety you’d been when he picked you up earlier that evening.

The second date was dinner, the third was mini-golf, and the fourth was a picnic.

The fourth date did not go well.

Steve picked the hottest day of the year to eat outside. He hadn’t meant to, of course, but he certainly hadn’t packed enough water to combat the heat. And being that he also forwent the sunscreen, the two of you were sweaty, miserable, and sunburnt by the time he brought you back home. 

There was a world of bugs, too. The butterflies you hadn’t minded, but the wasps were a different story.

“I swear they’re antagonizing me,” you joked as you cowered into Steve’s side.

He was scared of them too, but he protected you anyway. “Well, what did you do to them?” he laughed with a pretty grin that made the heat and distant fear worth it.

“Nothing!” you giggled. “I’ve never done anything wrong in my life!”

Steve smiled down at you, sandwich crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth. “I know that’s a joke, but I totally believe you.”

And as if the day wasn’t already going horribly wrong, a couple of asshole kids kicked a soccer ball in your direction and smacked you against the ear. 

They were in kindergarten, practically babies, and their moms were very apologetic. And you, being too nice for your own good, promised them that it was okay — that it was an accident and that it barely even hurt.

That wasn’t totally true. Your ear was red and ringing then, and hadn’t lessened when Steve took you home. He got you into bed and nursed you back to health with a bag of frozen peas pressed to your ear and a million kisses.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whispered against the crown of your head as he held you to his chest. “I feel like I fucked everything up…”

“You’re not the one that whacked me in the face with a soccer ball,” you laughed.

“Yeah, but… It was really hot. And the bugs wouldn’t leave you alone…”

“They had a vendetta against me, I think.”

“Totally,” Steve chuckled.

Your jaw rubbed against the fabric of his t-shirt as you turned to look up at him. His scruffy chin jutted downward as he peered down at you. “You protected me, though.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “So thank you.”

He scoffed. “Don’t thank me. You’re hurt.”

“’S not your fault.”

“Yeah, but I’m the idiot who wanted to picnic in a hundred-degree heat.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you retorted softly. 

Steve grew sheepish. With the hand not holding the frozen pack to your ear, his fingers brushed the length of your arm “So… you didn’t have the worst time in the world?”

“No, it was pretty bad,” you confessed, smiling when you felt his laugh rumble through his chest. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever go on a picnic again, but… I’m glad I got to be miserable with you and not someone else.”

You meant it. 

As overwhelming as the afternoon had gotten, Steve made it a lot less agonizing. He was your focal point, your teddy bear, your soft place to land. The big bouts of anxiety felt less significant with him holding you. Besides, you don’t think anyone else would clutch you to their chest and hold a bag of frozen vegetables to your throbbing ear. 

It wouldn’t feel as good with anyone else, either.

Steve’s smile curls against your forehead before he presses a kiss there. “I’m glad you get to be miserable with me, too, babe…”

The fifth date, though simple, had been carefully planned out.

He didn’t want a redo of the fourth one, lest you decide never to go out with him again. 

So he asks you to wait a few weeks before seeing Labyrinth despite your enthusiasm for the new film. He promises to take you, but that he’d rather wait until everyone else has already seen it so it could just be him and you in the theater.

And you, having never been a fan of huge crowds anyway, accepted without question.

He only asks that you wear the same pretty dress you wore to the picnic. The white sundress with the puffy sleeves and the flowy skirt that stopped just above your knee. Since, you know, neither of you got to enjoy it last time.

Steve leads you hand in hand into the cinema two weeks later. Everyone else was too busy crowding into the theater to watch the new Karate Kid sequel, which left the entire auditorium to yourselves. 

Well, mostly. There’s an older couple sitting in the middle off to the exit side. Steve jokes that they must’ve just heard that Labyrinth came out, and in two more weeks they’ll learn about Karate Kid. You giggle into your Slurpee.

The two of you settle in the very back of the theater in the center of the row. The theater isn’t dark, but it’s still dim — yellow in the faint lamps and the smell of buttery popcorn.

“Guess the means we can’t fool around in here, huh?” Steve quips, his shoulder nudging yours when he leans in to whisper to you.

Your eyes go wide, and your cheeks burn like a stove eye. “Steve!” you scold, much louder than you meant to. You shove him away with your shoulder, though you don’t really want him off you.

He reads you like a book and wraps an arm around you to press you closer to him. His musky cologne covers you like a warm blanket. Even in the dim light, his eyes twinkle when he grins down at you. “I’m kidding,” he promises.

“I was just about to thank you before you got all pervy,” you grouse lightheartedly.

“Thank me for what?” the boy scoffs. “For not taking you on the worst date of all time?”

“No. For… For buying my ticket and… for getting me snacks and everything…”

Steve shrugs. “That’s what a date is, babe. You let me do those things for you.”

“Yeah, but… You don’t have to do them, you know? But you do. So, thank you.”

You go sheepish, looking at him so shyly you’re practically peering at him from the corner of your eye. 

You do that a lot — not get all shy (even though you do that pretty often, too), but thank him for being your boyfriend. He doesn’t know if that sort of excessive politeness has been conditioned into you or if you had an ex that never did anything worth thanking them for. 

He doesn’t press the subject because he doesn’t want to stir up old ghosts. He remains curious about it nonetheless.

Steve squeezes your shoulder with one hand and digs his other into the container of popcorn in your lap. “Thank you for not dumping me after our last date.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you promise, giggling.

“Yeah, ‘cause it was terrible!” he retorts dramatically. “I was scared you were gonna break up with me after that wasp started swarming you. And when you got whacked with that soccer ball, I was sure you were never gonna wanna see me again.”

It makes your heart hurt to think that he’d ever think something like that — that he’d been stewing over the whole thing long after you’d gotten over it.

“Honestly, I think it might’ve been a test,” you confess quietly.

“A test?” Steve snorts.

“Yeah, like… the world was trying to see if I liked you enough to suffer through second-degree sunburns, and bugs, and getting hit in the face, and… everything.”

The boy tilts his head to his shoulder. “And what did the world decide then, huh?”

“That I like you,” you admit, all quiet like it’s the first time you’ve ever said the words. Steve lost count around the millionth time they left his mouth. “Enough to do it all over again.”

“You like me?” Steve teases, as if your schoolgirl crush on him doesn’t give him schoolboy butterflies.

You nod and try not to smile too wide. “I really like you. And I’m scared to say the stronger word, so I won’t, but…”

“Stronger word?” the boy repeats with a laugh. His eyes go wide in realization a second later. “…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” you mock with your own laugh, a lot more awkward than his had been. 

You turn your gaze to the popcorn in your lap. Steve analyzes your profile for any hint that you might be kidding. He knows you’re way too kind to joke around with his feelings like that — or yours, for that matter.

“Well, you know what?” he lilts.

You smile to yourself but don’t humor him enough to look at him with it. “What?”

“I’m not scared to say the stronger word.”

Your eyes sparkle in the dim light when they finally flit up to him. “No?”

“Mm-mm,” he hums with the shake of his head. “Actually, I’m pretty brave, as it turns out.”

“The bravest.”

Steve beams. “Exactly. And I love the shit outta you.”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt. “I love you too, Steve Harrington.”

He kisses you when the room goes dark.

He’s not a teenager, so it isn’t obscene, but the peck is languid and full of the words he’d just said to you. He spends the next two hours whispering them into your ear. I love you, I love you, I love you.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

For you

(part 2 to waiting)

Anonymous asked: please please do a pt 2 of waiting it’s a needddd 

Anonymous asked: Can we PLEASE get a part two for waiting?? I like, NEED it! And thank you for your amazing writing 💖💖

and, its here!!! a lot of you sent me asks and messages, so i decided to post it!! the last time i did, i got a lot of negative feedback, so, please, forgive me if this was not up to your expectations.

word count: 1k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

warnings: angst, swearing.

. . .

Throwing the phone away as soon as you cut the call, you broke down all over again. Wails and sobs filled the room, as you cried your heart out. You did not want to talk like that with him, it hurt your heart in the deepest ways. The way he sounded so…broken and defeated, made you regret saying everything you already had. 

With swollen eyes, you got up to use the washroom. As soon as you went inside, the condition made you retch, but where else would you go? It definitely needed cleaning if you were planning on moving back. 

You washed your face too, and came out to look for a towel. That’s when you heard it.

The doorbell.

Nobody knew you, or anyone was living here. Unless…

Getting a peek through the door viewer, your suspicions were confirmed. 

It was Harry.

“Harry?” 

His condition was…miserable. Bags under his eyes, all reddened up and showing hints of tears, suggesting he might’ve cried on the way here. He couldn’t even stand properly. You grabbed him when he began to stumble, and pulled him inside, locking the door.

“Oh fuck!” he cursed, as you pulled him down on the floor- “Y/n! Am I actually seeing you? Did you forgive me? Or am I dreaming? Where am I?”

“Harry…”

Was all you could say, even though there was an ocean of words wanting to make their way past your lips.

“Oh, you look so beautiful! Your skin is glowy” he said, squishing your cheeks together in his palms “You look so ethereal. But seriously? Am I dreaming? Because if I am, then I need to wake up because that would mean either I passed out or am sleeping, but I don’t remember sleeping. I just remember driving. Or did I get in an accident and–” You put your hand immediately on his mouth, to stop him from saying anything else. Those were the words you never wanted to hear, even in your worst nightmares.

“Shh,” you pulled him into you, resting yourself against the door so he could put his head on your lap. “I’m here, Harry, and I am real. You aren’t dreaming. You were driving and I was mad at you, and then you asked me where I wan, then cut the call—how did you figure out I was here?”

“I just–you know–just figured it out. You wouldn’t have gone to a friend’s because that was too much work, explaining everything, and I figured you were tired. And besides our house, this is the only place left for you to be alone.”

“Mmm”

“So, you forgive me? Or you don’t? Love, why are you crying?” he said, sheepishly wiping off a few tears that had escaped, wiping them into his unbuttoned shirt.

“I just…feel bad. For talking to you like that. What if something actually happened to you? I would never have forgiven myself. I yelled at you for no reason, and you were already drunk and you sounded sad. And I swear, I was just too angry at that moment. I never want anything bad–anything bad, happening to you” tears flew down your cheeks, and fell on his neck. He didn’t bother wiping them. Just looked up at you as you broke down.

“It’s not your fault. I was a proper dick today, wasn’t I? Could’ve atleast texted you that I…was, I-I would be late.”

“Why were you late? Did you not want to come?”

“No! No, I did. I even was planning on buying flowers for you. So so many. And then-and-and then kissing you and hugging you. And never leaving your side.” A tear fell from the side of his eye.

“No, baby, don’t cry. It’s-It’s alright.” you wiped the tears from the side of his eye, and he continued.

“I’m so fucking sorry for today. I know that it’s really early, but I love you. Lots and lots of love. And I was just-just get scared that I don’t deserve you. You do so much for our relationship. And I don’t put that much effort. I never have.I just get so caught up with work and my career, that I don’t realize that my life is so much bigger than just that. My life is you. Even today, I was enjoying with the guys, and the alarm I had put for our date rang. I didn’t realize it was that, and I-I ended it. About one hour later, when-when one of them brought up your name, I remembered.” 

You took a deep breath. You were really not expecting that. You just thought that he was enjoying with the guys, and would rather do that than go out with you. But, you were wrong.This was your H. He would never do that.

“It’s okay, H.It really is. And I understand, alright? I know we are not like a trivial couple, our relationship is different. Special. Your job demands more of you than others, and you have to give in that extra. Music is your life, and I don’t ever want to take any of that away from you, okay? Next time, maybe we will plan our date on a day when you’re free. It maybe the next week, or month, whatever. Okay? And I love you too. Lots and lots and lots” you gave him a kiss on his forehead. “And don’t worry about me. We are together. We will be together, for as long as you like. I am not going anywhere. Never away from you. And I am also so fucking sorry for treating you badly.”

“Don’t apologize. I deserved it.”

“No, you don’t. You deserve love. Lots of love. Come here.”

He climbed up, hugging you tighter, and resting his face on your neck. You hugged him back, never wanting to let go.

. . .

a/n: sorry if this sucked! feedback is really appreciated! you can send requests/feedback/or just talk to me here!! i am here for you lovelies!

taglist

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[x0x0josephinex0x0]

The Hope in the Fault Lines | Part 4

The final part....THIS HAS BEEN SO FUN. It's been a labor of love for sure, so I hope you read it and love it and reblog it and all the good things. I don’t have enough requests to have a tag list or anything so I’m relying on faith and prayers to get this in front of the ppl who liked the previous parts, so PLEASE REBLOG THIS 🥺 I’ll love you forever fr. Here are links to part 1, part 2, and part 3 if you haven't read them already! Warnings: references to child abuse (mentions of a father giving a daughter a black eye and references to a belt being used), reference to a past child custody battle, sexism, forced contact by abusive parents, drinking, grief, ptsd, some angst but just for a little, vanilla sex, oral (f receiving), I tried to leave a lot to the imagination because this was my first time writing any kind of smut, but still minors don't read or interact with it, police investigation. lmk if there's anything else! Word count: 13k (I AM SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY.)

Eleven months later 

Time was funny.

Together, you, Sara, and Mingyu had watched the summer fade into a hazy autumn, where the leaves faded into gold and red and orange and then fell, leaving bare branches clawing at the sky with skinny fingers. The winter had been a long one — Christmas was nearly unbearable without Jeri and Jisung to keep you company. But spring prevailed, as it always did, and now you watched as the latest of the April blossoms popped through the surface of the earth. 

It’s been almost a whole year since the accident. At the outset, your grief had been like a massive wall. It was hard to see around it, and pushing against it was useless. Now, the grief was still there, but had transformed into something more akin to a stray dog that followed you around. It was always present, but you could still move with it, and it wasn’t always unwelcome. The pain of loss had been tempered by the stretch of time, the therapy sessions faithfully attended every Tuesday morning, and the love that had grown between you and Sara. 

At a year and a half, she toddled around clumsily still, but could run and jump and talk. She was extremely independent and energetic, and sometimes when she was displeased the look on her face was so reminiscent of Jeri that it made you pause. However, where before that would’ve made you cry, today it fills you with comfort. You also, surprisingly, saw yourself in her — she was adventurous and tenacious, and didn’t like to be told she couldn’t do something. But she was also sweet, cooing over even the beetles in the grass or the spiders in the corner. The force of your love for her was both surprising and strong, because when she’d first come into your life, you had felt uncertain you’d ever get the hang of being a parent. Now, you could hardly imagine life without her. She made each day full of an infinite meaning — everything you did now was for her.

And then, there was Mingyu. The relationship between you was sweet and easy and didn’t demand anything more from you than you could handle. You had learned early on how kind Mingyu was and how easy it was to talk to him, but you had come to know him even better over the time since your illness, and you had become endeared by his pouty expression when you teased him, the clumsiness you suspected was a result of becoming very big very fast and still not knowing his own strength, and the comforting timbre of his voice, as well as so much more. Mingyu made you feel like you never had to do anything by yourself, with a talent for drawing the vulnerability out of you when you were keeping yourself from being helped. And even though he was positive and upbeat most of the time, he never expected that from you. His grace in handling your down days was enough to convince you that in any other circumstance, this man would have been your perfect match, inside and out.

But the circumstances are what they are, and so you can’t let yourself give in to what you want. It has been a long time since Mingyu has held you — since the nightmare, in fact. Which, you remind yourself forcefully, is a good thing. It was professional of you to keep that physical distance. Because, Heaven help you, you were struggling to keep any emotional distance between you. 

When Mingyu had come back to work after he’d stayed the night at your place that one fateful night, a pattern had begun. When you’d come home, Mingyu asked you about your day. You’d give him the low-down: “Emily dropped the pencil sharpener and thought I’d fire her…am I that scary?”, “we got a story with Brie Larsen,” “one of our writers is getting married in a few weeks and invited me”, and so on. Then you’d ask for his updates: “Sara ate a solid banana today,” “Bora and Morrie came over for a play date”, “I lost Sara for fifteen minutes today and found her in the massive drum of flour”. This usually kicked off an hours-long conversation full of teasing, laughter, and the occasional philosophical discussion that only ended when one of you mentioned Mingyu should go home and get some rest. The past eleven months of this behavior had only made you more and more drawn to Mingyu; it was how you learned he learned to cook from helping his mother in the kitchen, and that he also had a little sister whom he loved dearly, and about the friends from college he still saw frequently, all of whom he seemed to only have positive feelings for. You had started to wonder if there was a person he didn’t like. And all of this added up to you being absolutely smitten with him.

But you also keenly felt the guilt of having a crush on your nanny. After all, it felt like such a midlife-crisis move to pull. You tried to comfort yourself in the truth that Mingyu was usually the instigator whenever the both of you rocketed over those carefully drawn lines in the proverbial sand, but you knew it was also partially your responsibility, because you never talked to him about maintaining a more professional distance. The fact was, you didn’t want any more distance at all between you and Mingyu, but you understood how complicated it might be if someone who essentially made sure he could pay his bills confessed romantic feelings for him. Not that you’d ever take advantage of him, but it also felt unfair to put him in a situation where he had to trust you on that.

So you stayed as you were — for eleven months that had proven to put you through every emotion on the spectrum. You laughed at Mingyu, you competed against Mingyu, you wondered about Mingyu, you worried about Mingyu. 

But most of all, you yearned for Mingyu.

You try not to let it show as you watch Sara play with her dolls in the living room, supplemented by the dollhouse Mingyu spent a whole day building for her. “Tomorrow’s the big day!” he says. “Are you excited?”

“I am,” you hedge, half-listening as Sara clumsily tucks a doll into its bed and says goodnight. “A little nervous, too.”

“Why are you nervous?” he asks. “You’ve practiced a lot. I almost have your speech memorized by now.”

You laugh. “It’s normal to be nervous, even when you’re prepared.”

He watches you carefully, noting how after a few moments of silence your eyes slip out of focus, miles away. After eleven months, Mingyu has learned that when you get like this, you are reliving a vivid memory inside your mind. The more this happens, the worse your dreams are later. So, after catching Sara before she whacks her head on the coffee table, he puts his hand on your knee so your mind connects to your body again. “Where were you this time?” he asks, releasing a squirming Sara to the floor, his gaze between you and her.

“My sister pep talking me before my valedictorian speech,” you say in a tiny voice.

“I didn’t know you were valedictorian!” Mingyu exclaims. “You were a huge nerd, weren’t you?”

“I still am,” you say, pretending to be scandalized. “Why do you think my magazine won an award for publishing? It certainly wasn’t because academic validation isn’t important to me.”

He laughs. “Your magazine won an award for publishing because it’s awesome. But I appreciate that you’re still trying to achieve academically even though you’re almost three years post-MBA.”

“I know when I’m being made fun of,” you sniff. “And I won’t have this from you, Mr. ‘I Flunked Out of Chemistry But They Still Let Me Play Basketball’ Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu shoots you a reluctant grin. “I never should’ve told you that, first of all,” he says. “Secondly, despite all that, I think you would’ve liked me in high school.”

“I probably would’ve,” you admit. “You, however, would never have even looked at me in high school,” you say. “I had glasses, braces, the whole nine yards.”

He stretches, laughing. “I was into nerds, actually. Still am, in fact.” He smiles to himself, on cue with your heart turning all the way over in your chest.

You’re in dangerous territory, so you steer away. “Have you been practicing your ponytails?” you say seriously.

“Who do you think I am? Of course I have.”

“And you’re still not gonna show me what her hair looks like until the day of?”

“Of course not. It’s bad luck.”

You scoff. “I’m almost positive nobody thinks that.”

“I’m pretty sure I think that,” he counters.

“And I don’t even get to see her dress?” you ask.

“Not unless I get to see yours.”

You grin — this had been a constant “argument” since you’d come home with the dress bag, and you had denied his request to look at it. “What if I hate her dress?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s impossible. She’s the cutest little girl in the world. So even if the dress sucks, she’s gonna look darling in it.”

“You make a good point,” you admit. “The dress doesn’t suck though, right?”

“You have so little faith in my taste,” Mingyu says, frowning. Then he lights up again and abruptly changes the subject. “Also, get this — Wonwoo says he’s gonna come and he’ll bring a girl.”

“Oh?” you say, lifting Sara off the ground as she reaches for one of the spark plugs in the wall. “Is it the same girl he brought home a couple weeks ago?” You’d become friends with Mingyu’s bespectacled, tech-savvy roommate due to occasional contact over the past almost-year, and the thought of him with a girl is sweet.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “But here’s the thing. He insisted — emphatically — that nothing was going on between them. They were just friends.”

“How long ago?”

“Like two weeks.”

“Maybe for one of them that’s true,” you suggest. “I mean, maybe he doesn’t like her like that.”

“No, he definitely does.”

“Okay, well, maybe she doesn’t like him like that.”

“Have you seen him?”

You laugh. “Have you seen yourself? I mean, if she hangs out at your place pretty often there’s really no reason she couldn’t like you too.”

Mingyu blushes, an uncharacteristically bashful move on his part, and you realize how much you’ve just given away. So you, blushing too, move over to Sara, beginning to play with her hands and let her grab at your necklace. “I should probably go,” Mingyu says. “Gotta be here early tomorrow to make sure you don’t sleep through your alarm again.”

“I only did that one time,” you protest. “And I don’t think I’ll sleep at all tonight.”

He makes a sympathetic noise. “Well, at least try, will you? It’s a big day for you, and you should be able to enjoy it.”

You smile up at him. “You’re right. Thank you, Mingyu. Say bye bye to Mingyu, Sara.”

“Bye, Googoo!!” Sara squeals — her endearing nickname for Mingyu. 

She bounds over to him, and he sweeps her into his arms for a swift hug before setting her down gently. “Bye, Sara!”

***

“Wow,” Mingyu says, his eyes wide and mouth open.

You tug at the tight, silvery-blue fabric of the floor-length gown you wear, blushing. “Thanks.”

“You’re always pretty,” Mingyu begins, finally recovering from the shock of seeing you like this enough to speak.

“Oh, stop it,” you protest, hiding your face in your hands.

“But this is … wow,” he finishes.

Your face could not be warmer. “Please desist before I’m so embarrassed that I have to change.” You peek from behind your fingers at Mingyu, who is looking positively devastating in a suit and is holding Sara in her fluffy pink dress. He was right about her looking cute in anything, but the dress suits your sweet, sassy, rambunctious little girl. And, true to his word, he has tugged her hair into two adorable pigtails fitted with feathery pink bows to match the dress. “You did an amazing job with Sara.”

Mingyu finally tears his eyes away from you to look proudly at Sara’s outfit. “Never doubt me again,” he jokes.

“I never will,” you vow. 

“Well, I think we need to leave,” Mingyu says. “I wonder what everyone will think about me arriving with the two prettiest girls at the party.”

You roll your eyes as you grab your things. “You’ll fit right in,” you tell him. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” he says, wrestling a grumpy Sara into her car seat. “Shall we?”

The party is a fancy affair. Big names in publishing mill around with your employees, some turning to greet you and offer words of congratulations when you walk in. Mingyu is impressed with how gracious and genuine you are with everyone, even the people you’re just being introduced to, his heart swelling with pride whenever you include him and Sara as a part of your introduction. 

Sara is amazed at the surroundings, looking around the beautifully furnished hotel meeting room with its twinkling lights in an overstimulated stupor. Plenty of the female employees are talking and whispering at the sight of her in Mingyu’s arms, a few even venturing to approach him and play with Sara’s hands or feet. “So, are you her boyfriend?” A blonde in a stunning red dress asks, leaning in with hooded eyes.

“No, I’m just her nanny,” Mingyu says with a laugh. “Um, excuse me.” 

You have to bite back a smile as Mingyu meets eyes with you nervously. “Meredith from accounting is zeroed in on you, I see,” you tease him. 

“She’s very friendly,” Mingyu agrees. “I think I saw Wonwoo come in, though.”

You look toward the door. There he is — tall, slender, with his signature glasses and a shy but very happy smile, hand-in-hand with a pretty girl in a pink dress. “They look cozy,” you observe. “Say hi to him for me, will you? I need to get ready to speak to everyone.”

Mingyu gives you a prolonged look that makes you more nervous than even the impending speech before he answers, “sure thing, boss. Break a leg. You’ll be great.”

It feels surreal — all of these people are mostly people who you see every day, mingling with publishing giants and friends, and everything is different. After what feels like no time at all, you take the low stage to begin your speech.

You take a deep breath, looking in the crowd for two specific people, and it isn’t until you’ve met eyes with Mingyu, who is softly smiling at you, and aimed a wave at Sara, that you begin. “This award is something I’ve been working toward since we started the magazine. I naively thought that receiving this award would finally help me to feel like I belonged in this industry, or that all the time I’d spend slaving for this business was actually worth it.

“The past year, however, has been the absolute hardest of my life. As many of you know, my sister -- the person who encouraged me to start this business, and the person without whom many of you, including me, would probably not have jobs -- was killed in a hit-and-run accident a year ago Thursday. And when you go through something like that, well...your perspective on life definitely changes. I have always been a believer in the power of story, but because of the life-altering experiences I’ve had over the course of this brutal year, I gained new insight into the stories that we should be telling with the voices we have in the time that we have them. I’m convinced that the team’s vision aligning so well with this change in priorities is why I’m on this stage accepting this award. So I have some people to thank for this.”

You’re practiced enough that your voice only shakes a little as you begin this part. “Firstly, my editor, Cory, who not only held us together while I was completely incapacitated, but also understood perfectly how to make this thing into the kind of thing that wins awards like this. If this was a ship, Cory would be at the helm, and I’m so glad that we have someone who is a perfect navigator. Cory knows the metaphorical sea and stars like an albatross, and he deserves to be the one speaking to you today, but we drew lots and I got the short stick.” The crowd laughs, and in the audience, Cory raises his glass to you, his arm snaked around the waist of his new girlfriend Lele.

You smile at his gesture and continue. “Secondly, to my assistant, Emily. She was hired only one single month before the accident, and she has become indispensable to me. One thing you should know about her is that her desire to do everything she can for anyone who needs it is not just one of her biggest professional strengths, it is also one of her best personal ones. Her competence and kindness will take her far -- here or wherever she goes.” When you spot Emily, her eyes are streaming with tears, and she gives you a little apologetic shrug as she wipes her eyes.

“Thirdly, I cannot thank the writing team, the creative team, the social media team, and the editing staff enough for supporting me through my bereavement and continuing to do such excellent work. I am grateful to have hired the right people, so that I can be confident that this important work we do will not be stopped if I am stopped.”

Now, the final message -- the part you hadn’t shown Mingyu yet. Partially because you wanted to surprise him, and partially because you were terrified of what he would know about you because of it, and you wanted to prolong the moment. You steady yourself and press on. “Finally, there have been a number of people in my personal life without whom I couldn’t be here today. Friends who pulled me out of the mud, almost literally, neighbors who looked out for my lawn, the kindest friend who watches my beautiful niece while I come to work --” and at this point, you intentionally avoid Mingyu’s gaze, “and Sara herself, who gives me a reason to wake up in the morning and who carries Jeri with her in her eyes. You have all been my hope in the fault lines, and without you, I would be so lost. Thank you for being my solid ground when everything around me was shaking.

“And of course, to my dear sister, my best friend, Jeri. From wherever you are, know that this award means infinitely more because of what I learned from you. I wish I could’ve learned it with you beside me, but I’m hoping every single day that when it’s my time, I’m even half of the person you are. Thank you.”

The audience applauds, and someone hands you a small glass statue as the physical evidence of your award, and pictures are snapped, and then it’s all over. You’re back in the crowd, and you’re drained and a bit embarrassed and empty, and the only person you want to talk to is Mingyu. You want to run to him and throw yourself into his arms and let him carry you away from the stage and the people who are flocking to you to hug you and offer condolences and shake your hand and congratulate you. But you can’t, so you let them approach until Emily (bless her) extracts you from the crowd.

“Your parents came,” she whispers to you, and you feel your jaw clench. 

“Where are they?” you ask through your gritted teeth. 

“By the food. I’ve tried to hold them off, but they want to meet Sara.”

“Where is she?”

“Mingyu’s changing her diaper.”

You grab Cory’s arm as he passes. “My parents are here. Please go in the bathroom and tell Mingyu not to leave until you come back to get him.” With an alarmed look, he obeys, and you stalk toward the two elderly people staring haughtily around at the crowd at the food table.

Your mother sees you first. As she meets your eyes you remember her wearing that same look while your father had “disciplined” you — with a belt. It’s a shrewd look, a calculating one. The last night you’d lived with them, before you’d taken Jeri and gotten out of that place, she had told him she didn’t think the message was sinking in enough. She suggested more stripes might remind you of “a woman’s place.”

As hard as she is to look at, he is infinitely worse. Your father has grown hunched in the ten years since you’ve seen him, his face becoming even more gaunt and severe, almost cartoonish in its caricatured lines. You stand up straighter and realize that you’re not afraid of him anymore. “What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice quiet so as not to attract attention and cause a scene. 

“Is it a crime to want to see my daughter and granddaughter?” your father croaks.

“I don’t remember inviting you,” you say shortly. “I want to know how you found out about this.”

“I read about it in the paper,” he says.

“Well, thank you for coming,” you say. “But I think I made it clear that I don’t want contact with you after the trial.”

“The judge only ruled that Sara would live with you. They didn’t mention that we could never see her,” your mother claims.

“No, they didn’t say that. But I did,” you remind her, your voice surprisingly gentle despite your anger.

There is a sudden warmth from a hand at your shoulder. “Are you okay?” Mingyu asks quietly.

You turn to face him, giving him a tight smile. “Yeah,” you say, a bit shaken but still determined. “Where’s Sara?”

“Wonwoo is watching her,” he replies. “Do you need help with them?”

You had told him about your parents and the vaguest details of their abuse around month four. He knew you’d left home at seventeen with Jeri in tow, determined to let her be safer than you had been. He knew that there had been a nasty custody battle necessitating your admission of everything they’d done to you so that Sara would never be subjected to the childhood you had. He didn’t know that you’d had to teach yourself how to do makeup in seventh grade to hide the black eye your father had given you, because your mother believed makeup to be deceitful and of the devil. He didn’t know all the times you’d stepped in front of Jeri to prevent your father from hurting her. He didn’t know the fear you’d felt when they took you to court to try and take your niece away from you — all on the basis that a child without her father, raised by only a woman, could never be complete.

He didn’t know everything, but still he was there at your side. Big and strong and never angry except for right now, his dark eyes flashing and his mouth set in a straight line. You’d wondered how your soft, silly, sweet Mingyu had managed to survive for years as a federal agent, but now you knew. Mingyu could be intimidating if he wanted to be – he simply chose not to be most of the time.

You sigh, relieved. “I think I would like help with them, actually.”

This is all Mingyu needs to spring into action. He moves for your father, taking him by the arm in what you’re sure is a vice grip, as you link an arm around your mother’s arm. “I need the both of you to go,” you tell her. “And if I see you again, I’ll file a restraining order. Don’t think I won’t. I’d prefer not to do it, so just leave us alone. We’re happy.” You release her in the hotel lobby, and she and your father scurry away. 

As you walk back to the party with Mingyu, you ask, “did he say anything to you?”

Mingyu shrugs. “Nothing worth repeating.” The two of you hunt down Sara, and you give her a big hug before letting her finally wander around on her own two feet, which she’s been begging Wonwoo to do. It does your heart good to watch her be herself without any fear of retribution.

You’re surprised at how normal you feel after returning to the group. Your hands still shake, and you do keep a closer eye on Sara than normal, but you don’t dwell on it. It didn’t burn you like you expected to see them again. Perhaps, you reason, although the pain of seeing your parents again is very different from your grief, and there is nearly ten years of distance between that pain and your current life, you have actually become stronger. The thought makes you warm from the inside out. The rest of the event goes by in a blur -- all the way up until you overhear Mingyu talking to Wonwoo. “Come out with us tonight,” Wonwoo plies.

“I don’t know,” Mingyu says, sounding reluctant.

“You should,” you find yourself saying, grinning as they both jump at your words. “Sorry for eavesdropping. Why wouldn’t you go?”

Mingyu snorts. “I’ll go if you go.”

You grin regretfully at Wonwoo. “Sorry,” you say. “I have the duties of motherhood to attend to.”

Bora is standing nearby and interjects. “Actually, I think it’d be great if you went. I can take Sara tonight.”

You shoot her a look. “I wasn’t even invited. That was a joke.”

“No, you’re definitely invited,” Wonwoo says. “Please come. Seungcheol is going to be there, and he just got rejected, so he needs someone more responsible than me to look after him. Who better than a literal mother?”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t birth her, Wonwoo.”

“You’re still her mom,” says Bora. “I’m taking her home with me. Go out, have fun! It’ll be good for you. The last time you went out, you ended up finding Mingyu. So maybe tonight something great will happen.”

You can hear the suggestive edge in her voice. It has you glaring daggers at her as she reaches for Sara. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says, and scurries away.

***

“I’m not good at drinking,” you confess over the music.

“Then don’t drink too much,” Wonwoo says. 

“Is everything just that simple for you?” you ask him, amused. 

He grins. “Actually, yes.” He looks over to where the girl he brought and Mingyu are chatting happily about some inane thing, and frowns. “Sometimes even I complicate things, though.”

“I think she really likes you.” Wonwoo turns to look at you, eyes wide, and you chuckle. “I think we’re alike,” you explain. “Neither of us are very forward usually, or very good at expressing ourselves.”

Wonwoo nods with a sheepish grin. “That’s accurate.”

“So…do you like her?” you ask him bluntly.

Wonwoo clears his throat and downs a shot before replying. “I’ve been in love with her for a long time.”

“And you still haven’t said anything?” you ask sympathetically.

“Well, I mean, we’ve kissed. And we’ve held hands. And I kind of confessed.”

You eye him skeptically. “And would you say she’s more like you and I, personality-wise, or more like Mingyu?”

“Definitely Mingyu,” he replies. 

“Do you think Mingyu would pick up on a half-confession?”

Wonwoo thinks to himself. “He’d probably understand what you’re saying, but I think he’d be too worried to do anything about it unless you were explicit. He’s too polite and cautious to cross a line like that.”

You try not to think about what he’s saying in the context of you and Mingyu, but it’s hard. “So, do you know what you need to do?” you ask him, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“Own up to my feelings, probably.” Wonwoo laughs at himself.

“You’ve already kissed,” you point out. “And she’s stuck around. If she hated that you kissed her, it might be one thing, but it seems to me like she’s pretty into being with you. You don’t have to be poetic, just tell her how she makes you feel and let her respond how she wants.”

He nods, putting the shot glass back on the bar and standing up. “Thanks,” he says. “You might consider taking your own advice, too.” And with that, he walks across the room to the girl and leans in to whisper something to her. The two of them leave together, and Mingyu turns to look at you, giving you a quizzical look. 

“What did you say to him?” he asks, coming to sit in Wonwoo’s vacated seat.

“I told him to go for it,” you say, your head still buzzing with Wonwoo’s last comment to you. You sip sparingly at your piña colada and sigh. “What are we even doing here?” you ask Mingyu with an uncharacteristic giggle, probably brought on by the alcohol in your system. “I’ve never been a person who goes to bars, and since becoming a parent, I am even less of one.”

Mingyu laughs. “Well, I was having a great time talking with Wonwoo’s girl, until someone decided to be an inspiration. As per usual.”

“Where are Seungcheol and Vernon?” you say, ignoring his compliment but for a small grin.

“I think they’re in an intense game of pool. Vernon’s doing a better job distracting Cheol than I thought he would,” Mingyu says. “Although they’re both super drunk. We should go check on them.”

Mingyu takes your hand and guides you through the crowded bar, to a back room with a pool table, a ping pong table, and a couple of old arcade games. Vernon and Seungcheol have abandoned the pool table and are standing by the ancient-looking jukebox. As you watch, Seungcheol whacks the jukebox with his fist, and then groans in pain. Mingyu wordlessly jogs over to them and grabs Seungcheol’s hand to inspect it.

“Wanted it to play that one song,” Seungcheol slurs at Mingyu as you approach. “The one that reminds me of her.”

Mingyu looks at him in a mixture of amusement and worry. “Which one?”

“She’s Got a Way,” Vernon says, stumbling over. “Billy Joel is the best.”

“I think you should sit down,” Mingyu says to both of them as they lean heavily on him. You grab Vernon by the arm and help him over to the nearest collection of chairs, just as a pretty girl in a black dress strides up to Mingyu helping Seungcheol. 

“Hi, handsome,” she says. 

“Pia?” Mingyu says, shocked. “Oh, wow. Um, hi! It’s been awhile.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“Sure has, soldier.” She doesn’t spare you or either of the other two men a single glance -- her focus is solely on Mingyu. “Where have you been?”

“I was living in Italy for a minute. You know, doing the whole nannying thing still.” He clears his throat. “But I’ve been back awhile.”

“Huh,” Pia says. “Can’t believe you haven’t lost your mind around all those kids yet. Let me buy you a drink. You can tell me all about it.”

Mingyu shoots you a sideways glance. You want to drag him away from her -- with your teeth, if necessary -- but you say nothing, hoping your face isn’t betraying the open hostility in your heart. “I don’t know,” he says, hesitating. “I’m supposed to drive later.”

“Then I’ll buy you a virgin daiquiri. Nothing hokey, I promise,” she says smoothly, taking Mingyu’s arm. “I’ll have you back here before you know it.” And with that, she waltzes him away as he looks at you, wide-eyed, over his shoulder.

You aren’t really mad at him. You could tell that if it were up to him, he’d have stayed with the three of you -- if only because he was worried about Vernon and Seungcheol being too much for you. And yet, it still rankled to see him walking away with another woman.

Another very pretty woman.

Maybe it’s this that leads you to order another drink when the waiter comes around. And another. Two drinks was enough alcohol to get you shit-faced. Three has you singing along to She’s Got a Way with the other two when it finally plays, even though you never sing.

By the time Mingyu arrives back to your group, he is shocked to see you with your arms slung around the other two, your cheeks pink and your eyes bright, belting another song along with them while Seungcheol weeps unabashedly into your shoulder.

“I think it’s time to leave,” he says, amused, propping Seungcheol up. “Stay right there, baby. I’ll be back.”

You blink. It feels like time is moving in slow motion as Mingyu turns to leave the bar. “Did he just call me baby?” you ask Vernon stupidly.

“I think so,” Vernon says, nodding. “It’d be weird if he called me that.” 

You frown. “Why does he do stuff like that?”

Vernon shakes his head. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that the room is spinning, which means I drank too much, so I’m gonna just lay down for a second.”

You watch Vernon put his forehead to the table and give a drunken scoff. Mingyu arrives shortly afterward, lifting you princess-style out of your chair as though you weigh nothing and telling Vernon he’ll be back. He lays you in the passenger seat of your car, grinning down at you. “I see why you don’t drink often,” he teases. “You really are a lightweight.”

Seungcheol groans from the backseat. “Kiss her,” he commands, too loud, causing passerby to look over in shock.

To Mingyu’s surprise, your eyes light up. You still have a hand gripping his soft tee from when the world tilted alarmingly as he hoisted you off the chair, and your eyes are out of focus and you keep blinking at him to try and see him, and you’re uncomfortably aware that your hair is plastered to your forehead with sweat. 

Adorable. He can’t help but think it. The alcohol has done its job admirably — your cheeks are flushed, and your usually-guarded gaze is open and almost dangerous in your blatant desire for him. It takes everything in him to restrain himself from listening to Seungcheol and kissing you in front of all these people. 

But you’re so drunk, and he cares too much about you to do it like this, so he gently removes your fist from his shirt and runs back into the bar to get Vernon, hearing Seungcheol yell “Coward!” at him as he retreats. In no time he packs Vernon into the back of the car and drives off, monitoring you in the passenger side. 

Seungcheol gets out at Vernon’s house, and together they stagger inside. Mingyu watches them in amusement until he hears you sniffling. Alarmed, he looks down to see you crying quietly into your hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, befuddled. 

“I’m drunk,” you say in a choked, muffled voice. “People just cry when they’re drunk sometimes.”

He shrugs, then pats your shoulder. “I guess you’re right.” But he continues to watch as your tears continue to fall. Finally he pulls up to your house, and you claw at your seatbelt, trying to pull yourself loose. He chuckles and pops the button easily, and you fling the door open and promptly fall out of the car.

In a panic, Mingyu runs around the side of the car to see you weeping on your own driveway. When he moves to help you, you weakly try to push him away. “What’s going on, honey?” he says, suddenly realizing you may not have told him the truth earlier about the reason for your tears. 

“I’m mad at you,” you admit, wiping your eyes. “And I cry when I’m mad.”

He purses his lips. “Well, can I at least get you inside? Then we can talk about it.”

You hesitate, then nod. Wordlessly he scoops you into his arms, and despite everything you’re feeling, you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck. He’s so warm, and you breathe in his scent, feeling the pain of the fall and your own feelings ease a little. 

“So,” he says after he’s propped you up on your couch. “What’s this about, huh?”

You look up at him with red eyes. “I’m not actually mad at you.” You take a deep breath in. “I’m mad at me.”

The realization had hit you when you’d reached Vernon’s apartment. You had broken your own heart, beyond what you thought was possible after losing your sister, because every version of your future that you had even the slightest desire to live in had Mingyu in it. And not as your nanny — as your partner. The sudden impossibility of any of those futures becoming reality has rushed to you, because Mingyu needs a job, and you need a nanny, and to change anything about your relationship would cost him his livelihood — or cost the both of you the relationship you already have.

The only thing more impossible than explaining this was staying quiet, however.

So when he asks why, you tell him. “I ruined everything, Mingyu. I … I put us both in the worst possible situation.”

“How?” His eyes are zeroed in on your face, alight in the dim room. 

You can almost taste your own heartbeat as you reply. “I…fell in love with you.”

Mingyu’s jaw drops. 

“I know, it’s stupid. And you…you have better options than me, plus…we’re impossible. You and me, it would never work anyway. But I had to say it before I catch fire from the inside out.”

When you finally look at Mingyu, his shock has turned into a pained expression. “Impossible?” he repeats quietly.

You nod sleepily as the tears overtake you again. “Like trying to fit a round peg in a square hole,” you confirm, sniffling.

“Why is it impossible?” he asks. “Explain that.” For the first time since you’ve known Mingyu, he sounds angry with you. 

And this makes you angry, too.

“Because this is not the life you deserve,” you say, your voice too loud for the living room. “Me, my grief, my baggage, a kid — you deserve your own family. One that isn’t so … messy.” Your voice cracks near the end of your rant, but you choke your tears down like you had in front of your parents and their rage all those years ago. 

“What if you’re enough for me?” he challenges, eyes flashing.

“I’m not going to let you throw the whole life you could have with someone else away for someone who can’t give you what you want!” you yell. “I can’t love you like you deserve, Mingyu!”

Mingyu’s face crumples from anger to shattering grief. He stands up, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door. 

You want to yell at him to come back, but feel too guilty and tired and stressed and awful to say a word. Before he opens the door, he half turns over his shoulder, not meeting your eyes. “I know you, and I know how you love. And it’s more than enough. You are what I want.” His tone is so careful and measured that you know he wants to yell back at you. He couldn’t be more serious, or more plain about what he’s saying. He finally looks into your eyes as he opens the door.

“If you ever stop being afraid of that, you know where to find me,” he says quietly.

And without another glance, he steps into the night, letting the door shut with an awful sense of finality.

***

“Get up,” says Bora sternly, ripping the sheets off you. 

You groan and bury your face in your pillows. “No,” you say.

“Sara has been asking for you,” she insists. 

You glare at her, but push yourself up and follow her downstairs. Sara is playing happily on the floor with Morrie. When she catches sight of you, she yells her toddler version of your name. Your heart partially pieces itself back together, and you respond to her reaching arms by pulling her close. “Hey, baby. Did you have a fun sleepover?”

“Yeah!” Sara yells excitedly. “We had soooooooooo much fun!!”

“We played with my princess toys,” Morrie informs you. 

“Oh did you?” you say, trying to mimic their excitement. 

“Yeah!! Mommy said you went out to have fun with a cute boy,” Morrie says. “Did you have fun?”

You glance over at Bora before responding. “I may have had a little too much fun.”

Bora hisses, but you shake your head at her, letting her know with your eyes that you’ll talk later. She hangs around for the morning, and when Morrie and Sara go down for their naps, she corners you.

“Tell me why Mingyu didn’t show up this morning,” she demands.

You sigh. “Because I am the dumbest, stupidest idiot known to all mankind.” And you tell her everything.

She listens intently. “And then he texted this morning and told me he needed some time,” you finish, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” she asks you. You note the strain in her tone and realize she’s mad at you too.

“I don’t know,” you snap, her anger and your own pain making you feel trapped and defensive. 

“That man is in love with you,” she says, exasperated. “I mean, it was really obvious that he feels the same way about you that you feel about him. And you’re just going to stubbornly suggest that he’s too good for you?”

“He literally is, though,” you say, desperate to make her understand. “He’s the perfect man. He could be with anyone. I have a kid and a company, and he deserves someone’s full attention and full heart, and that will never be me.”

Bora’s shaking her head. “No, listen to me. You’ve always been like this. You think love is this finite thing and once you give it to one thing you don’t have enough to give to something else. I thought Sara would change that about you. Do you forget about Sara when you’re at work?” 

You think to yourself. No, in fact. You thought about her constantly. You even did your job in the hope that one day she would know she could do whatever she set her mind to. “And did you stop running your business just because you became Sara’s guardian?” Bora asks you, watching you as you think. “Of course you didn’t. Because love isn’t finite, you dummy.”

You stare at her, unconvinced. She sighs. “Sweetheart, I see the way you look at him. I know you know you have feelings for him, but when you think about an entire lifetime without Mingyu, when you think about him moving on with someone else, how does that feel?”

“Unbearable,” you whisper. You’ve already thought about it -- all last night, after you sobered up, you thought about what would happen to you if that was the last time you ever saw Mingyu. You knew you’d keep going, for Sara, like always. But you also knew you’d be a shell of who you were when you were with him, and you didn’t like to think how long it would take for you to fill yourself back up.

Which brings you to a greater worry. “What if I just…got attached? Because he was something for me to hold onto during all this?” you ask her.

“So what if you did? That’s as real a reason to be attached to someone as I can think of.”

“I don’t want to be trauma-bonded, Bora.”

She rolls her eyes. “Have you ever heard him say anything mean? About anyone?”

“No?” Because he hadn’t. Not even your parents. He was unfailingly kind.

“And has he ever made you feel inferior, for any reason?”

“Of course not,” you say. In fact, even when he teased, he was never disrespectful.

“And are the two of you able to talk about things together without antagonizing each other?”

“Yes,” you tell her, realizing all at once that your friendship with Mingyu is one of the healthiest you have.

Bora nods. “You need to go see him.” She grabs your hand and starts tugging you up the stairs.

“But I just got Sara back, and he says he needs time!” you protest, shocked.

“He needs time from the you that didn’t know you didn’t want to live without him,” she says forcefully, throwing one of your duffel bags onto your bed and tossing a random assortment of clothing into it.

“Why are we packing?” you ask her in alarm.

“You aren’t coming home tonight,” she says matter-of-factly.

“I’m not?”

“For the smartest person I know, you’re an absolute idiot,” she says. “Grab pajamas, sweetie.”

You know better than to argue with Bora when she gets into tornado mode. So you pull out your favorite sweatpants and a hoodie. Bora looks at your selections with a critical eye. “Comfort over style?” she asks, moving to your dresser. She opens the top drawer and extracts the pretty pink lingerie an ex boyfriend got you for Christmas three years ago. 

“What is that for?” you ask as she grabs a black bra and panty set and shoves it into the bag as well. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the beating of your heart suddenly rattling in your brain.

She doesn’t respond, just takes you out to your car and hands you the keys she grabbed -- still on the counter where Mingyu had left them the night before. “I’m prohibiting you from coming home tonight. I’ll take care of Sara. Don’t worry about anything, just go.”

It’s not until you’re on the road that it hits you fully what you’re about to do. You’ve never done anything like this before -- never cared enough to take the risk that you’re about to take. You try not to imagine him slamming the door in your face and drive faster, wanting to get to the part where you’re standing in front of him saying what you need to say. 

Finally, you arrive. You take a deep breath before dashing from the car to knock on Mingyu’s door. Your knocks are so persistent and loud that he answers right away, looking shocked to see you of all people on his porch with a duffel bag.

The first words out of his mouth aren’t what you expect. “Are you fleeing the country?”

“Huh?” you ask. 

“Your duffel bag. And you look like you just robbed a bank,” he says with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh. Um, no. I...can I come in? I really need to talk to you.” You can hear how thick your voice sounds, and you try to clear your throat, but breathing is hard. Because there he is -- wet hair from a recent shower, white tank top with massive arms fully visible, and eyes that only just barely betray the hurt of the night before. The hurt you caused.

He steps aside to let you in, and you scurry past him and lay your bag down before you turn to face him. “Is Wonwoo here?” you ask first. 

“Nah, he stayed with his girl last night.” Mingyu’s eyes are steady on you, urging you to explain yourself, and you’re more nervous than ever. You rub your slick palms on your sweatpants and will yourself to find the words to continue.

“I’m so scared,” you finally whisper to him. 

His face is stony, unreadable. “Of what?” he asks.

“Everything,” you tell him. “All of this. I’m scared of you most of all.”

He softens a little. “Why?” he asks, taking a step toward you.

You step forward too -- close enough to touch him. And for the first time in your life, you make the move, reaching forward and taking his big hand in yours. “Because you, Kim Mingyu, could ruin me. I love you in a way that’s never supposed to end, and that terrifies me. I don’t ever want to lose you. And I could. I might have already.”

He’s very still, watching your face, looking for any signs of a lie. It’s such a relief to be touching him, and you’re so high on the feeling of his warm hand in yours, that you sigh as you bring his knuckles to your lips, breathing a kiss over each one.

“You mean it,” he says quietly, watching you adore him.

“I do,” you say. “I really, really do. I love you, Kim Mingyu.” 

Those are the words that seem to hit him like a comet breaking through the atmosphere. He tugs you forward and into his arms and buries his face in your neck, squeezing you hard enough that you feel your ribs crack.  

“I love you too,” he says, and you hear the hint of tears in his voice. “I wish I could find a way to tell you how I feel right now,” Mingyu says into your hair. “I meant what I said. You’re everything I ever wanted. Sara, too.”

And you know there’s still things that you’ll need to work out, but when you’re in Mingyu’s arms, it all seems to matter a lot less. The relief is instantaneous, his touch soothing the tightness in your chest, and you finally let yourself open up fully, melting into him and squeezing him back. Mingyu lets go of you only briefly and only partially to pull you over to the sofa, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pulling you to his chest. 

“What made you decide to come?” he asks you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You give a small laugh. “Bora,” you say. “It was actually barely my choice at all. She basically threw me out of my own house.”

You can feel the vibration of his own chuckle where your head rests against his chest. “Thank goodness for Bora.”

“Mmm,” you say in agreement, relaxing into his embrace. Mingyu’s arms tighten around you, and he leans down to kiss your shoulder through your several layers of sweatshirt. “So, how long have you liked me?” you ask him shyly.

He sighs. “It was almost at first sight for me,” he admits, blushing as your jaw drops. “I’m serious! You looked so cute that first morning. So frazzled, too.”

“Imagine my shock,” you explain, “when I hire a nanny and someone who looks like you shows up.” You trace a light hand up and down the arms wrapped around you, watching as they erupt into goosebumps. 

“What do you mean? Did I look irresponsible?” he teases.

“No, you’re just the hottest man alive,” you say, grinning at him over your shoulder. 

He looks both shy and pleased with himself. “I am?” he asks, his smile growing.

You turn back around and sink into him again. “My love, I’m going to need you to invest in a mirror. You clearly don’t know what you look like.”

Mingyu gives a soft laugh. Slowly and deliberately, he kisses down the side of your face from your temple down your cheekbone, bringing a hand up to turn your head to face him. “Would you like a kiss from the hottest man alive?” he asks very seriously, but he can’t help the corners of his mouth from turning upward just a bit.

You nod, privately and internally screaming to yourself. It’s been a very long time -- what if you’re bad at it? 

But Mingyu is so careful. He just barely tilts your chin up and lets your lips meet his, soft and warm and tender. You let your lips part slightly, and lean in just slightly more, adding a bit of pressure. His hand on your face is steady and strong, and you can taste coconut oil on his lips from his chapstick. Kissing Mingyu is heaven, as thrilling as a roller coaster but as safe as a night at home in Sara’s rocking chair. Your mind is full of him — everything else seems to evaporate as though Mingyu is the only real thing in the world, and you cling to him, trembling, as though he might disappear too. You have to remind yourself to take it slow, although your heart clattering against your ribs is begging you for more from his lips, but can’t help a soft hum of pleasure from escaping you as he breaks the kiss and comes back for another, slipping his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck.

He smiles against your lips at the sound. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks, pulling away a bit.

And although you’re trembling with a surplus of emotions, you manage an eye roll. “I don’t have to answer that,” you say, breathing too heavily.

Those darling crow’s feet appear at the corners of his eyes as he notices the heat rising in your face, even brushing a thumb along the pink that has appeared on the apple of your cheek. “I would do things all the time to make that happen,” he admits, dropping a feather light kiss on your cheek. “You looked so cute, and it also made me feel like maybe you might love me back one day.”

“For your information, I liked you almost this entire time, too,” you tell him.

“When did it shift?” he asks. “Between liking me and loving me, I mean.”

You consider. “I think it became clearer to me when Sara started calling you dad — you remember? It was around her first birthday.”

“I remember!” he says. “I was worried you’d be mad.”

You smile. “I wasn’t mad at all. It occurred to me then that I couldn’t see myself finding anyone else to love Sara the same way, or that it would just all feel wrong and weird if it wasn’t you. I thought about it plenty of times beforehand, though. I think the first time I felt something real was when I got sick.”

“Two weeks in?” Mingyu asks, surprised.

“Yeah, about that long,” you confirm, and his eyes go wide.

“We’ve really just been driving each other crazy and not saying anything for the past however many months?” He laughs his high-pitched giggle. “We’re idiots!”

“Well, we figured it out eventually,” you say, spinning around to face him. “Now, I have a question.”

“Ask away,” he says, his eyes soft and adoring as he gazes at you.

“Why did you fall for me? I’m a wreck.”

He laughs again, and you swat at his arm. “I’m being serious. You couldn’t have come into my life in worse circumstances, and you’ve seen me at every extreme. Why do you love me? Why not someone...I don’t know, younger? Less riddled with grief? Someone who isn’t a package deal?”

He thinks for a minute. “Well, you’re not a decrepit old woman, as much as you might think you are. I’m actually six months older than you,” he informs you.

“You are? How do you know?” 

“Your birthday is October 16. Mine is April 6 of the same year.”

“How do you know that?” you repeat, shocked.

“I stalked you on social media,” he replies, blushing himself.

You decide to let this go. “But you still haven’t explained why you love me,” you protest.

He looks at you, grinning at your eagerness with stars in his eyes, brushing your hair out of your face to see you better. “The first thing I loved about you was how much love you had for your niece,” he begins. “You didn’t resent her at all even though she’d sort of wrecked your whole life plan. That said something about you. I could tell you had a good heart.” He pauses. “The second thing I loved about you was your ass.”

You gape at him. He bursts into laughter, and you shove his shoulder. “I’m kidding,” he says. “Although,” he continues, reaching around to lift you onto his lap by said ass, “it is pretty incredible.” 

You have to rest your hands on his chest to keep yourself upright, but you avoid meeting his eyes, even though you’re straddling him. You’re feeling like someone zapped you with a bolt of lightning as a tingle spreads from your inside out. “Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me, baby.”

You force yourself to look into his eyes, which are warm and smiling at you over a fine dusting of freckles across his nose. He shifts his weight a bit so you’re resting more comfortably across his hips, and your breathing grows heavier. “Is this okay?” he asks, a bit amused at how much the simple change in position seems to be affecting you.

Trying to look unbothered, you nod. “Please go on,” you say. 

“What was I saying?” he asks, his hand dancing down your spine and making you shiver, still grinning up at you.

“Something about my ass,” you tell him, and he laughs. 

“Right,” he says. “But seeing how you treated Sara was the first thing. Then I appreciated how hard you worked. And then I loved your humor and how you teased me. And then I admired how you opened up to me. And then —“

“Alright, enough,” you interrupt, embarrassed.

“The point is,” he continues with a broad smile, “it all came down to how much love you had inside you. You loved everything and everyone so much, in a way that was so unique to anyone I’d ever met. It was just you.” 

You laugh at this – the very reason he fell for you was the thing you were worried about not being able to give him. 

He sighs contentedly at the sound. “After a while the possibility of being with anyone else just felt … gross. You can ask Wonwoo — we had a few particularly miserable nights of drinking about it.”

You ruffle his hair. “You talked about me to your friends?”

“Almost constantly for almost as long as I’ve known you,” he confirms. “They’re so sick of me.”

You tsk softly, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his shoulder. “They deserve for us to take them to dinner,” you say, lightly scratching up and down his back. You can’t help but sigh in relief — Mingyu’s touch feels like stepping inside from the cold. You can feel yourself relaxing against him, your heartbeat slowing.

After several minutes of holding each other like this, Mingyu extricates himself. “One second, baby,” he says, pecking you on the forehead. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, wincing at the whine in your voice. 

“I just need to text my housemate,” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears into one of the bedrooms. “I’m gonna tell him not to come home.”

You suddenly become painfully aware of the pink lingerie buried in your duffel bag. 

If it’s been awhile since you’ve kissed anyone, it’s been an age since you’ve had sex. And on top of that, all the sex you’ve had has been at worst embarrassing and at best okay. To say you’re nervous is an understatement — more nervous than you were the first time you ever undressed in front of a man, and you’re still fully clothed.

So you just wait for him to come back, smiling at him as he re-enters the room, flops onto the couch, and lays his head in your lap. You almost automatically run your fingers through the slightly longer hair on top of his head, letting your fingernails lightly brush against his scalp. He nestles into you and sighs. “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

You can’t help the choked laugh that escapes you. “Well…” you begin, as you blush and Mingyu looks up at you in alarm. 

“Oh,” he realizes, sitting up. “That was such a leading question. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You put a gentle hand to his cheek. “I know you didn’t,” you say. “But…”

At your hesitation, he shakes his head. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. I just told Wonwoo to stay out because I want us to have uninterrupted time together before we need to go take care of Sara.”

The anxiety leaves you almost instantly. “Thanks,” you say in relief. “Um…are you hungry? You’ve cooked for me so often. It might be fun to do a little role reversal tonight.”

“I’m starving,” he admits, “but what if I take you out to a restaurant?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Looking like this?” you ask, gesturing to yourself.

“We could change?” he suggests. 

“How’s this for compromise,” you say, feeling like he just doesn’t want you to do anything for him tonight. “We order takeout. I know this great pizza place.”

His face lights up. “Pizza sounds amazing.”

45 minutes later, you’re both tucked into Mingyu’s comforter on the sofa, eating pizza with your legs tangled together. “Let’s pick a movie,” Mingyu says with his mouth partially full.

You nod, handing him the remote. The two of you scroll through options before settling on Legally Blonde. When you bring up that you think Mingyu is only watching the movie for you, he side-eyes you comically. “This is one of my favorite movies!” he insists, and you let him have it.

But there’s starting to be an issue. The adrenaline of the impulsive decision to come to him and confess has worn off, and in its place is a new, unfamiliar, and powerful feeling. An unbearable ache you barely recognize, coming from body parts that haven’t been touched in years. And you definitely aren’t surprised that you’re attracted to Mingyu, but you are surprised at how turned on you are by him in his tank top, eating pizza straight out of the box. You’re practically salivating as you watch him watch the movie.

It doesn’t take long for him to notice. “Um, baby,” he says. “Everything okay?”

He’s got a little piece of cheese at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes are big and slightly concerned. Before you realize what you’re saying, you blurt out, “I wanna do it!”

“Do what?” he asks, bewildered.

“Do you,” you clarify. You grin sheepishly at him.

He chuckles a little, watching you carefully. “Are you sure?” he says once he can see you’re serious.

“Well, unless you don’t want to,” you backtrack, realizing that in your painful need for him you’d forgotten his feelings.

He raises an eyebrow. “No, I most definitely want to,” he says, scooting closer to you. He lightly brushes his fingers over your cheekbones, his touch sending a jolt of desire through your body. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to. We can take it slow.”

“Mingyu,” you say, closing the distance between the two of you and taking his face in your hands. “We’ve been taking it slow for four months. I’m officially finished going slow with you.” You puff out a breath, uttering a quiet but desperate “please” that fades into the air like smoke, and before it has, Mingyu has pulled you into his arms and stood up off the couch. He kisses you deeply, catching your bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle bite that has you gasping for air. He stumbles blindly to the bathroom with your legs locked around his waist, sitting you down on the counter to continue kissing you, only pulling back to pull your sweatshirt up and over your head to reveal the bare skin and bra underneath.

And then, at a dizzying pace, he’s kissing down your cheek, down your neck, across your shoulder, feathering kisses over every freckle there until he’s brushing your bra strap to the side while one hand at your back slides up to unhook it. 

You find yourself wishing you had a camera present for the way Mingyu’s face looks when he sees your bare chest for the first time. You half-expect him to bury his face in your breasts, so you tug him closer by the waistband of his sweats and press yourself closer to him, his fingers drawing lines of fire up and down the bare skin of your back as you hook your legs around him once more.

You’re tugging on his tank top, now, discarding the useless material so you can finally let his warmth completely envelope you skin-to-skin. He lifts you up off the counter and sets you down gently, taking a step back and gesturing to your shorts. “Need those off, baby,” he says, running a hand through his hair before smoothly untying the lace at the front of his own sweats and slipping them off.

But now it’s your turn to stare. You’d never really been given the chance to appreciate a naked body in such a present way, but you weren’t about to waste the opportunity when that body was Mingyu’s. You let your eyes roam over every perfect inch of him, only allowing yourself to look back at his eyes when he says your name. “You okay, love?” he says softly, taking a hesitant step closer. 

You laugh softly. “That is not nearly a strong enough word.” You finally reach down and remove your own shorts, and Mingyu sucks in a breath from between his teeth. “Damn,” he exclaims, looking you up and down briefly before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the bedroom you can see through the other bathroom door. 

He climbs into bed, under the covers, and pats the space next to him. You crawl in beside him as he pulls on a condom and then puts his hand to your cheek. “You ready?” he asks.

You’re breathless, you’re sweating, and you need him biblically. So you whisper “yes,” and Mingyu’s pulling you in for a deep, slow, spine-tingling kiss, his eyes fluttering shut, shifting his weight so that he’s hovering over you.

But then he does something you don’t expect, trailing kisses from your chin down your neck and chest. When he stops to drag his tongue over your nipples, you squirm a little, getting more and more heated by the minute. After a few minutes spent worshiping your breasts, he continues kissing down your body, pausing when he reaches your waist. “This okay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you say, about two octaves higher than your normal voice, and he grins before his next question.

“Can I go lower, sweetie?”

This is new. No one has ever offered to eat you out before, and you’re suddenly insecure.

Mingyu can see it on your face. “It’s just so that you can feel good,” he reassures. “If you don’t want it, I won’t do it.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say quickly. “It’s just new. But I trust you.”

“New?” he questions with raised eyebrows.

“My first time,” you confirm.

He scoffs. “Then I guess I have to make up for lost time,” he says, pulling your legs over his shoulders and going to work.

And you can’t help the sharp intake of air, nor the moans that escape you, because this feeling is one of the best you’ve ever felt in your life. Mingyu eats like his life depends on it, and your back arches in pleasure as he responds to your sounds, learning what makes you feel best. Your hand finds the back of his head, and you find yourself wishing he had more hair that you could grab as you tremble with his efforts.

It doesn’t take long before the pleasure overtakes you, washing over you in a warm wave and making you feel all floaty and euphoric, your whole body seizing and twitching feverishly as Mingyu works you down from your high. When he finally pulls back, his mouth wet and grinning, you have to remind yourself how to breathe. “How was it?” he asks. 

You can only shake your head and stare at him, dumbfounded. He laughs, then kneels in front of you on the bed so you can see how hard he’s gotten. “Can I?” he asks you, and in response you sit up and kiss him before pulling him down by his neck on top of you, guiding him inside of you.

You whimper a bit at the stretch, but Mingyu’s left you wet enough that it slides right in, and it feels amazing. “You okay, baby?” he checks again, and you chuckle.

“Yeah, just kiss me, Gyu,” you say, almost drunkenly, and the nickname on your dazed lips is almost enough to bring him to his own climax. But Mingyu is a good listener, so while he thrusts into you, he kisses you, over and over and over again, pausing every now and then to kiss your neck so that he can hear you moan into his ear.

“Good girl,” he says after a particularly loud one. “Talk to me. I wanna hear it.”

“How does it feel for you?” you ask him breathlessly.

“Like heaven, baby,” he grunts. “You’re so good. So, so good.”

You come another two times with him inside you, the last bringing on his orgasm. He collapses on top of you with a moan right in your ear that nearly undoes you yet again – so you can know how good you really are – and the weight of him is once again what brings you back down to earth. Your brain is hopelessly mushy, and your legs are shaking, and you have never been so satisfied.

After a minute, Mingyu pulls out and rolls off of you, chuckling. “Wow,” he says simply.

“Wow,” you agree, blinking rapidly to try and clear your head. 

He props himself up on his side and looks at you, his eyes devouring your body like a man starved. With a shaking hand, he traces the outline of your figure, from the curve of your shoulders to your waist to the widest point of your hips. “Can’t believe how lucky I am,” he says, moony-eyed and smitten. “God, you’re amazing.”

“Was it really that good for you?” you ask him, a little shy.

“Easily the best I’ve ever had,” he says. He sits up, pulling his condom off, and heads into the bathroom, returning in minutes with a towel and some wipes. And then he cleans you, kissing your thighs as he gently wipes you off, and your heart skips a beat as you watch him. Once again, nobody has ever done this sort of thing for you, leaving you feeling odd after every sexual encounter – almost used. 

“Me too,” you say softly, knowing how you must be looking at him. “Do you want to shower?” you ask him when he catches you staring yet again. 

“Yeah,” he says with a smile.

The rest of the evening is spent in comfortable, peaceful companionship. You tease Mingyu over his 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, and he responds by making out with you in the shower, which leads to both of you almost falling on the slick wet tiles. “Can’t help it,” he says with a laugh when you scold him, gripping the top edge of the shower and holding you around the waist to keep you upright. “I’m addicted to you.”

After the shower Mingyu hands you one of his softest big white t-shirts to wear, snapping several photos of you on his phone when you come out wearing it. “I miss you sometimes,” he explains, and you chuckle. “And I wanna remember tonight. I’m not exaggerating – it’s been the best one of my life.”

Finally, the two of you decide to actually finish Legally Blonde. You fall asleep before it’s over, but he stays up watching the way your eyelashes flutter in sleep, feeling that the sight of you curled up against his chest is the only sight he needs for the rest of his life.

And that’s how you end up spending the entire first night over at Mingyu’s sleeping on the couch in his arms.

***

“It’s Saturday,” you mumble into Mingyu’s neck.

“Mmm,” he agrees sleepily.

“So we can sleep in,” you sigh.

His arms constrict around your waist. “Sara,” he murmurs.

The word makes you open your eyes. The first thing you register is how warm it is – Mingyu’s big body is radiating heat like a furnace, intensified by how snugly he’s holding you against him. So you gently ease off his side and sit up, brushing a kiss over his cheekbone before heading to the bathroom. 

You’re a wreck, your hair a knotty mess, in nothing but Mingyu’s tee. But your eyes — there’s something vibrant in them you haven’t seen in a while. There’s still a sizable amount of grief, a weight you doubt will ever fully be lifted, but you look happier.

You pull out one of the sweaters and a pair of jeans that Bora had packed for you and change, rolling your eyes at the lingerie still sitting in your bag. You’re just finishing up braiding your hair when Mingyu sits up. “Hey, sexy,” he calls across the room into the bathroom, his morning voice low and raspy.

“Hey,” you reply, smiling with the ease only he brings out of you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really well,” he says, standing up and stretching. Then he comes into the bathroom with you, wrapping his thick arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to the base of the back of your neck. “I love you.”

You lean into his touch and let the joy sweep over you. “Good,” you say firmly. “I love you too, Mingyu.”

“I like the braids,” he says, looking at you both in the mirror, slouching to rest his head on your shoulder. “They’re really cute.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe I can learn to do them on Sara,” Mingyu says, letting go of you and stepping into his own room and grabbing new clothes. 

You shamelessly watch him as he strips out of his pajamas. “Maybe,” you murmur as he turns, shirtless, and catches you staring.

He grins. “You’re watching me change? Creep,” he teases.

So you make your slow way up to him, stopping just in front of him and sliding a hand from his abs up his chest. “Can’t help it,” you say lightly, watching in satisfaction as his cinnamon skin becomes a mess of goosebumps under your fingers. “You’re irresistible.”

He gives a grumpy sigh. “You better stop, or Sara’s gonna have to wait a couple more days before she sees either of us,” he says, and you are endeared to see that he’s blushing. Mingyu knew the effect you had on him, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to rebuff you when you’re standing there with the morning light streaming in, lighting up your eyes, dragging your warm fingertips across his chest slowly and deliberately like you just want to savor him. 

His words make you frown, but he gives a light chuckle and kisses your forehead. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you. “We’ll have plenty of time for just us. I’ll make sure of it.” He pulls on his shirt and his sweatpants, then grabs your hand. “Now let’s go see our little girl.”

Your face hurts from smiling so wide, and at this statement, your heart explodes.

***

Aside from all the I-told-you-so’s, the transition from a working relationship to a dating relationship with Mingyu was simple, easy, and absolutely painless. 

He still came over every day. But now Sara watched as you kissed him goodbye in the morning on your way to work. She didn’t seem confused at all by the change, nor did she notice that more and more often Mingyu stayed the night at your house. In her mind, Uncle Googoo was always welcome. It was as natural as breathing.

Maybe it was because you were still doing all of the same things you always did – you’d just added a few. Mingyu had always fit so seamlessly into your life. The two of you were happy, Sara was content, your friends were thrilled – Bora and Wonwoo especially, although Chan also took partial credit – and everything seemed perfect.

And then something shifted, just a tad. It was about a month after you became official. Mingyu spent a bit of time every night searching things up on his laptop. Occasionally, he spent a few minutes outside on the phone, never giving a direct answer when you asked who he’d been talking to.

He never acted off – he was still as affectionate (and insatiable for your body) as ever, so you weren’t nervous he was seeing someone else. Your first concern was that he was shopping for wedding rings. As smitten as you were with him, you worried that was a bit soon for two people who’d only been dating a month (although, admittedly, you’d already filled up a Pinterest board with ideas for the eventual wedding you hoped for). But then, after about two weeks, one of the phone calls comes while Mingyu is making dinner and you’re upstairs in Sara’s room trying to locate her hairbrush, and he can’t suppress a whoop of excitement.

“I need you,” he calls, and you respond by jogging down the stairs with concerned eyes.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“Nothing, I just have some news.” He carefully removes the pan from the stove and comes over to you, pulling you into his arms.

“What is it?” you ask, your hand coming up to touch his cheek.

“They caught him,” he says simply.

“Who, baby?” you ask, confused.

“The guy who hit your sister’s car,” he explains.

Your jaw drops. “What?”

“I’ve been working on it,” he admits. “I have some friends on the force, and a couple of informants leftover from my days as an agent. Someone knew someone who knew the car, and they knew the person who used to drive the car, and it turns out that the parking lot where it was abandoned had security cameras. He’s right there on camera, literally fifteen minutes after the accident. They arrested him two hours ago.”

You are speechless. Mingyu lifts you into his arms, and you bury your face in his neck. “Oh, thank you,” you say through tears when you can finally speak. “So that’s what you’ve been up to.”

“What did you think I was doing?” he asks.

“I literally thought you were looking at wedding rings.”

He laughs. “No,” he says. “Not yet.”

You hear the promise in his voice and know that the future is going to be better than you ever imagined – just like the present is.

[icarustypicalfall]

Cod men in a mall??

I am bored, so i am shoving all of them in a mall. This is supposed to be funny, idk man.

Silly drabbles for TF141, Vaqueros, phil and könig.

warnings: none! fluff :) proofread but might contain some faults

credit to owner for the divider I don't know to who it belongs!!

masterpost • AO3

Ghost

He didn't want to go.

After giving him the cutest puppy eyes he said yes.

"I don't want to spend three hours in makeup stores"

He gave you the Ultimest glare as you passed by the shop in question.

Ended looking around for perfumes and breaking one by accident.

The employee was too scared to confront him.

You tried to convince him into buying an green hoodie with cat ears.

*typical ghost glare*

Was happy when they said they didn't have his size.

Now imagine him wearing the same sweater, looking like a crop top on him while you took pics.

Never went to the mall with you again

"no chance not going"

(he said yes lol)

John Price

Spent good five minutes fighting with an employee over the way a cuppa should be made.

You tried on multiple bucket hats and took pics. He was grinning the whole time. :(

"John, do you think I can buy this mall?"

"Absolutely not Love."

He'd buy it for you if you asked, though.

You thrifted together some vintage sweaters and wore them over hot drinks, the same night.

He is the sanest of them all. (optional)

Gaz :)

He needed to restock, so you went to the mall.

You wanted to sit in the cart, and so did he.

Both of you sat in the cart, ended bumping in the vegetable section and kicked out.

You can't go there together anymore.

For the rest of the afternoon, you ate ice cream and threw a coin in the Fontaine

"Nah but seriously, love, I'd go into that bloody pool and collect all the money. A legit fortune for us, yeah?"

Soap Johnny Mactavish

He wanted to get a weighted blanket, considering the cold weather in the base.

He jokingly wrapped you in it.

You couldn't move and looked like a worm.

"Ya look funny, lassie. Liile worm, go.."

Soap wrapped himself in a weighted blanket as well and you made a race on who'll reach the paying section first. The owners wasn't very happy.

**

You took pictures in a photobooth, you frowned in annoyance at the first set, with Soap giving you bunny ears behind your back.

Although, it was cute.

That.. until a raccon randomly barged in. The astonishment was priceless and the pictures remain in your wallets.

Soap begged to keep the raccoon.

(It bit him.)

Alejandro Vargas

He wanted to buy you something special.

He didn't mind the price, while your eyes lagged at the series of zeros in the tag.

He shoved everything your eyes laid on in the basquet, calling it a day.

You had to hold him or else he'd buy the whole section.

He ended surprising you with a bracelet, one you always gazed at whenever you came.

He shushed you before you even open your mouth, smiling.

"nonono cariño, no thanks, i am all yours."

:')

Rudy Parra

:(

Sweet boy just wanted to buy a book.

He heard about a certain section in the library and wanted to check it out with you.

(you see where this is going)

You both chose a book, thinking the cute cover was a projection of what lays on the papers.

Wrong.

Two words in, you gazed at each other, put the book on the shelf and went to get a film.

You never entered that section again.

Aside from this, you had so much fun chosing each other fits and trying them on.

Phillip Graves

He is a proud American, of course.

Having his alarm as the national Anthem and riding to the sun with the eagle on his shoulder.

Anyway..

Phil practically begged you to get a certain pyjama, red white and blue to match his own.

He took your no to heart and gave you a cold shoulder (for five minutes only, he trailed afterwards on your feet like a lost puppy.)

He kept a hand around your waist, glaring at men who's gaze lingered on you.

"Eh darlin, there is no point in buying new sweaters, mine are yours. It suits you perfectly, beautiful!"

könig

He wanted new pants, and your opinion, so you went together.

And meanwhile you might think this is an easy task, allow me to say "NUH UH"

Have you seen this man?

He tried a pair of cargo pants, claiming it is his size.

Two steps in, the material ripped apart.

He took it off and, ever so calmly, he returned it in the back of the pile, as if nothing happened.

You left the store, and he uttered, pulling you to his side for warmth

"It's alright, not the first time, Maus.. They should make pants more stretchy, ja?"

[mooooonnnzz]

if you go, i’ll stay // neteyam x gn!reader

💙 neteyam has to say goodbye to the person he loves

1k words

i literally pooped this one out rn

readers gender is not specified

would u classify this as angst??

could be read as platonic or romantic

neteyam smooches u but not on the lips so it can be taken as platonic??

yeah its angst its not too sad tho i think

also thanks for the support on my last post!! you all are too sweet ❤️ got me giggling and kicking my feet

You held your legs to your chest, letting your head rest on your knees. You had your back upon a large tree, the bark scratching your soft skin. Usually, you would hiss from the pain but you were too tired to care, the pain in your back couldn’t compare to how much your heart was hurting. The bright sun that would normally gleam down on your skin and warm your soul was nowhere in sight. Instead, a murky gray cloud took the sun's place. Your body shivered and you held yourself closer to bring back the warmth you would usually feel. “Oh, Eywa..” You whispered under your breath, fingers digging into the skin of your calves. “Why have you burdened me with such strong emotions?” You close your eyes, in hopes of drifting off to sleep. Hoping that when you wake up, you’re back home, swaying back and forth in your snonivi. Neteyam laying down right next to you, sleeping peacefully and everything that you heard not too long ago was a lie. That Neteyam and his family weren’t leaving for good. But when you opened your eyes you were still in the same spot with the same feeling that weighed heavily on your heart. This time though, Neteyam was standing right beside you. His expression is unreadable but you know well enough he’s feeling the same way you are. Upset and everything above else, sad. He lowered himself down and sat next to you. Your ears cast downwards as your tail wrapped around you protectively, the end of your tail brushing your ankle. You never liked people seeing you so vulnerable and so little, even Neteyam who’s been at your side ever since you were little.

“I’m sorry.” That was the first thing he said. You didn’t respond. He had nothing to apologize for, it wasn’t his fault that they were moving to a whole other place, a place far far away from here. When you were younger, you couldn't imagine a life without Neteyam stuck to your hip, it was mentally impossible to think of something like that. You hoped and prayed to Eywa that you and Neteyam would never be driven apart, that you and him will stick together through thick and thin. Maybe you didn’t truly put your heart into it because here you are, looking at him for what could be the last time ever. Your worst fear came true. You were in so much despair, you have never felt so worthless and fearful before. “You don’t have to apologize, Neteyam.” You spoke up, voice so small and feeble. “It isn’t your fault.” You watched how Neteyam threw his head back against the tree, a loud devastating sigh escaping his mouth. He then looked over to you and frowned, ears drooping down a bit. “When you look at me like that, it feels like I have done something to hurt you.” He says, fingertips gently brushing against the petals of a flower. “You have done nothing.” Your eyes glisten with tears and you rapidly blink your eyes. The last thing you would want to do is cry in front of Neteyam.

“Do you remember how we met?” Neteyam suddenly asks, tail swaying playfully at the mention of fond memory. “Yeah, I was climbing one of the trees when I slipped and fell on you.” You remember the way you gasped when you realized you fell on top of someone and not on something. You were screeching out apologies while you helped Neteyam up. “You broke my hand.” He laughed, looking at his left hand, the hand you broke by accident. “I wasn’t able to use my bow for a while.” He said. “I remember being more upset over that than you.” You felt so bad for breaking Neteyam’s hand that every day you would visit him, checking up on how he was doing and how well his hand was healing up. Neteyam always told you that you didn’t have to come every day but the frequent checkups became more of an excuse to see him. He caught onto it when his hand was fully healed and you still came over to see him. Ever since then, you and him were inseparable.

“I’m going to miss you.” You uncurled your legs from your chest and scooted closer to Neteyam, letting your head rest on his broad shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you by my side.” You admit. Neteyam has become such a significant person in your life that a day without him ruins your mood instantly. How will you manage without seeing him at all after this? “You’ll await my return.” He grabs your hand and holds it, his body turning so he could fully face you. “Wait for me.” He whispered, hands moving to cup your face. His thumb caressing the apples of your cheeks, eyes looking at you so softly you swear you could melt right then and there. “If you promise to come back to me, I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”

Neteyam smiled and pulled you in for a hug. You didn’t know how much you needed a hug until now. His arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you in closer to his chest. You let yourself relish the moment, your head burying into his neck as you allowed yourself to silently cry. You were going to miss him so much, miss his hugs, his smile, his laugh. Everything. There wouldn't be a day that goes by where you won’t be missing him. He separated from the hug and sorrowfully smiled at you, tears of his own escaping his beautiful eyes. He held your face in his hands and you leaned into the touch. “I see you.” He kissed the tears that were on your cheeks. “I see you.” 

“Neteyam!” His ears perked up, a defeated sigh left him. His mother was calling out for him. He pressed his lips against your forehead and cheek. “Wait for me, please.” With one last hug, you and him said your final goodbyes and separated.

You did what he told you to do and waited for his return. But he never did return and you were left waiting for someone who was never going to come back.

i usually dont have a lot of inspo but omg my brain is swimming with ideas and im jus shitting them out honestly gotta write them out b4 they leave yk?? anyways hope u liked this one or not. hope i didnt write neteyam too ooc here 🙏 if you also want to be tagged in any new fic i make, u can comment that u wanna be tagged and i’ll tag u in the next post <33

[sunny44]

Accident

Pairing: Mason Mount x mom!reader

Warnings: car accident

Summary: Where y/n has a car accident with their daughter on the way to Mason's game and at halftime he gets the news that they are in the hospital.

I was already very late for the game, I got tied up with work stuff and missed the alarm I set up, so now I was running out of time to get to the game in time.

Only in the middle of the way some idiot came with everything and threw my car far away.

"Oh my God." I unbuckled my seat belt and turned to the back seat watching my daughter cry loudly. "It's okay, baby."

Soon I could hear noises of ambulance and police cars, they came to me and I got out of the car carefully holding my daughter.

"You need to be checked." The paramedic said.

"I'm not letting her go."

"Give her to me so she can also be checked.”

"I already said I am not releasing her, it is my right to accept treatment or not if I am conscious and as I am and I said no. I'll accept being taken to the hospital and in the ambulance you guys can check her but I'm not letting you take her out of me."

"All right, let's go."

I got into the ambulance trying to calm her down, I was nervous and scared, I needed to talk to Mason but my stuff stayed in the car so I couldn't call him. They check us and none of us have a concussion in the way to the hospital.

As soon as we arrived I had to hand Maia over to the nurses so they could run tests on her and me.

After about half an hour I was back in the room and soon they brought her back to me, I started breastfeeding her because she was hungry.

"The police will be coming here in a few minutes to take your statement miss, is there anyone we can call to stay with you?"

"Yes there is my husband Mason but he is busy right now so he’s not going to see the call."

"Anyone else?"

"Actually there is his coach number, you can call him and tell him I had an accident please." She agrees and writes down the number I gave her and leaves the room to make the call.

Meanwhile on the other side of town, Mason was playing with pride knowing that his team was winning and that his wife and daughter were somewhere in the stands watching him play.

Little did he know that they were both in a hospital room waiting for him to come to them.

The first half ended and Mason went to get a drink of water, but the worried look on the coach's face made him worry that something bad happens.

"Is everything okay?" He asks.

"I got a call from the hospital, your wife and daughter were involved in a car accident."

"Are they okay?" He asks worriedly.

"They are fine, they took them there for some tests but you should go there."

"Yeah, sure."

I grabbed my things and ran to the car, it was a little difficult since there were some fans there but I managed to dodge them and go to the hospital that the coach had told me about.

The way there was torturous, even though he said they were fine I hadn't seen them with my own eyes yet.

I ran inside the hospital and stopped in front of the reception desk and after she told me the room I ran to where my girls were.

"Thank God." I say entering the room and going to them. "How are you my love?"

"We are fine Mase, it was just a really big scary accident."

"What happened?"

"I was late with work stuff and after I let the babysitter go we were on our way to the game when some crazy person came up fast and hit us." She says tearfully. "But I swear I was paying attention to the road and I wasn't going fast and..."

"Relax, I believe you babe."

"It's just that I don't want you to think that i was going fast with Maia in the car and that I've put her at risk and..."

"Calm down, honey, you're too nervous." She stops and takes a deep breath. "I know you're careful when you're with her and it wasn't your fault, it was the person who hit you."

"It's just that I can't stop thinking that something bad could have happened to her."

"I know, I spent the whole way here thinking the worst had happened to you but it's okay now."

"Can you lie here with me?"

"Of course I can baby." She goes to the side and hands me Maia who smiled when she saw me. "Let's watch the rest of the game."

I turned the TV on the channel and we stood there watching the end of the second half together.

Bonus scene!

Masonmount instagram post

Liked by @yourusername, @benchilwell, @yourmom, @jazbenham and others 818739

Tagged: @yourusername

@masonsount as you may know two days ago on they’re way to the game, my wife and my daughter were involved in a car accident.

I just wanted to let you guys know that they are fine, luckily the accident wasn’t serious just very scary.

Thank you for all the messages of support, my wife and I appreciate and we’re going to take a break from the social media to take care of our little family.

Comments have been disabled

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list of Mason and another footballers I’ll write for

[astranite]

Limp

John and Virgil!!! The whole range of hurt/comfort, angsting and fluff though leaning rather towards comforty. Scott also sneaks in for a good bit at the end. And there are hugs. Also there is autistic John and Virgil which it isnt about but its very there :)

This started off from the first line from a tumblr prompt from @aliceinwhumperland and the idea from @katblu42 to have John being the one limping then it grew from there!!! Minor warning for injury and medical stuff. Also that this reached 6k words!!

---

"You think you're hiding it, but I can see that limp from space."

Virgil leaned closer to his comm, giving John a prime view of dark, angular done-with-this-shit eyebrows.

John definitely didn’t panic. He just didn’t want the totally needless scrutiny of a medic brother all up in his business. Or asking questions like, ‘What did you do to yourself this time?’

“What limp?” he replied. He could play it off as obtuse and then no one had to ever to find out. 

Virgil gave a Scott-worthy facepalm. “Do I have to worry about a concussion too?”

Okay maybe that was too obtuse. But he was running on few hours of sleep, back to back rescues and no bloody breakfast so who could blame him. 

“I’m fine, Virgil.” John rolled his eyes. 

Virgil didn’t dignify that with a response. 

Well then, John could prove it. Ignoring the ache in his left foot and that the last time he tried this was probably what had gotten Virgil’s suspicions on him in the first place, he twisted through the central hub of Five to the entry to the gravity ring. 

Lowering himself carefully in what was usually a thoughtlessly graceful manoeuvre, he landed on his feet in the grav ring, a triumphant, “See, I’m perfectly fine,” already on his lips. Except as soon as his left foot touched the ground with his weight on it, a sharp stab shot through it.

He couldn’t hold back the painfully obvious wince. Or the sudden gasp. 

Virgil’s disappointment was another blow. “And here I thought I had one sensible brother. How did it happen?”

Mechanism of injury, a completely ordinary question for a medic to ask. One he’d compliantly answered for many accidents, even ridiculous earthside ones such as, ‘Fell over again and it’s all gravity’s fault.’ But up here he was meant to be in his element. 

John crossed his arms stubbornly, wobbling on one foot. 

“Couldn’t say.”

“Johnny.” Virgil was exasperated by now. 

“Definitely not telling you anything if you call me that.”

“Johnathan Glenn Tracy.”

“Nope. That’s not even my name.”

“John.”

“Congratulations, you figured it out,” John spat. 

Virgil looked taken aback. 

A lump rose in John’s throat. 

“I’m sorry. It’s been a shit day.” 

He could feel his face growing as red as his hair with shame. It would definitely be visible over holograms. To make it worse, Virgil was probably as exhausted as he was. The last rescue had been nasty, earthquakes so often were, and Thunderbird Two had been on several more before that. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with John’s sarcastic, bitchy attitude as well. 

John admitted defeat and hopped over to the wall to hold onto a grab bar to keep his balance and take the weight off his foot. And resisted the urge to bang his head against it because that sort of thing had gotten him into this mess in the first place. 

His foot was throbbing, Virgil’s expression was soft because he’d already forgiven him and John was just over it all. 

“Please promise you won’t laugh.” He couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else, no matter how unlikely it was that Virgil would. 

“Alright, I promise. I’m not going to judge you, John.”

“I kicked a wall,” John mumbled, “On purpose, because I got mad that the bagel dispenser wasn’t working and a call came in so there was no time to fix it and I couldn’t sleep last night and I’m stressed about literally everything and just wanted a fucking bagel but clearly that was too much to ask of the universe!”

John shut his mouth with a clack. The words had come out in a torrent rising in volume that he couldn’t hold back. Over such a stupid thing too. 

When John could finally  bring himself to glance up from the stars beneath the floor outside, Virgil’s gaze held nothing but empathy. 

“You’re right, it has been a pretty shit day.”

John nodded quietly. 

Virgil continued, “Just— John, you know you don’t have to hide stuff like that from us, from me, right?  We’ve all done stupid things in anger before and probably will do so again. That big, blue splodge of paint on my studio wall? Yeah, I chucked a paintbrush at it because a painting wasn’t working out and I was frustrated and it was three am after a string of bad rescues and I lost it a bit.”

Huh. John hadn’t known that. Virgil was usually least likely to blow up as far as it went. 

“Point is, you’re not alone in this. Tracy temper, remember? We’ve all got it and we are all working out how to work with it. But it isn’t an excuse to conceal an injury that might need treatment even if it seems like it, ‘Should be fine,’ or ‘Isn’t that bad,’ or you think it’s caused by something stupid and you’re worried about us judging you. Because we won’t.”

John took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. 

He wasn’t even getting lectured at for being an idiot, or having it brushed off as nothing because, ‘Red heads and their tempers, y’know,’ or plain old being yelled at because, ‘John, you’re meant to be better than this.’

Virgil cared about him. That was simple fact. 

So John cooperatively answered Virgil’s questions about pain, the range of motion he had and when exactly had the injury occurred this morning. That he couldn’t bear weight on it was pretty telling something was wrong. And it really did hurt. 

“You’re going to need to come down here so I can get x-rays of that foot,” Virgil said apologetically. 

John bit back the wave of disappointment, along with the accompanying urge to snap and snarl. 

“I know.”

He really didn’t want to go back to earth and deal with everyone’s concern and fussing when he just wanted to ignore them and go to bed. Up here on Five no one was close enough to be affected by his moods unless they put in a comm call which he could, as above, ignore. 

But John dutifully transferred control over to Eos and the island, packed his bag because he’d probably be there for a while but he wasn’t going to think about that and loaded himself into the space elevator. He knew how dangerous untreated injuries were in space better than anyone. 

The descent was slower than usual, as was protocol for an injury where speed was not of the essence and a less turbulent descent outweighed the need for timeliness. It gave John plenty of opportunity to stare at the rounded edge of the space elevator’s inner ceiling. Frustration over near guaranteed being grounded bubbled up until he had to screw his eyes shut and force himself to focus on the way the g-forces felt against his body so he didn’t utterly lose it. 

Landing on earth came with a jolt that managed to catch John by surprise. He flinched, then checked the systems read outs and undid his restraints. Remaining lying on the launch couch was one third to demonstrate he could be sensible and wait instead of trying to walk off a potentially serious injury, another third because he didn’t want to tangle with gravity on his own, and also so that he could childishly pretend he was still up on Five and far away for a little longer. 

Virgil knocked on the space elevator doors and a second later they slid open. John gave him a weak smile. 

The journey through the hangars to the infirmary was made with Virgil’s supportive arm around his waist and John’s arm draped across his brother’s broad shoulders as John stubbornly limped along. He did take a moment as his feet first touched the concrete floor and gravity really took hold to lean into Virgil’s half hug and just breathe. 

The infirmary was the same as it always was, with its sterile smell overloaded with the sharpness of antiseptic that made it different from the atmosphere on Five, and thankfully quiet. 

John manoeuvred himself up onto the closest bed, sinking into the stiff foam mattress as much as was physically possible. Stars, he was tired. 

Virgil was exceedingly gentle as he eased John’s foot out of his space boot. He stripped the sock off too, propping the foot up to rest in his lap to examine it. John grimaced as Virgil necessarily poked and prodded at where it was sorest.  Though the bruises and swelling were not particularly hard to spot from where contact had been made with the solid bulkhead. 

John anxiously chewed his lips waiting for Virgil to get the portable x-ray, zap him and be done with it. 

Moving his sore foot around at all the required angles for the shots was… a process. 

He did his best to be patient as Virgil took the x-rays off to Grandma for a second opinion on how they would most effectively treat him, but ended up curled in a ball on the slightly plasticky hospital sheets, stubbornly facing the wall with his foot carefully positioned in a way that it least hurt.

He wasn’t asleep, it was not late enough for that and he was far too wired but he was knocked out of his reverie nonetheless by Grandma stroking his hair. 

“Definitely broken, kiddo. No getting around that.”

Even John could see it when they showed him the x-rays. He could only be grateful the fracture was neatly aligned and wouldn’t need surgery, he’d seen plenty of worse breaks in the field. It still meant weeks of being grounded, away from Five and unable to go home to his stars. 

Virgil applied the cast under Grandma’s supervision. John shuddered at the sensations even as he tried to keep still. He was proud of how far Virgil had come in his medical education and he made sure his brother knew that. 

The usual checks after coming down from space wore on his nerves. He took the painkillers for his stupid broken foot, the anti-nausea meds as his stomach wasn’t settling from the change from microgravity and the tall lidded cup of the least disgusting flavour of electrolyte drink as directed. 

He fidgeted with his baldric, tracing over the lines of his suit; everything was a lot today. For all of them; John didn’t miss the dark circles beneath Virgil’s eyes or the way he slumped as he sat on the bed next to John once Grandma had left and the cast was setting. 

Virgil had briefly crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself, hands rubbing the flannel of his sleeves. Then he uncrossed them, hunching his shoulders to appear smaller, less intimidating, fingertips still going over the soft, worn fuzzy material of the cuffs of his flannel.

John placed his hand, palm up on Virgil’s leg. Virgil took it and John squeezed his fingers once as they sat in silence for a while. 

Changing out of his space suit for the loose pyjama shorts and t-shirt Virgil brought was difficult and awkward with his foot. And how clumsy he was here in general. 

Trying to walk on crutches was, to put it in far politer words than John vehemently used, a disaster. 

One second he was standing with the crutches around his arms, adjusted to the correct height, his casted foot off the ground, everything done properly, about to take a step. The next he was a tangled pile of limbs on the ground. 

John’s cheeks were burning red yet again. Stupid, fucking gravity and his miraculous ability to trip over nothing. 

He shoved the useless hunks of metal away from him as the room blurred, swiping at the angry tears as they formed. 

Virgil crouched in from of him, checking him over for injury. Well, further injury. 

There wasn’t any, apart from his rather dented pride. John didn’t count the damp tears trickling down his face as he studiously attempted to ignore them. 

Virgil made a soft noise as John let himself be pulled into a hug. Warm flannel absorbed his tears as John hugged Virgil tighter. Somehow it felt like he hadn’t seen him for months even though it couldn’t’ve been that long, could it? Unless they counted for quality time rather than John being periodically dragged down to earth… He missed his quietest and closest brother in age even if they’d been talking mission only this morning. 

Maybe John tried to hide from the world for a little while, and Virgil let him. They both needed this; Virgil’s face was also buried in John’s hair. 

After a while, sitting sprawled on the hard infirmary floor caught up to them with all the aches of too long days of heavy work. And broken bones. John shifted with a grimace.

Now he had to get back up off the ground when the crutches were clearly not a help, when he was pretty near useless down here, unable to resist the inevitable pull of gravity to the centre of the earth and the unforgiving ground. 

…He was probably being far too dramatic about it. Should just get it together like everyone else seemed able to do. 

But it was still a problem that he didn’t want to deal with because fundamentally, he wished he was back on Five. 

He had been going to tell someone about the injury, of course. Just as soon as he’d thought up a watertight excuse slash explanation. As soon as got himself under control and stopped being so sensitive over everything that he’d snap at anyone who got near him. So he would not end up like this, a too-emotional mess on the floor. 

Virgil once again checked his cast and his broken foot were undamaged by his fall. John wondered whether it was as much for Virgil’s sake of making sure idiot big brothers weren’t going to suddenly keel over as for John’s. John rubbed a hand roughly over his face. It was because Virgil cared. And maybe time had proven he had a right to worry.

John protested as Virgil went to pick him up, on the grounds Virgil had already been doing plenty of heavy lifting on rescues today and he had to be exhausted already, and John really didn’t want him to throw his back out or his knees or whatever other worst case scenarios John could come up with. 

He also knew he’d look utterly ridiculous in Virgil’s hold, all gangly, lanky limbs out of proportion with Virgil’s shorter, stockier build. And John was more likely to accidentally elbow someone in the nose, which had demonstrably happened before and the guilt still chewed at him, than even Scott fighting tooth and nail against being slung over someone’s shoulder when he there was no way he could even physically stand, let alone walk any distance. He warned Virgil away sharply.

“John. I know my limits, and you aren’t any worse than Scott.” Virgil sounded done with it all. “And I’d rather carry you than have to pick up the pieces or reset that cast, which I have also had to do before, because one of my brothers is injured and deserves help but they are too damn stubborn to let me.”

The fight in John left him as a hissing exhale, like a hole in a space ship venting atmosphere. 

Virgil scooped him up off the ground, promising to figure the rest out later as John avoided flailing too much. 

His brother’s arms were secure around his knees and under his shoulders, holding him close so there was no danger of him hitting the ground, of the falling that some part of John secretly feared, even with the rocking movement of Virgil’s strides. John’s cheek stayed mushed against Virgil’s flannel-clad chest. 

The walls of the house passed him in a tired blur. He really didn’t want to be left to sit around in his room where no matter how tired he was he wouldn’t sleep yet. Lying there staring at the ceiling all afternoon with nothing better to occupy him than his turbulent thoughts was frankly not a good idea. 

He said as much to Virgil, probably far too bluntly. The usual multi-stage filter he sorted his words through before he ever said them had met its untimely demise in face of his exhaustion several hours ago. 

It wasn’t like he wanted to hang around amidst the noise and movement and peopleing of the lounge with everyone else either. John being difficult again, as usual, the voice in the back of his head snarked.

Virgil had mercy on John and took the back route through the house instead of past the comms room where everyone would see him, even if it was only his family who he should know wouldn’t judge him. Everyone had been in the position of being carried about when they’d fallen asleep somewhere or were injured or were about to be chucked into the pool, so except in the last situation, John shouldn’t’ve been embarrassed or really cared, except that he did. 

They passed by John’s bedroom. John curled a little closer to Virgil in something that could’ve been called relief. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to be completely alone right now; he trusted Virgil.

A booted foot nudged open the door before Virgil placed John down on one of the big, squishy beanbags in the corner of his studio. 

John melted into it. He didn’t think he had bones anymore. Or any outside of the ones he’d just broken which had plenty of painful evidence of their existence. But no bones. He could even forgive gravity just this once when it was letting him sink into the soft surface. 

He looked up at Virgil’s low chuckle. 

“They’re good, aren’t they? Gordon found them online and I chose the colours.” Virgil smiled fondly. 

They hadn’t been here the last time John had hung out in Virgil’s studio with him. A spike of sorrow stabbed at his chest. 

New beanbags were a tiny change. It shouldn’t even matter. Except they demonstrated precisely how he was missing out on the details of his brothers’ lives while he was away. 

The beanbag covers were greens and yellows, soft, earthen shades exactly what John would expect Virgil to pick. Colourful, but not in your face. Soothing and restful but not dull. 

Observations probably not as important to anyone else as John found them. 

Virgil ducked out and came back with John’s tablet, the one he used earth-side with its bulky, lilac shatter-proof case. 

John took it carefully from Virgil’s hands, not because it was breakable even dropped from quite a height, but because of the consideration Virgil gave him, to bring him it to read on when he couldn’t go get something himself. 

In space, alone, it wasn’t like there anyone to do that kind of thing for him. Even with the gifts snuck into monthly supply crates by his family, he’d sort of forgotten how it felt.

He shoved away the ever so familiar feeling of being torn in two. He loved the stars, loved being up on Five, he really did. In spite of this, missing his family while up there was a constant wound he packed with the duty of constantly being called upon, of constantly needing to be the Voice Who Answers, in hopes of staunching his bleeding emotions. It contrasted with how he never wanted to outstay his welcome on Earth. 

Why was it that no matter where he was, he still wanted to go home?

Why did anger seethe and rise only to leave him all hollow and empty?

John gulped, running his hands over his face. He tucked one into his hair, tugging at the strands in an effort to distract himself. Why the fuck was he like this?

Virgil had turned away to get something off his desk, so at least he didn’t have to see John freaking out over nothing.

John forced a smile when Virgil looked back at him in concern. It wasn't like he could do anything about it. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Virgil said.

He was wearing his set of large, over-ear noise-cancelling headphones, covered in green stickers, his chin nodding along to a beat John couldn’t hear. Virgil wasn’t smiling but the creases around his eyebrow scar were shallower. Today had been getting to him too. 

Left alone, John examined the art studio more thoroughly, letting himself become absorbed in the details, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

The whole place was very Virgil, in the best possible way. Storage for art materials was arranged with an engineer’s precision for putting and keeping things in their proper order, cupboards with closed doors painted olive green and neatly labeled in Virgil’s blocky handwriting. Only the pencils Virgil was currently using were left on his desk, in their tray reordered into an exactingly coloured gradient. John couldn’t deny that it also clicked in his brain with that urge to line stuff up. 

An electric keyboard lived along a side wall by a bookshelf containing folders of sheet music and art theory books. John knew from Virgil that the music was arranged by each song’s dominant colour palette according to folder, when he asked as at first he couldn't make sense of the system when of course Virgil would have a system. 

There were speakers in a few places around the room for the frequent times Virgil listened to music while creating. Good quality ones because Virgil said certain staticky types gave him the same sensation as putting gritty sand in his mouth.

It was Virgil’s space for making art and just being, so he’d adapted it to him. Virgil got overwhelmed when there was too much visual stimulation, with constant busy, bright colours and clutter of the world he couldn't put away, so here was an escape from that. 

The walls and ceiling were light, giving an airy feeling. A large landscape window joined inside and outside seamlessly, looked over what John privately thought was the best view on the island, except for the observatory. You could see right out past Mateo, over pokey trees and ocean. Late afternoon sunlight poured in, and there were shades if it got too much.

Greenery was introduced into the room itself by the massive monstera plant in the corner, its umbrella-like leaves forming pleasing shadows on the floor, contrasting with the near liquid golden light. More smaller plants were scattered about. John brushed his fingers over the monstera, to reach out and touch the tangible connection with life and the earth. 

Occasionally a piece of art was hung up for a while as it was finished before being moved to its intended display area in an other part of the house, like the watercolour sketch of playful dolphins amongst their reef obviously intended for Gordon. But mostly there wasn't anything to distract from the artwork, on canvas or as music, that Virgil was bringing to life. 

John found the studio calming too, even when he usually tended towards wanting all his bright stars, books, open screens and telescopes in his space at once. There was something about the soothing surroundings, how the faint smell of paints and real paper lingered, mixing with engine bio-oil and coffee, that meant safety and home. His brother’s mark on it was undeniable. 

John couldn’t help but search for the splatter of paint Virgil had mentioned earlier. It was blue and on a wall in this room, so it shouldn’t be hard to miss but in spite of all of his skills at searching, it was nowhere to be found. Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that Virgil must have painted over it, destroying the tangible proof that he’d acted out in anger.

The beanbags squished beneath him when he flopped back, long legs stretched out and foot smarting when he moved it, picking up his tablet for something to do. His substantial library of books wasn’t holding anything that could keep his attention right now as he flicked between them, opening and shutting pages. He tipped his head back, looking upwards, letting his tablet fall face down onto his chest.

And there it was. On the wall above him, the blue splodge of paint exactly from Virgil’s story. 

Except it wasn't just a splodge because a rainbow of lines had been added around it, faithfully following the original shape and expanding upon it, forming a bird with wings outstretched, flying freely across the wall. Something utterly beautiful from from what had begun as only painful.

John’s breath caught. He didn't know how Virgil did that. He wrung out hope from anger, forming all the emotion into art where John just flailed because he didn’t want to touch his feelings with a thousand kilometre stick.

But here, in Virgil’s studio surrounded by the calm quiet where he could finally breathe, he could try.

So he picked up his tablet. Opened up the word programme. And began to write.

He had no idea where he was going. No plot, no plan, no outline. When he usually did this, for reports, for academic works, he always had his ideas and arguments all laid out in his head and he simply had to put them on the page in front of him.

His fingers found the keyboard and he let them, doing his best not to second-guess and delete every word he put down. To think too much and bail out as it got too big and too scary even when this was just typing on his tablet sitting in a beanbag in the corner of the room, not doing anything at all that could be thought of as dangerous or would mess up his broken foot. 

It wasn't really much. In subject or in word count or in technical finesse. He hadn’t been doing this writing thing for very long, not since university and stories scrawled in his near illegible handwriting hidden in paper notebooks beneath his bed. Not for himself. 

He saved the document and slammed the window closed before he could look at it and convince himself it was all completely stupid and he never should’ve even tried in the first place.

But it was cathartic and it gave him somewhere to put the irrational seething anger, outlined by the sorrow that seeped through in the lines between, to bleed out on paper, in words that were his first language and first love. In the beginnings of stories that didn’t have to be perfect or real and contained far too much of himself to even think about showing anybody yet, but that maybe one day he would. 

When Virgil knocked on the door and opened it, John jumped like he’d been caught out. Then he glanced up and saw the blue paint splodge turned flying bird from the corner of his eye, and he could smile at Virgil with all the love in the world and more understanding of how his brother worked. Of why after hard rescues and bad days his first instinct was to turn to piano or canvas.

Seeing what Virgil was carrying on the tray in his hands had John wishing he hadn’t ever broken his foot so he could throw himself at Virgil to hug him this very second. Though if he hadn’t been injured, he never would’ve come down from Five today.

A blueberry bagel, toasted, with the special strawberry cream cheese that was his favourite but never lasted long in space. Or on Earth, unless his brothers saved it for him on purpose. 

There was a cup of tea too, next to Virgil’s customarily massive mug of coffee.

John just stared up at him, until he found his voice to whisper all his thanks over and over. He took the plate and the cup in slightly trembling hands, then placed them on the floor next to him. 

He raised his arms so that Virgil would crouch down and John could squish him into a hug. 

John clung to red flannel for a few seconds longer than he usually would. Virgil returned it in kind, smiling at him with soft, brown eyes. 

Then he was fussing over John’s foot again, propping it up on pillows and wrapping an icepack around it. John took it in because this was Virgil’s way of showing he cared. As well, it would mean he could get back on his feet sooner by not ignoring the injury. Plus it hurt less.

Before Virgil returned to his desk and pencils, John bumped their foreheads together in show of affection not as frequently done between them with the distance. It was often Scott and Virgil’s thing.  Virgil hummed happily at him even when John wobbled as he leaned forward, making the collision slightly more forceful than he intended. Instead they laughed together over Tracy hard heads. 

Enjoying each other’s company with no pressure to talk or interact was nice and exactly what they both needed. They could do their own things in parallel, Virgil with his art, a sketch forming beneath steady hands, and John with… whatever he was doing at this point.

Gathering up his courage, he cautiously reopened his word document from earlier and read over what he’d written. It was… okay actually. The typos and errors he grimaced at were numerous, but those were fixable problems.

It was a story, he’d written something. John found himself smiling down at his tablet with the urge to add more so he did.

The time passed in the light from the windows transforming from light gold to a fiery orange, stretching across their room and their island alike. As dusk grew closer, the bird calls and insect songs changed, and there were so many wonderful things about space that John could never give up loving but it didn't have this.

So maybe that was what was wrong with him. Instead of a flaw in his very humanity, it was more not enough food and too much stress, not sleeping right or talking to anyone. Those simple things he sort of… forgot about, ignored. John needed to be around family too, with the sunlight streaming in, plants in touching distance and the quiet company of Virgil and some care to feel better. 

Maybe while he was down here, he’d even go stargazing outside tomorrow, lying on a picnic blanket on the grass like he used to. Monitor work could be taken care of at dad’s desk, there’d be time to help Allie with his school work then play video games together and once his cast was off, swim in Gordon’s ocean. To hang out with Scott too and help pull his beloved biggest brother out of his own overwork spiral. He hadn’t had a chance to catch up with Grandma or Kayo or Brains in a while either. 

Only then would he return to Five, to his stars and space, his research and monitor duty proper. His little room up there, the gravity ring and central floating hub, with Eos as his companion, they were home too. Not in replacement of the island and his family but in addition. And he knew he could come down to Earth when he needed to even if, especially when it was just because he wanted a hug.

Right now, the soft patter of his fingertips on the glass screen blended with the scratchings of Virgil’s coloured pencils on artist’s paper. 

He munched on his bagel and sipped his tea contentedly. Virgil had been cupping his warm mug of coffee in his hands, happily sighing as John fought the urge to giggle.

It was with a cheerier and more relaxed Virgil that they ended up squished together on the beanbag pile once the sun was fully set. John snuggled into his brother’s side, it really had been too long but he was here now. 

Virgil’s fingers tapped contentedly against the knee of his jeans like he was playing a melody on the piano, other arm tucked around John, meaning John could feel the vibrations as Virgil hummed along. John went from messing with the case of his tablet to happily flickering his hands at his sides.

Also, how were the beanbags this comfortable? These ones didn’t even rustle and squeak like he remembered the ones they’d had as kids did. 

Those had met a horrific end with their guts all over the house when Gordon had wanted to know what was inside them and out of scientific curiosity John had helped find the answers, utilising his ability to read and follow the instructions on the tag of how to open the pull-less zipper with an ancient paperclip. 

He retold the story to Virgil whose eyes widened in surprise.

“So it was you!” he laughed. “I’d wondered how Gords did it, but I hadn't put anything past the fish.”

John lost his battle with holding in his own giggles and decided to let Virgil in on the secrets of a few other John-and-Gordon specials.

There was a knock before Scott ducked his head around the corner of the doorway, just as John glanced up.

Scott leant against the frame, intense blue eyes looking him over. John couldn’t tell whether they were sharper in person than over hologram or softer. They stuck on John’s cast, flicking to Virgil before scanning carefully over his body, same as if any of the others were injured in the field. 

“Scott,” John stated. An acknowledgment that his big brother was here. The tight, tangled  barbed wire ball that had been living in his stomach for days loosened further. 

“You okay?”

How was he supposed to answer that? In this moment, laughing aloud with Virgil, yeah he was. But all the rest of the day, the week beforehand? John gave a noncommittal shrug that didn’t give much either way. 

Of course that became cause for Scott to come closer. He knelt in front of John, ever so mindful of his broken foot. 

Telegraphing his movements, Scott reached out and brushed John’s hair out of his face before silently kissing his forehead, all gentle big brother who was here for him no matter what.

He repeated the motion with Virgil. 

John froze for precious seconds then threw himself at Scott. 

It hurt. He’d forgotten about his foot in its awful cast for a moment, knocking it painfully against the floor with a broken yelp. But Scott caught him anyway. Virgil’s arms went back around him too and he was still humming but in a steadier pitch. 

John was sniffling against Scott’s chest, soaking up his brothers’ warmth and all the love in the room, even as he wasn’t sure whether he was crying again from sorrow or pain or because they both cared about him so, so much and the happy-overwhelmed feeling got stuck as a lump in his throat.

Maybe together they could fix this mess John had somehow made. But right now John let them hold him close, let Scott rock them until the calm of the room could creep back in.

A cuddle pile formed on the beanbags once again, this time with Scott too. John leant back on Scott’s chest, still hiccuping occasionally from the tears. Both sets of their long legs alongside each other were tossed over Virgil’s lap, who’d very fairly called them a lanky, boney weighted blanket, while snuggling in with no suggestion they move. He could feel Scott’s chin resting on top of his head, breaths lightly tickling his hair.

Virgil had had to check again, with the medscanner he kept in his studio first aid kit, that John hadn’t screwed up his foot in its bright orange cast. Yet he hadn’t and even though John could still feel the pain of the impact, Virgil had given him another dose of ibuprofen which would take the edge off soon.

John’s eyes slid half shut with exhaustion. Scott let him fidget with his hands as he gripped them. Virgil was tapping out piano pieces again, a more relaxed melody now against the top John’s bare shin, the sensation grounding and reminding him Virgil was close.He had his brothers. All of them. All of his family. They loved him and they’d help him figure this out and that was more that enough, it was everything.

[chloe-caulfield94]

Chloe's reaction to Rachel's and Frank's photograph

Chloe's angry reaction to finding Rachel's and Frank's photographs, especially her angry tirade how everyone in her life keeps letting her down, is brought up as an example of Chloe being self-absorbed and demanding. "Selfish", as she herself would put it in her darkest moment.

But I think her anger in that moment is not only understandable, it is justified.

When I played the game for the first time, I thought that her anger in that moment was caused by jealousy. She found out that the girl she was in love with not only didn't love her back, but was sleeping with (and possibly in love with) someone else.

But now I think her anger was caused by something else. It was anger at seeing the foundations of her life unraveling again, through no fault of her own.

Before William's accident, Chloe was a daddy's girl, straight-As student from the suburbs. Before her father's death it was easy for Chloe to believe that putting effort into building her life made sense and paid off. She tried to be a good daughter, good friend and good student. And those efforts gave fruit - her close relation with her parents, her strong friendship with Max, her academic achievements.

But then William died and Max's parents moved her to Seattle. Despite Chloe's best efforts, her life collapsed, through no fault of her own. The two pillars of her life - family and friendship - were torn down by forces outside of her control. So she didn't bother fighting to keep the last pillar - her academic achievements - standing. Why would she bother? What's the point of building anything if it can be torn down at any moment? She became resigned. She thought her life ended before it even properly began.

But then she started to build again. Her future with Rachel. A fresh start, far beyond Arcadia Bay. How enticing the prospect of beginning anew must have been to someone who thought their life was already over?

When Chloe first floated the idea of skipping town, she didn't really mean it. She just said it to express her negative attitude towards the town that treated her with disdain. But when Rachel took it seriously, Chloe quickly warmed up to the idea too. And soon, that idea became the only thing allowing her to go on. The only thing that she was willing to put effort into. The only thing she was willing to build.

In two days, she fixed up a broken wreck into a working vehicle. She kept tinkering with it, even though it took considerable amount of effort and money (that she never had in abundance, to say the least). Just look at the repair bills in her room. She did that so she and Rachel had the means to leave town.

To leave town and begin anew, especially in a large, expensive city, Chloe and Rachel needed money. Chloe was willing to do anything and everything to scrounge money for their new life together. When Frank offered her a job collecting Drew's debt, Chloe's first thought was that it would be 100 dollars towards skipping town with Rachel. From conversations Chloe has with Max in Season 1 it seems pretty clear that she did many more such jobs for Frank over the years (she said she hung around with Frank for money, but also emphatically denied he was ever one of her "bad boys"). Chloe was willing to become an accomplice to a violent criminal who treated her like shit, just to earn some cash for her escape with Rachel.

It is never clearly explained how her 3000 USD debt to Frank came to be. Perhaps he captured her in a debt spiral, balooning an initially small sum of money by adding outrageous "interest", as criminals like to do. Maybe Frank used the fact that Chloe's depressed mind and body craved weed, a natural anti-depressant, so he kept giving her "little somethings" and putting them on the tab, until it accumulated to a sum large enough he started using his switchblade in attempts to collect.

But given that the bill for Chloe's truck's repairs is almost exactly 3000 dollars, it is possible, if not probable, that she borrowed the money for that exact purpose. Keep in mind that Chloe's truck is fully functional in Season 1. It doesn't look like a vehicle needing 3000 dollars in essential repairs anymore, which would probably render it inoperable.

And Chloe was even willing to pretend to be interested in Nathan, someone who always treated her with disdain and hostility, even when she saved him from bullying and played the matchmaker between him and Samantha. She was willing to pretend to be interested in him just for an opportunity to swipe a couple hundred bucks from his wallet. She bet on Nathan getting drunk. How far would she go if he didn't?

Chloe was willing to put any and all effort to build her future life with Rachel. She fixed up a broken truck specifically so that the two of them would have an escape vehicle. She did odd jobs for a violent criminal to scrounge up money for them. She possibly went heavily into debt with said violent criminal, just to keep the car they needed to escape operational. She was willing to debase herself by pretending to be interested in Nathan, just to swipe a little bit of cash for her and Rachel. And from her perspective, she almost got date raped because of that.

Chloe's commitment to fulfilling Rachel's dream of skipping town was absolute. Her life was based around that dream.

To discover that Rachel never actually intended to leave town with her must have been crushing for Chloe. The dream that she worked so hard for, that she suffered for, that she swallowed her pride for, turned out to be a lie. Rachel would never skip town with her. The chance for a new life, for a fresh start somewhere else, turned out to be a mirage. Once again, her life collapsed. The construction she had put great effort into once again was torn down, through no fault of her own, because of actions of other people that were outside her control.

When Chloe asks why didn't Rachel tell her about Frank, Max responds "because she knew how you would react". Max doesn't know the ins and outs of Chloe's and Rachel's friendship. She probably also thought, like I did initially, that Chloe was just being jealous about a girl she had a crush on. So Max thought Rachel kept quiet about Frank, because she didn't want Chloe to throw a jealous fit.

But that's not what Chloe meant. Chloe didn't ask why Rachel didn't tell her she was taken. Chloe asked why didn't Rachel tell her she wasn't actually going to leave town with her. Why did she keep her hanging on? Why didn't she realease her from the mesmerizing promise of a better tomorrow if she knew it was a lie? Why did she allow Chloe to live in a lie for years?

Chloe's anger is not jealousy. It's the anger of someone who just found out that the only thing keeping them going on was a lie. That once again, everything she'd built was torn down by someone else. Yes, if Rachel ever told her about Frank, Chloe would've been angry. Because Rachel should've told her that she wasn't actually going to leave town. Not with her. She should've released Chloe from the hold she had over her, instead of letting her build something condemned from the start.

Chloe's words about Rachel "betraying her" and "not being much of a friend, just another person shitting on her" are harsh. But how would you call promising someone hopeless a better tomorrow, a future together and then taking such a gift back?

I don't think that Rachel wanted to hurt Chloe. Just like I would never think Max wanted to hurt Chloe by not writing letters, not calling and not responding to texts. I think that for the first few months after William's death Max had no idea how to comfort a friend with a dead dad. And after that she was ashamed of her silence and assumed Chloe had moved on.

But sometimes people end up hurting others even if that wasn't their intention, especially if they hurt them with indifference. Maybe Rachel thought Chloe would get the hint and realize their joint escape from town was no longer on the table on her own. Maybe she thought it was none of Chloe's business who she was dating. But no matter what motivated her, she did hurt Chloe. Unfortunately, unlike Max, she never got the chance to make up for that hurt to her friend.

[tempe-brennans]

you got a fast car

authors note: this is probably weird? it's mainly like. joel's stream of consciousness but it's kinda cool

summary: your death drives joel a little crazy

warnings: car accidents and death

“all that has ever mattered is volume, and if you turn up the speakers past the point of sound, to deafening silence, you will hear me again.” – neil hilborn

They had told him the car was trashed. And, to be fair, it was. The metal had crushed and folded in ways it was never designed to.

The mechanic hadn’t seen a reason to waste Joel’s money.

Joel didn’t care, though. He’d do anything–spend anything–to get that car working again.

He ordered new doors, a new engine—all the pieces that would make it whole again. Whole in ways he would never be.

He put her back together.

If he could turn enough screws, slide enough pieces into place, maybe he could do it for you, too. Maybe, if he just works hard enough, you’ll open the garage door, offer him cold tea like you always did when he’d been working too hard.

For all his effort, he couldn’t get rid of the passenger seat. It sits, the back pushed too far—all it’s mechanics ruined from the impact–and covered in your blood, in the corner of his garage.

It’s a symbol, almost, he thinks.

The way, in the movies, it’s an object that tethers a person to Earth after they go–that’s what that seat will always be to him.

It's you. All he has left. He would never want to be free of it.

It’s where he had held you. As blood ran down his cheeks from a wound on his forehead he hadn’t bothered to check, he took your broken body in his arms and did all he could for you.

Be there.

He had known you were leaving, could hear it in your stuttering breaths, see it in the way your eyes glazed over. There was too much to say, too many words for him to ever get out in time, so he settled with the simplest.

Hands smoothing over your forehead, smearing blood he has no hope of finding the origin of, he murmurs, “I love you.” A soft kiss to your forehead that he hopes you can still feel. “I always have. I always will.”

“I love you, too,” is the softest whisper he’s ever heard and he’d give anything to trade places with you.

He’d give up his life in an instant to save yours. It was a sacrifice he had always been prepared to make–since the day he met you.

That chair was where you spoke your last words, took your last breath. It’d be with him as long as he was alive.

So, even though he puts a new one in the car, it doesn’t matter much.

You’re in his head all the time.

He hears you, in fact, the day he gets it started. He drives down the street he’d driven down with you hundreds of times and hears you say, “You have to stop doing this, baby.”

Baby. Like he was something precious. Like it wasn’t his fault you were gone.

“It isn’t, you know. The same thing could have happened if I had been driving.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” you whisper. “You can live again, Joel. I promise it’s okay.” A soft chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shakes his head, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks.

“I’ll wait right here,” you hum. “You’ll see me again and you can tell me everything.”

“I don’t want it,” he hisses. “Not without you.”

You say nothing else on the subject, leaving him with only a murmured “I love you” before you’re gone.

So, the day he runs the car through a guardrail isn’t really surprising. As he floats through the sky in ways a human body was never supposed to, he feels you. Your arms wrap around him and you press a kiss to his lips–feelings he never thought he’d feel again.

“Honey,” he murmurs.

“It’s good to see you.”

You smile, take him with you to wherever it is you’ve been, and Joel can’t imagine feeling more peace.