#but reblogs are by all means appreciated to avoid that good old shouting into a void feeling

[tunedtostatic]

I'm trying to figure out how to talk about critical role announcing a live show, because it's the kind of news that's like, how do you talk about that? How do you even begin to begin?

At minimum a few people will almost certainly die as a direct result of critical role doing a live show for 12,000 people during a pandemic. But that's only the best case scenario; it could be many more. How do you even string words together about that?

I know there's a lot of pandemic denial out there but there's also a lot of people who genuinely don't know the pandemic is still going on, now that it's no longer getting press. If you genuinely didn't know that the pandemic isn't over, over a quarter million people in the U.S. and tens of thousands of people in the U.K. currently have covid

[Edit - I made this post on July 16, and now it's October 8 and I'm linking to this in my follow up post, so I just want to add a note to avoid any chance of date confusion by noting that the above numbers were for mid-July, and as of October 8 in the US with the new covid surge it's over twice that number now]

And it's easier for the "it's a mild illness now" misinfo to gain traction when the death rate absolutely is lower than it was in April 2020 or whatever other date forms people's personal traumatic high-water mark, but that does not mean thousands of people aren't losing their loved ones every week, and thousands more aren't suffering long covid, heart damage, neurological damage

I'm whiteknuckling to scientific integrity to write "will almost certainly die as a direct result of critical role doing a live show for 12,000 people during a pandemic" instead of "will die," because I can't see the future and October hasn't happened yet. But barring an unhinged Act of God-level change in covid rates, the live show is guaranteed to get people sick. Statistically, that means deaths - at least a few deaths, potentially many more. Which gets me back to like. How do you even find the words for that?

I've been diving through covid reporting all afternoon for the actual current numbers, because policies declaring the pandemic "over" and ending testing have made reporting so deeply inadequate and crappy, and misinformation is a plague (metaphorical) that I don't want to contribute to. And well, yeah. The most conservative estimates are a quarter of a million people currently sick with covid in the U.S. and 60k people in the U.K. (if you want to know why I'm confident those numbers are 'reliable' in the sense of coming from confirmed sources and not pulling numbers out of thin air or overestimating cases, but also are significant underestimates, please ask me I will make a post about covid stats and hospitalizations and wastewater testing in a heartbeat)

But playing with stats is not giving me words for the, this

How do you deal with looking at a piece of fiction you loved and knowing that the making of the next piece is going to cause injury and death to real alive human beings in such a direct way?

It's easy to fixate on the people who will read this post in the most bad-faith way possible, but I know that with the lack of press there are a lot of people who literally do not know the pandemic is still happening. If this convinces a few people not to travel to the live show, or to use as many layers of protection (n95, tests, quarantining before and after) as possible, then it's worth it

(And if you are one of the people who didn't know that covid rates are still this high, I'm sorry you're finding out from an emo post about a dnd live show)

[flowerfan2]

Let in Light and Banish Shade

Just a little hurt/comfort Christmas Eve fic.  I hadn’t planned to get drawn into the Stranger Things fandom this year, but it happened.  Thanks to @kedreeva for that - and for answering my questions (and writing awesome ST fic).  Please reblog if you enjoyed this - I’m a newbie in this fandom and would appreciate it.

Wishing you all peace and joy in the new year.

____

Steve/Eddie, T, 2600 words.  A03.

It’s been months since they defeated Vecna, and almost as long since Eddie got out of the hospital, more stitches than skin but still somehow alive.  He knows he should be grateful to modern medicine or some shit, but it’s hard when he’s spending every other day hoping he doesn’t lose his mind from the pain in his head.

The headaches aren’t as bad as they were at first, and Eddie has figured out ways to avoid them, or at least try to.  He knows for sure that loud noises and bright lights can bring them on or make them worse, so he spends a lot of time holed up in his room, curtains closed and lights on dim.

Unfortunately, this really sucks, because Eddie is not so good at being quiet and staying still.  It’s driving him batty, and even if it’s not demo-batty, it’s still a problem.  He had thought for a while that he could still hang out with the kids, be their DM but just at a lower volume, but that didn’t work.  Dustin got him some kind of super-duper noise cancelling headphones to cover his ears, but then the kids just shouted louder and again, no dice.

He's able to kill some time every day studying for his GED.  As anyone who has ever met him could have predicted, though, it’s hard to focus on that for very long, even if reading didn’t make him feel like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

Now it’s Christmas Eve, and to put the icing on the stale donut that is his life, he’s going to be stuck in bed with a headache instead of going to the Byers’ house for a party.  Robin stopped by the trailer a few days ago to tell him about it.  They’ve all been good about keeping tabs on him, Robin and Steve, mostly, since Nancy has been away at college.  Dustin, of course, can’t stay away for more than a day or two, and sometimes Max comes over, still limping but smiling more and more every time.  But even the most well-meaning visits are stilted.  Eddie wants to just be normal again.  To be able to carry on a conversation in more than a whisper, to hang out with a group of people all laughing and shouting over each other to be heard.

The invitation to tonight’s gathering featured Will’s drawing of a huge dragon resting quietly in a snowbank, looking out over a town filled with twinkling lights.  Even Hawkins can look pretty at Christmastime, Eddie has to admit.  Though there’s not much of a view from his trailer, even if the lights didn’t bring on a migraine.

Eddie is lying in bed, playing the game where he tries to figure out if his middling headache is going to get worse before it gets better, when he hears a knock on the front door.  This new (new-to-you, anyway) trailer’s door actually locks, and while he knows it won’t keep Vecna-level bad guys out, he figures it might at least slow down the good citizens of Hawkins that still think he’s a murderer.

Eddie slides out of bed and walks carefully down the hall, wishing he had socks on.  When he opens the door he’s not really surprised to see Steve, smiling shyly at him.

“Come on in.”

Steve nods and complies, his smile dimming as he gives Eddie an appraising glance.  “You look cold.”

That’s the least of Eddie’s issues, but also true.  His ratty t-shirt and old sweatpants don’t do much against the December chill.  “Yeah, well I was all cozy under my blankets until you came along.”

“Well, let’s get you back in bed,” Steve says, prodding Eddie in the right direction with a hand on his shoulder before shedding his coat and following him.

It’s not the first time Steve has shown up, packages in hand, delivering soup or cookies or even a box of Eddie’s favorite cereal.  Eddie knows Steve is fond of him, knows he hates how badly Eddie got hurt.  It’s part of what he loves about Steve, that he cares about his friends so deeply.  It’s pretty amazing that Steve includes him in that group.  He’s not always sure he deserves it, but on days like this, it’s awfully nice.

Eddie slides back under the blankets while Steve rummages in the backpack he brought along.  “Stay here,” Steve says, keeping his voice to that soft pitch he always uses with Eddie now.

“Where else would I go?” Eddie mutters.  He tries not to shiver, it makes his head hurt more, just lies still and wonders what Steve is up to.  A beep from the kitchen catches his attention, and then Steve is back.

“Close your eyes.”

Eddie blinks up at him for a minute.  Steve’s got on a dark red sweater, very appropriate for the holiday.  He’s probably just here to say hi before dashing back to the Byers’ party.  Dashing, indeed.  He thinks he might like this sweater even better than Steve’s sunshine yellow one.

“Eddie?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Close your eyes.”

But then I can’t see you, Eddie thinks.  “Why?”

Steve’s mouth quirks up at the corner.  “You’ll see.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and feels a warm, soft weight laid over them.  He touches it with his fingers.  It’s kind of a bean bag thing; Steve must have warmed it up in the microwave.  It keeps his eyes closed without Eddie having to think about it.  

“Robin’s mom went to some kind of spa getaway for work, and brought home a bunch of stuff.”  Steve shuffles closer and the bed squeaks as he sits down.  “Do you like lavender?  She had some oil, it’s supposed to be relaxing.  But I know smells sometimes make it worse…?” Steve trails off, his voice rising with the question.

“Let me try it.”  Eddie gives the proffered bottle a quick sniff.  It’s only barely scented, and doesn’t seem to make any more daggers shoot through his skull.  

“Pass the sniff test?”

Literally, Eddie thinks, and nods, careful not to dislodge the warm bean bag thing from his eyes.

A moment goes by, Steve shifting next to him, and then Steve touches his temples and rubs gently.  It feels great, Steve’s fingers tracing circles right where it hurts the most.

“This okay?”  Steve asks softly.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

Eddie doesn’t know how long it goes on. Steve’s fingers move up and down across his temples and across his forehead, so slowly and lightly that all Eddie feels is relief.

“Back here too?”  Steve’s touching his hair, sliding his hand back over his ears.

“Yeah.”

Steve continues massaging Eddie’s scalp, easing his fingers through Eddie’s hair.  He shifts a little as he goes, supporting Eddie’s head.  It feels amazing, and Eddie gives himself over to it, the gentle touches creating a soothing rhythm he wants to live in forever.

At some point Steve pauses, maybe thinking Eddie has fallen asleep.  Eddie takes the pillow off his eyes, lifts himself up on an elbow and squints at Steve through one eye.  “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Eddie hadn’t really meant to ask this question, but it’s been on his mind since Steve arrived.  It was bound to find its way out of his bruised head eventually.  

Steve bites his lip, then focuses on Eddie’s face and his expression changes.  It looks like he’s holding back a laugh.

Eddie considers, then turns his one-eyed squint into a full-on silly face, eyes scrunched together, mouth open and tongue out.  He even adds one hand on his head, fingers waggling.  

It makes his head throb, but Steve’s soft laugh is worth it.  “God, Eddie, I’m so-” Steve cuts himself off and rubs a hand over his mouth.

Something tightens in his stomach at Steve’s words.  “You’re so what?”  Eddie speaks louder than he should have, and Steve’s face falls as Eddie flinches at the sound of his own voice.

“Lie back down, come on, close your eyes,” Steve says softly, and he shifts, guiding Eddie back onto the bed, this time somehow rearranging them so that Eddie’s head is lying on Steve’s thigh.  The denim feels good under his cheek, and Eddie is in enough pain that he isn’t going to question exactly what’s going on.  If Steve’s really cool with this rather intimate approach to health care, Eddie’s not going to stop him.

Steve’s hand rests on Eddie’s shoulder, then he goes back to petting his hair, fingers sliding against his scalp.  Eddie relaxes into it, letting out a sigh of relief as the spike of pain fades.  It’s only then that he realizes that Steve has avoided answering his original question.  

“Did the party get cancelled?” he asks, trying not to think about how his lips are practically brushing Steve’s thigh as he speaks.  “Nancy not make it home yet?”

“No, she’s back.  Party’s still on.  But you couldn’t come, so I came to see you, duh.”

Steve’s Dustin imitation needs some work, but his deflection is clear as day.

“Last minute decision?”  Eddie waves his hand in Steve’s general direction, indicating his nice sweater and fancy jeans.

Steve takes in a long breath and lets it out slowly.  Eddie can feel his chest rising and falling behind his head.  There’s a pause, and Eddie thinks that Steve might be picking something up from the D&D sessions he’s been tagging along to, because the suspense is really building.

“I stopped by the Byers’ first, to say hi to everyone.  But I knew as soon as I found out that you weren’t going that I wasn’t going either.  I couldn’t have a good time knowing you were lying here hurting.”  

Steve’s hand on Eddie’s neck has stilled, and Eddie arches up against it.  He hears Steve’s puff of amusement as he starts moving again, the tension broken.

“Them’s some mighty strong words, Steve,” Eddie says lightly.  He’s wondered, from time to time, whether there could be something between them.  More than once there’s been a moment when he thought there could be.  This is one of those moments.

Steve doesn’t deflect this time, just keeps on touching Eddie, brushing his hair away from his face, stroking a finger along his cheekbone.  Eddie’s no genius, but he really doesn’t think they are still in platonic mode anymore.  

“What were you going to say before?  You’re so – what?”

In response, Steve suddenly shifts, sliding to lie down on the bed next to Eddie, catching Eddie’s head so he isn’t dumped off Steve’s thigh.  Before he knows it, Steve’s lying on his side facing him, his hand cupping his cheek.  Eddie briefly wonders whether he’s having some kind of hallucination, but when he blinks Steve is still right there.

“Eddie,” Steve says.

Eddie swallows hard and meets Steve’s eyes, hoping his heart doesn’t actually burst out of his chest.  “Yeah?”

“I was going to say, before I chickened out, that I am <i>so fucking glad</i> you’re alive.”  Steve’s voice is still quiet, but it’s got an intensity to it Eddie hasn’t heard before.  “I know it’s been hard, I know your scars probably pull and itch like mine do, I know these headaches suck and nightmares don’t make them any better, but you’re getting through it, you’re getting better, I see it, and I’m so glad to see it, glad is such a dumb word for how I feel, I mean, I” – Steve’s voice cracks, and he shakes his head a little and goes on – “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Eddie thinks he’s still breathing, must be, but it’s a near thing.  “I’m glad you’re here too.”  The double meaning is probably clear, but like an idiot, he rambles on.  “Here, you know, alive.  And, you know, here with me.”  He tugs on Eddie’s sweater as if to illustrate, and Steve grins.

“I get it.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Steve takes Eddie’s hand, twines their fingers together, and brings their joined hands between them.  “You’ve been playing the guitar again.”

Eddie’s brain stumbles a little at this.  “Um, yeah, little bit, now that my head isn’t killing me every single day.  How did you know?”

Steve runs a thumb over the palm of Eddie’s hand and down to his fingertips.  “Getting your callouses back.  It’s cool.”

Eddie’s never been the subject of anyone’s attention like this before.  No one’s ever cared enough to notice details like this about him.  He must have let this thought show on his face, or maybe even spoken it aloud, because Steve just shrugs.

“’Course I noticed.”

He’s not sure Steve meant it to sound so profound, but he can’t help but hear it that way.  And Steve’s still holding his hand, lying here with him under the blankets, gazing at him like he’s never seen anything better. It’s overwhelming.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?  I’m kinda fucked up.”  Understatement.  “I don’t have much to offer you.”

Steve’s mouth quirks.  “Just a whole lotta love?”

“I’m gonna kill you, quoting Led Zep at me at a time like this,” Eddie mumbles as Steve leans in and kisses the words out of his mouth.

It’s a good kiss, Goldilocks perfect, not too hard and not too soft, with just a tease of tongue.  But it doesn’t go on for long before Eddie needs to stop and lay back down, his head spiking with pain again.

“It’s okay, relax,” Steve says, tucking Eddie’s head on his shoulder and pulling the blankets around them.  He feels Steve drop a kiss to his head.  “You’re okay.”

“What if we can’t ever kiss for more than thirty seconds because of my headaches?” Eddie whispers, mostly joking.  “What if it’s another Vecna curse?”

Steve laughs softly.  “We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘thirty seconds with you is more than enough.’”

“Oh, it’s definitely not enough,” Steve says.  “But honestly,” he says, voice lightening, “you’re right.”

“Fuck, Steve, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Plot twist?”

“Of the best kind.”  

Steve lets go of his hand in favor of wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, his movements smooth and careful.  “I know you’re still hurting, if this is making things worse…”

“Oh my god, no, this is the opposite of making things worse,” Eddie says, letting himself snuggle closer, digging his chin into Steve’s chest.  “It feels great.  I mean, my head still feels like the demobats are tossing it around like a chew toy, but aside from that, all good.”

Eddie can practically feel Steve’s concern oozing out through his fingers as he cups the back of Eddie’s neck.  “Just rest, babe.  I’ve got you.”

Eddie obeys, sinking deeper into Steve’s embrace.  “You know, you’re kind of an awesome Christmas gift.”  Eddie lets his hand rest on Steve’s shoulder, his thumb gently brushing the soft skin on his collarbone.  “And here I thought I was just getting coal.”

“No way,” Steve says, almost affronted at the idea.

And even though Eddie appreciates Steve’s support, he can’t resist teasing back, his voice sinking low.  “Are you saying I’ve been good?”

There’s a pause as Steve takes this in and switches gears.  He hums softly, sending a shiver down Eddie’s spine.  “The best.”

Eddie’s not sure how he ended up here, but damn if he isn’t going to enjoy it while he can.  And if there’s a chance that this is real – that Steve Harrington is going to cradle him in his arms and whisper sweet nothings to him as he crawls his way back to the world of the living – he’s going to take it.  Turns out it’s not going to be such a bad Christmas after all.

Note:  The title of this story is from 1984's “Do They Know It’s Christmas?" - a song sung by a bunch of celebrities which despite its shortcomings raised millions of dollars for charity.

[quaranmine]

Hello, it's me the anon who write about their thoughts, intepretation and message about your fic. I'm glad you like my thoughts and such. I deeply appreciated it. Say i have a few questions, i was browsing your blog see. And i saw that you or someone you possibly reblog linked two other fics that connected to 'The incandescene of a dying light' universe. And i wanna ask is this canon to the first fic? Because if so, that's cool that the others are being inspired to write and attempt to connect their fics to your universe fic. Also i know this is probably irrelevant but i got ask. How are Scar and Grian doing to the year 2020 on the fic? Is scar still working to shoshone national park to this year i mention or he retired a long time ago? Is there an age limit for the employees working for the national forest like at this age you be immediately or forcedly retired with small benefits package just for your safety? Also i wonder what Grian and Scar reactions to the invention of the internet and smartphones during the 1990-2010's because i just take a little research about international calls during the 1980-1990's and ugh... that's a hefty price to pay for such calls. No wonder people avoid staying too long on international calls. Because the phones bills man, it's gonna burn your wallet. Anyway that's all of my questions. I hope i didn't bother or anythin' about my questions. Have a good time, writer.

Hello, nice to see you again in my inbox!!

Yes, my story has inspired several recursive works (which is the term for a fanfic of a fanfic) and I'd like to give them a shout-out!

I Waved Goodbye to the End of Beginning by @crazypercheron is a fantastic multi-chaptered work set the year after the main fic took place. It's about Cub visiting Scar's lookout and trying to offer him comfort as he realizes Something happened last year. It has a slower pace than the main story and really expands on a lot of details about Scar's life as a lookout.

The Evergreens Enfold the Shrine by @darkaviarymc is an amazing little story that asks the question of how Mumbo's story will be perceived later, through some college students (Gem, Etho, Beef) in 1995 telling a ghost story about Mumbo.

From Embers by @honeylashofficial is a great oneshot set in the same universe (but not directly referencing the main fic) about what happens when Impulse and Skizz go hiking in the forest and get injured.

The Phosphorescence of a Glimmer in Extrimis by TotallyNotAPlant is a little crack AU in which Mumbo is just. A cryptid in the forest.

Of these, TotallyNotAPlant's story is definitely not canon since it's a crack story, but the other three are sort of....dubious canon? Half-canon? They're not fully canon because they were not written by me, and I might have made different choices. (This does not mean I dislike the choices anyone has made, it just simply means we all have our own unique styles as writers. I am thrilled that other people are finding their own meaning in my work and I don't want to dissuade them from doing so by demanding they fit my exact mental framework.) Since they are recursive works, I cannot guarantee I won't ever end up causing continuity errors if I upload something new because I do have a few other works in this AU that might get uploaded. However, I'm incredibly pleased with the work that all these lovely writers have done, and I am willing to work around what they're doing if I can!

Scar and Grian are doing great in present day! I think they'd benefit from being able to communicate more easily now. Scar may or may not be retired by now--without taking exact birthdays into account, he'd be about 64 in 2020 since he was 33 in the main fic (and 68 today.) Grian would be approx. 59 in 2020 and 63 in 2024 (but i am not incorporating exact birthdays into this.)

As far as I know there isn't an age requirement for fire lookouts, just the physical requirements like being able to hike/haul water/chop wood etc. I have seen videos/read about older lookouts. The only Forest Service age requirements I know of is that wildland firefighters must be under 37, and law enforcement officers must be under 37 when appointed. Otherwise there is not an age where you are forced out of typical federal service, just an age you're eligible to retire like all jobs.

Based on federal hiring, Scar would either be a temporary appointment (<6 months, can be rehired on a yearly basis but not guaranteed. Most common for fire lookouts) or seasonal permanent (must work minimum 6 months, guaranteed rehire with benefits and retirement.) I'd prefer him to be seasonal permanent just for his, like, quality of life but his fire lookout appointment is only 5 months so he doesn't immediately qualify. Maybe they keep him on at the office for an additional month after fire season ends. It might be most likely that he was hired as a recurring temporary employee for the first few years and then offered a seasonal permanent position. OPM has information about how this worked in the 80s but it's a bit too in the weeds for me to bother with LOL.

The real question isn't his retirement or age though--it's if the lookout is even still in service. I personally do not think it would be. There are VERY few lookouts left in the 2020s. I found an article from 2016 that said there were only 3 left in operation in Wyoming, and I don't even know if that's still true 8 years later. There's plenty of out-of-service ones remaining, and you can easily rent them for a night to sleep in on recreation.gov. But very few remain staffed. By the time the story is set, most lookouts are already out of service. I think it's likely his lookout would go out of service somewhere in the 90s. I think he'd work there til it went out of service, but I don't think this is a job he can keep the rest of his career. He might be offered a career transitional job in the Forest Service after that but I don't know if he'd take it or not. He could be an interpreter or some other seasonal job. To me the loss of a fire lookout job isn't a sad ending for him though--it's just how life and careers change :) I don't really have a clear idea of what he'd do instead. He has a lot of random skills picked up from the work he does in the off season and I think he'd pretty easily find something else to pick up.

Reactions to internet: well, Grian's going to have to learn computer stuff to do his job! Remember how Mumbo was learning computer aided design but Grian didn't know much about computers? Yeah, buddy, AutoCAD is about to become an industry staple for architects in the 90s so you need to keep up. Poor Grian with all his hand-drafting skills.

In @darkaviarymc's fic there's a bit about Scar being active on those mid-90s message boards that I LOVE. I think he totally would do that and have all this knowledge about the outdoors but also weirdly specific extra knowledge. And tons of misspellings of course.

Grian and Scar would keep in touch. The growing accessibility of the internet would only help. The phone bills...yeah there's no great way around that in the early years. I also like to think Scar goes to visit Grian in England since he's never been at the time of the main story :)

[ticklishfiend]

Strawberry Milk (My Hero Academia)

Ship : Lee!Bakugou Ler!Kirishima (Kiribaku)

A/N : this took forever to make and it's the longest fic i've posted on this account so far, but i just had a lot of fun making it!! i hope you guys enjoy it, especially the lovely krbk anon who inspired this. they actually sent a few prompts that have inspired other krbk tickle fic ideas that i'll more than likely write for soon as well, but for now i hope you enjoy this!! much love <33

Summary : Kirishima stays for a sleepover at Bakugou’s childhood home, and after accidentally pissing off the explosive teen, seeks out some professional help from someone who may know the boy best: his father. From this, Kirishima learns a quick way from the boys childhood to get him forgiveness in no time.

Word Count : 5113 (jfc lmao)

REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!! MWAH <33

. . .

“Are you seriously mad at me over this?” Kirishima asked with a confused, breathy chuckle. He watched as his best friend pouted with arms crossed over his chest like a child, glaring daggers into the redhead from his spot on the bed.

“Yes. And I do not plan on changing that. So don’t fucking try me, Spiky Hair” Bakugou turned his body fully away from Kirishima now, who was lounged rather comfortably on Bakugou’s orange beanbag seated on the ground. Kirishima rolled his eyes at Bakugou’s childishness, though still couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty.

After months of practically having to beg the explosive teen for a sleepover at his childhood home, the blonde finally relented and allowed Kirishima to be a guest in his home for the weekend. Bakugou’s parents were actually pretty happy to have Bakugou back at the house, even if for such a short period of time, and were even more thrilled when they realized someone actually wanted to come with him. Bakugou was never really one for making (and keeping) close friends growing up, so this was something they were definitely excited over the prospects of.

He and Bakugou had been playing video games for the past couple of hours now, their most recent game that Bakugou was now practically fuming over being...Minecraft. Bakugou had gotten pretty attached to a wolf he unsurprisingly named “Prince Homicide,” but after bringing it to a cave while mining with Kirishima, the red-head had accidentally pushed it into a vat of lava, killing it almost instantly.

So that’s where the pair were now. Bakugou seething from his spot criss-crossed on the bed, now turned away from Kirishima with his arms crossed like a child towards the wall. Kirishima sighed, pushing himself off the beanbag and walking towards Bakugou’s door.

“Look, I’m gonna go get something to drink. You want anything?” Kirishima raised his eyebrows in hopes of a response.

“Die,” was all he got.

Kirishima bit back another chuckle, opening the door before turning his head back around to look at Bakugou, who was now fiddling with his sheets and grumbling to himself angrily. “Alright, well, I’ll be back in just a minute. Hopefully you’ll have calmed yourself down enough by then.”

“I AM CALM YOU RED-HAIRED LOSER!” Bakugou yelled at the door as Kirishima quickly walked out and shut the door to avoid the small blasts he could hear shooting from the boy’s palms. Kirishima just shook his head with a grin, making his way down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

When he arrived, he saw Bakugou’s father cooking dinner on the stove. It made Kirishima smile, reminding him of his own home a little, though he hadn’t been back home in a while. He did miss his moms quite a lot since moving to the dorms, and he’ll definitely have to invite Bakugou over to meet them sometime soon.

He could smell the amazing spices his father had been adding to whatever meat and noodles he had in the pot, the scent almost burning Kirishima’s nose from how spicy he could tell it was. ‘Obviously loving spiciness must run in the family,’ Kirishima thought as he opened up the fridge, alerting the father’s attention.

“Oh, Kirishima! Are you looking for anything specific?” the man asked, looking up from his steaming pot for a moment to smile at his son’s best friend. Kirishima shot a cheerful smile right back at him.

“Oh, just some water would be fine!” he nodded, grabbing a water bottle from one of the fridge drawers, before remembering the seething boy upstairs waiting for his return. He grinned. “Actually, what does Bakugou normally drink here? At the dorms he usually has protein shakes but you probably don’t have those just lying around,” Kirishima chuckled, sitting his water bottle down on the kitchen island to look at his friend’s father.

“Well, the boy doesn’t usually like to admit it but he’s quite keen on strawberry milk,” he smiled with a nod as he went back to stirring his pot, glancing over towards Kirishima with a grin.

“Shoot, really? Didn’t peg him for the strawberry milk type of guy,” Kirishima giggled, looking back in the fridge and noticing the few bottles of strawberry milk they had lying on the shelf, probably bought when they found out Bakugou was coming home for the weekend. “He’s kinda mad at me right now so I figured I’d make a peace offering.”

“Not a bad idea, kid. I’ve had to do my fair share of those over the years. Katsuki’s always been the rather...angry type,” Masaru’s eyebrows furrowed downward towards his pot, shaking his head as if thinking of all the times the boy must’ve lost his temper at his old man.

“What did you used to do when he was little? Y’know, whenever he got all...aah!” Kirishima accentuated his little growl imitating Bakugou by shaking his hands angrily in front of him, just like how Bakugou usually does when he’s about to blow someone to kingdom come. This made Masaru laugh, shaking his head and adding a few more spices to the pot.

“Well...as of now, I usually just let his mother handle everything. But when he was little, Mitsuki and I would usually just tickle the little guy ‘til he giggled all that anger out,” Masaru smiled at the fond memories, glancing over towards Kirishima who held a wide-eyed, shocked but excited expression on his face. Masaru chuckled, pointing his spoon towards the teen. “But you did not hear this from me, understand?”

“Oh, totally, I got your back 100% Mr. Bakugou,” Kirishima saluted the man with a grin, making him laugh once more with a fond shake of the head. Kirishima lowered his hand, finally grabbing the strawberry milk from the fridge and sitting it on the counter with his water, promptly shutting the fridge door. “So...that didn’t make him angry or anything? He wouldn’t, like, explode you and Mrs. Bakugou to ashes or something?”

“Well I’m still here to tell the story, aren’t I?” Masaru gestured to his body with his spoon, Kirishima nodding with a chuckle. “Nah, he used to love it when we did that! Sometimes I think he’d pretend to be angry on purpose just so we’d play ‘Claw’ with him.”

“Claw? What’s Claw?” Kirishima asked, now leaning on the counter with his head propped up on his hand, listening intently as if this was the single most interesting thing he’d ever heard (because in all honesty? It very well might’ve been).

“Oh boy, Claw was his favorite. I would always hold his hands down so he couldn’t get away, while his mother would make a claw hand and tickle it into his stomach and ribs. It always had little Katsuki in stitches,” Masaru was very obviously enjoying remembering these fond memories of his son, seeming like he had almost completely forgotten about these fun little moments until Kirishima had brought them all back to light. “We always did it when he was being bratty, but not bratty enough to deserve a time-out. Sometimes, though, he wouldn’t even have to do anything bad, he’d just come out and ask for Claw when he felt playful. It was always so cute,” Masaru grinned widely, looking over towards Kirishima and promptly pointing his spoon back at the boy. “And, again you didn’t hear any of this from me, but…”

He paused, almost debating whether or not this was a good idea. He was finally swayed on his decision, however, when he saw the bright look of excitement in Kirishima’s eyes at the prospect of an actually happy Bakugou. He couldn’t help but cave.

“...but if you wanna really get him laughing, his worst spots are the spot riiiiight under his armpits, and the sides of his thighs. You get him there and he’ll be forgiving you in no time.”

Kirishima nodded with a large, toothy grin, swiping the drinks off the counter and practically bouncing in his spot as he backed his way out of the kitchen. “Thank you so much, Mr. Bakugou. It was truly an honor to know you, but I’ve got a death sentence waiting for me upstairs.”

“You get him, kiddo!” Masaru shouted towards the teen as he scurried his way out of the kitchen and towards the stairs giddily.

Kirishima was practically cheesing when he made his way towards Bakugou’s childhood bedroom, and had to mentally and physically calm himself down before entering so as not to alert Bakugou of his devious scheme.

He pushed the door open, finding Bakugou to now be leaning with his back against the wall, arm propped up on his knee as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. He scowled upon hearing Kirishima’s entrance, not even bothering to look up towards the boy as he grumbled, “Damn, I was hoping you were gonna stay down there all night.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes, tossing the milk onto the bed beside the blonde and hopping onto it himself. Bakugou’s eyes widened at the sudden movement beside him, eyes darting down to the drink on his bed before scowling back up at Kirishima. “How the fuck did you know I like this shit, I never drink it at school.”

Kirishima grinned, opening up his own water bottle. “Oh, just a little birdy,” he giggled, taking a sip of his water and watching as Bakugou begrudgingly took his own drink and started opening it as well.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you, moron. These are just...really good,” Bakugou wasn’t looking at Kirishima, obviously still angry as he went back to staring at his phone instead of paying the redhead any mind.

“C’mon, man, I didn’t mean to! It wasn’t on purpose!” Kirishima practically pleaded next to him, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder which was immediately shrugged off rather aggressively. “Look, I’m sorry. Would it make you feel better if I helped you find a new wolf?”

“Are you kidding me?! I’m not playing this shitty game with you anymore, you fucking suck at it!” Bakugou had a scowl on his face that looked like what he was saying was the single most obvious thing in the whole world. Kirishima just sighed, closing up his water and throwing it down on the bed.

“I’d hate to make you, Bakugou, but you may just force my hand,” Kirishima shook his head slowly as if in disappointment, only making Bakugou’s brows cross in confusion.

“The fuck do you mean ‘make me,’ you idiot?! You can’t force me to do shit, and I’m not fucking playing this game with you,” Bakugou pushed, and to anyone else it definitely wouldn’t sounded like he meant it. But Kirishima knew Bakugou far, far too well. He could hear the competition in his voice, see the spark of want in his eyes that just said ‘please fight me on this.’ He wanted a challenge. Kirishima could see that. And boy was he gonna give it to him.

“Oh, but can’t I?” Kirishima’s voice sounded almost taunting, and once he saw that Bakugou was looking at him with competitiveness painted all over his face, he brought both of his hands up to wiggle fingers menacingly towards the boy.

Bakugou instantly knew what he meant. And if the fact he immediately closed his drink and sat it on his nightstand was no indication that he wanted this to continue, the way he backed up on his bed cautiously with wide eyes instead of immediately fighting Kirishima back most definitely was.

He was excited.

“Kirishima, don’t you fucking dare,” Bakugou pressed through a lie, his eyes never once looking away from those still wiggling fingers taunting him in the air, as if too embarrassed to look Kirishima in the eyes and completely give it away that he wanted this, he wanted the fight. He didn’t have to look for Kirishima to know, though. The redhead was still able to see Bakugou’s face even if Bakugou wouldn’t look at him, and he could see the giddiness behind his wall of caution, which only pushed him to continue.

“Then let’s play the game, Bakugou,” Kirishima grinned as Bakugou gave him no response, only backing further away until finally Kirishima pounced, tackling and fighting Bakugou to the bed. This was the least Bakugou had ever put up a fight with him. Kirishima knew how Bakugou fought, he knew just how skilled and precise his moves always were, and he was giving Kirishima practically none of that. Though he did technically fight his way down, he was still inevitably completely tackled and pinned by the redhead, which almost never happened in their regular spars and play fights.

Kirishima forced Bakugou’s arms up above his head, the hardening hero-in-training using his quirk to keep the boy’s hands pinned there for good. His body hovered over Bakugou’s, a rather compromising position if they were to be walked into, but neither boy cared about that in the moment. They were too focused on the excitement and unadulterated giddiness bubbling in the pit of their bellies, and as Kirishima gazed down at Bakugou with a look of mischief in his eyes, Bakugou knew he knew. Kirishima knew Bakugou wanted this, and now the blonde was aware of that. Bakugou couldn’t quite tell if that made this better or worse.

“Fine then. We can play a different game. How about…” Kirishima paused, mocking as if in hard thought as Bakugou’s lips twitched, his eyes wide in a skittish anticipation. Kirishima finally let out a small pretend gasp, looking down at Bakugou before raising up his free hand in a claw shape. “...Claw.”

Bakugou’s eyes could not have been any wider. His cheeks were stained pink, and he squirmed under Kirishima’s pin, “No, nonono don’t you dare fucking touch me you red piece of shit, I swear to god I’ll fucking-HNG!” Bakugou choked on his words, eyes slamming shut as he felt five meticulous fingers skittered over his now bare tummy, as Kirishima must have pushed up his shirt while Bakugou was too busy threatening. Those nails were fucking torturous against his skin, his nerves lighting up and sparking with a specific feeling he hadn’t felt in what had to be years now. It was so bad, so so bad, but...god, he didn’t realize just how much he had missed this feeling until now.

“Uh oh,” Kirishima’s voice held a teasing tone that made Bakugou shake his head, still trying desperately to hold back any and all giggles that threatened to crawl from his gut. Kirishima chuckled darkly. “Looks like someone’s a little ticklish, huh?”

Bakugou only continued to shake his head from side to side, tugging at his pinned arms with no real fervor behind it. Kirishima couldn’t help the smile on his face seeing the boy like this, so flustered and obviously having a good time at something so cute. He could tell Bakugou was desperately trying to contain his giggles, which was definitely his average pride slipping through, but there was no way Kirishima was just going to let that slide.

With a smirk evil enough to send shivers down the blonde’s spine, Kirishima finally dug in, vibrating all five of his fingers into the boy’s taut abdomen. Bakugou howled, arching his back and kicking wildly behind Kirishima as loud giggles and squeals escaped his ever-excited being.

“NAHAHAHA! KIRISHIMAHAHAHA!” Bakugou screamed, those fingers never relenting in their claw-shaped torment on his belly. “SHIHIHIT AHAHAHA!”

“Damn, Bakugou, you’re really ticklish,” Kirishima chuckled, massaging his fingers into the boy’s muscles, causing his to spasm like he’d been shocked, screaming and kicking and cursing all the while.

“FUHUHUCK YOHOHOU AHAHAHA!” Bakugou guffawed, twisting and turning his body every which way as if he was trying to escape the mirthful torment Kirishima was putting him through. Suddenly, all at once, the tickling stopped, and Bakugou let in a gasp of air he didn’t even realize he needed. He opened his eyes and glared at Kirishima hovering above him, the redhead daunting a sinister grin that made Bakugou’s tummy do summersaults.

“What did you just say to me?” Kirishima questioned menacingly, bringing his free hand up to now hold Bakugou’s wrists in both hands, quickly bringing them both down under his knees with no fight from the blonde, who seemed to be frozen in...fear? Excitement? Either way, his eyes were blown wide, his chest heaving slightly from the attack and small titters still threatening to escape. But Bakugou was never one to back away from a challenge, no matter his condition. He couldn’t help the small twitch at the corners of his lips as he looked up to Kirishima in competition.

“I said: Fuck. You,” Bakugou spat out, and Kirishima could feel his body tense under him after he spoke the fierce words, almost like he was bracing himself for the inevitable. Kirishima shook his head with a grin, raising both his hands up in the air to once again wiggle tauntingly towards his victim.

“Oh, you are so gonna regret that,” Kirishima chuckled, lowering his hands down slowly towards the boy’s quivering belly. His stomach sucked in as if trying to evade the wiggly fingers, Bakugou’s eyes large and never looking away from those claws hovering over his sensitive torso.

Finally, his fingers touched down, skittering over the boy’s lower tummy and making his breath hitch, pursing his lips tightly and slamming his eyes shut at the teasing sensations. Kirishima’s fingers wandered and scribbled all over the boy’s torso, and for a few seconds Bakugou was able to keep his reactions at bay. That is, until Kirishima skittered on a spot right at the base of Bakugou’s ribs, causing the boy to jolt with a small yelp. Kirishima couldn’t contain his chuckle at the reaction.

“Ohoho, there it is,” Kirishima drawled, pinching at the spot that made Bakugou squirm. Bakugou growled, almost like he was trying to keep any cute little giggles to himself, but those incessant pinches just wouldn’t let up, and in seconds time he was a giggling mess under Kirishima’s touch.

“Nohoho! Fuhuhuck shihihit!- AHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHA!” Bakugou practically screamed when he felt Kirishima vibrate his index and middle finger into that spot at his lower ribs right where it meets his back. He arched his spine up, kicking fruitlessly behind Kirishima’s body and cackling like a child all the while. “YOHOHOU BAHAHASTARD! YOHOHOU FUHUHUCKING SHIHIHIT!”

“Well that’s really no way to talk to your best friend, now is it?” Kirishima tsked, clawing at Bakugou’s ribs and eliciting more screeches and cackles from the sensitive teen. “You’re so much more ticklish than I thought you’d be, I am loving this.”

“STAHAHAP SAHAHAYING THAHAHAT!” Bakugou shook his head back and forth, clenching his fists hard under Kirishima’s knees as if trying to keep himself from exploding the both of them both to ashes.

“What? That you’re ticklish?” Kirishima tilted his head with a smirk, pinching up and down the boy’s ribs rapidly, making his laughs soar up in pitch. “Cause, I mean, you are. You’re like, super duper ticklish! But it’s fine cause it’s totally cute,” Kirishima said the last bit without really meaning to, blushing slightly at his blunt statement, but deciding against ending the ticklish torment over it.

“NAHAHAHA! I’M NOHOHOT CUHUHUTE!” Bakugou denied through his cackles, continuing to shake his head in playful anguish. “FUHUHUCK OHOHOHFF!”

“Hmm...I don’t think I will. In fact, there’s a few more tickle spots I wanna try out, so you’re just gonna have to keep a-giggling for me, Bakubro,” Kirishima chuckled, taking his hands off the boy for a moment to give him a breather. Small breathy giggles and titters continued to spill from Bakugou’s lips during his rest, his head leaning back against the pillow in almost exhaustion. Kirishima leaned forward, placing both of his hands beside the boy’s head, leaving his face to hover over the boy’s own blushed one. Bakugou’s eyes widened a bit at the invasion of personal space, but never made an effort to push him off. Kirishima tilted his head like a curious puppy, “You’re okay, right? You don’t like, totally hate this? Cause I can stop if you really want me to.”

Bakugou’s cheeks were splattered pink, his eyes averting their gaze from the boy on top of him. He squirmed a tad under Kirishima’s straddle, shoulders hunching up slightly in embarrassment. “I mean...it’s not...the worst thing in the world…” Bakugou grumbled into his shoulder, eyes still refusing to meet the red-head’s own.

Kirishima grinned down at Bakugou, using one hand to gently cup Bakugou’s chin and turn his head to face his own. “I knew you didn’t hate it. I just wanted you to say it out loud,” he giggled at the blonde’s flustered and shocked expression, before quickly shooting his hands down to squeeze at Bakugou’s ribs with extreme ticklish precision. Bakugou shouted a cackle at the sudden change, his head shaking from side to side and eyes scrunching closed once more.

“OHOHO YOHOHU MOTHERFUHUHUCKER!” Bakugou guffawed, clawing at the sheets under Kirishima’s knees. Kirishima just giggled, working both of his middle fingers in between the tight spot where Bakugou’s arms were clamped against his ribs, digging into the spot just below his underarms that Masaru had told him about.

Bakugou shrieked, kicking harder than before as wave after wave of loud, unfiltered squeals and cackles left his chest.

“SHIHIHIHIT! FUHUHUCK OH MY GAHAHAD! NAHAHAT THEHEHERE! NAHAHAT THAHAHAT SPOHOHOT YOU FUHUHUCK!” He screamed through his laughter, opening an eye to glare at Kirishima through his mirthful tears. Kirishima sported the biggest, shark-toothed grin he could probably muster, and it sent fluttering butterflies throughout the inside of Bakugou’s entire torso.

“Aww, is this spot bad, buddy? This spot tickle?~” Kirishima cooed, his fingers never relenting as they wiggled and dug into that one torutrous little spot that had Bakugou howling.

“FUHUHUCK YOHOHU! YEHEHES! IT T-AHAHA! IT FUHUHUCKING TI-HEHEHE!” Bakugou couldn’t even get the flustering word out through all of his cackles and squeals, which amused Kirishima to no end.

“God how are you so adorable like this,” Kirishima sighed, finally bringing his fingers back down to teasingly scribble and wiggle all over Bakugou’s bare tummy. Bakugou dissolved into a puddle of high-pitched, breathy giggles, that had Kirishima fawning over him in seconds. “You’re so giggly, and I didn’t even know you could giggle before this!”

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” Bakugou practically whined through his giggles, his cheeks so pink and warm Kirishima could just melt in the cuteness of his flustered face.

“Oooh, I wonder if your belly button is ticklish too,” Kirishima eyed the little navel that bounced through Bakugou’s laughter, one of his fingers travelling over to circle around the button teasingly.

“NO! Nohoho, dohohon’t! Plehehease!” Bakugou pleaded, though Kirishima knew it was all just a front.

“Wow, I’ve got THE Katsuki Bakugou begging right now? Who knew I’d ever see the day!” Kirishima chuckled, worming a teasing nail into the navel and causing Bakugou to shriek and jerk underneath him. “Aww, it’s like a little giggle button!”

“Dohohon’t sahahay that stuhupid shihit!” Bakugou tittered, goosebumps forming all over his tummy from the feather-light way Kirishima scribbled over the skin.

“Alright, oneeee more place I wanna try, then we get back to Minecraft. Deal?” Kirishima moved his fingers to scribble slowly up and down the boy’s sides to let him respond, delighted at the way the movement made him squirm.

“Fihihine, whatehehever,” Bakugou braced himself for the final attack, gasping when he felt Kirishima’s hands leave his sides and rest on the top of his thighs. “Shit, shihit, shit, wahahait-!”

“Oh, this is a good spot, isn’t it?~” Kirishima teased, squeezing the muscle once to see Bakugou jerk and shriek under him. “Yup. Looks like a good one to me.”

“Ohoho plehehease, I cahahan’t, it’s so bahahad-” Bakugou whined, squirming and giggling despite Kirishima’s tickling on his thighs to even start yet.

“You’re a super ticklish guy, Bakugou, but you’re also super tough and manly. I know you can take it!” Kirishima hyped him up with a smile, just making Bakugou groan and roll his eyes with a snicker. “C’mon! Tell me you can take it!”

Bakugou huffed, gazing over at Kirishima’s face that plastered that stupid goofy grin of his. God why does he have to be so cute, Bakugou thought as he sighed with another eye roll.

“Fine, whatever, I can take it, just...fuckin get it over with already, you’re killing me heRE-HRGN! FFFAHAHAHAHA OH SHIHIHIT!” Bakugou keened, cackling and thrashing himself from side to side as both of Kirishima’s hands massaged into his upper thighs. The sensation was torturous, beyond torturous, his nerves were on fire and his muscles were pulsing under those terrible wiggling fingers, but if he could choose it, he’d feel like this forever if it were by the hands of that stupid fucking redhead.

“Damn, this must tickle bad , huh? You’re losing your mind!” Kirishima giggled, squeezing at those sensitive muscles like his life depended on it.

“FUHUHUCK! YEHEHES IT’S SO BAHAHAD! KIRIHIMAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEASE!” Bakugou pleaded and begged, tiny droplets of mirth finally pooling at the corners of his eyes despite his best wishes. Kirishima could tell the blonde was finally reaching his limits, and slowed his fingers down until he was just resting his hands on top of the boy’s thighs comfortingly, rubbing up and down the sides to soothe the still giggling boy.

Kirishima smiled down at Bakugou who was still coming down from his giggle high, titters that could light up a whole room spilling from his lips and making Kirishima’s heart swell. “You alive, man?”

Bakugou coughed out his last giggle, still breathing heavy before giving Kirishima a lazy nod. Kirishima giggled, gently climbing off the boy and laying down beside him on the bed. Bakugou brought his hands up to rub at his still flushed face, and Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. The red-head was grinning ear-to-ear, and he could tell that under the palms of those calloused hands covering Bakugou’s face, the blonde was too.

After a few more moments of comfortable silence, Bakugou brought his hands down, turning his head to face Kirishima with a small smile still visible, only on the corners of his lips. “You almost killed me, you bastard.”

“Sorry, you were...you were just really cute like that. I’ve never seen you giggle before,” Kirishima chuckled sheepishly, eyeing Bakugou’s nearly forgotten drink still sitting on the nightstand. He pointed over to it, Bakugou’s following the direction of his finger. “You should probably get a drink, you were laughing pretty hard there.”

Bakugou huffed, his cheeks flushing only slightly at the comment, but he still rolled over to grab the drink and turn back around to face the redhead. “Shut up, I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, I know...too ticklish for your own good, huh?” Kirishima snickered, Bakugou punching his shoulder playfully while taking a sip of his milk. Kirishima rubbed the spot Bakugou punched with a grin. “I’m being serious, though. You really did look cute like that.”

Bakugou’s eyes refused to meet Kirishima’s. His hands cupped tightly around the bottle in his lap, thumbs fiddling with the plastic wrapper encasing it. Kirishima could see how flustered he looked despite their eyes not meeting and he almost felt a little guilty. But Bakugou finally glanced up towards Kirishima, and for the first time ever, the blonde looked...shy. “Do you really think that or are you trying to fuck with me right now? Cause it’s not very nice to fucking flirt with someone if you don’t mean it.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened a little at his bluntness to call it what it was; flirting. “Well, y-yeah. Yeah I meant it. For real,” Kirishima said, but he could tell Bakugou wasn’t sure if he meant it. Kirishima furrowed his brows, cupping Bakugou’s chin gently like he had while attacking the boy just minutes ago, turning his head so their eyes would meet. He stared intently at him, making sure his expression was as genuine as a person could be. “I’m serious, Bakugou. I...I think you’re really attractive,” Kirishima saw how Bakugou’s eyes moved, how he felt frozen under his touch but still somehow looked like he wanted to squirm. “You’re cute and super manly, which I didn’t even know could be a real combination until I met you. You’re...you’re my favorite person, Bakugou.”

They sat like that for a moment. Kirishima brought his hand back down to rest in his own lap, but their eyes never left each other. That was, until, Bakugou’s eyes drifted downward towards Kirishima’s lips. Kirishima’s heart faltered for a minute at the gaze, feeling hair standing up at the back of his neck. Bakugou’s eyes darted back up to Kirishima, a tilt forward in his head that asked Kirishima ‘is this okay?’ Kirishima just nodded with half-lidded eyes, before Bakugou slowly leaned forward, his own eyes closing as their faces finally met in the middle when Kirishima pushed his own head forward.

Their lips brushed shyly against one another, as if cautious and unsure if this was an okay thing to do, before Kirishima pushed into it, forcing their lips together. Bakugou brought a hand up to cup at Kirishima’s cheek, Kirishima doing the same to Bakugou. Bakugou felt like he was going to melt, or explode, or disintegrate or...or just keep kissing Kirishima until he couldn’t breathe.

After what felt like an eternity, they pulled apart, breathless and hazy. Kirishima opened his eyes first, and when Bakugou opened his and looked at Kirishima with those shy little eyes he didn’t have before, Kirishima couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of giggles. His laugh was always too contagious, damnit, and before he knew it Bakugou was giggling along with him and he didn’t even know why.

When he finally caught his breath, Kirishima slumped back against the pillows of Bakugou’s bed, Bakugou following him to lay there and stare questioningly. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just...you tasted like strawberry milk.”

Bakugou paused for a moment, before chuckling, shoving at Kirishima playfully as they both snickered. “You’re a fucking dork.”

“Hm, maybe,” Kirishima giggled as he brought his face back closer towards Bakugou’s, meeting their lips once again in a soft kiss that lasted forever.

Kirishima would definitely have to thank Mr. Bakugou later for that helpful information about his son, because now their night tasted like strawberry milk and giggles, and Kirishima didn’t want anything else in the entire world than just that.

. . .

A/N : hope you guys enjoyed that, sorry its so fucking long LMAOO i got very carried away. it took me a while to write and ive got a fucking headache so imma go lay down now, MUCH LOVE!! <33

[azaleavi]

Baby, show me what it's like - Y.B.

Summary: Dancing with a stranger at a party doesn’t seem like a bad idea. That is until it turns out she is the leader of a motorcycle club.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, kissing, dancing with a stranger

Author’s note: I don’t really have anything to say lol please let me know what you think about this!

Feedback is always appreciated and don’t forget to reblog and like if you enjoyed it and want to see more. Thank you!

Masterlist

The music blasting in the small space shook your whole body as you walked through the crowd following your friends. They dragged you out to party because - in their words - you needed to find someone to take the stress out of your body. College has been hard on you in the last couple of weeks as you had exams after assignments. You were stressed at the time, but since everything has been done you felt fine.

But now you are here at a club that is overstuffed with people. You reach the bar where your friends are already waiting for you. They already ordered way too many shots for you and you feel your stomach turn at the thought of all the alcohol they will make you drink. You want to have fun so you grab the shot glass closest to you and drown it in one shot. They all cheer at your action so you raise the now empty glass to the air before slamming it down the countertop. Another full glass is shoved into your hands and you drink it without hesitation. The alcohol burns as it travels through your body, making you shiver and grimace. You are so going to regret this.

After a few minutes of drinking, they grab your hands and lead you to the dance floor. You roll your eyes as they find a space big enough for you all to fit. You feel the beat course through your body making your hips move. The music and the alcohol combined allow you to let loose. You raise your hands to the air above your head as you sway your hips to the beat.

A few songs come and go and you feel yourself get progressively more carefree and you feel a pair of eyes on your body. If you were sober you might find it creepy but right now you just love the attention. You circle your hips harder and more seductively, hoping that the person staring at you takes his chance. You drag your hands down your body as you lean your head back, baring your neck. Slowly spinning around you show them your full body from every angle, your heart beating rapidly. You have never done this before, but you find it exhilarating.

Biting your lip you close your eyes just as a pair of arms wrap around your waist. A smirk makes its way into your lips as you feel the stranger’s body flush against you. Your eyes are still closed and you don’t want to open them. You want to live in this moment without worrying about who is behind you. The hands splay on your stomach as you lean your head back onto his shoulder. The person behind you is around the same height as you, maybe a little taller. Perfect.

One of the hands leaves your front and it sweeps your hair away from your neck that is closer to his face. Your heart beats at the same time as a soft kiss is left on the skin of your neck. The other hand leads your hips along with his, your mouth opening in a silent moan. The kisses keep being placed on your neck and you turn your head to give him more space. They turn open-mouthed and it makes you grab his hands that are on your stomach. His lips travel up to under your ear and he nips at the skin there. Your hands squeeze his and you hear a low chuckle in your ear, his breath hitting the shell of your ear, making you shiver. You push out your behind to his front which makes his hands squeeze your hips. Two fingers tap on your jaw on the other side of your head and they push you to turn your head towards the person's face whom you still haven't seen.

Your eyes stay closed as you feel him lean over to your lips, but before they can press onto yours, you open your eyes. Your whole body freezes as you realize who is in front of you. A woman. You push her away frantically as you stumble backward, colliding with other people who are unaware of what's happening. You mumble out a sorry which you are sure they don't hear, but you don't care. You almost kissed a woman. And not just any woman. The stranger in front of you is Yelena Belova. The Yelena Belova. Everyone in the city knows her and avoids her as much as they can. She is the leader of the Widow Club. One of the most dangerous people in the area. They all carry guns around, ride motorcycles and wear as much leather as they can. Like she is doing now, as she has a black leather jacket on with leather pants and a simple white t-shirt. It's hot. No, you can't think like that. She is dangerous. And she is looking right at you now.

You gulp as she keeps staring with her eyebrows raised expectantly. She takes a step closer to you and you try to stand your ground on shaky legs. She raises her hand and your eyes warily follow all her movements. The music is still blasting around you, but your ears are ringing as she sweeps your hair out of your face. Your mouth opens slightly and her eyes move down to it from your eyes. You close it quickly when you notice where her attention has shifted.

"What's wrong darling?" her accent surprises you and your body doesn't move as she steps even closer. Her face is a few inches from yours and you can't think of anything else but how gorgeous she is "Hmm?" she makes you feel small even though she is only a few inches taller than you.

"I don't- I can't- I'm not-" you stumble over your words making her smile at your cuteness. You are adorable.

"What is it?" she tilts her head to the side. You know she is talking to you like a baby, but somehow you find yourself liking it.

"I like men" the words fall out of your lips messily and your eyes widen at your own confession. Will she be mad?

"Are you sure?" she squints at you, not quite believing your words. Maybe you don't know yet "Because it seemed to me that you enjoyed yourself a few seconds prior" her smile is kind, but you are having a hard time believing she is being sincere.

"I thought you were a man" you avert your eyes and instead look at the people around you.

"Okay" she swiftly steps back with her hands up in surrender. You look at her in confusion "I don't know how badly you think of me" she begins and you look down on the ground in shame "but I won't push you to do anything" she gives you a small smile and then she is out of your sight, the crowd swallowing her. She is gone just like that. You stand there in shock as you try to process what happened. You spoke to one of the most feared people in the city. What is more, you danced with her and almost kissed her. And it was hot. Wait, no. It wasn't. It's just the alcohol in your system that makes you think like this.

You shake your head to clear your head, but it doesn't help much. Looking around you find your friends a few feet away from you, clearly not knowing what just happened. You walk over to them and tell them that you don't feel too good and you want to go home. You say your goodbyes and leave the place to flag down a taxi to finally go home and spend a sleepless night tossing and turning in your bed with a certain woman on your mind.

-

A whole week passes by and you still haven't forgotten about your almost kiss with Yelena. It's been on your mind every day since it happened and you found yourself fantasizing about what would have happened if you didn't stop. It's been annoying you the whole time, but you refused to dwell on it for too long. Until now.

You can't think of anyone else but her, even when a man is right in front of you. You can't kiss anyone without her face being the one that pops up in your mind. You don't understand what she did to you, but something is not right and you know how you can make it go away. You just have to kiss her and you are good. You don't know what it would be like and that's why you can't think about it. That has to be it. It's the only explanation.

Thus you decided to go to the place normal people wouldn't think of going. The Widow Club's place.

As you reach the old building your stomach contracts, your heart beating rapidly. Sweat coats your palms as you walk through the gate and into the yard that stretches in front of the building. Every head turns to you which makes you stop in your tracks, your fake confidence faltering.

"What do you want?" one of the women shouts at you which makes you slightly vince. They all laugh at your reaction.

"I'm looking for Yelena Belova" you speak back loud enough for them to hear. The woman who spoke to you raises her eyebrows and stands up from where she was sitting fixing her bike. She opens her mouth to speak but a door to her right opens and out walks the woman you are looking for. You unconsciously straighten your spine as she looks you up and down and you see recognition in her eyes. She remembers you.

"Come in" she looks into your eyes and you quickly walk toward her. She lets you walk through the open door first and you find yourself in a small office. Shelves line the wall to your right and a table with two chairs on either side of it is in the middle of the room.

Turning around you find Yelena flipping someone off outside the room before turning to you and closing the door behind her.

"So what do you want?" she sits down on her chair and motions for you to do the same across the table. You follow her and sit down. You inhale deeply and the air leaves your lungs in a long sigh.

"What did you do to me?" you look into her striking eyes and you almost lose yourself in it.

"What?" she leans forward to rest her elbows on the table.

"What did you do to me?" you repeat yourself a little slower.

"No I understood what you said, I just don't know what you mean" she shakes her head with a small smile on her lips. The lips you couldn't stop thinking about the past week. You clear your throat and look away from her face.

"Why can't I stop thinking about you and our almost kiss?" you steel yourself as you let the words fall from your lips. Maybe she has the answer to the question that has been burning you. She stares at you for a few seconds without moving at all and you start to feel uncomfortable.

"Are you serious?" she bursts out laughing out of nowhere. She falls back into her chair and now it's your turn to stare at her. Her laugh. Oh god her laugh is the most wonderful sound you have ever heard. When she quiets down a little she stands up and walks around the table to your side. You lean back as she places her hands on either side of you on the chair. Your gulp is visible to her and she tilts her head to the side in wonder.

"Are you scared of me?" she looks into your wide eyes, her voice is soft.

"No" your answer is quick and it comes out without thinking. Without knowing you ease her worries with just that one word.

"Does your heart beat faster when I'm this close?" she leans in closer and you suck in a breath which answers enough for her "You said you keep thinking about me" she grabs your arms to pull you up into a standing position "Well, I keep thinking about you too" she guides you to lean your back against the table and you let her move you however she wants. Her words leave you speechless, your heart drumming against your ribs in anticipation. She places her hands on either side of you on the table, caging you in.

"What do you want me to do about it?" her face comes closer to yours, her eyes not leaving your lips, and all of your resolves disappear.

"Kiss me" these two words are all she needs before her lips crash into yours. Your arms wrap around her neck to pull her closer as her tongue swipes across your bottom lip and your mouth opens to give her access. She explores your mouth making both of you moan into the fervent kiss. You know she is experienced from the way she moves her lips against yours and it only makes you even more frustrated in the best way.

She pulls away from you after a few seconds, eliciting a groan from you. Your eyes stay closed as you relish the feeling of being kissed by her for the first time. She places her thumb on your lips which makes you open your eyes. Her orbs are full of emotions you can't quite grasp yet, but you want to learn all of them. You lean toward her, but stop before you could kiss her again. Your mind is a mess and you can only think about her and her soft lips right now.

"Again?" the cheeky smile on her face leaves you breathless and you can only nod in response. She lets out a small chuckle before pressing her lips to yours again. Your noses bump against each other as her hands grasp your waist. Your fingers tangle in her blonde hair as she shifts her body flush against yours. Her hands find the back of your thighs to help you sit up onto the desk, knocking over everything in your way. Pencils fall on the ground along with their holder amidst loud clangs, but neither of you cares. She stands between your open legs, her lips not leaving yours for a second. You feel her palms brush the skin of your thighs and your mind goes into a frenzy.

A knock sounds from the door and you immediately pull away from her startled by the sudden interruption. Leaning her forehead against your shoulder she groans which makes you giggle. Pressing one last kiss on your lips she walks to the door and opens it.

"This better be important" her voice is authoritative and you are glad she doesn't see you as you bite your lip and clench your thighs together. God, she is so hot.

"Sorry boss we just heard some loud noises and we wanted to check on you to see if you were okay" you can hear the voice of the woman who spoke to you before, now it's laced with a smile as if she can barely hold back from bursting out laughing. They must be close.

"Fuck off" Yelena scoffs at her and she finally lets out the laugh she has been holding back. She slams the door in the woman's face and she turns back to you while shaking her head with a smile on her face. You lean back onto your hands on the table and tilt your head to the side as you watch her mumble under her breath. You catch a few idiots and I should be more strict which makes you smile. Is this the big, feared leader of the Widow Club? People don't know the real her it seems.

Her eyes find yours and she just looks at you for a few seconds. She has stunning eyes. In a few long strides, she is in front of you again, her hands on your legs.

"So how was that pretty girl?" her nose brushes yours which makes a small whine escape the confines of your lips. You avert your eyes bashfully after the sound you make. You seem way too needy.

"Did you like it?" her thumb brushes your cheek and your heartbeat speeds up at the tender touch "Did it answer your question?"

"Yes" the word comes out breathy "to both of them" your answer makes her chuckle.

"And what is the answer?" she pushes you.

"I want more" you confess while closing your eyes. You are too scared to see her reaction and it seems too real now that you said it out loud. You've never thought of any woman like this before.

"More of what?" her thumb keeps stroking your cheek making it hard to think straight.

"You" you keep your eyes closed because you know you would get lost in her orbs if you freed yours.

"Me?" the surprise in her voice is unmistakable and it makes you open your eyes.

"Yes, you" you nod confidently "I want to get to know you" you decide to tell her how you feel, and the smile that lights up her face is worth embarrassing yourself. She slams her lips onto yours making you grab her arm so you don't fall backward. Her kiss is hurried as she pours all her emotions into it and you feel like the whole room is spinning around you.

Pulling away the adorable smile makes its way back to her face and you feel your insides turn into mush at how endearing she is.

"I can't wait to get to know you" you laugh as she holds out her hand for you to shake.

"Yelena Belova" she introduces herself and you tell her your name in return.

"I think we will have a lot of fun together" her smile turns cheeky and you feel your face heat up at the implication of her words.

You can't wait to learn everything about the person most people know by reputation and you are glad you get the opportunity to be close to her. Who needs men when you have a woman like this next to you?

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[quillsanddaydreams]

false promises

sirius black x reader

—author’s note: this idea was something that came to me before writing a paper and it just struck with me since. Sirius and you have a long history you can never get over. What happens when you finally get an opportunity to leave it all behind?

—warning(s): breakup and angst. gender neutral!reader (pronouns aren’t used).

—word count: 1,702

The sky was quickly turning black as you watched the streets the bus passed through. Today had been a whirlwind of emotions you weren’t sure you could contain. You had looked through old photographs, happy faces smiling back at you. They seem to make you feel worse, although you knew you had to do what you had planned for the day. Rip the band aid. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out and walked into the restaurant.

Your gaze immediately went over to him, his smile lighting up the room. Sirius. No other name could do him justice. James had an arm around him, enthusiastically telling the company something. Remus noticed you first. He gave a huge grin, waving at you. Forcing yourself to smile back at him, you made your way over to the table.

“Aha there you are!” James exclaimed, his eyes twinkling. “And here we thought you wouldn’t show up to a meeting you called.”

You rolled your eyes playfully while your heart constricted. Delaying worked only for so long. Sitting down beside Remus, you flipped open the menu avoiding everyone’s eyes. Especially the grey ones. He could always read you like an open book.

“So, did you all find anything interesting?” you said, scanning the menu like you had done a hundred times before. The group hummed in response.

Calling in the waitress, you gave your orders. You wondered whether any of them would continue some small talk, holding a glass of water to your lips. How were you even supposed to tell them? Sirius nudged you with his feet, making you look up at him. He raised his eyebrows wordlessly questioning you whether you were alright. Nodding carefully, you tried your best to hold your emotions in. Quiet followed, you could hear the cutlery being kept and people around your table chatting. It was as if everyone was anticipating a shoe to drop. Black spoke first.

“I know you like treating us and all,” he started as others leaned in. “But what’s the occasion for today? You’ve been so secretive about it; you didn’t even tell me.”

Your throat felt dry even though you just had some water. All of a sudden you felt as if you were exposed. Mulling over your next words, you pushed your nails into the palm of your hand. A habit you picked up as a child.

“I got a huge job offer, more of a promotion to be honest,” you began, watching their reactions. “The salary is quite something and the experience would step me up to a much higher position.”

“Whoa, that is so amazing” James said with widened eyes, cutting you off. Remus nodded along.

“And the way you were acting, we were afraid you were going to deliver a death sentence or something.”

“That is so great, congratulations!”

“It’s in Japan,” you whispered but no one seemed to hear you.

“You’ve been working so hard everyday—“

“We have to get ice-cream later!”

“It’s in japan!” you shouted, making the table fall silent again. Remus bit his lip, searching your face as Sirius just stared.

“It’s a five-year program,” you continued. “I talked to my boss and she told me this was a brilliant opportunity and that I should definitely pack up my bags.”

“You seriously aren’t considering to take up on that, are you?” James asked. Your jaw felt heavy. The silence must have been an enough answer, because no one dared to speak. Remus cleared his throat.

“Is this what you want?” he hushed as you felt tears prick your eyes. It wasn’t what you wanted; it was what you needed. You sneaked a glance at Sirius, who was still looking at you, dumbfounded.

You nodded slowly. James fidgeted.

“So this is your way of saying goodbye?” James remarked, a tad bit agitatedly.

“James—”

“Don’t James me!” he said, narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re talented. I know that, you know that. You can do without this program. And it’s in Japan for goodness’ sake! It’s miles away. Miles! Going there for five whole years means not looking back.”

“There are ways to communicate,” you said, your voice small. Even you didn’t believe that. James sat back, his arms folded.

“I hate you so much right now,” Remus said, picking at his napkin. You put your hand over his, squeezing slightly. He sighed. Sirius got up all of a sudden. You flinched. He turned to the group giving a random excuse about some work and left the table. Looking down at your hands, you heard the restaurant door close with a thud. Tears fell down your cheeks and you furiously wiped them off.

The rest of the dinner went in a strange calm. It was obvious to both James and Remus that you were just as much hurt as them. James gave you a small smile and helped brighten the mood at the table. Remus reassured you ever so often. You were grateful.

-♡♡♡-

Sirius didn’t contact you after that night. He was angry. Angry at you, angry for what you planned for yourself. It hurt you, more than you could care to admit. This playing around on your tip toes had been going for far too long. You knew your breakup with Sirius had been mutual, for both your goods but you didn’t have it in you to sit back and watch him fall into arms of people that weren’t you. Not anymore. Not when you still loved him. And you knew Sirius did too, it was how he still went out of his way to make you smile, how he loathed every single person you dated after him unable to realise that none of them could compare to him. None of them could compare to how he made you feel.

It left you to wonder at times whether the breakup was really the right decision. You reminded yourself that it was whenever the thought came up. Both of you wanted different things. Sirius never wanted to settle down and you did. After months of fighting and waiting for the other to give in to the other or come to a compromise, you realised it wasn’t going to work. You sighed. What were you doing reminiscing either way?

You checked all your bags and papers before putting on the coat ready to face the inevitable. Driving to the edge of the lake, you stopped and walked into the old abandoned warehouse. The grey walls didn’t seem haunting anymore, but inviting like an old friend. You smiled seeing a similar figure standing over the old table watching the ceiling.

“How did you find me?” he whispered, not sparing you a glance.

“I just felt the stench of complete and utter disappointment in me and followed it,” you jested but sobered seeing the look on Sirius’s face. You moved towards him slowly, gently placing a hand on his cheek cradling his face.

“Hey,” you whispered. He looked at you, his dark eyes making you lose yourself in them. “Don’t do this Sirius. You know I wouldn’t be able to leave you like this.”

“Then don’t leave,” he said simply. “I know you’re not doing it for yourself. You’re just running away.”

“You’re running away from me,” he hushed. You felt your mouth go dry. So he did know. There was no use beating about the bush, Sirius hated when people twisted up words.

“Well I am.”

“Why?”

“Why? You know why,” you pleaded. “Sirius I’ve been in love with you since I was a child. A child. We’ve been best friends all my life. Then we dated for five whole years. And now we don’t. I can’t be your ex and your friend simultaneously anymore, it’s been torture. Do you know how it feels knowing we’ll never be the same anymore? Just how much it hurts?”

“Do you think I feel good about it?” Sirius raised his voice, frustration from all those months pouring in. “Do you think I feel good about never being able to hold you close and see other men and women do it?”

“So maybe the job will do good to both of us,” you said after a beat.

“I did not say that—”

“Sirius—”

“No I didn’t. I’ll do anything for you. Give me another chance, just don’t go away,” Sirius said and you felt helpless. Sirius took your hands, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Tears pricked your eyes. You could remember all the time you spent with him together. Riding his bike to the sunset, singing and dancing nonsensically to songs, him kissing you softly telling you he loved you. The memories flashed before your eyes like a film reel. You could barely see anything through the salty tears welling up.

“That wouldn’t do justice to either of us,” you said after some time, your voice barely audible. “Some things aren’t meant to be. We’ll fight again Sirius, we’ll be angry at each other and we’ll end up hating each other more every day. And I won’t be able to live with myself knowing I spoiled the best relationship I ever had.”

Sirius gulped, breaking into sobs.

“Damn you,” he croaked. “Damn you for going away. Damn you for making me lose you all over again. As if it wasn’t painful enough the first time.”

You laughed through snuffles and squeezed his hand.

“You’ll never lose me. You’ll never get rid of me even if you tried—” you stopped as Sirius crashed his lips into yours, kissing you urgently. You pulled him closer by his shirt, as one of his hands went at your waist and the other held your face. Pulling away in a daze you sniffed and Sirius buried his face in your neck hugging you. Time seemed to pass by as neither of you pulled away.

“I guess I really can’t make you stay, can I?” he said as you shook your head, wrapping your arms around his body. “I’ll miss you. And I’ll show up at your door myself if you don’t answer my letters. Promise me you’ll keep in touch.”

You pulled back, wiping his face with your fingers.

“I promise.”

—as for the taglist: I don’t make taglists, I have a blog @from-my-quill which is updated whenever I post fanfiction. You could have the notifications on for it and it will work just like me tagging you.

⟨⟨REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED⟩⟩

[redhairedfeistynerd]

Slush and a Side of Toys

Part 2

A/N:  Winter/Holiday Festival Challenge. I chose #38 donating toys to children.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Warnings: 18+  Angst, frustrated reader, swearing, alcohol

Words:3500+

Part 1 here

Please like, comment and reblog. I appreciate it and thanks for reading.

All mistakes are my own

A reminder - my work is not to be re-posted anywhere.

Snow.  

Of all the days to make the largest and final delivery, the sky had to open and drop copious amount of fluffy, white snow throughout the morning, which dramatically turned to rain in the afternoon. The streets were bound to be a disaster and you didn’t have time for this mess.

Trying to slide another box into your SUV was like playing a game of Tetris and one that you were about to lose. With a push, the last piece fit in, but as one went in, another slid out. From the top of the pile, a large box (in painful slow motion) popped out of its comfy home and dropped to the ground, a large splash soaking your left side with cold, slushy water. All the carefully wrapped toys, were now submerged in the grey slush water at your feet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you cried out to the sky and pulled your toque over your eyes. Lifting the wool from your eyes, you stared at the colossal mess at your feet, and tried to swallow down the lump that was quickly forming in your throat. Blinking fast, attempting to avoid that tears that were threatening to pour out of your eyes. What a mess.

“Y/N?” A male voice came from behind you, the sound of slushy footsteps quickly approaching.

Oh no. OH NO.

Not that voice.  

Squatting down once more to try and quickly pick up some of the packages, you stop when two large feet stand in the water beside you, splashing dirty droplets of water in your face.

“Thanks, asshole,” you muttered.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Chris chuckled from above you and offered his hand.

“Get the fuck away from me, Evans,” you shouted, slipping while trying to stand up. You made another attempt to stand and turned to face him, a look of disgust clearly showing across your face.  

“Damn. What exactly did I do to you again?”

“The fact that you are asking, pisses me off even more,” you shot back as you turned around and bent down, wrapping your arms around several sopping packages.

“Gifts for your boyfriend?” He asked, his tone emitting a slice of jealousy.

“These gifts are for the kids, you oaf,” you snapped back.

Chris didn’t have a response but leaned down to pick up a box floating near his feet “Here, don’t forget this one.  I’m...I’m sorry for the snarky comment,” he said biting at his lip, embarrassment running through him. “I didn’t mean to talk to you like that,” he added holding out the small, mushy box to you. “Are these going to the women’s centre? I can help you get them there if you like.”

You stared back at him, trying not to bit your lip so hard in frustration. “I don’t need your help. Please, stay away from me, Chris,” you said grabbing the wet box from his hand. “They’re going to the Neighbourhood House.”

“At least let me get the car door for you, the trunk looks a bit full,” Chris said as he opened the back door.  

Tossing the wet gifts into the back, not caring about the upholstery, you muttered a “thanks” Chris’s way before slamming the door and walking around to the driver's side, stopping to close the trunk on your way. Hopping in, you made the mistake of looking in your rearview mirror as you started up the car, Chris’s smirking face looking right at you. “Stupid good-looking asshole,” you snarled as you drove away from him, trying to ignore the small wave he gave as you drove down the street. Heading back to your office, hoping that your coworker was still there with the other pile of gifts that were ready to go out today to a few local schools.  

The office was quiet, no papers shuffling, no phones ringing. You knew you had missed your chance to switch out some of the gifts before heading over to the Neighbourhood House that evening. This day was not going the way you had planned and if you couldn’t deliver the gifts promised, this day was going to go from bad to worse, very quicky.  

You wanted to blame all of this on Chris, mainly because even looking at his handsome face infuriated you more than anything. But your reasonable side knew that the problems with the gifts had nothing to do with him and you were still holding a grudge from years before. You needed to get this out of your system, once and for all.  

You poked around the storage room in your office for any extra toys; a few boxes remained and you remembered that several gift cards remained – a few of the older kids may want to buy something instead.  

Okay, this will work. This isn’t so bad, right?

Packing up the new gifts in bags and leaving the soggy toys by your desk, you headed back to your car and off to the Neighbourhood House.  

*

“What? Where did these come from?” You gaped at the bags stuffed with tissue paper of every colour, full of gifts. Boxes upon boxes filled the front of the entryway, piled neatly underneath a large tree that almost touched the high ceiling.

“A gentleman came by, maybe 20 minutes ago with all of these, he said that they were part of the delivery you were bringing by this evening.”

“But...I...” Completely confused but relieved that you didn’t need to explain the mess that had happened earlier in the day, you smiled at the shelter employee and made your way back out to your car to bring in the remainder of the gifts.

“Thank you for your kind donation this year, including our staff this year was not expected,” Marjorie the director of the Neighbourhood House gushed.

Was this some alternate universe where gifts started popping up where ever you went. What the hell was going on? Had your team approved an extra donation at the last moment?  

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for you to figure out what was going on. There he stood, inside the main entrance of the building, hands in his pockets, bouncing on his heels, whistling a Christmas song and completely avoiding eye contact.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, walking up to the smirking man.

“Trying to follow in your footsteps and help out the community more? Is that okay with you?” Chris snapped back at you.

Storming out of the building, you rushed to your car, in hopes of escaping Chris. His long strides caught up to you in no time, meeting you at the SUV but before you could put your hand on the door handle, he took hold of your arm and turned your body to face him.

“Why are you so angry at me? All I did after I saw you three years ago, was to send you flowers! Do you hate flowers or something?! I’m trying to figure out what the hell I did to you to make you act this way around me?”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about; you’re absolutely delusional,” you spat at him and went to pull at the handle too fast, ripping back one of your nails. You shouted out in pain, holding your finger tightly with the other hand, face flushing red out of anger and pain.

He reached out, placing his hand on your shoulder, trying to stop you from turning away. “Y/N-

“Don’t touch me!” You shouted, pulling away your arm in disgust, “the last time you did that, you broke my fucking heart!” And with those final words, you pulled on the door handle again, hopping into the car and screaming once more before starting the engine. Your head fell to the steering wheel, hitting your forehead into the it several times while angry words spouted out of your mouth.  

Having no idea what was going on, Chris drove away from the shelter, utterly confused by what you had screamed at him. How the hell had he broken your heart? After spending the night at your place all those years ago, a lazy morning and a wonderful breakfast, he had made his way back home with the promise to see you again two days later. Unfortunately, his schedule had a last-minute change and he had to head out several days earlier than expected. He’d spoken with Scott and begged him to pop by your office and drop off a bouquet as an apology and that he would reschedule when he returned to town the following week. What if...

Chris turned the wheel fast, tires screeching as he maneuvered a U-Turn and headed back towards his house. Once parked, he slammed his car door and pushed his way into his house, the aggression taken out on the door as he slammed it. He immediately headed up to the guest room to find his brother. He found him quickly, the younger Evans sitting back and looking engaged in a book that once sat on Chris’s nightstand. Scott jumped when Chris burst into the room, letting out a scream and throwing the book towards his older brother.

“Chris! What the hell, man,” shouted Scott and got up for the bed to stand in front of his brother.  

“I’ve got something to ask you and you better have an answer that makes sense,” Chris shouted. “What happened when I asked you to send Y/N flowers all those years ago?”

Scott nodded, his eyes looking to the ground, afraid to meet his brother's cold stare. “I... I forgot to do what you asked. I ended up with a call from my agent and was excited about the conversation I had and it slipped my mind. Plus, there were a thousand other things that came up that week. I’m sorry?” Scott apologized, looking up and meeting his brothers' eye, a little smile on his face, looking for forgiveness.

“Scott! What do you mean you forgot?” Chris stepped closer to Scott, almost nose to nose.

“Exactly what I said, I forgot to go by. I had a lot of other things going on that week if I’m remembering clearly. Was it too hard for you to call or message her?”

“I thought the flowers would be a romantic gesture. I can’t believe you never went by, now I know why she doesn’t want me near her. The thing is, when I got back, I did call her and she never picked up.”

“Do you not know how to leave a voicemail? A text? Are you really that idiotic?”

“She just...I just...” Chris couldn’t stop fumbling with his words.

“You’re something else, dear older brother. But I know you can talk and I know you have a romantic side. So, where to start?”

Chris shuffled his feet, embarrassed that he hadn’t given you the time and respect you deserved all those years ago. “I guess I should try to talk to her,” he mumbled.

Scott pushed his right shoulder, “Come on Rico Suave, you can fix this, right?”

“I’m pretty sure after her stewing on this for 3 years, that my chances are nil.”

“Bat those pretty blues and sing to her, I swear, use your Evans charm, or continue being a dumbass, your choice,” Scott shrugged.

Chris shook his head in annoyance and walked away from his brother. Could he fix this?

“So, lover boy, what’s going on in that big head of yours?”

“I’m going to go by her office and I’m going to beg her to come by the house.”

“And what

“I have an idea. What do you think about this...”

*

The chimes jingled as the door to your office opened “I’ll be right with you, I just have to send off this email,” you said. A few more words added and you hit the send button. “Okay, done. What can I help...” You tried to finish your sentence but that cat definitely had your tongue. The second your eyes met the blue eyes of the man you despised more than anything, you couldn’t finish asking your question.  

“Y/N, please, please let talk to you about what happened, or what I think happened. Please,” Chris pleaded, seconds away from falling to his knees and begging.  

You were tongue tied, the snark you could so easily dish out was stuck in the back of your throat, silenced.  

“I’m sorry that I came by work, I didn’t know how else to get a hold of you. You did a pretty good job of blocking me on every form of media and communication I have. When I saw Rosie, I couldn’t help but ask about you.”  

“Why are you here?” you whispered, trying to hold back tears that were fueled by sadness and anger.

“I want to, I need to talk to you about what happened. A few things came to light today, that I didn’t know and I would appreciate if you would take the time to listen and hear me out.”

Before you could try to respond, your phone sang out a tune, the one that you have reserved for Rosie. Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you now had an excuse to pull your eyes away from Chris.

Y/N. Please give him a chance. Hear him out, I swear it's worth it.  

“Rosie is in on this too? Why are you involving my friends Chris? I swear, you better make this worth it.”  

“Please. Y/N. After you finish up here, will you come by my place and I promise all I want to do is speak and I’d appreciate it if you’d be willing to listen.”

You needed to sit down. The anxiety building quickly, you couldn’t breathe. “Fine. I’ll come by in an hour. I’ll sit. I’ll listen. That’s all. Deal?”

Chris’s face lit up, a half-smile forming, “Deal, I’ll see you shortly.” He gave a little wave and headed back out into the night.

You sat in your car outside of Chris’s beautiful house, nervous as to what the night was going to bring. After all of these years, what did he need to tell you? Would a simple text not suffice? You took a deep breath and unbuckled your seatbelt, ready to pull off the Band-Aid quickly and get this all over with. Feet finally out of your car, you walked across the gravel drive to his front door, knocking and hearing Dodger bark at the sound. Footsteps followed soon after, the door unlocked, and there, there was the most handsome man you had ever seen (and couldn’t stand).

“I was wondering when you were going to get out of your car. I heard you drive up about twenty minutes ago and I figured you were having second thoughts about coming. I’m glad you’re here though, so thank you.” Chris moved aside and you walked into the entryway, pulling off your shoes and placing the beside the door. “Follow me, we can sit in the front room. Would you like a drink?”

“I’m pretty sure a drink is necessary.”  

“Let me go grab something, take a look around, okay?”  

Walking to the couch, you checked out the little plants and decorative items he had placed around the room. There were some great art pieces on his walls and when you got closer to the couch, the painting hung above it stopped you. “What the...” It couldn’t be, there was no way that he could have known all this time and not have said anything. This man lived to rub shit in your face – the ultimate gloater. In front of you, on the wall above his couch, was the painting you had donated all those years ago to the gallery. Dodger’s nails tapped on the wooden floor, pulling your mind (and jaw) back into place. You heard footsteps following and a tune being whistled as he walked through the doorway, a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands.

“I thought you might like a glass of this, I...” he stopped halfway to you and realized that you were still standing in the middle of the room, your mouth half open and staring at him. His eyes flicked to the painting on the wall and then back to your face, you could see the look of panic slowly starting to take over. “I...I can explain,” he stuttered taking several steps closer to you.

“How-”

“There was something that was pushing me to find out and that night, I called the owner of the gallery and asked if I could find out which piece you had donated. She was hesitant to offer any details but as privileged as this sounds, I offered to donate a large sum to the charity and buy another painting from her gallery to get the information. I needed to see what you created and once I had it, I couldn’t stay away from you...which is why we kept running into each other the way we did. Please don’t be creeped out.”

“Are you completely forgetting about the whole fuck ‘n chuck moment? You hunt me down and flash your pearly whites at me, make me feel something for you, we get into bed, and poof, you disappear. Care to explain before I get the hell out of here? You replied angrily, your face flushing out of frustration.

“Y/N...”

“Y/N, what? Oh, it wasn’t the right time. I didn’t think it meant anything...”  

“That’s not it, that’s not it at all.”

"Then what is it, Christopher. You never shut up and when I need you to say something, you clam up. What IS IT?” You couldn’t help but shout, you were angry, sad, and had no idea where this was going.

“If you stopped jumping over what I keep trying to say, then maybe I could get everything out. So, for a few minutes, can you keep your mouth shut. Shit, and I thought I was annoying,” he explained loudly.

You nodded; eyes wide that he had raised his voice to get his story across. You were wound up so tightly, incredibly hurt by his action's years ago, that you didn’t exactly know how to contain and cope with your emotions. You took a seat on the couch and looked up at him, still standing where he first entered the room and had stopped when he noticed you looking at your own art in his house. He took a few steps closer and looked to you, “Is it okay if I sit on the couch next to you?”

“I guess...”

Chris sat a comfortable distance from you, placed the wine glasses and bottle on the table and waited until you settled and looked to him to continue on.  

“I messed everything up, I’m taking all responsibility for this giant mess.” Chris sat silent for a few moments, his fingers intertwined and his left thumb rubbing across the right. He was clearly nervous. Clearing his throat and lifting his head up, blue eyes meeting yours, he blinked once and began to speak. “It was never my intention to hurt you. I messed up and badly. When I left you that morning, my plan was to see you again, once I returned home from my work trip. Everything happened so fast that day and to be honest with you, my head was in the clouds; all of my thoughts revolved around you and the wonderful evening I had with you. I was so busy in dreamland, that I ended up almost missing my flight. I asked Scott to help me out and send a bouquet of flowers to you, with a note explaining that I had to leave earlier and that I would call you soon. The thing is, I thought he had followed through and didn’t even know until the other day that he had never sent the flowers or note to you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I did try to call though, when I was home and you never answered and I figured the night meant nothing to you.”

You sat there, silent for a few moments trying to take in everything he had said “Well, aren’t we a bunch of idiots,” you said, looking at him, a smile on your face.

The corner of Chris’s mouth lifted, a smile in there. “Does this mean you forgive me?"

“I mean, I’m still upset but I get that miscommunication can happen and I mean, how many people go as far as calling a gallery to hunt down a painting and then buying it. You’re pretty unbelievable, Evans.”

“But do you forgive me?” Chris asked as he scooted closer to you and let his fingers crawl closer to yours.

You took a hold of his hand and brought it to your lips, and kissed his knuckles softly. “I do forgive you Chris and I hope you forgive me for how hostile I’ve been. I really appreciate what you did for the Neighbourhood House too, I’ve never seen anything like that and you saved the day, so, thank you.” You kissed his hand again and looked up at him, a smile still on his face.  

Chris sighed and watched as you pulled his hand into your lap. “Y/N, is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?”

“That would make me incredibly happy,” you replied and moved in closer, meeting his soft lips again after all these years. “I’m still mad at you though, I hope you know that. And let’s not forget about Rosie. I can’t believe the two of you did this. I’m still mad at her too.

Chris pulled you in for another kiss, running his hands through your hair. “I know. I plan on making it up to you. I’ll help with every event; I’ll clean up your messy office. I’ll even carrying you and your toys through the slush.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and pull him down with you to lay on the couch. “I can’t wait for you to get started.”

[spiltscribbles]

Here’s a prompt from the tag! “ Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.” bc I have a feeling Remis would be the type to end up eating Sirius’ dessert instead of his bc he doesn’t know what to order but Sirius knows his taste dkfjsjaha

~Notes: Oh no baby! I read this wrong, thinking it was Person A ordering for them instead because Person B didn’t know what they wanted.... And well this came out-- I can totally write a different prompt though to match this one! Just LMK! <3 <3

.-

Send Me A Prompt  |  Reblogs are like the tastiest dessert!!

.-

Remus pads softly into his and Sirius’s room, a mug of steaming Darjeeling in hand and clad only in a his robe as he gazes longingly at the sleeping form of his partner for nearing on three years now. 

The early morning sun pans across the wide expanse of Sirius’s shoulders, and dips into the planes and valleys of his muscular torso and angular face. Lying there, with his dark hair fanning the pillow and the blanket slung lazily around his hips, he looks like some sort of fallen angel. Beautiful and remote and impossible to touch by sullied hands that aren’t half as sacred. It makes his heart thud an uneven staccato when he remembers that he’s his— Sirius chose Remus, Sirius loves Remus— Maybe even nearly as much as Remus has always loved him.

How remarkable of a revelation indeed.

Gingerly, Remus sets down his tea and crawls back into bed with Sirius, insides thrilling when the dark haired boy subconsciously snakes his arms around him and curves around Remus’s body like so many times before, so often that Remus reckons it’s become by rote, an ingrained response to whenever they’re in close proximity to one another.

With a quiet laugh, Remus stretches around, begins peppering Sirius’s chest and abs and the space surrounding his cock with tender kisses, slowly rousing him to wakening the way Sirius always appreciates after a night of patrols for the Auror’s academy. And as usual, it doesn’t take long at all for Sirius to begin moaning out appreciative sighs, thrusting languorously for the warmth of his mouth, making Remus chuckle as he tugs down his pants, and kisses the length of him, peering up to watch as Sirius’s gorgeous, gray eyes flutter open.

“Wh— Moony?” He says in a peculiarly squeaky voice that Remus can’t ever remember slipping out of his mouth. 

“Yes— Problem, Paddy?”

Another discontent, borderline terrified noise rumbles in his throat, and before Remus could even ask what’s got his boyfriend acting like he’s touched in the head, the door to their flat flings open none too gently, and it’s an irate looking James who storms into the bedroom— fists clenched and jaw set as he glares daggers into the face of his practical brother.

“You’re dead Potter!” Is all he shouts before madness ensues— Madness that’s James’s flying fists for Sirius’s face, Peter’s choked laughter flowing in from the other room, and a Lily who looks stuck between horrified and amused

And Remus is so fucking bewildered as he slides off of his boyfriend to avoid any untoward hits accidentally aimed his way.

“Lily?” he presses expectantly, but is totally unsurprised when all she replies with is a bout of uninhibited cackles.

.-

Fifteen minutes, a magically healed split lip, and a physically restrained pair of animagi later, finds the ragtag group of friends surrounding the kitchen Island while a terse James and enraged Sirius are explaining what had happened the previous night. Namely, them getting hexed by a sour faced old bint with a Guinness in hand, after Sirius had driven his motorbike through her rosebushes.

“You guys got bested by a drunk hag!” Peter guffaws for the third time in a singular minute, clutching at his stomach while his body wracks with a continuous stream of  laughter

“I will singe your bollocks off Wormtail,” Sirius seethes from Remus’s left— Except no, it’s not Sirius. It’s James, his best mate James who’s now inhabiting the body of his lover. And God how strange of a fucking turn of events. It’s seriously unnerving. He’s just standing their, all too familiar arms crossed against his chest and thick brows furrowed. And God, Remus really wishes he wouldn’t do that— worry on his bottom lip mid snarl. It’s such a quintessentially Sirius thing to do. a look Remus knows well. One that Remus would always coax away with a gentle kiss and a hand carding through his hair and— 

“Oof!”

He glances over to where Sirius— wearing James’s face— is glowering at him with pure irritation after having elbow checked him. “Eyes front and center Lupin!”

Remus flushes, glancing over at Lily since she out of everyone here could understand his plight. But of course she’s only snickering to herself in her cup of coffee, the trader. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just because ’s my body doesn’t mean you get to give another bloke the come hither eyes!” Sirius fumes, a sneer caught on his features that Remus never thought the face of the easy going James Potter could ever conjure. “Crikey, it’s plenty that you decided to give him a full on show already.”

“How was I to know this would happen!” Remus sputters the same time James defends that they even barely started, which of course made Peter fall over on his chair with pure delight and Lily walking over to the kettle so she can hide her own laughter.

“Lucky you,” Sirius snipes back, glaring darkly at James and snatching Remus’s hand to interlock with his— erm James’s?— own on his lap.

Remus is so totally fucked.

.-

Graciously, Professor McGonagall— who told the graduating Gryffindor  class of 78 to always reach out if they ever needed help with a strangely wet glint in her eyes— Replies to the pleading missive Remus had sent almost immediately, giving Remus the proper instructions to reverse the jinx and wishing him and Lily the best for the impending tribulations about to befall them.

“She’s totally loving this,” James mumbles moodily as Lily massages his head. And Merlin, is that a strange sight— Lily not only deigning to touch Sirius at all, but look at him sympathetically on top of that. Remus has to constantly remind himself of the body swap before his ridiculous envy begins carving at his insides when James only looks appreciatively back up at her, a gentle, open expression painted over his face that is ordinarily reserved for Remus and Remus alone.

“God this is weird,” Lily tells him, slowly inching away and sitting besides Remus instead. “I usually can’t stand even the sight of Black, and now I’ve got to treat him like the bloke I’m in love with.”

“That’s not what you said this morning Evans,” Sirius goads from Remus’s other end, suddenly reverting back to looking like the James of fifth year— when he was still too cocky for his own good and still didn’t understand how much it made Lily want to hex him to hell for it. “I actually think I recall a lot of back robs and straddling action this morning.”

Lily casts him a look that would absolutely scorch lesser beings, and Remus reasons that his own glower is emulating the same energy because Sirius quickly presses their foreheads together and squeezes Remus’s hand between both of his own in silent repentance. “I knocked her off once i realized it wasn’t you love.”

“Didn’t even bother to aim for the bed you absolute sod.”

“It was fight or flight while you had your grubby little hands all over me Evans!” Sirius airily sniffs.

“Oh I’ll show you grubby little hands!” Lily seethes, pouncing forwards right when Sirius hides behind Remus’s back.

“Children,” Remus intones, beyond over it. “Did you all not realize the massive problem with this little mishap.”

“You mean besides dealing with James’s pitiful little knob.” Sirius asks, faux owlish.

“You touch my knob Black and I swear to God I’ll shave off all your hair.” James snipes, which really isn’t all that fair considering how Sirius doesn’t even care about his perfect locks half as much as Remus does.

“Bloody hell! That’s brilliant!” Peter squawks from the loveseat, absolutely glowing. “James, you think you can get Moony’s name tattooed on his arse.”

James’s face goes sly, Remus’s favorite smirk toying the edges of his lips and his stormy eyes glinting with mirth that Remus only ever sees on his boyfriend’s face before a prank or while Remus is undressing in front of him. 

“What did I say about that look Moony!” Sirius shouts, scathing and skewering him with a look James only ever  employed as Head Boy  on the third year students stupid enough to get caught while trying to pull off a prank.

“Erm— Ahem.” Remus adjusts himself in his seat, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yes well, that is rather besides the point.”

“So what is the point, Rem,” Lily asks smugly, and Remus absolutely hates how much she’s enjoying this. She should be suffering just as much as him for the sake of Circe.

“Well didn’t you have that lunch date set up with your older sister and her husband for today?” Remus points out, a mutinous little part of him preening at how her face goes a sickly sort of pale at the reminder. Finally someone is as ill over this as he is.

“Oh bloody shite! You’re right! And Professor McGonagall said that this incantation can only be done at night, the same time as it was originally cast!”

“We’re not in school anymore Evans, you can just call her McGonagall. Or Minnie if you’re so inclined.”

“Shut the fuck up Black!” Lily shrieks, and Remus can’t help but unfavorably liken her to a banshee. “I promised Petunia that I’d see her before she leaves on holiday tomorrow! And she bloody hates Black!”

“nasty harpy.”

“What are we going to do!”

“Erm— Well maybe you can explain to her the switch up?” Peter offers, always meek in the face of Lily’s wrath.

“She already thinks I’m a freak for being a witch Peter! I can’t bring James looking like that and expect her to be fine with it!”

“Most people would consider James having upgraded,” Sirius argues.

“The tattoo will be bright pink I reckon,” James muses loudly to himself, pretending not to have heard Sirius. “A nice contrast to your pasty white arse don’t you think Padfoot?”

Sirius bares his teeth at him and Remus feels an impending migraine while Lily continues to lament the idiocy of their boyfriends.

.-

Remus idly contemplates how normal his life could’ve been if he had fought harder with the sorting hat to be placed into Ravenclaw. It would be a much less wonderful existence, to be sure, but it’d be so blessedly normal. Remus would probably have gone steady with that Hufflepuff prefect, Andre, and they would probably still be together. And Andre didn’t have a best friend who he got into insane and improbable situations with, so Remus definitely wouldn’t have been forced to do this. To be forced to go to lunch with his best friend’s wizard hating sister and her pug faced husband and not look longingly over the table at the face of his other best friend where the love of his life is inhabiting his body.

Jesus, is Remus’s life confusing as fuck.

“I need to take a pis— Oof, I mean. I have to use the gents,” Sirius declares as everyone’s entrees are being served, giving a pointed glance to Remus. And he supposes he should talk to him about that, how incredibly obvious Sirius can be when he’s flustered and isn’t trying to show it.

Five minutes after his boyfriend, Remus leaves to meet him in the first open stall, finally feeling less wrong footed for the first time today when Sirius takes him into his unfamiliar arms.

“I’m going to stab my eyes out with a fork Moony!” He hisses, and it’s odd how alien his face— James’s face— is to him. How Remus has never spent the time to memorize the precise slope of his nose, or the shape to his lips. How Remus can’t understand what it means when he squints his left eye or when he flares his nostrils with a slight curl to his mouth. But Remus does recognize the way Sirius has always grabbed his hips in that desperate way when he’s fed up, and how he always presses his nose to the curls behind Remus’s ear when he needs to be grounded. And it’s a bit awkward now that they’re the same height instead of Sirius needing to stoop slightly, and how Sirius now smells like that pricy cologne that James has always sprits with gusto. But it’s familiar enough to make Remus’s shoulders relax from the tension sown through them all day, and breathe out with relief with how the pair of them still understand one another with an innate sort of knowing.

Gingerly, Remus wraps his arms around Sirius’s now less defined torso, and they stand their, tangled into one another amidst the hush settling over  them.

“Oi! You berks!” James hisses from the doorway all too soon, clambering inside and stomping his feet. “I swear to Merlin if you pricks are fucking inside there!”

“Don’t worry Jamie, I’d never put my Moons through the indignity of dealing with that after he’s had me,” Sirius jeers, preening when James replies by throwing something hard against the doorway.

“C’mon you idiot,” Remus sighs, tugging on a lowly chuckling Sirius as they meet James by the exit of the loo.

“I’ve had three different birds sliding their numbers into my trousers on my way here alone,” James complains, shuffling foot to foot and looking more awkward than Sirius ever has. “It’s obscene.”

“It’s the life of the beautiful,” Sirius corrects as Remus swaths his hand away from his arse. 

“I’d rather not have Petunia getting a heart attack when she sees her sister’s boyfriend copping a feel of another bloke,” he chides before looping his arm through James’s and begins strolling back to the table.

.-

The rest of the lunch is thankfully uneventful, but as stilted as expected, filled with Sirius needing to be kicked in the shin every time he starts gazing absentmindedly at Remus, and Lily flickering her eyes over to James disappointedly while he pouts at her with Sirius’s best puppy dog eyes. And Every time Petunia starts eyeing them all as if they’re all fucking each other behind the scenes, Remus clumsily changes the topic to the weather or how lovely her engagement ring is or asking Vernon about bloody drills— Even if all he wants to do is reach across the table and hold Sirius’s hand.

But thankfully, it all seems to be going along decently enough— That is until the waiter comes around to take their orders and spends a little too long leering at Remus, asking if he’d like a cinnamon roll on the house.

“He’d like a slice of the chocolate fudge cake and he has a boyfriend that probably wouldn’t appreciate the extra service.” Sirius growls out, specs gone askew and dark knuckles paling from where he’s clutching his spoon vindictively.

The waiter only smiles at him, shrugging in that what can you do kind of way before dashing off to place the orders in with the kitchen.

“Hmm,” Petunia levels him with a glance, unimpressed looking. “So James.”

It takes a beat too long for Sirius to respond and Remus silently curses his every damn star. 

“Erm, yes Petunia.”

“How long have you been fucking my sister’s friend behind her back?”

Lily goes shellshocked and James looks ill while Remus sinks lower in his seat, trying to force Sirius to get it together through his eye contact alone.

“Hah— Wow, you’ve been watching those silly Muggle dramas have you Petunia.” Sirius says in a mangled tone of voice, but of course that’s the precise wrong thing to have said.

With matching red faces and spluttering words of indignation— a few curses thrown in for good measure— Petunia and her husband rise from their seats and make a hasty retreat to their car towards the back of the building.

“Oh Christ,” Lily groans, jumping up to sprint after them— but not without swinging a perfectly aimed cuff to the back of Sirius’s porcupine head. “I’ll hex you once you’re out of my boyfriend’s sodding body Black!”

“I understand Evans!” He calls after her before swinging his head over to James and Remus with a mischievous grin. “We tried didn’t we?”

“You just couldn’t keep your bloody jealous  temper in check,” James scolds with no real heat.

“Oi! And what about you lusting over Lily so blatantly you tosser! It was revolting.”

“Yeah, well maybe you’ll remember that next time you’re gazing at Moony’s arse out in public you mongrel.”

Exhausted, Remus just rises and tells them to stay behind and make sure Lily’s alright. “I need a bath and some quiet.”

“Can I join,” Sirius pouts. “I miss you.”

“Only once you’re my  Sirius again,” Remus instructs, brooking no arguments before he finds a safe place to apparate, telling himself that he deserves an entire bottle of that cheap merlot they bought last weekend.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {17}*

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Heavy cursing, HEAVY, HEAVY ANGST, Mild Time Jumps, MILD NSFW, LOTS OF WORDS, Triggering Sexual Assault Content

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY STRESSED!!

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY TEXTBOOK SEXUAL ASSAULT CONTENT BY DUBIOUS MEANS ON A MENTALLY INCAPACITATED INDIVIDUAL!!

Word Count: 6K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill? 

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

NOTE: DO NOT COME FOR ME.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

In the last two weeks, he’d become a shell of himself. His life drastically changed. What was him working and traveling almost nonstop turned into him having a lot of time on his hands. Instead of traveling and having no time to be the husband he needed to be, he now had all the time in the world. He found it ironic now. Every time he stepped into your shared bedroom, he saw you everywhere. You were in the décor, the scents that still lingered around, and your items strewn around the room.

Every time he looked behind him or around a corner, he expected to see your smiling face. When he closed his eyes, he expected to feel your soft caress against his jaw or your full lips pressed onto his skin. He expected it, but the expectation was not reality. His reality was far different. His days now consisted of doing his best to keep on top of work obligations even though mostly everyone understood his need to take a step back from anything work-related. If he wasn’t distracting himself with work, he roamed around the house, being haunted by happier times. If he wasn’t glued to the bed staring out at your side of the bed, he was beating himself up over the fact that he’d caused his current reality and wishing he’d done so many things differently.

His mother stayed in town to be his moral support and moved in with Scott. They said it was just to be there for him, but he knew they didn’t think he was in any state to take care of himself. They were right. He barely ate, didn’t sleep, kept to himself, and found the sustenance he needed in beer and Whiskey. He didn’t care if they had no nutritional value; it was all he cared to ingest to his mother’s dismay. She cooked all his favorites from childhood, but none of it enticed him. What was the point, he wondered. He didn’t want lasagna or beef stew or meatballs marinara. He only wanted you.

When he pulled himself out of his internal turmoil, he was sitting outside of Christiano’s house and twisting the knife in his heart deeper. He wondered what was going on inside, wondered if you were laughing with him, or letting him hold you at nights. He couldn’t get the image of you kissing him in your hospital room or the elevator out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, it was what he saw, and from there, his imagination went rampant until he was filled with fear that turned to rage.

He’d stay in front of Christiano’s house for hours just staring at it. He didn’t trust Christiano as far as he could spit. He knew he was up to something, and he felt that somehow if he kept an eye on things, he couldn’t pull anything. At least six times, he found himself speaking to a police officer who was given an anonymous tip that he was sitting outside the house. He knew it was Christiano who’d called them to report it, and he did it to fuck with him. The first two times, he was given leeway, but the others he was told to move or else they’d fine him. He now had more than eight violation tickets because he refused to move.

If it wasn’t the cops that told him to leave or threatened fines, it was Christiano’s security who always seemed to come out like clockwork every hour threatening him to leave or else. He wasn’t afraid, and his refusal to move showed it. He knew the asshole was somewhere inside either peeping through a window or watching on the video feed like the Lord Farquaad he really was. Every chance he got, he made sure to give the house a middle finger.

Every time he called you, the majority of the time, you didn’t answer. Instead, it was Christiano who did. He always sounded like the cocky fuck he was. Every chance he got, he goaded him into losing his temper, and when he was irate and fired up, he’d end the call. When he called, and Christiano didn’t answer, it rang endlessly. On a few occasions, you answered, but he was so surprised by it that he never found the right thing to say. What did you say to your wife that didn’t remember you in any shape or form? He could say he loved you or missed you. He couldn’t apologize. He couldn’t talk to you like you were old friends. All he could do was sit in silence with the knife twisting deeper until you hung up.

The doorbell snapped him out of another hour of aimless staring into space. He was alone tonight. Scott and his mom were at Scott’s house after he blew up at them, telling them to leave him alone. It wasn’t his finest moment. Slowly, he trudged to the door with a bottle in his hand; it was his normal accessory now. As soon as he opened the door, he saw Ana’s smiling face. He couldn’t help but sigh out. He’d hoped it was you.

“Hi, Ana.”

She gave him a once over then frowned. “You look horrible.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said before he turned to walk away. The clink of her heels on the marble was the indication she was following him. A few moments later, he dropped onto the couch and brought the bottle back to his lips.

“How many of these have you had?”

“Lost count. What’re you doing here? I’ve told you that you don’t have to keep coming here.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I thought we were friends.”

He didn’t answer; he just studied her trying to access her motives.

“Friends don’t let friends go through a tough time alone. I come bearing a home-cooked meal and company.”

He sighed again while taking another swig.

“I have plenty of food, and I don’t need the company.” It was rude, but it was honest.

Ana frowned before she sat beside him on the couch. “Look, I know you’re going through something really tough. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I don’t think you should lock away and—wallow. You have to keep going.”

“Ana, I appreciate you coming by these last two weeks with food and checking on me. You’re kind to do it, but it’s unnecessary. I wish everyone would just give me some space. Everyone hovers and tiptoes, not wanting to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing as if them avoiding the huge elephant in the room makes it so I don’t see it. I see the fucking elephant. My fucking wife is not here! My wife has no fucking memory of me. As far as she’s concerned, I’m some stranger from the street!” His frustrations were bubbling to the surface.

She didn’t speak for several moments after that. He was glad for it. Lately, he’d been looking at her with a new suspicious eye. He had all the time in the world to see things that either didn’t add up or just came off strange. He never thought Ana’s behavior was suspicious before, but now everything had a hint of awkwardness. He’d begun to wonder if you’d been right all along, and she was harboring some crush on him. Before, he saw her friendliness and willingness to help and be around him as a kindred spirit situation, but now, it was possible he might have had been wrong.

“Chris–,” Ana began before he cut her off.

“It’s not a good idea for you to here like this. The paps are camped out a block down and have constant eyes on the house. The last thing either of us needs is for you to be snapped coming in or out of here. Honestly, I think it’s best that we stay clear of each other by giving each other some space.”

Her jaw dropped for a split second, and along with it, he saw the anger flash through her eyes. As quickly as it happened, it disappeared. She took a deep breath and brushed her slick ponytail back as if there was a hair that was misplaced from the perfectly done style.

“Chris, we’ve done nothing wrong.”

“That’s not what it looks like to the public and the fans. Twitter is on fire over this. My name, your name, and Uriah’s name has been trending for two weeks. This is all anyone can talk about. They all think we’re having an affair.”

“It’s not true, though. We’re not fucking each other, so who cares!”

Her shout was loud and shrill. This was the first time he’d seen her lose her temper, the first time he’d seen a crack in the perfect demeanor she always displayed. Again, Ana brushed her hair back as she cleared her throat. In seconds that perfect façade was back.

“I’m sorry. This is stressful for all of us,” Ana offered.

“Then, space is definitely needed. I’ll walk you out.” With that, he stood and walked out of the family room toward the door. Ana didn’t immediately follow; several moments passed before she even entered the hallway. As she approached, he could see her disappointment and annoyance.

“Chris–,” she began.

“I know Ana. I just—I’m angry and frustrated and honestly at my wit’s end. I don’t want to live in this reality anymore.”

She must have sensed there was nothing else to say, so she nodded. He opened the door for her to walk through, and once she did, he promptly closed it. It hadn’t even been a month, and he was already falling apart at the seams. He had no idea how much longer he could go on in this new reality.

The alert for his phone sounded in the eerily quiet house. As he approached it, he expected it to be another update from the private investigator he was paying to look into everything or even his mother or Scott checking in for the umpteenth time today. When he saw the ID as “Jackass,” his eyes nearly got stuck in the back of his head from how hard he rolled them. As he opened the message, his heart dropped.

MSG Jackass: I thought it was a good idea to get Uriah out of town so she could properly heal.

“Son of a bitch!”

He was in his car in seconds though he knew he’d been drinking that day. As he sped to Christiano’s house, he didn’t feel impaired. That text sobered his ass up in record time. He was in such a sobering mind-frame that he obeyed every light and traffic sigh though his instincts said to run every light he came across. As he drove, he used the audio recognition in his car to call Christiano back to back. Each call he placed was ignored, and he knew it was him ignoring it rather than missing the call.

When he pulled up outside of his palatial home, he pounded on the gate.

“Christiano! Open this fucking gate!”

He didn’t feel the wrought iron underneath his hand, or much of anything besides anger and fear.

“Open the gate! Uriah!”

He saw two burly security guards approaching the gate as if they had all the time in the world.

“Where is my wife!?”

“You again? Look, man, we’ve told you that you’re not welcome here,” the one with the goatee croaked.

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m welcomed or not. My wife is in there! Do you hear me? She’s my wife. Where is Christiano? Tell him to bring his pathetic ass out here!”

“If you don’t stop banging on the gate, we’re going to have to call the police again.”

“Call the police! Where is the son of a bitch!”

“He’s not here.”

The two guards looked back, revealing a slender woman dropping in designer everything. Her strawberry blonde locks were framing her face that looked sad.

“What do you mean he’s not here? Where is my wife?!”

She approached the gate nodding to the guards silently telling them to back off.

“I’m Christina. I’m a friend to Uriah.”

“Christina—White?”

She nodded.

“Where is my wife?”

“She’s not here. Her and Christiano left an hour ago,” Christina informed.

“What! Where did they go?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Look, I told him it was a bad idea. I told him that he should keep her here because, at the end of the day, she’s your wife. He didn’t listen. He never listens. He’s always been a fool when it comes to her,” Christina divulged.

“So you’re telling me he has my wife somewhere in this world, and no one knows where she is or going?”

His panic quickly raised. He’d never felt this out of control in his life. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as he turned his back to the house.

“He won’t hurt her if you’re worried about that. He loves her too much for that.”

“Son of a bitch!”

~~~~~~~~

-Uriah-

 You walked through the airport toward the gate to board the waiting private jet with your hand planted in Christiano’s and your shades on. You could feel the eyes on you, and you even felt as if those who watched you were whispering about you. It shouldn’t have been anything alarming you’d been in the public eye for a few years and knew how this felt. The only thing was this felt different somehow.

“Is it me, or is it like they’re whispering more than usual?”

Christiano quickly looked around before he shrugged and squeezed your hand.

“Nah, they’re just blown away by the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You smiled widely and allowed him to press a kiss to your forehead. Once you got to the gate, Christiano greeted his flight crew and did all the talking. You liked how he always took control of a situation. It meant you didn’t have to worry about a thing when you were with him. Over the last two weeks, the two of you had been wrapped in a bubble at his house. You didn’t go out or even make an attempt to do anything but spend time with him. For some reason, you felt as if you hadn’t been together in months. Almost immediately from your release from the hospital, you began to feel sick as if something was off with you.

On a whim, you had a security guard bring you a pregnancy test which came out positive. You had no idea what to think or how to feel. You knew you’d always wanted kids, and the thought of kids with Christiano was something you’d thought about over the years you’d been together. You knew you and the baby would be well taken care of. When you told Christiano, he looked speechless, and for a few minutes, you feared he didn’t want the baby, but he assured you he did. From there, you were in this elated bubble at the thought of impending parenthood with the man you loved.

It had become apparent to you that you were missing some time in your memory. The therapy sessions that Dr. Diallo suggested was more than therapy for people involved in traumatic accidents. You’d pieced together that there were holes in your memory. When you asked Christiano about it, he filled in what he could, always stressing how much he loved you and how happy you were together. You didn’t doubt it. You knew he loved you. You remembered that there were a few times you’d suggested a break from each other because of the intensity of that love. It was always ion the back of your mind, but he was the perfect man toward you.

“Ready beautiful?” Christiano spun you to him, pressing his palms against your ass, pulling you flush against him. The touch felt familiar but also foreign as if somehow it wasn’t right.

“Of course.”

“I can’t wait to get you on that beach.” You smiled and allowed him to kiss you. This kiss wasn’t quick or timid as the once from the last two weeks. Christiano’s tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours unexpectedly. Though it felt strange, it also felt normal. You couldn’t wrap your head around the competing feelings and senses.

When he pulled back, he retook your hand and led you through the gate to board the jet. In a few short minutes, you were rolling down the tarmac and wheels up, gliding through the air to some surprise tropical island. You allowed yourself to mellow out drift to sleep. As you slept, your dreams were strange. You were in places you’d never been before, seeing faces you’d never seen before and having conversations you had no recollection of until you were sucked into a black hole. The darkness clung to you, but your hearing was that much more in tune. As you began to panic, the sound of a familiar but unfamiliar voice comforted you and spoke the sweetest words.

“I love you, Riah.”

 “I don’t think anything could have stopped me from marrying her. It was inevitable.”

Whose voice was it, you didn’t know. The only thing you knew was you liked it.

When the jet landed, and the chauffeured car pulled up outside a beach house, you were exhausted and in need of a bath and a nap. Your nap on the jet wasn’t enough, especially since it left you highly on edge and confused. Christiano’s beach house was gorgeous. According to him, it was a new addition to his collection of properties, one he said he didn’t visit much but knew you’d like. He gave you a quick house tour before you finally got to take your bath.

As you sat in the tub, the sound of the breeze rustling the palm trees, and the chips of the birds mixed with the soft crash of the waves onto the sand outside lulled your senses into a mellow state that had your mind completely blank. This was a first. Since you woke up from your accident, your head always felt as if it was reaching for something. You didn’t know what it was, but it never stopped, not even when you slept. When you slept, it only seemed to intensify its search. This usually meant you awoke feeling as if you’d never slept.

With your brain quiet and your muscles melting inside the water, you finally felt yourself beginning to enjoy your surroundings. Time stood still but flew at the same time. Before you knew it, Christiano was standing over you holding a towel.

“You’ve been in here for a while. Are you okay?”

“I’m great. I think I dozed off.”

“Are you ready to come out?”

You nodded and stood in the tub. Christiano’s eyes widened as they slowly roamed over your naked, dripping body. He didn’t move, and the look on his face was one you didn’t recognize. You worried you’d already gained weight from the pregnancy, and he didn’t like it.

“I know I look—different—the baby–,” you began before Christiano quickly wrapped the towel around your body, holding you against him.

“You’ve always been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life, and you will always be that woman,” he whispered while staring in your eyes before he pressed his lips to yours to scoop you into his arms.

Christiano intensified the kiss as he carried you through the house. When he placed you to sit on the bed, your heart lurched, and it felt like panic or fear. Christiano pulled back, but before he could speak again, a phone rang. He sighed out and assured you he’d be back before he walked out. Relief filled you, and that was strange to you. You didn’t understand why you felt relieved the moment had been interrupted or felt panic or fear once he put you on the bed.

Pushing it to the side, you went through your after-shower routine and dressed. When you reemerged from the bedroom, Christiano was placing plates on the table on the balcony that overlooked the beach. The two of you had a quiet dinner.

As the days ticked by, the two of you enjoyed everything the island had to offer. You went sailing, snorkeling, sunbathed on the beach, ate, and enjoyed each other’s company. There were several times you caught Christiano’s eyes on your body and even a few times where you placed his hand on your belly that was beginning to make its appearance. When he touched your belly, his eyes always looked sad, but it was a look that was quickly gone to be replaced with his smile. When you brought it up, he assured you he was just worried he wouldn’t be a good father. His admission made melt. He always came off so self-assured and confident in everything he did. It was your turn to assure him he would be an amazing dad because of how he took care of you.

Every morning he prepared your breakfast. A breakfast that always consisted of a part of the food groups from the food pyramid and four pills he identified as a prenatal vitamin, Iron, Vitamin E, and Vitamin C.  You found it sweet that he wanted to take such good care of you. It was a side you’d loved about him since meeting him. Every time you kissed, they got longer and longer and more intense than the last. No matter who initiated the kiss, you were always the one to pull away from it.

Something always felt off. Something inside of you wouldn’t let you get there with him, and you didn’t understand it. He’d been nothing but good to you. He hadn’t mistreated you or done anything hurtful that would give you right for the pause. Still, every time Christiano’s lips touched yours, your psyche fought back. Excruciating pain usually always followed with an echoing scream in your head. By the time a week had passed on the island, you could tell Christiano was beginning to get frustrated with the constant back and forth though he swore he was fine and wanted you to move at your pace.

You found your hands always on your burgeoning stomach, just tracing along it, envisioning the baby inside of you. You’d thought about kids in passing, but never as if it would actually happen. You felt as if you should have been terrified, but you didn’t feel any fear. You felt content, ready. You now loved to spend mornings just lying in bed, feeling your stomach, and envisioning life as a mom. You couldn’t believe this was life now, but you wanted it more than anything.

“Ready for bed?”

You turned around from the vanity you sat and saw Christiano toward you. He wore no shirt and sweat shorts that were low on his hips. He looked good.

“Yeah.”

Christiano took your hand, kissed it, and led you out of the vanity room to the bedroom. Once inside, the two of you slinked underneath the covers. When Christiano slid to your side and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, you hesitated but only for a few seconds. With your hesitation, Christiano brought his lips to your temple to trail kisses down the side of your face to your jaw and down to your neck. Once there, he capitalized on knowing your spot and teased it with soft kisses. As he continued, you both remained frozen, unable to move. Nothing was preventing you from moving, but you felt as if you couldn’t.

When Christiano’s lips dropped to your cleavage at the swell of your breast, you clutched the sheets in your hand for dear life.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding vigorously, you did your best to keep the panic out of your eyes. Cristiano kissed you gently, coxing your tongue to play with his. When you allowed him in, Christiano’s tongue wrapped around yours as he sucked it. In a matter of seconds, he was on top of you using his hands to caress your exposed thigh. The hand you envisioned was not his, though. In your mind’s eye, you saw a large hand gripping your thigh before it pushed along your skin up to your hip to pull down your underwear.

As quickly as you envisioned it, it disappeared, and you were underneath a hardening Christiano. That fact was what had you pulling away from him. When he looked at your face, he must have seen everything you felt. The disappointment in his eyes couldn’t be hidden. Christiano sighed, dropped his head, then nodded as he rolled off of you to lie on his back while staring at the ceiling. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was small, a whisper.

Christiano didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure he would. A full minute ticked by before he spoke.

“It’s okay, little dove.”

You sighed, hearing his nickname for you. Relief flooded you.

“Let’s get some rest,” Christiano suggested ending any conversation.

You knew he was frustrated with you. How could he not be? Glancing over to him, you saw he still laid there on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The look on his face was unreadable. Slowly you rubbed your belly and closed your eyes. It was quickly becoming a comforting mechanism for you, one you found yourself doing more and more since your arrival on the island.

The next morning you woke up alone with Christiano nowhere to be found. You didn’t know what to think, but you didn’t feel any panic. You felt relief. It was yet another thing that you didn’t understand. Why did you feel relief knowing he wasn’t there but panic when he was close? As you ate breakfast, your thoughts drifted. You thought about life before waking up in the hospital, this new life you found yourself in, and the one that was waiting in the future. While you felt as if you were getting back to normal, you always felt like none of this was normal. You didn’t feel normal. The ringing of a phone brought you back to reality and sent you on the hunt for where it came from.

You found the phone in Christiano’s bedside table.

“Hello?

The line was silent, but you just knew someone was there. You repeated your greeting, but your voice was lower than before.

“Riah.”

You didn’t know if it was the name or the way the voice sounded, but your heart raced, and your belly fluttered. You felt something familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew you’d heard it before. You knew this was not the first time you’d had this reaction.

“Who is this?” Your voice was even shakier.

“Me,” he whispered.

Everything in you was fighting, but you didn’t know what it was fighting for? Was it against something or for something? His name was at the tip of your tongue.

“Ch—Chris?”

“You know me?” He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears. For some reason, you wanted to ease his pain, but you didn’t know how.

“No.”

He sighed out and sniffled. The realization he was crying weighed heavily on you, so heavy you had to drop to the bed to sit.

“I miss you so much.”

The words meant something to you, but what? The words made you feel, but what? As you were opening your mouth to speak, you heard a door close.

“Little dove?”

Quickly you ended the car and put the phone back into the nightstand then hurried out to greet Christiano, hoping he didn’t suspect anything. You felt as if you were a cheating wife.

Christiano made all your favorites for dinner that night, and the two of you ate surrounded by a sea of candlelight and flowers. You worked hard to keep your head in the present and not on the way Chris’s voice sounded or the effect it had on you. You were curious, but you also knew that curiosity was like opening Pandora’s Box. What if you’d cheated on Christiano and he didn’t know? That was your biggest worry right now. You wanted to bring it up to him, but the ramifications were what stopped you.

After dinner, you sat on the beach watching a movie from the projector and sipping apple cider. Without warning, Christiano stood, allowing your feet that were in his lap to drop to the sand. He turned to you and held his hands out for you.

“What’re you doing?”

“Take my hand.” Slowly you slipped your hands into his. Christiano lowered his head to your hands and kissed the backs then dropped to one knee in front of you.

“Oh my god,” you began. You wanted to leap out of your skin and run down the beach. That was your true first instinct.

“I love you, little dove. I’ve loved you from the minute I laid eyes on you. We’ve been through so much together. There was a time that we didn’t know what was next, a time both of us went through a lot. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you. You’re my everything, Uriah. I want to spend the rest of my life with you—with our—baby.”

Your tears rolled down your cheek, and you couldn’t help but slide closer to him.

“I don’t want to know what it’s like to live a day without you. I don’t want to do it. Will you marry me and spend the rest of your life with me?”

You remembered a time where you wanted him to ask you more than anything. You remembered a time where you’d even planned the kind of wedding you’d want and imagined your name with his last name. Though you knew all of that for a fact, you hesitated with your response. You also remembered another voice asking the same question. A voice you’d heard before. Both voices echoed in your head one over the other until you heard nothing but the words. It was deafening. After a minute the silence returned and you were finally able to breath. You saw Christiano’s panic, and from his panic you tried to calm your own. 

“Yes.”

It took him a few moments to move, but when he did, he threw his arms around you and hugged you so tightly. The two of you giggled together like lovestruck idiots who’d just taken the biggest leap for mankind.

“I love you so much.”

His lips were soft and tasted like the Bourbon he’d been drinking. This kiss wasn’t a timid one, it was one that spoke of his love and passion for you, but you also felt his possessiveness. It was stronger than usual. When he pulled his lips back, he sat you down and held out papers.

“What’s this?”

“Remember when we began dating, and you found out that Christina and I would have a prenup for any future spouses?”

You nodded.

“That’s where I was today. I wanted to get them taken care of. This is my love for you. I want to forgo the prenup. I want us to move forward with nothing between us. All you have to do is sign this, and what’s mine is yours.”

You studied him half in disbelief he’d do this and the other half in awe that he’d go against his family and do this. You took the papers, opened them, and began to read them. Almost instantly, Christiano dropped onto his knees again and kissed you.

“I can’t wait to make you my wife—Mrs. White.”

Hearing the name, you giggled on his lips and returned his kisses as fervently as he gave them. The two of you got lost in kisses for a few minutes.

“Hurry up and sign them so we can be the three little Whites.”

You smiled widely and took the pen he offered. Without reading the documents any further, you signed your name without even looking. Instead, you stared into his eyes. Once you’d finished, you threw your arms around his neck. Christiano lifted you and spun you around, making you giggle like a little girl. You walked along the beach hand in hand, admiring the colossal diamond ring he’d planted on you and just imagining the life you had before you.

A few hours later, once you returned to the house to shower and climb into bed with Christiano beside you with his arms wrapped around you. You don’t know why you woke, but when you did, you were alone in the bed. You looked around and found the room empty. Slowly you walked through the house looking for Christiano. You were sure he wouldn’t leave you alone this late at night, especially since he’d already taken care of the business of couriering the paperwork off the island.

When you turned the corner leading to the living room, the lights were off, but you heard whispers. Your footsteps slowed, and you pressed your back to the wall and listened.

“That wasn’t part of the plan. You’re fucking crazy. you could have—still, it was not the plan.” He sounded angry and spoke as if he wanted to yell but was keeping it down. “It’s been handled. I sent him a little surprise or a present. It is your move.”

You had no idea who he was talking to or what he was talking about. You stepped out of the shadows and into the glow of the moonlight.

“Tino?”

Christiano quickly spun around with his hands behind his back.

“What’re you doing up, little dove?

“You weren’t beside me, and I heard voices. Is everything okay?”

Christiano scoffed and smiled as he approached you.

“Yes, perfect. I was just making plans to start our beautiful life together. You and me.” He kissed the tip of your nose.

“You, me, and the baby,” you corrected. Christiano’s jaw clenched, but it was a quick movement before he smiled again.

“Of course. The three of us. Everything I’ve ever wanted in life.”

You smiled and let him lead you to the bedroom. Once inside, you slipped under the covers again and allowed him to kiss you. as he kissed you, you felt the urgency of his kisses and the need coursing through him. His moans echoed in the room as your fingers danced across his bare back. When he rolled onto you, you didn’t freeze this time, and you didn’t hesitate when you felt his need.

From there, Christiano’s movements were deliberate. He kissed where he knew you liked, but it didn’t feel quite right. As he sucked your skin and undressed you, you ignored the strange feeling you had. It was a feeling you assumed cheaters felt. You felt like you were somehow cheating. It made no sense. The man you loved was above you kissing you, licking your skin, and pleasing you the way he knew how. This was the man you were going to marry, the man you were going to make a father. Because it made no sense, you pressed forward.

After a while, both of you were naked. Christiano kissed your temple, then went to your ear.

“I love you, Uriah. I’ll love you until my last breath.”

You smiled and caressed his jaw and brought his face to yours. You wanted to stare into his eyes. They were filled with so much emotion, but there were things there that you didn’t recognize. Christiano dropped his lips to yours and kissed you passionately before he thrust his hips forward, joining your bodies.

You clung to him and shook as you heard your name panted in your ear, only it wasn’t Christiano’s voice you heard. As he moved inside of you, your moans and pants melded together, but your head was fogged with images of things that couldn’t have happened. The faster Christiano plunged in and out of your heat, the quicker the images flashed in your head. The louder his grunts got, the louder your moans became. Soon you felt as if you were close, but no matter how close you were, something was holding you back. This felt right but oh so wrong. He felt like yours, but you didn’t feel like his.

“Chris,” you panted without a thought. You said it again and again like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

Christiano’s thrusts became sloppier, and his grunts rougher.

“Yes, Uriah, you’re mine. Yes!”

“Chrissss!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee’s Afternote: Yikes. Are you guys okay? It’s okay to be pissed at me. I understand. 

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***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!  

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Tag List:

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***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

[amanda-glassen]

The Wonder Years: Part 4

While getting ready for her first school dance, twelve-year-old Olivia starts a path toward discovering who she is truly meant to be. Parts 1-3 can be found under the the tag #alex and liv: the wonder years

Thank you to everyone who reblogged the last chapter and an extra special thank you to @storiesofsvu @ghostwritingcabenson @oliviaswifey @denpine @cabensons and my two anons for your kind words and encouragement to keep going with this.

Approaching the entryway to her middle school in the morning was always a scary thought for Olivia, but at 6 o’clock on the night of her first school dance, the entryway seemed downright menacing. Other students were excitedly approaching the entryway－some with groups of friends, others with dates－but none seemed to be as nervous as Olivia.

“Ms. Benson, can you take a picture of Olivia and me together?” Alex asked. She handed her phone over to Serena and yet another wave of nervousness hit Olivia. She’s going to hug me or something and my mom is going to freak out again.

The two of them posed near the colorful Spring Fling banner with Olivia afraid to even wrap her arm around Alex. She had wanted to get the pictures over with until she saw how disappointed Alex looked. 

“Loosen up, kid,” Jamie teased her. “It’s your first dance, not your first day of school. Why don’t you twirl her?”

Olivia gave her a confused look. “Twirl her? How?”

“Like this,” Jamie held out her hand for her girlfriend. “Serena.”

Alex and Olivia watched as Jamie did a twirling pose with Serena. When she decided to actually twirl her, Serena let out a squeal that made Alex giggle.

She grabbed Olivia’s hand and tried to get Olivia to go along with it. “Olivia! Twirl me, please! That looks so cute!”

With an encouraging look from Jamie, Olivia held Alex’s hand and raised her arm up to twirl her. Alex smiled and giggled and Olivia considered that giggle to be her new favorite sound and she was now willing to do just about anything to hear it again. 

Alex looked so beautiful and so happy in the pictures and, although she wasn’t too big on social media, Olivia couldn’t wait to post them and brag to everyone about her girlfriend.

“I’ll send you the pictures, Ms. Benson,” Alex said while scrolling through her phone. “You too, Olivia. I’m going to post these and show everyone how cute and dapper my girlfriend is.”

“Alex! Alex!” They heard a girl shout. Olivia looked ahead and saw Serena Southerlyn, Alex’s best friend, walking toward them.

“Hi, Serena!” Alex responded. 

Olivia watched as the two of them hugged and complimented each other’s dresses and hair. She liked seeing Alex with her friends because it made her feel like she was in some sort of alternate universe. Olivia’s friends were mostly boys and they wouldn’t be caught dead complimenting each other’s appearance. Instead, there were high-fives when they greeted each other and the occasional teasing that was all in fun.

“We should go in now,” Alex said to Jamie and Serena. “Thank you Ms. Castillo and Ms. Benson. I appreciate you both bringing us.” 

"What's the rush?" Alex's best friend asked Alex and Olivia. Olivia noticed her girlfriend roll her eyes when Serena approached Jamie. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Serena Southerlyn. I'm a friend of Alex's and an acquaintance of Olivia's. You are the most dashing woman I have ever seen. Would you escort me to the dance?"

Alex covered her face with her hands. "Serena! You have a girlfriend."

Olivia looked at her mom who had started scrolling through her phone to prevent herself from laughing, but her movement got the attention of the younger Serena. "Who is she?" the twelve-year-old Serena asked Jamie with a disgusted look on her face. 

Jamie reached for her girlfriend’s hand. "She's my girlfriend who is also named Serena."

"And she's my mommy," Olivia said defensively. Once the word 'mommy' came out of her mouth, she was grateful the guys weren't around. Instead it was just Alex who looked at her adoringly.

"You are a very beautiful girl," Jamie began. "And I'm sure you're aware that girls named Serena are always the prettiest and always the most special, which is why there's only room for one Serena in my heart, but I know for a fact it won't be long before some girl sweeps you off your feet."

Alex tugged at Serena’s arm to get her to leave with them. "Some girl already has. She has a girlfriend, one whose parents will be dropping her off at the designated drop off area any time now."

"Fine," twelve-year-old Serena yanked her arm from Alex's grip before gesturing to the older Serena. "If this doesn't work out, Jamie, you know where to find me.”

Mrs. Carmichael’s SUV pulled into the drop off area and when Abbie stepped out of the vehicle in the same navy blue and floral criss cross fit and flare dress as Serena, Serena ran over to her without saying another word. 

It had taken every ounce of willpower she had, but Serena Benson had managed to hold in her laughter until the twelve-year-old Serena was out of earshot. “If she’s like that at twelve, what is she going to be like at seventeen?” She playfully smacked Jamie’s arm. “I guess I just have five years left with you.”

“Forgive her,” Alex smiled nervously. “Ever since she turned twelve, all she can think about is women. And please don’t judge me based on my best friend. I promise my heart belongs only to Olivia.”

Once she heard that, Olivia couldn’t decide if she wanted to beam with pride because of how Alex felt or cease to exist because of how her mom would react. With no idea what to do with herself, she stood there with her eyes wide.

“I’m sure you’re the perfect girlfriend for Olivia,” Serena said as she pulled Olivia in and gave her a tight embrace. Olivia felt like her circulation was being cut off, but what made matters worse is when her mom planted a kiss on her cheek. “My little Ollie. I love you so much.”

Olivia finally managed to move just enough to give Jamie a look that she hoped she would see as a cry for help. “Come on, babe, be cool.” Jamie snickered. “She’s in middle school now. She’s got a reputation to protect.”

Olivia’s reputation consisted of when she ran away the first time Alex flirted with her and the time she narrowly avoided walking into a pole and instead fell down on the cement and scraped her knee as a result of watching Alex apply lip gloss. Now that she thought about it, she no longer had a reputation to protect, but she was grateful for Jamie’s statement nonetheless.

“I’ll let you go,” Serena told her, just slightly lessening the tightness of her embrace. “I want you girls out here at nine o’clock. If not, I’m going in there and I will make an announcement that I’m looking for Olivia Margaret Benson in 6th grade, core 1, Mrs. Peterson’s homeroom.”

“Oh, god,” Olivia groaned, a look of absolute terror on her face. 

“She’s kidding, Olivia,” Alex giggled.

“She’s not,” Olivia worriedly responded.

As soon as they entered the auditorium, Olivia realized, aside from the colorful streamers and punch, the dance was nothing like she expected. The seventh and eighth graders were all on the dance floor, but the sixth graders were separated along gender lines with the boys on one wall of the auditorium and girls on another. Her friends who had all talked big just one day prior were now even too afraid to stand near their dates. The only sixth graders who seemed to be enjoying themselves were Abbie and Serena who were on the dancefloor along with the older kids. 

“Do you wanna dance?” Olivia asked Alex while she scanned the room.

“I don’t know,” Alex responded nervously. “I mean, maybe later. This isn’t my song.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Olivia nodded, feeling completely relieved. “This isn’t my song either.”

Their friends may have been on opposite sides of the auditorium, but what soon brought them together was Olivia’s new haircut, which much to her chagrin, became the topic of conversation among their respective groups. The girls showered her with compliments, some of which made Alex start to feel jealous until Olivia squeezed her hand to reassure her that she was the only girl for her. 

A slow song began to play and, although Olivia hadn’t magically learned how to slow dance over the last few minutes, she knew another romantic gesture might be required to make Alex feel better. Even if I make a complete fool of myself, she’s worth it.

“May I have this?” Olivia blurted out.

Alex narrowed her eyes. “Have what?” she asked before Olivia realized she hadn’t finished the rest of her question about asking her to dance.

Her girlfriend may not have been the most popular girl in sixth grade, but Alex and her friends held enough rank in the sixth grade social scene for that moment to be sufficiently awkward for Olivia with all of them exchanging glances and wondering what Olivia was trying to ask.

“Dance with me?” Olivia’s voice squeaked for a third time that night.

Her question was followed by a chorus of ‘aww’ and ‘how cute’ from Alex’s friends, but most importantly, it was followed by a kiss on the cheek from Alex. “I’d love to dance with you, Olivia.”

Olivia tried to remember every prom scene from teen movies she had watched with her mom on Netflix so she could know where to place her hands during slow dancing until she realized she usually got bored of those movies and the two of them would watch some cheesy horror movie from when her mom was a teenager because Olivia considered those way more fun, especially when they’d turn the lights off in their apartment and eat junk food on the couch while they watched. I guess the Blair Witch Project can’t save me now.  Panic set in once again until she saw how beautiful Alex looked standing in front of her. Her girlfriend’s glittery lips and braces-filled smile put Olivia at ease and, once she focused on her instead of the logistics of slow dancing, Olivia finally started to enjoy herself.

She didn’t know if she had rhythm and she didn’t care because what mattered most to her was holding Alex close while some song about eternal love or maybe heartbreak－Olivia didn’t actually care－played in the background. 

Alex’s coconut body spray reminded her of every good summer memory she ever had and all of the new memories she wanted to make with her that summer. It was the first time she had held Alex that close and for that long and, as much as she enjoyed the time she pigged out on nachos and caught a foul ball at a Mets game with her uncle, she now had a new contender for the best moment of her life, but when Alex whispered in her ear ‘You’re the best girlfriend in the world,’ she knew nothing could ever compare to her first slow dance with the very first girl she would give her heart to.

[alyssawritesssfics]

Hounded [8] 8. Day Trip

Pairings: Bellamy x OC // Kane x daughter!OC

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, character death (canon), series spoilers

Summary: Athena, in an attempt to avoid her father, searches for a lost bunker with Bellamy. In a search for supplies, they end up finding a newfound appreciation for each other.

Author’s Note: Hii, here is chapter/episode eight! I had SO much fun writing this one. It’s a big one, most of it Athena & Bellamy. I planned to have Athena talk with Kane, but it just didn’t fit into this chapter. I hope you enjoy it! Please remember to note and reblog! It really helps me see interest and therefore update the story more often. Thank you!

Tag List: @topazy​ @no-damsel​ (DM or send an ask to be added)

previous chapter // series masterlist

The rest of the day was spent recovering from the storm. Finn was healing slowly but surely, and the Grounder was still tied up on the top level of the dropship. I'd hardly seen Octavia, and I didn't blame her for avoiding me; part of me wished I could avoid me too.

I sat in my tent the following day, waiting for Clarke's meeting with the council to finish. We would soon know how long until the Ark would reach the ground, more importantly, how long we had left before we had proper defences against the Grounders. Until we had guns, the Grounders would always have the upper hand.

"Athena, are you in there?"

I stood from my cot, pulling open the flap of the tent. "How did the meeting go?"

Clarke shrugged. "There's an emergency depot not too far from here. Your father mentioned it would have supplies and could provide shelter for us while we wait on them to get down here."

I could feel my body tense up at the mention of my father. "That'll be good. I have a feeling we'll need to move there sooner rather than later." Stepping out of the tent, I allowed Clarke to lead me towards the dropship.

"The council set up meeting times for the rest of the day," Clarke started. "For us all to talk to our families."

I took a deep breath. "That'll be good."

Clarke stepped in front of me. "Are you okay?"

"Sorry," I spoke, rubbing my eyes. "I've just gotten so used to life down here, you know? Without the Ark. Not having to worry about my father."

Clarke nodded. "I know what you mean."

"Right," I couldn't help but frown. "Did you talk to your mom at all last night?"

"You mean, about her turning my father in?" Clarke asked, each word laced with venom. Then, she let out a small sigh. "Yeah, I told her I knew."

"What did she have to say for herself?"

Clarke shook her head. "I didn't really give her a chance to explain. I mean, what is there to explain? Nothing she could possibly say would make any of this better. She's the reason my father is dead. I don't think I can forgive her for that. Does that make me a terrible person?"

I shook my head. "It makes you human."

"Being human sucks."

I looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath. "Forgiveness has never really been my strong suit, so I'm probably the worst person to give you advice anyway."

Clarke frowned. "Well, I can help you avoid having to talk to your parents."

My eyes met Clarke's, a small smile forming across my face. "What do you have in mind?"

Clarke turned around, continuing towards the dropship. "The depot. I figure you can lead the search for it. Scope it out, see if there's anything of use there. See if it can actually be used as shelter."

"I can do that," I responded. "When do we leave?"

We entered the dropship, spotting Bellamy and Octavia standing next to the ladder.

"Whatever twisted connection you think you have with that animal, forget it. You don't get to see him. End of discussion." Bellamy turned to leave.

"Why do you even care?" Octavia pressed. "If I ruined your life, you should want me to go up there. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll kill me. Problem solved."

Bellamy looked back at her. "You know I didn't mean that."

"Bellamy," Clarke spoke up.

"The answer is still no, Clarke." He responded, now facing us. "I'm not talking to Jaha."

Clarke shook her head. "That's not why I'm here."

"What, then?"

"The Ark found some records that show an old supply depot not too far from here."

My eyes darted to Clarke. "Clarke, what are you-"

"What kind of supplies?" Bellamy asked.

"The kind that might give us a chance to live through the winter." Clarke responded. "I have to stay behind to organize visits, but I'm sending Athena and she could use some back up."

I folded my arms across my chest. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Clarke smirked. "You want to avoid Jaha right?"

Bellamy scoffed. "Alright, I'll go."

"I thought so." Clarke said, handing me a map. "I've marked the coordinates on this map. Be careful out there, alright?"

Before I could object, Clarke had left the dropship. I turned back to Bellamy, my arms still placed tightly across my chest. "Meet me at the gate in ten minutes, or I will leave without you."

Bellamy smirked. "Someone is bossy today."

"I mean it, Bellamy," I spoke, turning to leave.

I stopped at my tent to grab my pack before heading to the gate. By the time I made it there, Bellamy was stuffing packages upon packages of nuts into his pack.

"That's a lot of rations," I mumbled. "You do realize this is a day trip, right?"

"A lot can happen in a day."

I rolled my eyes, signalling for Jasper to open the gate.

...

We had been walking for over an hour, only ever discussing the directions Clarke had given us. While the silence had left little room for a Grounder to sneak up on us, I was growing tired and needed a distraction.

"You know, the first dropship will be down soon," I spoke, earning a side-glance. "Pretty sure you can't avoid Jaha forever."

Bellamy scoffed. "I can try."

"Maybe he'll be lenient?" I suggested, eating some nuts from my packet. "You know, he's forgiving the rest of our crimes. Why not yours too?"

"I shot the man, Athena. He's not just going to forgive and forget."

"At least you didn't kill him."

"Has terrible aim ever in the history of law been a good defence?" He sighed. "Your honour, I concede that I shot the man, but he didn't die! No harm, no foul?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not saying you'll get off with no punishment. I'm just saying, maybe he'll opt for some time in lock-up? We don't really have to worry about wasting oxygen anymore."

Bellamy stopped, staring at the ground. "What if they find out about the radio? I mean, someone is bound to tell them. I shot the Chancellor, and then I destroyed the radio, causing three hundred innocent people to die up there."

"So it does bother you?"

He turned around, looking me dead in the eye. "Of course it bothers me, Athena." Bellamy turned back around, continuing through the forest.

"Why do you always act like you don't give a shit, then?" I asked. "I mean, why do you keep pretending like nothing matters to you?"

"I don't pretend like nothing else matters."

"You're right," I responded. "You couldn't pretend that Octavia doesn't matter to you no matter how hard you try."

Bellamy shook his head. "You have no idea."

"Octavia used to talk about you all the time," I started, smiling to myself. "Her big brother. Her greatest protector. You gave up everything to protect her."

"What's your point?"

"I'm just trying to understand how the person I heard about for eight months is the same guy I'm talking to right now." I shrugged.

Bellamy scoffed. "No matter what Octavia has told you, you'll never understand what we went through up there. What I went through. Your father would take over if anything happened to Jaha, right? That would make you Wells 2.0."

"Bellamy-"

"You will never understand, Athena. You will never know what I had to go through to keep her safe. What I had to see my mother go through." He paused, steadying his breathing. "Octavia spent sixteen years under the floor. Sixteen years confined to our tiny dorm. She was a prisoner from the day she was born and all I wanted was to protect her, or at the very least, be with her one last time before radiation killed her." He stopped, looking around. "But, it didn't."

"So you destroyed the radio because you were afraid she'd be alone? After they came down here and executed you."

"That was part of it." Bellamy nodded. "Is it so wrong just to not want to die?"

I shook my head, feeling a pang in my heart. "I don't think so."

"If I had known what would happen," Bellamy closed his eyes. "I wouldn't have destroyed the radio. I swear."

I stared at Bellamy for a moment, taking in a side of him I hadn't seen since the night in the cave. He was vulnerable. Maybe I was an idiot, but I couldn't help but believe him. Feel sorry for him even.

Clearing my throat, I pushed past him, looking down the hill we'd now approached. "The depot is supposed to be around here somewhere. There's got to be a door underneath all of this brush."

"Let's just split up, cover more ground." He sighed, beginning down the hill. "Stay within shouting distance, alright?"

I nodded, slowly making my way down the hill behind him. Broken branches from the trees surrounding us were scattered along the grass messily, having been tossed around by the storm most likely.

It didn't take long for me to find a metal door hidden under a large branch. "Bellamy, I think I found it!"

Bellamy rushed over, helping me move the branch. He tugged on the handle, to no avail. "It's rusted shut. Here, watch your foot."

I stepped back as Bellamy pulled out his hatched, bashing it against the edges of the door a few times. Putting the hatchet back on his belt, he signalled for my help. After a few tugs, the door swung open.

"Woah," I gasped, peering down the stairs. "Here, take this," I said, handing him one of two flashlights before descending into the bunker.

Bellamy followed behind. "Do you really think this place hasn't been touched since before the war?"

"A girl can dream."

We continued through the bunker, coming across another set of stairs. My light shone over a skeleton, leaning up against the bannister.

"A hell of a place to die," Bellamy commented.

"So much for living down here. This place is disgusting." I said, looking around the spider-web infested room. "Damn it."

Bellamy sighed. "Anything left down here is ruined."

I soon noticed a shelf, shining my light against it. "Hey, I found some blankets!"

"Excited about a couple of blankets?" Bellamy grumbled.

"It's something, at least," I responded, rolling my eyes. "We might not be able to live down here, but at least these will help us stay warm. Even if it is just a little bit."

"How about a canteen? Or a medkit? Or a decent freaking tent?" Bellamy snapped, kicking a barrel in front of him.

I spun around, noticing the contents of the barrel spilling out onto the floor. "Holy shit," I mumbled, rushing over.

Bellamy smiled, kneeling down next to it. "I'll be damned."

Two guns laid on the floor, surrounded by grease.

"Do you think they'll still work?" I asked, picking one up.

"I guess we'll find out," Bellamy responded, looking around. "Help me with the rest of the barrels. Maybe there's more guns, some ammo."

We headed around the room, kicking over every barrel insight. In total, we came up with fifty guns, but only enough ammo to fill half of them twice.

"This changes everything. No more running from spears." Bellamy spoke, a glimmer in his eyes. "Ready to be a badass, Athena?"

I bit my lip. "I know we need these, but I don't know how I feel about bringing them back to camp. We do have murderers among us."

"Who could've killed us by now with anything else lying around camp." Bellamy pointed out. "I know what you mean, but trust me, those killers are focused on the Grounders. Not any of us."

"You're right," I confessed.

"We're lucky these guns were packed in grease. The fact that they survived means we're not sitting ducks anymore." Bellamy grabbed a sheet from the shelf, drawing a target on it with some dust. "You need to learn how to do this."

I nodded, lifting the gun and pointing it at the sheet. "So I just hold it on my shoulder?"

"Just a little higher," He spoke, standing behind me. He placed one hand on the gun and another on my upper arm. I could feel his warm breath on my ear, jagged with each inhale and exhale. "Uh, yeah, that's good." He spoke, moving away. "Here, watch and learn."

I stepped back, watching him pick up another gun. He aimed it at the target, pulling the trigger. The gun clicked, nothing coming out. "Still watching," I spoke, smirking.

He shook his head, turning to me with a smile. "My bullets are duds. Try yours."

I stepped back into place, aiming the gun and pulling the trigger. A bullet flew out of the gun, shooting through the sheet. "That was amazing!" I spoke, smiling ear to ear. I turned to look at Bellamy, my face now pale. "Am I horrible for feeling that?"

He shook his head again, still smiling. "Try again."

"We shouldn't waste the ammunition."

"You need to practice."

"We need to talk about how we're going to keep these guns around camp," I started. "Where we're going to keep them, who has access to them." Bellamy rolled his eyes, opening a pack of nuts and eating a small handful. "You left Miller in charge of the Grounder," I continued. "You must trust him."

Bellamy nodded. "You should keep him close. The others listen to him."

I raised an eyebrow. "Bellamy, what's going on? You've been acting weird all day and you took a shit-ton of rations-" I stopped, my eyes widening. "You're planning on running. That's why you agreed to come today. You were gonna load up on supplies and just take off?"

"I don't have a choice, Athena." Bellamy sighed. "The Ark will be down here soon. You said maybe they'd just lock me up, but there's no way I'm giving Jaha the satisfaction."

"What about Octavia?" I asked. "You can't just leave her."

"Octavia hates me. She'll be fine."

"Octavia is upset, but she'll get over it. She loves you." I spoke, stepping closer. "Please, Bellamy. Don't do this."

Bellamy stared at me for a moment, his eyes softening. "Come with me."

I stared back, my heart stopping for a moment. "What?"

"Screw everyone else," Bellamy responded. "Let's just go."

"Bellamy-"

"Clarke knows where the depot is." Bellamy started. "We can take a gun, some ammo, and go somewhere else."

"We can't just abandon our people. Your people, as you've said over and over again since we got down here." I spoke, stepping back.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "Keep practicing. I need some air."

"Bellamy, wait!"

"Don't worry, Athena." He spoke, walking away. "I won't leave just yet."

As his silhouette disappeared, I felt my heart sink into my stomach. Come with me. He asked me to come with him, and for just a moment, I thought about it. Could we find a place where the Grounders would never find us? Would the others manage on their own until the Ark came down? Leaving them to fight without my help just didn't sit right with me.

I placed my gun on the shelf, grabbing a few more nuts. Then suddenly, I heard a familiar voice.

"You've always been just like your father, you know?"

I turned around, the room having morphed into my bedroom on the Ark. Standing in front of me was my mother, as clear as ever.

"Mom?" I gasped, rushing over and throwing my arms around her.

"My sweet baby," She spoke, giving me one of her tightest hugs. "I've missed you so much."

I opened my mouth to respond, reality slowly sinking in. Looking up at my mother, I frowned. "You're not really here, are you?"

"I'm afraid not," She confessed.

"How is this possible?" I asked, stepping away.

My mother turned away, looking around the room before sitting down on my bed. "I'm thinking 'why' is more important."

I frowned. "Because I need you."

"What for, Sweetheart?" She asked, patting the bed next to her.

I sat down next to her, feeling her arm wrap around my back. "I don't know what to do. I'm so scared, Mom. All of the time. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to keep us all safe. I don't think I can."

"Are you trying your best?" I nodded. "That's all you can do." She said, pausing for a moment. "But, you can't run away, baby. You're better than that."

I pulled myself away, standing in front of her. "You don't understand what it's like down here."

"Of course I do," She said, smiling. "I'm you, remember?"

"Right," I frowned. "So I guess you're my conscience?"

"I'm whatever you need me to be."

I let out a huff, shaking my head. "That's not really helpful, you know?"

"Would you prefer to speak with your father instead?" She asked, letting out a small chuckle.

"That's not funny," I hissed. "And for the record, I'm nothing like him."

"Are you sure about that?" I raised my eyebrow at her. "Here you are, worrying about the safety of your people. Having to make the hard decisions to keep them alive, a burden he's carried since before you were born."

"Dad has never had trouble making the hard decisions."

"Athena-"

"If you're going to try and defend him, just save it. He let them lock me up." I spoke, tears forming in my eyes. "Aside from our family, Jaha and Jesse's family, nobody else knew what I did. He's the second in command! He could've talked to Jaha, asked him to let it go, but he didn't. He's never stood up for me, not once in my entire life. He knew they were sending us down here, and he did nothing to stop it. He sent me, his own daughter, down here to die."

My mother frowned, her eyes shifting to the floor. "You know none of that was within his power. He loves you, more than anything."

"Now I know for sure you're not real," I scoffed. "You'd never lie to me."

"Too bad I couldn't say the same for you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. "I never told you I was sorry. For what I did. Stealing your keycard. I know you could've lost everything."

"But you did it anyway, all to save someone you loved. Look where that got you; locked up and sent down here to die."

"You're saying Dad did the right thing?" I rolled my eyes.

"Not everything is black and white, Athena." She started. "Sometimes you have no other choice. Being a leader is doing what's right for your people, not what's right for you or one other person. Your father knows that, and so do you."

I shook my head, a tear falling down my cheek. "I'm not ready to forgive him."

"Whatever," My mother spoke, her voice suddenly changing. "Crazy bitch."

"Mom?" I asked, feeling a hard smack against the back of my head.

Then, everything went black.

...

I woke up on the cold ground of the bunker, my head throbbing. Sitting up, I looked around the room, noticing Bellamy's pack still sat on the ground where he left it. Whoever knocked me out, it definitely hadn't been him.

"What am I supposed to do?" It was Bellamy's voice.

I pulled myself off the ground, grabbing my gun and running out of the bunker.

"Do you think you deserve to be free of your pain? Do you deserve that gift?" I recognized the voice as Dax, one of the murderers of our camp. "Because you're going to get it."

I hid behind a tree, poking my head out, struggling to see in the darkness. Dax stood over Bellamy, holding one of the guns we'd found. Bellamy lifted his hand, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Nothing personal," Dax said. Then, he pulled the trigger, nothing coming out.

"Put the gun down, Dax," I spoke, stepping out from behind the tree with my gun aimed at him.

Dax spun around, shaking his head. "You should've stayed in the bunker, Athena. I tried not to kill you, but here you are, and Shumway said no witnesses."

"What is he talking about?" I asked, my eyes shifting to Bellamy for a moment.

"Shumway set it up. He gave me the gun to shoot the Chancellor."

I froze for a moment, Dax taking the chance to move closer. "Walk away now, and I won't kill you. This is your last chance."

"I can't do that, Dax."

He nodded. "Your choice."

I pulled the trigger before he could, this time my gun being the one to jam. He was quick to pull the trigger next, and I dove behind the tree just in time.

"No!" Bellamy yelled, tackling Dax.

I could hear them struggling behind me as I remained behind the tree, reloading my gun. Stepping out, I fired again and again and again, nothing coming out. I watched Dax climb on top of Bellamy once more, pushing the gun hard against Bellamy's throat. Giving up, I ran towards.

"Get the hell off of him!" I yelled, swinging the gun at him.

Dax dodged me, hitting me in the stomach with his gun, causing me to fall to the floor. I clutched my stomach, gasping for air, Dax's eyes still on me. With no time to waste, Bellamy grabbed a discarded bullet, stabbing Dax in the neck with it.

Blood spilled from Dax's mouth as he fell backwards, slowly bleeding out. Finally, he stopped moving.

I crawled over to the tree, leaning myself up against it as Bellamy rushed over, still struggling to catch his breath. He placed his hand on my knee, leaning himself against the tree as well.

"It's okay," I spoke, slowly catching my breath. "You're okay."

"No, I'm not." He choked out, tears forming in his eyes. "My mother... If she knew what I've done, who I am. She raised me to be better. To be good. And all I do is hurt people."

"Bellamy-"

"I'm a monster."

"Hey, you saved my life today. You've saved my life twice now." I spoke, grabbing his hand. "You may be a total ass half the time but... I need you. We all need you. None of us would've survived this place if it wasn't for you."

He shook his head. "They have you. And Clarke."

"We couldn't have kept everyone alive without you by our sides," I confessed. "You want forgiveness, fine, I'll give that to you. You're forgiven, okay? But you can't run, Bellamy. You have to face it."

"Like you faced your father?" He asked, catching me off guard. "Come on, Athena. I know you only came here today to avoid talking to him."

I sighed. "You're right. I don't want to face my father. I don't want to face any of it. I would love to run away and start a life far away from everyone else, far away from all the death and destruction, but we don't have a choice."

"Jaha will kill me when he comes down."

"I won't let that happen," I spoke. "We'll figure something out."

Bellamy nodded. "Can we figure it out later?"

I nodded, leaning my head back against the tree and letting go of his hand. "Whenever you're ready."

...

We returned to camp later that night, pushing our way through a crowd surrounding the dropship. Miller had just informed the camp that the Grounder had gotten free, nowhere to be found.

"What if he brings other grounders back?" Jasper asked.

"He'll kill us all!" Another delinquent spoke.

"Or worse."

"Let the grounders come," Bellamy spoke, us both reaching the front of the crowd. "We've been afraid of them for far too long, and why? Because of their knives and spears. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being afraid."

Bellamy and I both dropped the sacks we'd made of sheets, them falling open to reveal guns. Clarke eyed them in amazement as everyone cheered around us.

"What about the bunker?" She asked.

I shook my head. "We can't live down there, but we did find blankets."

Clarke nodded, raising her voice. "These are weapons, not toys, alright? We have to be prepared to give them up to the guard when they get down here."

"But for now, they'll keep us safe," I added, earning a small smile.

"There are plenty more back at the depot that we couldn't carry," Bellamy spoke. "Tomorrow we start training, and if the grounders come, we're going to be ready to fight."

Everyone dispersed, Monty and Jasper carrying the guns to the dropship for storage overnight. Clarke placed her hand on my arm, grabbing my attention.

"I got you a meeting with Jaha," Clarke said. "He's waiting."

I smiled. "Thank you."

"What do you need to talk to him about anyway?"

"It's not for me," I responded, my eyes landing on Bellamy. "He was going to leave, you know?"

Clarke's eyes widened, her face turning red. "Are you kidding me?"

I shook my head. "I convinced him to talk to Jaha. Promised I'd do it with him. He's just scared, Clarke."

Her face softened and she nodded. "I get it."

I watched as Bellamy marched over, his eyes shifting nervously around camp. "Are we doing this?"

"Jaha is waiting. Are you ready?"

Bellamy huffed. "No, but let's get this over with."

The two of us headed to the tent, Bellamy gesturing for me to enter first. I pushed the flap aside, quickly spotting Jaha's face on the monitor in front of us. Bellamy took a deep breath, sitting down first and putting on his headset. I did the same.

"Mr. Blake," Jaha spoke. "I've been wanting to talk to you for some time now."

"Before you do, there's something I'd like to say." I started, glancing at Bellamy before looking back at Jaha. "When you sent us down here, you sent us to die, but miraculously, most of us are still alive. In large part, that is because of him, because of Bellamy. He's one of us, and he deserves to be pardoned of his crimes just like the rest of us."

Jaha scoffed. "Athena, I appreciate your point of view, but it's not that simple."

"It is if you want to know who on the Ark wants you dead."

I watched as Jaha contemplated Bellamy's offer. Finally, he responded. "Bellamy Blake, you are pardoned for your crimes."

Bellamy let out a sigh of relief, and I couldn't help but do the same. I placed my hand on his, squeezing it slightly and earning a small smile from him.

"Thank you," Bellamy spoke.

Jaha nodded. "Now, tell me who gave you the gun."

~

next chapter

[aver-no]

Real to Me (Princess and the Frog AU) Chapter 1

First | Next

AO3

Summary: Virgil’s closer than ever to getting his dream, Pat’s prince is finally coming, and the Creativitwins are here, queer, and- shit.

Relationships: Platonic moxiety, familial creativitwins, eventual prinxiety

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Remus, and Janus (eventually Logan and C!Thomas)

Warnings: Unsympathetic Janus (I promise he gets a redemption arc) and like. one very minor swear word (lmk if I need to add anything else)

Word count:  4343

A/N: Heyyyy... so this chapter. Was NOT meant to be this long lmao, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! I worked really hard on it, and as always reblogs are very much appreciated :) (Also feel free to drop by my ask box if you have any questions!!)

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Virgil groaned as he fumbled for the off button on his alarm clock. Another day. He rolled out of bed, narrowly avoiding the beat-up nightstand, working the kinks out of his neck. He quickly straightened out his sheets and stepped over to the old (“it’s vintage”) mirror his mama’d given him. Virgil wanted to make sure he was presentable, if only so he’d be stared at as little as possible. He tugged at his tight curls and grimaced. He’d slept in his work clothes to save time in the morning (lord knows he needed all the sleep he could get) but it left him looking a little rumpled. Virgil could see bags under his eyes too, and there was no time to put on makeup. He sighed. The outsides are just gonna have to match the insides today. 

Virgil shuffled over to his closet to grab his coat. He rubbed his eyes and smiled at the sight of his dad’s picture, right next to the illustration he’d given Virgil so many years ago. Working three jobs suddenly didn’t seem as soul-crushing as before. He grabbed the black coat, quickly shrugged it on, and dashed out the door, snatching his hat at the last minute – it might rain later.

Virgil got to the corner just as the tram was pulling up, green paint and white stripes as dull as ever. The door opened and Virgil was eternally grateful someone he knew was at the wheel. He didn’t think he could handle the stress of wondering if they were going to go off the tracks. He gave a small smile to the portly man driving. “Hi, Charlie.”

“Hey Virgil!” Charlie looked him over sympathetically. “You’re lookin’ a bit roughed up today, son. Didn’t get much sleep?”

Virgil internally grimaced, knowing he’d probably be getting comments like that all day. He just forced a laugh as he reached the top of the steps and replied “Gotta pay the bills. You know how it is.” He wasn’t going to mention he could pay the bills just fine with one job. Or that he was probably chasing a pipe dream.

“Ha, yeah,” and a sympathetic look were the only responses Virgil got. That was fine. Uncomfortable people didn’t ask you questions.

Virgil walked down the dirty aisle of the tram. There were some empty seats, the hard plastic kind that public transport always has, but he just grabbed hold of one of the metal poles in the middle of the aisle. 

Every once in a while, Virgil felt his eyes close for a few milliseconds longer than he’d normally let them. He didn’t want to let his guard down, lest he be pickpocketed or trampled or find himself in any other scenario anyone else might call “unlikely,” but it took an astounding amount of effort to pry his lids open every time. Virgil tried to fight it by staring at the people and cars passing by. New Orleans was as lively as ever. Even at 5:30 in the morning, there were jazz musicians playing on street corners and people dancing beside them, looking like there was nowhere else they’d rather be. 

Virgil unfortunately became quite familiar with that fact as he stepped off the tram, almost running into a line of musicians as they paraded down the street. He started to get increasingly impatient as the trumpet, then the trombone, then the drummer danced by. Just as there was a break in the line and Virgil could see the street he needed to take to Duke’s Cafe, a large man with a handkerchief grabbed his hand and swung Virgil around in a circle. Affronted, Virge pushed the man’s hand away and quickly walked in the direction of the restaurant. Some people need to learn personal space.

一

“Wait Remus, I’m going to- ! Oof!”

Cackling could be heard as a fancifully dressed man with loose, dark curls piled on his head slammed into the railing of the ship. 

“But Roman,” Remus said innocently, “I thought you said you were excited to get on land.” He waltzed up to the man pushing himself away from the edge of the boat.

“That doesn’t mean push me off the ship!!” Roman playfully shoved Remus.

“Eh, you didn’t fall or anything,” Remus shrugged.

The other rolled his eyes as the boat slowly pulled up to the docks, allowing the men aboard to see the photographers and reporters waiting to catch a glimpse. As soon as the ship pulled in view, flashes started to go off, capturing its gleaming white hull and a man standing behind the railing. As Roman flashed a practiced grin, Remus stepped away from the railing, as if hoping to prolong the time he had before stepping off the boat. When the ship began to pull to a stop though, the twins walked over to where the stairs led down to the dock, one with excitement in his eyes, the other with distaste. Roman struck a pose, hands on his hips (easy access for elbowing Remus), and flung off his crown to dash down the steps. Remus chased after him, determined not to be left on the boat (again), only pausing when he physically ran into Roman at the bottom of the stairway.

“Ro, what th-?!”

“Prince Roman! Over here!! Did you see you were declared most eligible bachelor by the Times-Picayune?” 

Remus squinted at the reporter that called out to them. To Roman, anyway. Most eligible bachelor? Really?? That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard.

Roman, however, grinned and drifted to the center of the crowd. “Well no, you see, I just arrived, but to say I’m surprised would be-”

“Prince Roman! What do you think of New Orleans? Have you received your invitation to Eli La Bouff’s masquerade?” 

Remus’ expression soured. Masquerades were lame anyway. He tried to push his way toward his brother. “Roman, come on-”

“I’ve found this city quite welcoming so far,” Roman didn’t acknowledge Remus, he just paused to beam around at the crowd, “and I’m looking forward to seeing more of it. In fact-”

“In fact,” Remus cut in, finally reaching that asshole, “we’d enjoy it more if we did some sightseeing.” He shoved Roman away from the crowd without waiting for a response. He hated reporters. He wasn’t even allowed to talk around them because apparently what the press hears is “important to our reputation” and if he doesn’t watch his language, “rumors might spread.” It was one time! And who would actually believe that Roman uses cacti as dildos? The whole thing’s all shit on a stick if you ask him.

“Oh, yes! Sightseeing!!” Roman clapped his hands excitedly and followed Remus off into the city.

一

Roman couldn’t remember when, but at some point he had lost Remus in the busy streets. It was definitely after he’d changed into street clothes, but before he passed the place grilling shrimp… The prince wasn’t too worried about his brother, but having a loose Remus on the town probably wasn’t great for the people of New Orleans. 

Ro’s train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a trumpet blaring a couple blocks down. His head shot up and he took off down the road, drinking in all the sights around him. Every once in a while, he’d wink at a stranger, or maybe strum his ukulele in tune with the sounds of the city. 

As the prince reached the end of the block, he saw a line of musicians dancing down the street. Roman’s face lit up and he chased after them. When he caught up he strummed along with the group and called, “Mind if I join?”

“Hey, we can always use another!” a dancing man with a handkerchief shouted back.

“Ashidanza!” Roman danced off after the band. These guys’ll probably show me all around the city. 

They walked down several streets, each as exciting as the next. There were so many people milling about, so many smells and sounds, so many lights strung up between balconies, and restaurants on every corner. He flashed his most heart-stopping grins at the people they passed, drawing blushes left and right. His eyes only lingered on a few, before he danced on.

The group of musicians passed by a diner that smelled particularly good, and a tall man with a strong jaw caught Roman’s eye. He spun around, strumming louder to catch the man’s attention all while eyeing him up and down. Tight curls, glowing skin, dark eyes? Looked a little tired, but handsome nonetheless. Yeah, that deserves a wink. But as soon as the man turned away from the table he was cleaning, he just rolled his eyes at Roman’s antics and walked back inside the diner. Roman simply shrugged and lost himself to the music. 

The group continued for a few blocks until they found a fairly empty road and started to really play off each other. Now this is what I signed up for. Roman cheered and whooped along with the others, and slowly a crowd formed.

It’d already been a few hours since he’d seen Remus but… what’s a few minutes longer?

一

“Order up!” Virgil held back a grimace at Buford’s gruff voice and the dinging of the bell. He turned to walk towards the back counter with his tray and pushed imaginary flyaways away from his forehead.

“Another coffee over here, Cher!” The man at a nearby table called.

“Gotcha, Eddie.” Virgil internally sighed and poured the coffee into the cup, eyeing Buford every once in a while to make sure he wasn’t gonna start slamming the bell again.

“Hey Virgil!”

He threw out a quick “Mornin’ Georgia” while placing a woman’s plate down.

“Hey, how you doin’ Virgil?” another voice called.

Virgil finally looked up to find a whole group of people sitting around a table, and hoisted the coffee pitcher off his tray to serve them. “Hey y’all.”

Georgia grabbed the mug he just filled for her. “We’re all goin’ out dancin’ tonight, care to join us?” 

There were some words of assent amongst the group, but Virgil just protested, “You know I don’t dance. Besides, I’m-” he handed a napkin to a dirty four year old he wouldn’t have even come near if it wasn’t his job. “Need a napkin? I’m gonna work a double shift tonight.” Virgil strode over to a well-dressed man putting a napkin around his collar. “Here’s your hotcakes.” He folded his empty tray to his side and turned back to Georgia’s group. “I’m just really busy right now-”

“Again?” Georgia interrupted. “All you ever do is work.” She looked so disappointed Virgil almost felt bad. Almost.

Buford’s bell dinged. “Order up!”

“Maybe next time,” Virgil called over his shoulder, knowing full well it was a lie. He thought he might’ve heard someone say “I told y’all he wouldn’t come.” But that was probably just his imagination.

Buford cut him out of his thoughts, “You daydreaming ‘bout that damn restaurant again?”

Virgil deadpanned. “Buford. Your eggs are burning.”

He scrambled to get them off the griddle, but kept going off on Virgil. “You ain’t never gonna get enough for the down payment.”

“I’m gettin’ close,” the waiter scowled indignantly.

“Yeah? How close?” Buford was just mocking him now.

Virgil pushed down his frustration to demand, “Where are my flapjacks?”

The chef didn’t seem to notice Virgil’s impending anger, just laughing out, “You got about as much chance of getting that restaurant as I do of winning the Kentucky Derby!” Virgil’s lip curled into a snarl, but Buford kept going. “Saddle me up, y’all! It’s post time! Giddyup!” Virgil heard the worst trumpet imitation he’d ever had the displeasure to witness coming from behind him as he stormed off with the food piled on his tray. Just ignore him. Just… just ignore them. You’re getting there. 

The bell dinged and Virgil looked up to welcome the customer, brightening a little when he saw who it was. Thank god. An easy customer. “Morning, Mr. La Bouff.”

“Morning, Virgil,” Eli rumbled as he pulled the chair out from his usual table and opened the morning paper.

Virgil placed the eggs and flapjacks on an old woman’s table. “Congratulations on being voted King of the Mardi Gras parade.”

“Caught me completely by surprise! For the fifth year in a row,” Eli joked. Virgil smiled good-naturedly at Mr. La Bouff’s hearty laugh. “Now, how ‘bout I celebrate with some-”

“Beignets?” the waiter placed a plate in front of the large man. “Got a fresh batch waiting for you.”

“Well keep ‘em comin’ till I pass out,” Mr. La Bouff laughed gleefully. 

Virgil had just given his most indulgent customer service smile and turned toward the kitchen when the door slammed open and left a blond boy with a light blue jacket and a cream waistcoat beaming in the doorway. He stood there for only a split second before jumping up to Virgil, shouting, “Vee!!! Virgil Virgil Virgil, did you hear the news??” He plopped down into the chair across from Mr. La Bouff to say “Tell him Daddy!!”

Mr. La Bouff slowly swallowed and held up his paper to show the front cover displaying a handsome man with loose curls and a dimpled smile. “Oh yes,” Eli started, “Prince Roman-”

“Prince Roman is coming to New Orleans!!” Patton interjected, giggling excitedly. “Isn’t he amazing?” His face got all dreamy before continuing, “Tell Vee what you did, Daddy!”

“Well, I invited-”

“Daddy invited the prince to our masquerade ball tonight!!” Pat jumped up excitedly, then seemed to realize he was making a scene and sat down to continue a little quieter, “Tell him what else you did!” Mr. La Bouff paused to look at Patton for a minute, expecting him to interject again, but Pat stayed silent. He looked to his daddy and beamed, “Go on.”

“And he’s staying-”

“He-” Pat started, but then caught himself, deciding to shove a beignet in his mouth instead.

“...And he’s staying in our house as my personal guest,” Eli finished proudly.

Patton nodded excitedly, and Virgil looked at them both with wide eyes. “Pat, that’s amazing! It’s a lot, but… amazing.” He walked back to the kitchen to grab another batch of beignets, and when he got back he placed the treats in front of them and rested his hand on Pat’s shoulder. “A little word of advice: My mama always said, ‘The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’”

“Don’t I know it,” Pat laughed, taking a big bite of his pastry before gasping, “Wait, that’s it! Virge, you are a genius!!” Virgil gave him a look of confusion from where he was placing dishes in the sink. “I’m gonna need about 500 of your beignets for the ball tonight!” Virgil looked up in alarm. 500?? Patton darted over to where his daddy was sitting and grabbed a large wad of cash from his wallet. “Will this about cover it?”

The waiter stood there speechless for a few moments before forcing himself to reach out to take the money Pat was shoving at him. “I- yeah. Yes, this- this should cover it just fine, Pat.” A rare smile slowly grew on his face and he looked up at the La Bouffs gratefully. “This- this is it... I’m actually getting my restaurant!”

Patton hugged Virgil tight and bounced him around, squealing, “It’s gonna be amazing Virge!” Suddenly, he let go, gasping, “I’d better get ready.” He grabbed his daddy and shoved him towards the door. “Tonight my prince is coming!!”

~

“Everything looks good to me, Mr. Fenner.” Virgil looked away from the building (his building!) as the man in question began to get up to haul the “For Sale” sign away. Another, much shorter man with the same nose and mustache walked by where Virgil stood. “.....And Mr. Fenner.”

“We’ll have all the paperwork ready to sign first thing after Mardi Gras,” the taller of the brothers announced.

“I’ll be at the La Bouff’s masquerade ball, how ‘bout I sign them then?” He wanted his ownership confirmed as soon as possible – there was no way something this good could actually be happening to him.

“You drive a hard bargain boy,” the shorter Fenner called from the car. “We’ll see ya there!”

Virgil finally let himself take a breath once the real estate agents drove off, and stood back to take in the view of what would be his restaurant. He felt truly hopeful for the first time in a long time. He was really gonna get his restaurant. Wow.

He was startled out of his reverie by a woman sneaking behind him to say, “Table for one please.”

Virge turned to see a woman with graying hair and deep smile lines holding out a beaten up pot with a bow tied around it. “Mama!”

“Here’s a little something to help you get started,” she smiled.

Virgil’s face went soft, a little nostalgic. “Dad’s gumbo pot…” He hesitantly reached out to take it from her.

“I know,” Eudora comforted, “I miss him too.” They both stood there for a moment before his mama urged, “Well now, hurry up and open the door!”

Virgil went and unlocked the doors, and as soon as they were wide enough to walk through, said wistfully, “Look at it mama... Doesn’t it just make you wanna cry?”

Eudora took in the cobwebbed rafters and the creaky walls. “Yes…”

Virge seemed to notice her skepticism, turning to look at her after placing the pot on a lone stool. “It’s a little rickety, it’ll definitely need some sprucing up to be safe, but can’t you see it? The maitre’d is gonna be right where you’re standing, and over there’s gonna be the gourmet kitchen.” Virgil gestured to the left end of the room. “And hanging from the ceiling, a crystal chandelier! I’ve been thinking about the weight of it to make sure it doesn’t fall down, and so long as it’s not too big, I can save on the structuring of it. Of course I won’t pinch pennies too much, I want it to be safe, but-” 

“You certainly have this all figured out, don’t you,” his mama laughed. “I’m sure this place is gonna be wonderful baby. It’s just…”

Virgil looked at her nervously. “What?”

“It’s a shame you’re workin’ so hard. It’s all you do,” Eudora smiled gently.

“How can I let up now that I’m so close? I’ve gotta make sure all Dad’s work means something.” I’ve gotta make him proud.

“Virgil, your daddy might not have gotten his restaurant, but he had somethin’ better,” Eudora squeezed his arm gently. “He had love.” Virgil snorted lightly. “Laugh all you want baby, but that’s all I want for you. Pat’s got his own dreams of happily ever after.” Virge’s eyebrows scrunched. “I don’t want you to be lonely. I wanna see you dance off into happily ever after too.”

Virgil stepped away from her. “Mama, I don’t have the time right now. I’m so close. Maybe when I get up and running, but right now… it’s just not an option for me.”

Eudora sighed and patted Virgil’s hand. “Alright sweetheart. I trust you.”

一

Roman stood amongst a crowd of people, all dancing and cheering. The trumpeter blared his horn, and the rest of the band energetically played along, the whole atmosphere charged with the infectious energy. A short news boy danced along with Roman, trading moves back and forth and smiling wide. After a few trades, the prince stepped to the edge of the circle to let the boy have his moment. With the space to himself, the kid dropped into a split and popped right back up.

“Ashidanza!” Roman laughed, tilting his head to some swooning admirers and immediately spinning back into the fray.

“Ro!” a familiar voice called. Roman looked up and smiled brilliantly, having caught the eye of his black-clad brother. “There you are. I should’ve been following the shrieking earlier.”

“Excuse me?” Roman dramatically placed his hand on his chest. “That is the sound of joy.”

“Sure, and you’re a heartthrob.” Roman squawked indignantly as Remus shoved him away from the crowd. “Come on, I found a restaurant that sells frog legs!!”

“What?? Ew, no. I’m staying here,” Roman dug his feet in.

“But Rooooo, they have five different sauces!! Five!!!”

“Yeah, for frog legs!”

“You got to play your jazz,” Remus argued, “so now we’re gonna eat some goddamn frog legs.”

“But I haven’t gotten to show all of my moves yet!” Roman protested. “And I’ve almost gotten enough admirers to form a fan club!”

“We should leave then, so my roguish good looks and entrancing humor don’t steal their hearts.”

“You mean your worm of a mustache and your freakish flirting?” Roman teased.

Remus glared and opened his mouth to argue, when a smooth voice came from the wall behind them. “Gentlemen!” The twins spun around to find a tall, masked man with a hooked cane and a black hat leaning casually against the wall. “Enchanté. A tip of the hat from Dr. Côté.” Roman noted that he didn’t actually tip his hat. The man – Dr. Côté – pulled a business card out of seemingly nowhere and held it out to them. “How y’all doin’?”

Remus swiped the card away before Roman could even lift his hand. “’Tarot readings, charms, potions.’” Re’s eyes shone brighter with each word. “’Dreams made real.’” 

Ok, now Roman’s attention was piqued. 

Remus looked up with a wild grin on his face. “You can really do that stuff?”

“Well… normally I do it for a price but… I suspect I’m in the presence of some very important people,” Dr. Côté grinned charmingly, canines glinting. The twins’ heads whipped around to share a look.

“...What other things can you do?” Roman inquired.

Dr. Côté seemed to really notice Roman for the first time. “Why don’t we take a little trip to my office and I’ll show you.”

The twins gave each other a look. Then Remus jumped up, shouting, “Come on, let’s just go already!”

~

First thing Roman noticed was that the “office” was not an office. Honestly, it was more of an urban cave – a nook in an alleyway off a street that was more dirt than anything else. It was filled with all sorts of things Roman never imagined would make for desirable décor. There were herbs dangling from one corner, and large masks with strange markings hanging on almost every available surface. Roman was pretty sure he saw some bones in the corner. The rugs on the floor didn’t match each other at all, but all were made of what was once probably very expensive fabric. Now it was just musty, matted, and muddled. The furniture was limited to a small, circular table in the center of the room, sitting directly beneath a chandelier that gave off an orange light, which didn’t seem to help much in the way of seeing. Roman silently vowed not to go within three feet of any of these… decorations.

“WOAH, cool bones!” Remus, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms.

“Don’t touch those!” Dr. Côté hissed. He took a deep breath and grinned, gesturing to the table Roman noticed earlier. “Why don’t you come have a seat?” 

The men settled themselves around the table, Roman carefully examining his chair before sitting, just to make sure he wasn’t about to sit on anything… distasteful. 

Then, Dr. Côté pulled a deck of cards seemingly out of nowhere. They didn’t seem particularly special, simply decorated with a symbol of a hand that had an eye in the center, but the voodoo man held them with reverence. 

“Are you gonna do a card trick?” Remus snickered. Roman buried his smirk and elbowed his brother’s side. He did not want to make a magic man angry.

Dr. Côté simply looked up, though, giving an oily smile. “They’re tarot cards. I can tell you your past, your present… your future.” He gave a knowing look and fanned the cards out to the twins. “Go ahead. Take three.”

The princes reached out to the deck, holding their chosen cards close to their chest as if it were a card game. 

The Shadow Man stared at them for a moment, as if expecting them to do something before prompting, “How ‘bout I take a look at those cards now?”

Roman grinned sheepishly and placed his cards on the table. 

“Ah… now you, young man, are quite a prince,” Dr. Côté began. “A prince of fairy tales, really.” Roman thought he heard Remus huff beside him. “Your world is truly… perfect.” Something retreated inside Roman a little at the words, but he looked up when the Shadow Man asked, “But will it ever be anything else? Nothing is quite so disheartening as playing the same role all your life, huh? But when I look forward… I can see you’ll be more… very soon.”

The prince felt an anticipation swell inside him. Very soon.

Dr. Côté grinned down at Roman, then turned to Remus, peering at his cards. “Ah, yes. You’ve always been ambitious, hm?” Roman was shaken from his reverie and just barely kept from snorting. (Judging from the glare his brother aimed at him, he didn’t do a very good job.) Remus was ambitious if you considered chaotic enthusiasm to be ambition. But Dr. Côté just continued, “You could do more, be more, than they’d ever imagined. I know it. What are you going to do about it?”

Roman looked to Remus, and Remus looked down at his palms. A hand was outstretched for each of them to shake. “Well, boys?” 

The world was still for a moment. And then the black-clad prince’s hand shot out and shook the voodoo man’s, the other prince soon following suit.

“Very nice.” Dr. Côté’s smile grew leering. 

Then an orange smoke crept up Roman’s arm and into his mouth, and the world went dark.

A/N: Sorry, the ending came kinda fast 😅 I hope you enjoyed it anyway!! Please feel free to point out any mistakes you see, and keysmashes are VERY appreciated :D

Taglist: @midnightstorm-underthe-moon @meowthefluffy

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

I’ll Be There For You {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: This story has potential triggers which I have in the tags as “tw __” and discusses heavier subjects (miscarriage, abortion) which is why I’m forgoing my usual like/reblog note. Certain aspects were taken from true events. 

"This is not something I would have expected from you," Aizawa commented evenly. "Or Bakugo, for that matter."

Her head hung in avoidance of the sharp gaze of her teacher. He wasn't harsh, but his words veiled what was surely his true opinion of the situation. She wouldn’t be able to handle seeing disappointment in his eyes.

"I know, sir," she said quietly, her focus on keeping her voice steady. "But as unexpected as it is, I... I’ll face whatever the result may be. "

Aizawa regarded the student in front of him, wondering how she truly felt about what was happening. She was intelligent enough to know the responsible answer but he wanted to know what she was thinking, his interest falling more on her stance towards the other student involved.

"I approve of your request to leave school grounds under the condition that you are accompanied by a UA staff member."

She bowed at the waist. "Thank you, Mr. Aizawa."

"What staff member do you feel comfortable going with you?" he asked tiredly. This wasn't something he expected to deal with today. "For a potentially distressing situation, we may suggest Hound Dog for his guidance services however I don't believe that’s the best choice in this case. If you would like Midnight or Recovery Girl, I can make the arrangements."

"If Recovery Girl is able to, I would appreciate her company."

Nodding, Aizawa watched her for an additional moment before curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "May I ask why you chose to make this request alone? Surely Bakugo would want to be present for—”

"Sensei," she breathed out, interrupting him, "I want so desperately for Katsuki to be with me for this, but... I believe that there won't be anything for him to be present for. I’ve never heard it before."

He cocked his head to the side. "You've used your quirk on Bakugo?"

"I have," she admitted. "I've heard five years into his future about our relationship but, well, I’ve never heard this. I've heard of a small apartment with blue-grey sheets on a queen size bed and an argument over a rice cooker. I've... I've heard so much. But not this."

"What you must understand is that life can and will deal you unexpected blows," Aizawa told her. "There will be gains and losses. Life and death can be dealt without our permission, and the future can always change. If there’s nothing to report, so be it. But if there is, make the most of it. Sometimes that's all you can do."

His words applied to her situation, but his eyes didn't meet hers; they focused out the window to her left where the setting sun had begun to paint fluffy clouds in brilliant orange and pink.

Three days later, her off-campus trip long over, she laid on her bed in the dorms with Mr. Aizawa’s parting words from their meeting swirling through her thoughts just as they had been since they were spoken. She wondered where his mind went as he gazed at the clouds, wondered what his life’s unexpected twists and turns were for him to speak so sagely.

A chirp from her phone drew her from her thoughts and she rolled to her side to check the incoming message of, “coming back around 6. Tempura for dinner after I shower?”

“sure. not feeling super social so can we eat in my room?” she replied.

“yeah, you good?”

She bit her lip, heart fluttering at Katsuki’s concern but stomach flipping at how to answer. Deciding on the simplest version of the truth, she sent back, “been a long week and I miss you”

“few more hours and you get me for the weekend”

Warmth bloomed in her chest at the thought of having him back by her side for two whole days, craving the closeness that would hopefully ease her mind once he was there. Still, nerves twisted with anxiety at the talk they needed to have and she could only pray that she could keep her composure as she said what needed to be said.

It was difficult waiting when the hours ticked by so slowly. Distracting herself with schoolwork at least allowed her to finish her assignments to ensure her weekend was completely free, but with more time to kill she resorted to reading and rereading the pamphlets she had been given earlier in the week, ones she’d been too overwhelmed to try looking through until then. Part of her mind was eased as she read and her decision was seeming less intimidating the more information she consumed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity later, she had a text saying that her boyfriend was back and starting their dinner, he’d be up within half an hour or so. Butterflies filled her as she texted back an affirmative and she took a deep breath. The conversation they were going to have wouldn’t be easy by any means but she was ready. She had to be.

Repeating in her head what she wanted to say she waited for the knock on her door, and when it came she laid her palms flat on her small kotatsu in an attempt to ground herself as it opened to her boyfriend with two dishes in hand.

“You better never question my feelings for you,” he said with a grimace. “I just had to fight off both Uraraka and Kirishima from stealing your damn food.”

“Who said chivalry is dead?”

He snorted, setting the food down on the wooden surface of the kotatsu and sliding hers in front of her as he sat down to eat. Between mouthfuls he recounted his patrol with a sidekick of Endeavor’s through downtown and how they had taken down a few low-level criminals with shitty quirks, watching as she nodded and pushed her food around with her chopsticks. She’d eaten half but slowly, absentmindedly; that wasn’t normal by any means.

“Something’s weird with you,” he stated, crimson eyes studying her intently. “You get a shitty night’s sleep?”

“I’m not sleeping that great but that’s just, you know, stress. Are you too tired to talk for a while?”

Inwardly she cringed at her lack of tact when he narrowed his eyes at the abrupt subject change. “The discussion better be about what’s wrong with you.”

“Uhm, it… it is. I went to a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday because I’ve been feeling sort of… off. I was examined and—and I found out that… that I’m pregnant, Katsuki.”

His eyes widened before dropping into a squint as his brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly. He stayed quiet, seemingly absorbing the information. The lack of an actual response might have been scarier than any other one she had conjured in her mind from the anxiety about this moment. That anxiety was back tenfold and getting more stifling by the silent second.

“I’m sorry I waited to tell you but I wanted you to have time to think about everything without having to go on patrol with this fresh in your mind. I know you need to keep your focus but I want you to know that the appointment I have scheduled this coming Wed—"

“Why didn’t you tell me? Or ask me to go with you?”

“I didn’t think this would be the outcome,” she admitted shakily, every rehearsed word she had leaving her mind completely. “I’ve never heard it any time I’ve listen to your future; where our relationship is concerned it’s always just been us for as far as I can hear. Honestly… I just… I expected a false alarm.”

“But it wasn’t,” he snapped. “It wasn’t a false alarm. You’ve got my kid… you’ve got my baby growing inside you and we’re eighteen fucking years old trying to become pro heroes! How the hell are we going to make this work? We need to figure so much shit out—”

“I’m not having this baby,” she said quietly, silencing him momentarily.

“Not hav—what the fuck are you talking about? You want to…to get rid of them? That’s our kid! Just because you never heard about them when you listened to my future however long ago doesn’t mean it hasn’t changed to fit them! Our decisions change and that means our futures can too. Why would—just—come here! Listen to my future again!” he insisted, moving closer so his chest was easily accessible to her. The desperation in his voice broke her heart, but she knew that listening to his heartbeat would bring back to her the murmur of what would be his last words if they went down the path he was suggesting.

She shook her head sadly. “Katsuki, the future can be changed, yes, but it’s because I want to change the future that I can’t have this baby.”

He blanched. “Are you saying you don’t want me in your life?”

“No!” she nearly shouted. “I want you in my life and that’s the entire reason I can’t do this!”

“You’re not making any damn sense!” he screamed, his hands flying up to tug at his hair in frustration. “Say what the hell you mean, this isn’t the time to dance around your words! We have to fuckin’ talk about this!”

She took a shuddering breath, eyes closed. “At the appointment, I learned that I’m roughly eight weeks. They let me hear the heartbeat and because I knew your future never included us with a baby, I activated my quirk when I heard it and focused on your role in their life. The apprehension about what we would do to make this work was there just like it is now, but then I heard the excitement from you as you got used to the idea and kept wondering who they would look more like. Then—then there was grief. You were screaming and saying it couldn’t be right, they had to work harder to find a heartbeat.”

He grimaced. “You’re gonna lose them.”

Nodding, she continued, “I’ve never really had much experience with my quirk listening past the… death of the person whose heartbeat I hear, but this was different. They were gone but the effect they had on you, it consumed you completely. You kept saying that you couldn’t focus on anything but what we’d lost and it threw you off horribly at the worst possible time. During your patrol, a villain—you couldn’t think and—and—"

“I… died?”

She closed her eyes tightly and it was enough of an answer.

The things her quirk allowed her to hear were based on the decisions and intent of those involved, and if her decision upon finding out she was pregnant was to keep the baby then what she had told him made sense. Still, he had to ask, had to make sure.

“And no matter what we do… there isn’t—we can’t…?” he cut himself off, frustrated. “There is no outcome where we have this kid, is there?”

She wished she could say yes, would’ve given anything to be able to. But every other option they had she’d explored and it made no difference.

“No, there isn’t. I just—I want you to be okay, and for us to be okay, and to be able to stay toge—”

“Hey,” he said, cutting off her rambling as her eyes turned glassy, “we’re gonna be okay. I’m here for you now and I’ll be there for you for the rest of our shitty lives.”

“But I’m sorry Katsuki, I know this isn’t something you expected to deal with right off of patrol and this is all so much to just be throwing at you and I’m so sorry—”

He laid a hand on her shoulder and the other tilted her chin up to look at him. “Listen to me. You have nothing to apologize for, okay? We… we did this together and we’re gonna get through it together. I love you and I ain’t going anywhere, you got that? You can listen to my future all you want and that’s guaranteed to be my answer every fuckin’ time.”

She brought a hand up to cover her mouth as a choked sob left her, shoulders shaking as he brought her to his chest and hugged her close. He cradled her head in one hand and hoped she didn’t feel the tremble as he tried to calm his own breathing while she cried against him. Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind and he tried desperately to grasp even just one.

And the one he settled on was the fact that right at that moment he was holding his entire future. She had within her the power to create a future he had only dreamed of in secret. He could only pray to whoever was listening that if they couldn’t have it now, they could someday.

“This Wednesday is when I go back to the clinic,” she said quietly. “Aizawa arranged for Recovery Girl to go with me again but I—I wish you were coming too.”

“Of course I’m coming with you.”

She looked up at him over tearstained cheeks. “Your work study—”

“Fuck ‘em, you’re more important. I’ll figure out—"

“Hey, don’t just skip out on patrol, okay?” she reasoned. “Talk to Aizawa, he might be able to do something. Talk to him first.”

He stared at her for a long moment before his eyes narrowed in determination. Then he leaned forward and kissed her softly, pulling back to press a second lingering kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Impatient knocks echoed through the small teacher’s apartment of the 3-A dormitory, Aizawa’s already tired spirit deflating even more when he realized he would need to speak to another person.

Crossing the small living area, he opened the door to find Bakugo standing before him with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. Aizawa raised an eyebrow.

“Something the matter, Bakugo?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The blonde shuffled his feet—hesitantly?—before meeting his eye. “Can we talk about this privately?”

Aizawa stepped aside to allow him into the apartment.

He watched him take in the minimalist setup, even going so far as to say that he saw a ghost of a smile cross his features. The sight was enough for his curiosity to be piqued—first asking for a private conversation and now a smile?

“Did the old lady tell you what’s going to happen?”

The older man pushed away his thoughts at the question, cocking his head. “I would assume you’re referring to Recovery Girl and the situation with your fellow student.”

Bakugo scoffed. “Drop the ‘fellow student’ bullshit, you know that we’ve been dating since first year. She’s my damn girlfriend, you can say it.”

“So this is about her.”

“Of course it’s about her!” Bakugo snapped, hands free of his pockets and crackling. “Of course it’s about the girl who’s pregnant with my kid! Everything I fuckin’ do is about her! I’m in love with her!”

Aizawa stared at him.

“It’s about the girl I’m hopelessly in love with who’s way too goddamn good to be with me but sticks around anyway! It’s about the girl who believes I can become a hero because of what’s in my heart and not just because of the explosions I can make with my hands! It’s—it’s—it’s…” He choked out a shuddering breath, crackling palms now just smoking, before continuing softly, “it’s about the girl who wants a future and a family with me and is fighting like hell to keep us both on track to be heroes and still get that family someday.”

Passionate was a good word to describe Katsuki Bakugo. He’d thought so during the entrance exam and from the first moment he had officially met the boy. Rough around just about every single edge, but passionate nonetheless. He had always been passionate to become a hero of course, but now Aizawa saw that the passion extended so much farther past his career choice.

“She does so fuckin’ much for me,” Bakugo said, his voice thick from beneath spiked bangs obscuring his face. “For once, I want to be able to do something for her. That’s why I’m here.”

The blonde lifted his head and leveled his teacher with a determined gaze, Aizawa choosing to ignore the glint of tears he saw gathered on his lash line.

“I came to get permission to go with her and the old lady, work study be damned. Regardless of what’s going to happen I’m still their dad and I need to be there for their mom.”

He had never been more moved by the student in front of him than he was in that moment, though he declined to show it outwardly. Pride was swelling in his chest and he hoped that Bakugo would one day truly understand how much maturity he had gained in his years at UA.

"I approve of your request to leave school grounds under the supervision of Recovery Girl. I expect you to behave appropriately. Both of you will be excused from classes Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Your work study will be notified and grant you a leave of absence for the entirety of the next week.”

Bakugo blinked. “What are you telling them to give me a leave?”

“It would be illogical to tell the full truth due to the oftentimes conservative mindset of many in the world of heroes, which could unjustly damage both of your reputations. So, they will be informed that as your teacher and work study sponsor I have requested you be granted leave for an important familial issue. It’s not a lie.”

“And the class?”

“I can tell them the same thing,” he offered. “As I said, it’s not a lie. If you want to elaborate further that’s your choice as well as hers, but I would be mindful for the same reasons.”

“You gonna keep class rep off our asses too? Because I’m not leaving her alone in her dorm after everything’s said and done. She’s gonna need me.”

“The fact that you need her too means that yes, I will keep Iida under control.”

Bakugo’s jaw set as his lips twisted into a grimace. “I have to be strong for her, not the other way around.”

“You need to be strong for each other,” Aizawa corrected. “Grief is an ugly thing to face alone and if you don’t have to, you shouldn’t. You’re each losing something, someone, important to the both of you and to shoulder grief or guilt or anything of the sort on your own may be a natural reaction to heroes like us, but it’s a self-destructive one. I would know.”

It felt like ages had passed since they’d woken up and joined Recovery Girl as she escorted them off campus and to the small clinic in town. She’d been very pleasantly surprised to see the blonde by her side, saying as much when the two laced their fingers together. The older woman then took the travel time to explain exactly what would happen and how long it would take, more for Katsuki’s benefit than hers since it had been explained at her prior appointment.

“He’ll be coming back with me,” she’d said softly. “I want him there.”

“That won’t be a problem, dear,” Recovery Girl told her, and when they arrived it hadn’t been.

It was quick, quicker than either of them really expected. She’d gone back first and then Katsuki was allowed to come sit by her side after a short wait, and when the anesthesia had her sedated enough it began. Roughly ten minutes of holding her hand later, they were sitting in a recovery room for another two hours before going back to the dorms.

Recovery Girl made sure she was comfortably set up in Katsuki’s room with everything she would need for the next few days before beckoning him out to the hallway with her. When the door was closed behind them, she spoke in a quiet voice.

“You’ve been very good for her through this but it doesn’t end once the drowsiness wears off. I don’t mean just getting pain relief or food or keeping her comfortable. Support her just as much as you have leading up to the procedure now that it’s over.”

“What makes you think I’d—”

His angry words had been cut off by a hit to his shin with her cane. “I’m not saying you won’t, you stubborn child, I just want you to understand that she still needs you. You need to let yourself need her too so you can both work through this together. Now, if either of you need me you know where to find me.”

Once the old woman was gone he’d turned back and entered his room, his girlfriend looking at him sleepily. She looked small, soft, from where she was tucked in his bed.

“C’mere,” she’d whispered, hand reaching out to him. He went to her, sliding under the blanket and gently pulling her close.

They laid together throughout the day, sometimes sleeping and sometimes just talking lowly between themselves. He would bring her pain pills every few hours and help her up when she needed even as she fussed that it wasn’t necessary. He let her rest her head on his chest, knowing she had activated her quirk when a relieved sigh passed her lips with a barely whispered “you’re alive.”

He had a lot of time to think throughout the day, his thoughts wandering but always trailing back to what they had been forced by fate to give up. It was while she laid asleep beside him sometime in the early afternoon that the heaviness in his chest became almost unbearable. It hurt. It pierced his skin and cracked through his ribs to squeeze his heart tightly, the pressure unrelenting as the sun shone through the balcony curtains.

He hated it. He hated that he had lost someone he never knew but loved nonetheless. It was hard to accept and he knew it would take time—even if he wasn’t a patient guy he never backed down from something difficult. But it hurt.

So maybe that’s why when his eyes started to burn and his vision blurred he curled himself around her sleeping form, tucking her head under his chin as he closed his eyes tightly. She was the only other person who knew exactly how it felt, and he now understood what Aizawa and Recovery Girl had advised about his grief. It wasn’t easy to share the weight of his emotions with someone else but if it was her, he could do it. He would do it.

But not today—today was for her recovery. When the drowsiness was fully gone and they’d had a full night’s sleep beside one another he would open up. If the sting of tears returned then, he would let them fall.

With the late afternoon sun painting his dorm room a warm orange, they laid together on his bed in silence. They could hear their classmates in their own rooms and the occasional ding of the elevator as it stopped on the floor. Some of them came to his door to see if he was there, his friends curious as to what could possibly make him skip class if he was off of work study duty. Not once did they give any indication that they were in the room though, unwilling to invite anyone into their space for the time being.

After hours of stillness and peace, Katsuki turned to meet her eye when she continually shifted beside him.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured, fingers absently running over her shoulder.

She sighed. “During that first appointment, they offered to do a blood test to determine risk factors for certain genetic conditions. Recovery Girl encouraged me to get it even though I had already decided what was going to happen. When they gave me my discharge papers they told me the results were there too.”

“You’re worried that’ll say something about why they wouldn’t have…?”

“No,” she said, voice wavering as her bottom lip began to tremble. “That blood test could also determine gender.”

He felt his chest constrict even more at her words and he watched as a tear rolled down her cheek to land on his pillowcase.

“It hurts enough to know that we don’t get to meet them,” she whispered. “I don’t know if it will hurt us more to know if we lost a son or a daughter.”

It made sense in a way. Gender never particularly mattered to him so all this time he had been picturing her with a baby bump and on one or two rare occasions, just a sleeping baby swaddled in a blanket with no real defining features had entered his thoughts. Learning something about the child they would never meet, though, would paint pictures of a future impossible to live.

First a little boy who would probably end up looking like he did as a toddler, big red eyes and spiky hair, though probably colored like hers or maybe even just a different blonde than his own. Little skull shirts like the ones he had worn at that age were probably still easy enough to come by and if not, his parents rarely ever got rid of clothes due to the cyclical nature of fashion. As far as a quirk, it could have gone either way—explosions or hearing the future were both great quirks to have but he couldn’t help but picture a little boy discovering he could blow up his toys.

As for a little girl, he could only picture ash blonde hair and darker red eyes gazing up at him with a pouty look. Her hair wouldn’t be as spiky, it would lie more like her mother’s, bouncing as she ran about. Dresses could probably have skull prints he decided, and even if they didn’t he was sure his parents could make a few. If his little girl didn’t like dresses the skull shirts could be put on her too. And her quirk he had to picture as a combination—he thought that pressing her palms onto someone’s bare skin would allow her some kind of foresight into their future.

Both images left him hurt, and he could only think that his girlfriend had probably made her own determinations about the child now too. Maybe part of what hurt was the unknown, he thought. He didn’t know if it would truly make any difference to know but he had made up his mind.

“Maybe it’ll hurt,” he agreed, “but maybe it’s something we need to do. I think we should look.”

She hesitated, worrying her lip between her teeth, before nodding and starting to sit up. He quickly laid a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“I’ve got it.”

He easily rolled off the bed and crossed to his desk where the paperwork sat. Rifling through the headers he found the blood test and grabbed both sheets before making his way back to her.

He tilted them towards her. “Do you want to look?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I want you to look and tell me.”

With a deep breath he glanced down at the paperwork and began scanning through the results and test descriptions. He only vaguely registered what he was reading until his eyes landed on one word that drew a thousand new pictures in his mind.

Male.

A/N: I debated posting this for a while before deciding that its important to explore these subjects and emotions. I truly hope I’ve done them justice. 

[randomfandomimagine]

Kind (Jesse Pinkman x Reader)

Characters: Jesse Pinkman

Fandom: Breaking Bad

Tags: Reader Insert, Female Reader 

Warnings: Sad, dark, mature, drug mention, swearing, abusive home

Word Count: 1,5k words

Requested by @im-just-star-dust​: Hi, could u write about how Jesse finds a girl while at the methheads house from season 2? He befriends her and the little boy, and takes them to his house. Both children are almost mutes, so jesse teaches them how to speak, write and read. The girl trusts jesse since hes the only one whos nice to her other then her brother. The two form a close friendship, and soon a sort of unspoken romance.

A/N: This is my first BB/Jesse writing, yay! I shortened and changed your original request a bit to fit, but I hope you still like! Thank you again for requesting :)

A knock at the door interrupted your crying. Looking at your little brother, you waited and listened. The knocking continued, so you stood from the bed. Trying not to scare him, you smiled and stroked his head.

“Stay here, sweetie” You whispered, to which he only nodded. Honestly, you weren’t expecting him to talk after that long.

Silently leaving the room and closing the door behind you, you stood in the livingroom. A figure moved slowly amongst the mess that was the floor. You were done trying to tidy it up, because the next day you found it worse than when you started.

“Yo!” The man shouted, and you sneakily moved to grab the bat leaning against the door. “Anybody home?” 

You noticed he wielded something in his hands before him, so you tried to take him by surprise. Emerging from the shadows, you swung your bat and knocked the gun out of his hands.

“Shit!” He muttered, covering his head once he was left unarmed. 

It wasn’t the first time someone broke into your house, and while sometimes they would just get whatever they wanted and run, they had never blatantly called out asking if someone was home.

“Wait, wait!” The young man begged you. “I wasn’t gonna use it! Yo, drop the bat! I’m not gonna hurt you!” 

You breathed heavily, but decided to leave off him. Not that you liked hurting people anyway. You backed off, still kicking the gun away from his reach. He didn’t try to retrieve it. 

Taking a better look at him, you realized he wasn’t that much older than you. He wore lose clothes and a beanie. His fair blue eyes studied you, and you averted your gaze, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

“Uh...” He rubbed his shoulder, there where you had hit him. “Your folks home?”

You shook your head, still glancing at the ground. Honestly, you preferred to be home alone. At least that way you could have some peace and quiet. Even if the overwhelming helplessness never left you.

“When will they be back?” The young man tried again, but you only shrugged. “Okay, uh... Yo, what’s your name?” 

You didn’t reply, holding on to the bat so tightly that your hands hurt. 

“I’m... My name’s Jesse” He awkwardly told you. “Mind if I wait here?”

He got no reply from you, not even a gesture or a glance. Jesse sighed.

“You, uh...” Moving slowly, he reached out to take the bat from your hands. “You won’t need that, I promise”

You whimpered as soon as he came close, so he immediately backed away again. Holding his hands up, he apologized to you.

“Sorry! Keep it if you want, you...” His eyes looked you up and down again. “Jesus...” 

When you looked up at him to see what had alarmed him, you saw him taking his hoodie off. When he handed it to you, you were reminded of the clothes you were wearing. Old, tattered and literally falling to pieces. 

“Take it” He insisted, still not walking any closer. “It’s okay” 

Timorous, you reached out to take it, being careful not to brush your hand against his. You put the hoodie on and found a great comfort in it. It was too big for you, but it was almost new. And it was warm and cozy.

“I’ll just...” He awkwardly fixed his yellow shirt, which was also big and loose. “I’ll sit over there” 

You watched him as he went to sit on the couch. Just then, the door to the room opened and your little brother came out. Instinctively, you went to hug him against your stomach. 

“Man...” Jesse mumbled with a sigh. “Want me to call someone?” 

You could read it in his eyes, the meaning behind his words. He didn’t really want to say it in front of the kid, but... He didn’t mean just someone. The cops. He was already pulling his phone out of his pocket when you loudly whimpered.

He immediately looked up at you, noticing the panicked expression in your face. Pressing your brother tighter against you, you shook your head at Jesse.

“Oh” He muttered, peering at the two of you. “Right... I... Shouldn’t do that, huh?”

You nodded, slightly calmer seeing as he didn’t want you to be apart either. If the cops came, you would be put in a foster’s home. And they would separate you. You didn’t want to leave your brother alone after everything your parents put you through. He was too little anyway.

Gasping, you felt your brother escaping out of your grasp. However, instead of trying to hurt him, Jesse just curiously watched him as he went to turn the TV on.

That stupid knife program was on again, like always. The only thing you could ever watch. Your brother walked to the couch, too naive to be scared of a stranger. Hurrying to protect him, you sat down in the couch and put your brother on your lap. Your arms protectively fell around him.

Jesse, at the other end of the couch, stared at you. With the corner of your eye, you recognized the empathy in his gaze. 

“Yo, I, uh...” He began to say. “I just have some stuff to sort out with your folks, and then I’ll go” 

Still wary about him, you eyed him carefully. A friendly smile appeared on his face. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw someone genuinely smile, let alone yourself. It was... uplifting.

“I know you don’t even know me, but... You could come with me and I’ll try to help you out” His voice was so kind and gentle that it brought tears to your eyes.

Only bad people had ever come to your house. Thiefs, addicts, dangerous people. Ones that didn’t want anything to do with you, and if they did it was to get a hit. To make a deal with your parents.

“I mean, I get it if you don’t want to” He continued, still keeping the distances. “But man, fu... eff your parents” 

You continued to be quiet and check on your brother. He didn’t pay attention to the conversation, absently watching the TV.

“No?” Jesse gently insisted. “That’s okay... I get it”

Tears suddenly welled up in your eyes. You couldn’t exactly tell why, you were just overwhelmed. 

“I...” Jesse’s head whipped towards you at the sound of your voice. “Y/N”

“What?” 

“Name’s Y/N” 

“Yo... Good to meet you, Y/N” 

He offered his hand, still bearing a smile. You dared to take it. Gently, he shook your hand. He didn’t hurt you. You tried to hold back your sobs, not wanting to worry your brother. It was difficult, since you had been holding in for literal years. And now that someone showed you a hint of compassion and kindness, you crumbled.

“Hey...” Jesse whispered, gingerly putting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay”

You sniffed as silently as you could, being strangely comforted by his hand kindly rubbing your arm. 

“Y/N” He softly told you. “How ‘bout I buy you a burger after, huh?” 

You gawked at him, the tears freezing in your eyes. Was he really that nice? 

“Yeah! As soon as I talk with your folks, I’ll take you and your lil bro to have a bite” He smiled to reassure you. “Whatcha say?”  

You nodded your head, feeling excited for the first time in forever. Going out, eating a warm delicious burger. It sounded so good. 

“Yeah? Cool” Jesse squeezed your arm before letting go of you, and you found yourself missing his comforting touch. “We’ll just-” 

He was interrupted when the door opened. The noise, as usual, brought a pit in your stomach. The loud voices had returned. Jesse tensed up as well. 

“Hide in your room, and take the kid” He urged you, kindly tugging at the fabric of the hoodie. “Trust me, c’mon” 

Knowing what business your parents got up to, you stood from the couch, carrying your brother. Not entirely sure what would happen, though, you lingered.

“Go, I won’t hurt them, I promise” He nodded his head to the side, and you knew that’s where the gun was left forgotten. “That thing’s empty” 

“J-Jesse...” You stuttered, hesitant to leave.

“Wait for me, ‘kay?” He warmly smiled. “I owe you a burger”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, truly hoping he was as kind as he seemed to be. 

After all, he had respected your space. Didn’t force you to talk, avoided swearing in front of your brother, gave you his hoodie and even tried to comfort you. You really wanted to believe in his kindness, so you did as he said and returned to your room.

If you want to be added to the tag list to be notified when I post for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[seizethesam]

Ode to an Angel-Chapter 2

Summary: You had been alone in this apocalyptic world since you got seperated from your old group and lost your brother. You were on your way to an old metal factory in the hopes of finding your former group when a herd of walkers dragged you in to the woods. You took refuge in a hut, where you met him. You have got a long road ahead and some reckoning to do. (Set in the end of season 2)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

A/N: Ahh... the second chapter is here... Thank you for your likes and reblogs for the first chapter. This is my first time writing Daryl, and I’m a nervous wreck, I don’t know if I’m doing this right ahaha! This chapter reveals more about the reader and her past! I can’t wait to dive deeper into this journey. Feedback is always appreciated. Please let me know what you like or don’t like about the story.

This chapter’s recommended song is “Because We Have To” by Low Roar. 

Spotify  Youtube

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 2  

Then…

At this point you didn’t even know who to trust, this man could even lead you into a trap for that matter. But you knew that the factory would be somewhere near the area he was showing you. 

“Thank you,” you said turning your head to face him. 

He got up from his knees as he let out a humming sound as a response.

“Ya gonna need more than just two bullets if ya gonna take tha’ route,” he said putting your gun and knife back on the table and left the cottage, closing the door behind him.

 Now…

The time had seemed to come and pass. There was a full moon when you had found the old metal factory, and you haven't seen another since then, which told you that it hadn't been a whole month since the factory.

It was a total failure. There were just dead workers walking around. There was nothing, no sign of settlement, no one… your chances of finding your former group were getting low.

You had checked half of the areas that you thought were their kind of places; remote, large, and safe. You didn't know where else to go anymore. They could even be dead by now. But if there were no place to look for, then you were going to look for them. You owed it to your brother.

However, you did not have the energy anymore, being on the road— on foot, was taking all the power you had in you. It could have been weeks since you’ve ended up alone, wandering around to find a bunch of people...

Moreover, you would most definitely be dead by now if it wasn’t for the man with the crossbow. Yes… a couple of weeks ago when you thought that he was taking half your food, he was actually leaving two of the canned food and an additional bottle of water for you. He did not say anything about it, you didn't know why he did it. He just helped you.

You remembered him looking at you before fumbling with his bag.

When you’d checked the drawers again before leaving the cottage, you’d spotted the mushroom soups and the bottle of water. Maybe he looked at you and saw no threat, just a broken girl. He could’ve easily pitied you.

It’d been two days since your food ran out and the boiled dirty water in your canteen was almost finished. You’d avoided eating frogs or snakes since then, but you were starving. It seemed like your belly was sticking to your spine and your lips were cracked from dehydration.

You were walking through the woods, trying to find the highway, then maybe a car to spend the night. The sun was high up in the sky, the Georgian summer heat working against you, your whole body was covered in sweat. The humidity was making it almost impossible to breath.

You could not bring yourself to lift your feet fully to take a step. At this point, you were just dragging them to keep you standing. When you couldn’t keep on going, you sat next to a large tree, laid your back against its trunk, and closed your eyes.

You were all gathered around the fire. The military camp that you took refuge had been bombed a week ago and you were on the run with your little group and your brother. Neither you nor your brother liked to be around people like them; selfish, loathing, and vulgar.

“More people mean better chance at surviving,” he told you, “We just have to put up with them.” You two moved away from the fire to come near the truck.

“I don’t trust them,” you said pointing your chin towards the group of four.

“I know, me neither…” he reassured you, “we need to stick with them ‘till we’re out of the city,” said he.

When the outbreak happened, you and your brother hit the road for the military camp. They said that it was a safe haven for all people, and it really was— until the government bombed the whole place down. You’d managed to get out with a small group of people. You were with them ever since.

“Okay, but I don’t know how long I can keep up with that asshole’s bullshit,” you said turning your head to the brunette man sitting beside the fire. He was just a few years older than your brother. He had good survivalist skills, but he was a total self-absorbed asshat, who kept ordering people around like he was the one in charge.

“You will have to try, sis, just a little while longer, ” your brother said as he wrapped his strong arms around your shoulders.

           You reluctantly opened your eyes. Resting for a few minutes did good for your body. You reached for your canteen to take sip from your little remaining water, wanting to boost your energy just a little more to keep going. As the warm water washed down your throat, you found yourself wanting more but you refused to drink any more.

           As you tried to get up from the forest floor and reached to support yourself, your hand connected with something slightly colder and moist. You turned your gaze towards the object and saw a large beige colored mushroom.

           You once ate a mushroom that looked just like this one, so you assumed that it was not poisonous. Even if it were, you were too hungry to think on it.

           “Hello dinner,” you said smiling to yourself as you reached for the wild plant.

           You broke the mushroom from its root with a swift motion. You did not want to waste your matches for cooking. You mostly used the matches to start a fire to boil the dirty puddle water. You blew air onto the large plant to get rid of the excess dirt and soil.

           You started to eat with such hunger that the mushroom was gone within minutes. You were far from being full, but it was going to have to do.

           You got up from the ground after eating the whole thing. You needed to move forward. The highway was only couple of hours away and you had plenty of time to get there before the sunset.

           To your surprise, you did not come across that many of the dead throughout the day. There were couple of stray ones here and there. You didn't even bother to kill them. To be honest, you were still scared to get close. You did not interact with them unless you had to.

           After a while of walking, you needed to stop as your stomach started to feel funny. You felt a sudden urge to throw up, but it didn’t happen. You were having hard time figuring out where to step as the trees were all in motion, their branches intentionally blocking your way. You continued walking, but you fell a moment later when the forest floor beneath you began to move. Mushroom…

           A second later, a piercing pain shoot through the left side of your waist, a warm red liquid spreading around a spot, marking the fabric of your top. You had just realized that you’d fallen over a piece of wood.

You sat on your knees and removed the piece of wood with a groan. You successfully got up despite the mobile ground and the biting pain on your abdomen.

When you were fully standing you untied your shirt around your waist and pressed it to your wound with one hand. Beads of sweat were crawling down your temples to your chin. Just as you were about to move your feet, you recognized a figure standing in front of you.

           It was a male figure, slightly taller than you, broad shoulders, dark greasy hair…

           “What the hell are you doing here?” The figure talked. His voice was very familiar.

           “What?” that was all you could say, you were in utter shock that the man appeared out of nowhere.

           “It isn’t worth it, (Y/N),” now that the he’d talked again, you finally figured out who the figure was.

           “Matt?” It was your brother. Your chin trembled as you spoke his name. This wasn’t real. No, it was not.

           “What you’re doing…isn’t worth it.” He repeated.

           “Yes—yes, it is…” you said. Your voice was hoarse because of the lump in your throat. Tears were threatening to spill.

           “Stop chasing something you’re not supposed to, sis,” he spoke so tenderly. You felt a pang of grief inside your chest. Well… at this point your heart was taken out of your chest and was squeezed in someone’s hands. That was what it felt like.

           “They killed you—,” your sentenced was cut when he spoke, “It doesn’t matter what they did to me. Be smart,” he urged you, his sharp gaze was piercing through you.

           “Matt…” you were going to argue but in the blink of an eye, the figure disappeared. “Matthew!” You shouted after him, but he was long gone, and it wasn’t meant to last. You knew that it was the mushroom. You ran after him anyway, not bothering the pain, but your legs failed to carry your weight as you fell flat o your face.

           Dehydration, starvation, and exhaustion all together had tired you. The poisonous mushroom and the blood loss did no good on top of all. The dizziness was unbearable now. Your stomach ached like someone had punched you with full force.

Sleep and it will be all over. A voice inside your head snapped. You struggled to get up, but your surroundings went dark and the last thing you saw was the dying sun on the Georgia horizon.

Your eyes fluttered open just a little as you feel yourself moving. But no, you were not laying on the rough forest ground. Instead, you were being carried. A moment later, your eyes closed again, not allowing you to identify the person carrying you.

Muffled voices raised around you; they were two men; you could tell that one of them was old.

“…your responsibility.” The older voice said.

Your mind immediately went to the sharp pain on your abdomen. You frowned at the aching pain as you opened your eyes.

“Hey, she’s waking up,” the younger man said. He looked like he was in his thirties and had dark wavy hair that he had swept back. His sounded cautious. Next to him was the older man.

“Where the hell am I?” You asked the older them; your voice was croaky from sleep.

“Good morning, my name is Hershel.” The man talked, he was much older than the other man, his hair was whiter than the snow. You did not know these people. The last thing you remembered was the sunset, the pain and a person carrying you in the dark. Maybe you did find what you were looking for all this time. But you had to be smart.

***

Chapter 3