#he throws a tantrum if I ask him to do anything at his grown tucking age

[vexypest]

Can’t even clean my fucking house without wanting to kill someone

[farfromharry]

Mini Valentine | Stepdad!Tom fic

Summary: Your valentine’s plans with your fiancé get slightly set back when you get called in to work, leaving Tom to spend the day with your daughter.

Word count - 4,017

Warnings - One brief mention of throwing up, i think that’s it?

Unfortunately for you and Tom, you’d been called into work on the morning of the 14th, based on ‘emergency’. It was all very last minute and caused a lot of stress for your fiancé, even if he tried to promise you that it wasn’t a big deal and he could sort something, but anyone would be stressed while finding out their plans for the day had been spontaneously ruined that same morning without warning.

You originally had plans to go on a family trip to the zoo during the day, wanting to show Scarlett all the adorable animals that she’s never had the pleasure of seeing in person. Then you were meant to be heading to a romantic dinner with Tom at the same fancy restaurant he took you to, to propose. All while his mum watched Scarlett for you so you both got some well deserved time together.

“I’ll just shift the reservation, it’s okay,” he promised you, kissing your shoulder as you tied back your hair to keep it out of your face.

“You’re an angel,” you whispered, making sure to press a lasting kiss to his lips. You could tell he was exhausted, and you didn’t blame him, it was barely even four in the morning and you were already up and ready to leave the house.

You couldn’t leave without making a hundred percent sure he was okay with you heading in, moving over to where he’d tucked himself under the covers again, trying to shield his bare upper half from the cold morning air.

He’d planned on getting some more sleep before your munchkin woke up and decided she needed her stepdad to feed her instantly, something she did often.

“I still feel bad, ‘m sorry.” He shook his head, cupping your cheek with his large hand.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he chuckled, finding some amusement in the idea of you feeling so guilty about something you couldn’t control, especially when the issue was so easily resolved.

You rested your head on his bare chest for a few seconds, just until you really had to leave so you wouldn’t be late.

“I’ll take Scarlett out somewhere, still got to win her over.” You rolled your eyes at his words, pecking his lips one more time before standing up.

“You know she loves you already,” you mumbled, referring to all the moments the two had shared over the few years you and Tom had been together.

“No, she loves my cooking.”

You scrunched up your nose, feigning disgust. “I don’t know why.” Tom scoffed, his heart fluttering when you let out that silly giggle that he adored.

“Y/N?” he called. You hummed. “Happy valentine’s day.”

You placed one more kiss on his lips, taking your time to study his face as you pulled away. “Happy valentine’s day Tom.” You waved goodbye without letting him say anything else, not wanting anymore distractions that could risk making you late, closing your bedroom door behind you.

“Mummy?” You turned your head at the sound of your angel’s sleepy voice, seeing her standing in her bedroom door. She looked like the cutest little thing, hair all messed up from the way she’d slept, in her Disney pyjamas, rubbing her tired eyes with her first while her teddy bear was squeezed as close as possible to her chest.

“What’s wrong bub? You should be asleep.” She waddled over to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your legs. Your fingers threaded in her hair, trying to tame the flyaway strands, tucking them back into her scrunchie loosely.

“I heard you awake,” she mumbled, almost falling asleep in the position she was in. You pouted, leaning down to kiss her head.

“Mummy has to go to work,” you said, seeing the frown forming on her face. “I’ll be back later, but that means we can’t go to the zoo.”

If she had the energy she probably would’ve thrown a tantrum right then and there, but taking into account the utter exhaustion consuming her tiny body, meant she didn’t have the effort to argue. All she could do was flash you her typical pout and puppy dog eyes, but even those weren’t enough to win you over this time.

“Why don’t you go get in with Tom for a bit, get some cuddles?” You were always trying to encourage her to do more with Tom, praying that she would get along with him well enough to accept him. She did at least like his cooking, so that was a start.

She hummed, placing a sloppy toddler kiss on your cheek before shuffling down the hall to your room. You chuckled to yourself, grabbing your keys, jacket and any other necessity, leaving your daughter and fiancé to spend the day together.

Tom couldn’t fall asleep until he knew you were on your way, his subconscious telling him that he couldn’t let you be late by getting distracted with something in the house.

That meant that Tom felt the tiny body that was crawling onto the large bed, climbing under the covers on your empty side.

“Hi,” she whispered, laying her head on your pillow. The man laughed silently, noting how much she was like you with her mannerisms. He asked if she was okay, checking she wasn’t in here because of a nightmare.

“Mummy said I could come get cuddles.” The girl often liked Tom more when she didn’t have the energy to be mean, so at times like this she was often very affectionate towards him.

“Of course, c’mere.” She shuffled closer to him, curling her body into his chest while her head rested on his shoulder. Tom pressed a light kiss to her temple, soothingly rubbing her back until her breathing evened out and he was sure she was asleep.

He wasn’t too far behind her, letting his own wave of exhaustion crash over him until he was back into the deep slumber he’d been in before it was interrupted by your phone ringing.

»»——⍟——««

Tom and Scarlett ended up getting out of bed around 10. He’d sent the girl to the bathroom to do her business and brush her teeth while he made her breakfast, going over some ideas of what they could do for the day in his head.

“How do you feel about going to the aquarium today?” he asked, slipping a pancake onto her plate, letting her decorate it however she wanted. Her eyes widened and she rapidly nodded her head. Tom chuckled, preparing some breakfast for himself, taking a seat next to the girl at the kitchen island.

“Can we see the penguins?” she asked, filling the silence with the innocent question. She let out a squeal when Tom nodded, thanking him with the same amount of energy.

She finished her breakfast quickly, bouncing in her seat as she waited for Tom to tell her she could leave. “Go get dressed, we’ll go in a little while.” She didn’t have to be told twice, jumping down from the seat to run to her room.

Tom left to get dressed a few minutes after her, changing into some jeans, a plain white hoodie and a coat on top.

He waited by the front door for more than a few minutes, confused about what was taking the little girl so long.

Tom didn’t want to impose, he knew she was capable of getting ready herself, but he also didn’t know if something else had possibly gone wrong.

He headed to her room, knocking on the door before pushing it open. “Hey bug, what’s taking so long, you okay?” He could see the tears on her cheeks as she sat in front of the mirror, a hairbrush and a hair tie to her right. “What are the tears for?” He asked softly, bending down beside her to wipe them away.

“I can’t do my hair.” She sniffled, looking up at the man with those big eyes that looked exactly like yours. He was such a sucker for those eyes. “Do you want me to try?”

She nodded, handing him the stuff he needed. He brushed through the strands of her hair as carefully as he could, making sure to avoid brushing any tangles harshly, and apologising if he caught any anyway.

“Ponytail?” he asked. She nodded in confirmation. Tom wasn’t exactly a pro when it came to hair, he’d grown up with 3 brothers, so he didn’t really have anything to do with long hair until he spent those nights when you were drunk. He would always carelessly throw your hair into a bun or ponytail to keep it out of your face when you threw up, receiving a mumbled thank you from yourself.

You’d helped him learn the basics a while ago, teaching him how to do a simple braid and how to do a quick ponytail, but that was all he knew. He was never sure if his versions of the hairstyles would be up to Scarlett’s standards.

He pulled all the strands in, making sure there were no loose ones before wrapping the hair tie around them all, keeping them in place at the back of her head.

“Is that okay?” he asked. She nodded, standing up from her spot. Tom raked his eyes over her outfit, making sure socks were matching and everything was on right before guiding her to the entrance of the house.

She took a seat next to him on the stairs, swinging her legs while she waited for him to pass her, her shoes. She easily slipped them onto her feet, right then left, just like you always did when you were here.

“You think you can tie them yourself?” he asked. She nodded her head, grabbing a hold of the two pieces of white string on her left shoe.

“I’m a big girl,” she argued. Tom raised his hands in defense, muttering an okay.

Her big girl mindset didn’t last for long when she realised she in fact didn’t know how to tie her shoes. Tom tried to hide his smile, knowing this was going to happen.

“Tom?” She asked. He hummed, looking up from where he’d been putting on his shoes. She pointed down to the little converse that were on her feet, the laces messy and undone. “Can you do them, please?”

He tried his best to show her how to do it, but the girl got easily distracted, rambling on about all the different fishies she was going to see. He couldn’t be annoyed, finding it completely adorable how she babbled on.

“Alright, up?” He didn’t want to pick her up if she’d rather walk, not wanting to risk the girl throwing a tantrum so early on in the day. However, to Tom’s surprise, she agreed. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching her hands up to the sky, a signal that she wanted to be lifted up.

Tom scooped her up into his arms, resting her on his hip while he collected everything he needed to head out for the day.

Scarlett busied herself in playing with the chain around Tom’s neck, finding it intriguing for some unexplained reason.

He carried her out to his car, having to follow her instructions on how to get her into the car seat, it seemed to be a struggle for Tom everytime.

Once he was sure she was safely in her seat, Tom climbed into the driver’s seat, sending you a quick text to tell you they were heading out.

At one point during the short drive, Tom glanced through his mirror to see Scarlett quietly singing along to the radio, which he turned up so she could hear better, kicking her legs in her carseat happily.

The aquarium wasn’t too far away, and before Tom knew it they were inside and ready to look around. Scarlett complained about how it felt like it’d taken forever, clutching Tom’s hand with her tiny one as she dragged him towards what she thought looked most interesting.

“Look at that one!” she gasped, pointing to the vibrant coloured fish. Tom nodded, grinning down at the pure happiness on the little girl's face. The sudden vibration in his pocket made Tom jump. He pulled out his phone to see your contact lighting up his screen. He took a few steps back from her, so she was still in his eyeline but her loud squeals weren’t heard in his ear everytime she spotted a pretty fish.

“Hello?”

A smile creeped onto your face just at the sound of his voice, it was all you needed to hear to convince you you could make it till the end of your shift.

“Hi.”

“How are things?” You let out a sigh, glancing around the ward with a bored look.

“It’s okay, I guess, nothing much happened after this morning,” you explained. “How’s it going with Scarlett?” Tom smiled to himself, watching as the girl stared in awe at all the vibrantly coloured fish swimming in the tank.

“I didn’t take her to the zoo because I know you wanted to go, so I brought her to the aquarium you’ve been to before.” Your heart soared. The fact that Tom both listened to your stories about your daughter and respected the things you wanted to do with her were just more things to add to your ‘why Tom is the perfect man’ list.

“Are you having fun?” There was an underlying hint of sadness in your voice that Tom quickly picked up on.

“Yeah, but it’d be even more fun if you were here.” You could hear him quietly talking to Scarlett in the background, something about spotting a certain coloured fish. The girl responded with a squeal of excitement when she found out, gushing about how pretty it looked.

“She sounds happy,” you commented, pulling Tom’s attention away from the girl again.

“I think she is, this is the warmest she’s been with me.”

You bit your lip to try and hold back your smile. You’d both been waiting for the moment she’d decide she was ready to accept Tom as her dad, and it’s been a long journey to get to that point.

“Well, I should go, but i’m glad you’re having fun.”

Scarlett ran over to Tom, clutching his legs and asking who was on the phone. When he responded with a simple ‘mummy’ she decided she needed to talk to you right that second.

She ended up occupying you on the phone for much longer than you’d intended, finding it impossible to get away from the girl while she was ranting about all the different animals and fish they’d seen.

“I don’t want to keep you then, tell Tom to have fun too okay?” She mumbled a quiet okay. Tom was watching her with an amused grin, finding it adorable how large his phone looked pressed against her head. You said your I love you’s before hanging up to continue wallowing in your own self pity.

»»——⍟——««

The picture Tom sent you around 1 was the thing that kept you going, but was simultaneously the thing that almost made you cry in the middle of the hospital.

The two were sitting in the restaurant at the aquarium, the girl cuddling some kind of fluffy penguin teddy that you were sure Tom insisted he buy for her, while grinning at the camera.

He followed it up with a little message afterwards that basically confirmed your suspicions.

‘She loved the penguins and I couldn’t resist, this is Oswald x’

You giggled at the name, an obvious reference to the time Harrison came over and let her watch Batman. You ended up setting the picture as your lock screen, clicking your lock button to see your baby’s face light up your phone screen.

Your eyes drifted up to the clock on your phone, seeing you had at least another 2 hours left of work.

You wish you could say those last couple hours flew by, but it felt like they were never going to end. You spent most of the time being handed more and more tasks to do that you were scared you wouldn’t finish before the time you could go home.

Thankfully you did, wanting to practically scream with relief once you climbed into your car. You felt like you had more energy now that at any point during your day, which was very confusing considering the long almost 10 hour shift you had.

You heard the excited yells of your daughter the second you walked through the door of your home. She’d quite clearly seen your car pull up outside and just couldn’t wait to greet you.

“There she is.” You were almost tackled into a hug by the four year old, the girl beaming at you. Tom helped you slip your jacket off once Scarlett decided to let go of you.

“So, how was it?” She was more than happy to tell you again every single thing her and Tom did, going as far as describing almost each and every one of the fishies in detail.

Tom joined in at random parts with bits of information that seemed to slip past her excited mind. He watched you both with a smile, silently laughing at you when you realised you’d probably be here for days if you didn’t stop her.

“That sounds like so much fun, but you need to go and get ready for when Nikki comes.”

She still hadn’t taken up calling Tom’s mother Grandma yet, but you reassured her that it’d come with time, exactly the same as your reassurances to Tom.

She ran away to her room to do as you said, leaving you and Tom a moment alone before you got ready for your date.

Tom’s hands made a beeline for your waist once she was out of sight, bringing you in close to him until you were pressed up against his chest.

“Hello handsome.” A faint blush creeped onto Tom’s cheeks, the man trying to hide it by burying his face in your neck. He placed soft kisses all over the skin there, earning him a pleased sigh from you.

Your hands trailed up the expanse of his muscly back, eventually residing in his mess of hair. Gentle tugs on the short curls were what brought his attention away from your neck.

He smiled at you, resting his forehead on yours. Your noses occasionally clashed from the close proximity, but neither of you cared enough to pull away. He was the one to close the gap between you, slotting your lips together in a slow kiss. It wasn’t hungry or needy in any way, more so screaming that you’d missed each other.

“We should get ready,” you mumbled onto his lips, unwilling to pull away just yet.

He hummed. “We really should.”

Neither of you made an attempt to move. This time it was you who couldn’t stand not kissing him, placing such a soft peck on his lips that he was sure it almost didn’t happen.

“I love you.” You grinned, rubbing your thumb over his unruly eyebrow, eyes flickered over the tiny features of his face. He took the time to study your eyes while you did so, noticing the little flecks of different colours that didn’t match your overall eye colour.

You finally looked into his eyes, those golden, honey orbs that just made you melt inside everytime they stared at you with just so much adoration.

“I love you too.”

He let you go and get ready after that, pouting adorably as he watched you strut your way to your bedroom. You picked out your outfit before hand, pulling the hanger with the gorgeous silver dress out of your wardrobe, laying it on the bed.

You knew Tom would probably sneak a look at it, but seeing it on a hanger wouldn’t even compare to seeing it on your body.

You took a lot longer getting ready than you expected to, purely due to the long, hot shower you took that felt like a necessity after your work day, and also the fact you hadn’t truly gotten yourself dolled up for something in a while, something that you greatly missed.

Tom was there as soon as you were finished to make you feel even better about yourself, throwing compliments at you left and right that left you a flustered mess of butterflies.

At some point Scarlett had creeped into your room, looking at your pretty dress in awe.

“Doesn’t your mummy look pretty?” She nodded her head rapidly, complimenting you profusely. Your fiancé knew you were getting flustered, trying to cover your face to hide from your own embarrassment. He placed a quick kiss on your head, his hand slipping down to the small of your back to guide you to the front door.

You gave Scarlett a tight hug, telling her to behave, while Tom placed a kiss on her head.

“Thank you again,” you gushed, making sure to give Tom’s mum an extra tight hug before you left. She always told you that she loved taking care of Scarlett, even if she wasn’t her biological granddaughter.

Tom led you out of the house with a lovesick grin plastered on his face, making you rather suspicious about what he was up to.

“What are you so smiley about?” you asked. He simply shrugged, placing a kiss on your knuckles as he told you absolutely nothing.

“Just happy to finally have to myself.”

»»——⍟——««

The small body of the girl barreled towards you as soon as you stepped through the front door. She surprisingly almost knocked your balance, forcing a giggle out of your slightly tipsy self.

You were able to scoop her up, holding her on your hip.

“I know, we’re home,” you whispered, cradling her to your chest. She tucked her head into your neck, trying to not let sleep consume her so she had more time to spend with her favourite person.

While you were snuggling your baby, Tom was once again thanking his mother, telling her a little about the lovely night you had at the restaurant.

Nikki could see in his eyes as he watched you, just how much adoration he felt for both of you. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her son look like that.

“Missed you,” she mumbled, muffled by the way her mouth was resting on you. You responded with a simple kiss, noting how her eyes were so desperately trying to flutter shut.

You couldn’t blame her, you had accidentally woken her up at a ridiculous time in the morning and she was still only a toddler who often took multiple naps throughout the day.

“Let’s get you to bed.” She whined in your ear out of protest, shaking her head in your neck. Her head raised, looking around the room until her eyes landed on Tom.

She twisted in your arms so you were only holding her by her stomach. Scarlett made grabby hands at Tom, a sleepy pout on her lips when he didn’t instantly come over.

“Can daddy put me to bed?” she asked, so innocently.

Tom froze, his heart growing in size as he stared at her. You and Nikki shared a look, one that told the other you were happy you could experience this moment.

He didn’t exactly know what to do, becoming a bit of a stuttering mess. He’d been waiting at least over a year since you’d gotten engaged for her to say that one word, a sort of confirmation that she was happy he was there.

You could see the tears lining his waterline as his mind replayed the 6 words she just uttered. It seemed to take him a few seconds to come back down to earth, nodding his head. You helped transfer Scarlett from your arms to his much stronger ones, the male making it look like lifting a feather. Scarlett shifted slightly, sighing as she got comfortable in his hold.

“Yeah, of course, daddy can put you to bed.”

»»——⍟——««

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[a-pretty-nerd]

Self Indulgent Shigaraki Nonsense Part 5

Tomura Shigaraki x pregnant!reader

A/N: Oh wow part 5 and I'm still not done with this.

Warnings: Emotions? Cursing?

You tossed and turned in your sleep, groaning and moaning in frustration. Your joint ached, and fatigue plagued your body. You tried everything you could to get to sleep but nothing was working and on top of your aching body, the nearly fully developed fetus in you thought now was the perfect time for exercise.

Tomura laid beside you, having fallen asleep hours ago. But your movement and sounds of anguish gently woke him up. Groggy and a little frustrated he looked over his shoulder to see your upset form shift back and forth.

"Is it the baby?" He asked in a low, hoarse voice. You huffed.

"Everything hurts and they keep moving around and I'm exhausted but I can't fall asleep!" You cried. You felt silly crying like this to Tomura, you felt like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Weren't you supposed to be the mild mannered, mature and wise mother?

Tomura turned over to face you, his gloved hand reaching out and planting firmly on your enlarged belly. He gently ran circles around it, trying to sooth the mysterious being inside. He had grown used to this routine, grown used to the idea of you being pregnant. But the idea of being father and actually having a baby was still out of his reach. For now, he was content to have you tucked away and all to himself where he knew you would be safe.

"My fucking BONES hurt." You complained as you rubbed circles into your eyes. He chuckled at your declaration for a moment before wrenching himself from the bed and shuffling into the kitchen where you could hear him rustling about. You laid there and closed your eyes, trying to emulate the soothing sensation of rubbing circles across your belly. They clearly liked it better when Tomura did it. You didn't even know how they knew the difference.

"Here." Tomura entered the room with a hot cup of tea in hand. He sat it down on your bedside table as you struggled to sit up properly. You laid against the head board and slowly took the mug. "Careful. It's still hot." He noted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you."

"Mhm." He watched you blow and sip on the tea, running his gloved hand up and down your calf.

"This is new." You scoffed.

"What?"

"You taking care of me." You smiled.

"What are you talking about? I've taken care of you before. Remember Jaku?"

"Ugh, I don't want to." You cringed. A particularly rough battle had left you broken and beaten black and blue. If it wasn't for Tomura, you would have been dead. But that was before you knew he loved you. Before you knew you loved him. "You're right you have taken care of me. But not like this before." Your smiled made him blush.

"This is a different situation." He explained. You chuckled.

"I know." You finished your tea and he took it from you to put the mug in the kitchen sink. But before he left the room you called to him. "Hey...Tomura?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Sure."

"No. Really. Thank you. For everything." He watched you for a moment, engraving that sweet smile of yours into his brain forever. Before nodding and walking back to the kitchen. You adjusted yourself, laying back down and watching him come back in and lay in bed. You watched him, your hand reaching up to gently scratch down his bare back. A comforting gesture he loves but will never out right ask for. It put him to sleep quick, and soon you followed him.

When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself alone in bed. You struggled to get up to use the bathroom and wash your face before waddling into the kitchen. A note had been placed over wads of cash on the kitchen counter. The note read:

I'm sorry there was an emergency and I had to leave early this morning. I left money on the counter for breakfast. Take it easy. I'll see you soon. I love you.

- Tomura

Money for breakfast? You looked down at the wads of 20 dollar bills and giggled. Tomura still had very little grasp when it came to money. He just never had to really worry about it. It's not that he wasn't good at budgeting or math, but, this was enough to pay the mortgage and groceries for the rest of the month. Some breakfast you'd be having. You took the cash and put it away where the rest of it went. You were to pay for everything in cash. The mortgage, the car payments, groceries, furniture, absolutely everything. As if that didn't make you look suspicious enough. But Tomura insisted on it because it wouldn't leave a paper trail to your name.

Your new name would have no debt no credit, nothing. It had to be perfect and unremarkable.

You fed, washed, and clothed yourself which took all morning now but finally you made up your mind to take a short walk to the local grocery store and do some shopping. Normal house wife shit, right?

So you waddled your fat ass out the door to take a leisurely stroll all the way to the super market. You looked up and watched grey clouds gently float above, bringing a cool breeze and the faint smell of rain in the air. You made it to the store before it started to sprinkle. The bright and fresh atmosphere of the store made you uneasy. Public spaces still made you feel out of place. Suspicious. Like you still had to hide.

You paused in the middle of an aisle, sudden movement stopping you dead in your tracks. The baby had been moving less, and the false contractions had started. Your midwife had taught you that this was normal, you still weren't due for a while longer, there was no need to worry. But they were a big pain in the ass.

You held your belly and took a deep breath. It soon passed and you went back to searching for your grocery list.

"First one?" A voice asked. You turned and found a young woman standing there pushing a stroller. She gave a friendly smile.

"Oh, yes."

"How exciting. I had a lot of false contractions with my first too. How far along are you?"

"I guess about, eight months. Give or take a week or two."

"You sure look it. I'm kim by the way, nice to meet you." She held out a hand and you shook it. Her bright smile and relaxed attitude bring comfort and warmth. You looked down to the stroller, an infant cradled towards Kim, and an absent-minded toddler glaring at the floor sat in the front. He angrily pouted at the ground, before his gaze slowly came up to you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/-...." fuck! What was your new name again? You almost blew your cover. "Ota." You remembered. Thank God.

"Your the new family down the road aren't you?" Kim nodded in recognition.

"Yeah, yeah. How long have you lived here?" You tried to make conversation.

"Oh I've lived here all my life."

"Wow."

"Yeah my husband and I met in high school here and been together ever since. He travels for work now though, so,"

"My husband travels too." You told her. Shit. Was that the right thing to say? Could you really call Shigaraki your, husband? What would he think about that? He'd probably be irritated you even bothered to socialize at all.

"Oh really? What does he do?" You paused.

"Uh, he works closely with heroes." You croaked.

"Oh like management er' whatever?" She was so nonchalant.

"Yeah, yeah. Real boring stuff." You agreed. 'Er' whatever' what a great way to put it.

"Yeah mine's a lawyer for cities suffering from 'big hero blow-outs' they call em'. He works with cities about destruction of public property and what not. I don't really know the details or anything but hey, maybe our guys have crossed paths a couple times! What did you say his name was?" Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Uh, Ota. Ota Kurai." You lied.

"Kurai...huh..." Kim thought for a moment, taking in a deep breath and sighing. "Well, that doesn't ring any bells. How long have you been together." Was this something you were supposed to lie about?

"Five years now, I think." You pondered.

"You think?" She chuckled at you.

"Yeah, it's hard to remember sometimes. All of a sudden we went from friends to more. Its difficult to explain." She smiled.

"Yeah, I understand. Well, I better be off. The boys need a nap before lunch. It was lovely meeting you, Ota."

"Likewise!" You smiled back.

"See you around."

"See ya." And with you that you went on shopping, a successful venture. You were lucky you were able to purchase an umbrella in the store, it was really coming down now. You waddled along the sidewalk, making your way back to the stretch of suburbs you occupied. As you walked the final stretch to your home, the wind began to pick up. Violently wrenching the umbrella out of your hand and throwing it behind you. You turned, panicked and now vulnerable to the heavy rain. It came down fast and hard, the droplets almost painful on your skin.

You turned around to find your umbrella flying through the air, tumbling over to a distant figure. A young man, no, a teenager. The kid snapped to attention, jogging for the object from under his own umbrella and quickly making his way back to you. You tensed up, the weight of your groceries, the rain, your condition. Clearly you were in distress. You cursed yourself. You were once a feared villain. You fought the greatest heroes Japan had to offer and lived to tell the tale. You were an activist, pioneer, warrior, leader. You had the scars to prove it. And now look at you. A helpless, pregnant house wife.

"Here miss!" The boy called. You sniffed and reached for it as he handed it to you.

"Thanks!" You barked, trying to shuffled off without anymore talk.

"Let me help you with that!" He insisted, taking your groceries from you and shielding you from anymore rain. You were soaked by now. You couldn't argue, he insisted and you had to admit that the help was nice. He walked you home, standing and waiting at your house's gate as you took back your bags from him.

"Thank you for your help." You tried to be polite.

"Sure thing miss. No trouble. Are you sure you got it?"

"Yes. Thank you." You insisted, turning back to disappear into your home. Only to find the front door open. You let out a startled gasp. A familiar figure stood in the doorway, dark eyes glaring at the boy behind you. Your eyes shuffled back and forth between him and the boy. Shigaraki wore a painfully mediocre disguise. A face mask, and a black wig. From far away he easily blended into a crowd. He was always good at hiding himself in a strange way. He was an oddly good actor.

"Sara. You should be more careful." He barked your fake name in a fake tone. Like he was a concerned husband.

"Sorry Kurai, I didn't think the storm would get this bad." You chuckled in a panic. He approached you, averting his gaze from the boy. Hiding his face and taking the bags from you. You turned back to the boy who's eye shifted from Shigaraki then back to you. "Thank you for your help. Here." You shuffled around in your purse before handing him a few hundred yen.

"Oh no Mrs, really it's fine."

"No. I insist." You huffed with a smile.

"Thank you. My names Sato by the way, I live just down the road."

"Nice meeting you Sato." You smiled and closed the gate before waddling back inside. You closed the door behind you, panting as you recovered from your adventure.

You watched Tomura remove his disguise in a frustrated huff before putting the groceries away. You leaned against the wall after shuffling into the kitchen, leaving water to fall from you and pool on the wood floor. Soon he turned to look back at you.

"I thought there was an emergency."

"False alarm." He muttered.

"Are you mad at me?" You asked. He paused and gave a frustrated huff.

"...I told you not to get friendly with people. That puts you in danger." You scoffed. "You're soaking wet, you better shower off before you catch a cold."

"I didn't have a choice, okay? It's not like I sought out his help! He was just there, he insisted he help! And yknow what, I can't say I didn't need it. Because I'm incapable of doing anything apparently!" You shouted. Oh shit. He angered you. You could see it in his eyes. He hates it when you get angry, it makes him uneasy. "And I'm a walking beacon of chit chat too! Everyone wants to talk to the new pregnant lady. Last week, I had fend off like four old ladies from touching my belly. And the week before that, the clerk at the bookstore kept trying to sell me these weirdly religious parenting books. And- And today even! Today some other mom stopped me to talk about my false contractions at the store and I almost forgot our names and I- I-" You're crying now. He hates seeing you crying more than he hates seeing you angry. He slowly approached you, watching as you sniffled and sobbed and wipped away your tears.

"Come on, let's get you comfortable." He guided you to the bathroom to help bathe you in a warm bath to calm your nerves and ease your aching body. You shuffled out into the living room, the warmth of your pajamas easing your tense feelings.

"She wasn't that bad." You mumbled.

"Hm?"

"The other mom at the grocery store today. She was actually nice. She has two boys. She was really chill."

"Mh."

"I told her you worked in management with heroes and you travel a lot." You chuckled to yourself. "Her husband works as a lawyer for cities regarding damage from heroes. She said you might have crossed paths." Tomura pause and flashed a goofy smile.

"You never know. Maybe we have." He joked. You laughed for a moment before finishing your bath and getting changed.

"How come you came back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well usually you stay away. But you've been here so long I figured you'd have left by now so you don't take any chances getting caught. Why'd you come back?" Tomura starred at your stomach and placed his gloved hand over it before looking up at you.

"I'm just finishing a few preparations. But I've made plans so that I'll be able to stay longer than I usually do." He didn't answer your question.

"Plans? Like what?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me you put Dabi in charge." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Toga? No!... Spinner!?"

"Y/N. Please." He begged.

"Sorry. But you never leave someone else in charge."

"Well now I have a reason. I'm...I'm taking a few months."

"What? But what about your work?"

"I'm not quiting. I'm still the true ruler. It's just a small...vacation. I can go back at any time if an emergency occurs. But for now, I'm staying here."

"You really miss me, don't you?" He pulled his hand away and rolled his eyes one more time before strolling away.

"Of course I miss you." He said it like it was a well known fact. "I miss you every second. I miss working with you. It's so frustrating without you. You understand, you got it. You always knew what needed to be done, what I was trying to do. Now it's like herding cats to get the simplest of tasks done sometimes. I mean you- you were always one step ahead. Half the time I didn't even need to ask you to do something you were already there. You were so smart and cunning and strong."

"And now I'm just a housewife..." He slowly turned to look at you. "I'm just the knocked up mistress you gotta hide."

"No. You know that's not what I meant."

"It's how you make me feel."

"Y/N..."

"I miss it too, y'know. Working with you, with everyone. I miss doing something that actually matters. I miss the planning, and the training, and the fighting. I miss it all. And now look at me. I couldn't even fucking walk home from the grocery store without needing to be rescued. It sucks, it really sucks. I know I chose this life. I know I chose...." Your hand hovered over you belly. "But I just...I just..." You're crying again.

Tomura places a hand on your back and hold you close and the other to stroke your hair in an attempt to calm you again. You clung to him, rocking the two of you back and forth.

"I know. I know." He whispered.

"I just wanted...wanted to be happy. Like how- normal people are happy." You cried.

"I know."

"And I am- I am happy I just... I miss working so much. And I miss seeing everyone and seeing you and fighting heroes and just...I even miss negotiations!" You sobbed. Tomura couldn't help but flash a smile.

"I know. I'm sorry." Your crying started to subside for a moment. Giving him the opportunity to plant a kiss on your cheek.

"Tomura?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you." He nodded and placed his hand on your belly once more.

"So you'll be here for it?"

"Yes I'll be here." You smiled.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's the bare minimum."

[multimilfs]

Eda Clawthorne x Fem!Human Reader: Closets & Claim

Summary: Anon requested “I’ve greatly enjoyed your eda x fem reader stories. They are absolutely terrific! Do you mind making some more with eda being protective and assertive. And if u don’t do n*fw then maybe some slight n*fw” 

A/N: Alright so, I broke my own rules here. This is smut. I won’t take any n*fw requests though because it’s not something I am typically comfortable with. Writing this was something I am only comfortable with sometimes. I was only okay with it this time because some people 👀 got my brain working yesterday and this was the result. You all know who you are. 

Warning(s): Smut. Tasteful smut, but still smut. (I’ll leave asterisks before it in case you want to read everything except the saucy bits) 

Putting a smile on for the party was easy, knowing it made Luz happy. If you were honest with yourself, Hexside’s student appreciation event wasn’t even that bad, if a little stuffy. You couldn’t help but think of ways you and Eda could throw a party way better than this. But you wouldn’t. Luz wasn’t really one for huge parties anyway.

As you scanned the room for Eda, you felt a presence at your side. You turned to see a charming looking man holding a drink out to you.

“Oh, no thank you, I’m fine.” You said kindly.

“Please, I insist,” He said in a sickly sweet voice, “Can’t leave a beautiful lady empty-handed.”

Paying no attention to your tense body language or displeased expression, he forcefully wrapped your fingers around the glass he was holding. You pulled your hand away quickly. It didn’t take much for you to recognize what type of witch he was; a cheating husband looking for an ‘exotic’ human to show him a good time.

“So, what brings a fine human like you to an event like this?”

“My kid.” You said shortly, focusing your gaze on said child.

It warmed your heart to see the open, carefree expression on her face. She was pointing excitedly at a plaque with her name on it. You’d already taken multiple pictures of said plaque, even though it was supposed to go home with you at the end of the night. They’d been more for Camila than anyone else.

The woman had wanted more than anything to be there, but an emergency shift at the hospital had stopped that from happening. That and she wasn’t very comfortable with spending long amounts of time in the Boiling Isles yet. You couldn’t blame her, you’d been the same way in the beginning. And you couldn’t help but admire how much of her own discomfort she’d pushed aside to make Luz happy. Camila was a great mom.

After getting lost in your thoughts, you remembered the man standing next to you. He’d taken the time to run his mouth. You hadn’t heard one word of it and you didn’t need to. It was likely full of innuendos and suggestive comments.

You only gave him your attention when you felt his hand grip your wrist. Against all of your better judgement, your body froze up. It was then that you heard what he was saying loud and clear.

“Why don’t you and I just.. slip out of here for a few moments. We’ll be back before anyone notices.” He said, giving you a smile that made you feel sick.

“No.” You said, vibrating with anger, and a small amount of fear.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.”

“Get your greasy hands off of me before I make you.”

“I might like that.” He said suggestively.

“The lady said no.”

Your head turned, relief filling you upon seeing Eda standing there. Her eyes were filled with anger at the man. His hand was still clamped around your wrist, making you shift uncomfortably.

“And who are you? Mind your own business.” He snapped.

Eda inhaled angrily, while you tensed. That was the wrong thing to say. You could see that Eda’s anger was dangerously close to boiling over and that the Owl beast could potentially come into play, but part of you didn’t care. All you cared about was getting away from him.

“It became my business when you decided you could touch my mate. Now scram, before I decide to give your wife a play-by-play of what just happened here.” Eda growled, using her free hand to place it on the man’s chest, shoving him back. It made him release his grip, to your relief.

You moved away from him, tucking yourself safely into Eda’s side. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she wrapped her arm around your waist.

“But-”

“If you want to walk away with all of your limbs, I wouldn’t.” You warned, glaring at him.

He stopped, looking between you and Eda, trying to determine if it was worth it. You felt Eda’s hand clench around your waist. Giving him your best glare, you tried to warn him off. The last thing Luz needed was for one of her guardians to lose control at an event like this. Luckily, the witch took the hint.

Relief, and a little bit of amusement, flooded you as he stomped away. Seeing a grown man throw a tantrum was a funny sight. Overall though, you were glad that you didn’t have to deal with Eda transforming. She was getting better at controlling it, but with how angry she was, it would have been impossible this time. You didn’t want to add homicide to her list of crimes.

Looking up at your girlfriend, you saw her chest was heaving. She was doing everything she could to calm herself down. So she didn’t cause a scene.

“Eda, hey, look at me,” You said softly, moving directly in front of her so she couldn’t move anywhere else, “I’m okay. You fixed it, okay? He’s gone and he won’t touch me ever again.”

She nodded, but there still seemed to be something there, some feeling she couldn’t shake. You had no idea what was going on inside of her mind. So when she grabbed you and started to pull you out of the room, you felt extremely confused.

“Eda? Eda, where are we going?” You asked in a hushed tone.

You knew that you could pull away at any time, but you had no reason to. Eda would never do anything to hurt you. It was best to go along with what she had in mind.

***          ***           ***

The witch gave you no verbal answer. Instead, she found an empty hallway, her eyes searching frantically for something. You understood when she yanked open the door to a storage closet, shoving you in, and following you inside. Once the two of you were safely ensconced in it, she wasted no time in moving your clothing aside so she had free access to your body.

“Here? This is really irresponsible of us.” You said in a harsh whisper, trying not to pant against her hands roughly gripping your frame.

“I sealed it with the necessary spells, now just relax.” Eda said.

As her lips latched onto that sensitive part of your neck, you’d never been more grateful that Eda carried around pre-drawn runes. If not, you knew you’d be failing to hold back the noises you were making.

Her hands and the way she touched you was rougher than normal, more assertive. Normally, Eda took her time, making sure you felt loved while she left you thoroughly satiated. This was different. Animalistic. Her normal chuckles were replaced by snarls and growls as she left bite marks on your neck and down your chest. They almost drowned out the moans leaving your mouth as she rammed her fingers inside of you.

Your body jolted everytime she removed her digits, only to slam them back in. If you weren’t so used to her, you’d probably be hurting. But you were experienced enough to know that the hurt would come later. Walking was not going to be easy after this.

“Who do you belong to?” Eda asked in your ear.

Eda’s pace sped up after she asked the question. She could tell that you were nearly at the precipice, ready and eager to fall into the bliss she was building you up to. Your brain registered the question, but in-between all of your whining and moaning, you couldn’t form an answer. You were too caught up in the feeling of being thoroughly ravished.

“Who do you belong to, Y/N?” Eda asked again, growling this time.

Her pace had slowed, causing you to let out a desperate whine. You were almost there. She was keeping you from the one thing you wanted so much in this moment and it was killing you.

“Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you finish.” She taunted, an animalistic grin on her features that made you clench.

“Y-You! I belong to you, Eda!” You whined out.

The noise turned into a choked shriek as she resumed her blistering pace from before, pounding into you at a rate that should have been impossible. You weren’t complaining though. The opposite, really. It was all you needed to fall over the edge, letting out an obscenely loud noise as the feelings overwhelmed you, making your body go stiff. The moment lasted for so long you feared you were going to black out, but eventually you went limp, held up by Eda’s strong arms.

Silence filled the room, marred only by your panting breaths against her neck. You felt sticky and sweaty, but thoroughly pleased with what had just occurred. Wordlessly, the two of you did your best to fix your clothing and hair.

“You’re such a good girl for me.” Eda said smugly, placing a kiss on your lips, before moving out of the closet. As the two of you moved back into the hallway and to a restroom to right yourselves, you were relieved to see that there were no people around.

Thank Titan those runes held up.

[the-great-bbe]

Ready or Not!

Rhaenys crawls under her father’s bed. Mama was quite clear: they were playing hide and seek, and Rhaenys needed to hide her best from all the men looking for her. She stifles a giggle into her little hands. After the count of ten—ready or not, here they come!

or a quick little fanfic, about our favorite game of hide and seek :)

Lyrics of “The Hide and Seek Song” copyright by Headquarters Music.

Who wants to play a game? It’s time for hide and seek!

--

Mama kisses Rhaenys’s forehead. Egg sleeps in his cradle, despite all the noise coming from outside. It sounds scary out there, but Rhaenys is safe with Mama and Egg. Mama will never let anything bad happen to her, not even the nightmares that scare Rhaenys in the middle of the night.

“Let’s play a game, my sweet.” Mama’s hands are shaking, and her voice is high pitched. But everything must be fine, because they’re going to play a game. And not just any game, but hide and seek! “Listen carefully. Many men will try and find us, but we can’t be found by anyone. When the game is over, I’ll come get you myself, do you understand? You must hide very well, not even Balerion can find you.”

Rhaenys nods. “I’m good at this game, Mama! I’ll hide forever and ever and then we’ll have honey cakes after dinner.” Maybe if Rhaenys hides the best she can, Mama will let her have two entire honey cakes!

Mama kisses her again, and hugs her so tight that Rhaenys squeaks against her shoulder. “My little sunshine, I love you so much. Now hide. Hide!”

Rhaenys scurries off. Mama is really worried even if she didn’t say so. This game must be very important—perhaps Grandfather is playing too, even though he never plays games. So where should she hide? Maybe behind the barrels in the wine cellar, or in the gardens? No, beneath Papa’s bed! No one ever goes in his room anymore, and the space is so small that only she and Balerion can fit!

She tiptoes up the stairs, and closes the bedroom door so that it’s almost shut but not entirely. Closed doors are more suspicious in hide and seek, after all. Then she tucks herself beneath the bed, and arranges the heavy bedspread so that it’s not wrinkled. Rhaenys shimmies to the very edge of where the bedframe meets the wall, and waits.

She waits, and waits. She almost wants to go back and ask Mama for how long they’re supposed to play, and how many players. But instead she wiggles with anticipation. Mama was quite clear: they were playing hide and seek, and Rhaenys needed to hide her best from all the men looking for her. And Rhaenys is the very best at hiding! She stifles a giggle into her little hands. After the count of ten, or maybe a hundred—ready or not, here they come!

Rhaenys spies a shadow by the almost-closed door, and holds her breath.

-- Run, run, run! Time to run and hide!

Run, run, run! And now I’m going to find you, scurry off into the darkness.

Hurry, I’m behind you!

Don’t you speak! Hide and seek!

--

“Myrcella! Myrcella, where are you?”

Myrcella bites her lip. Joffrey is no good at being a seeker, he gets too angry and starts shouting for her and the servant children. And of course the servants come out, and Joffrey is so mean when he catches someone! But not Myrcella—she is the very best at this game, and she would rather fall asleep beneath this dusty old bed than let Joffrey win.

Mother tells her to let Joffrey win, to keep him from throwing a tantrum, but Uncle Tyrion says that it’s good for even the Crown Prince to be told no every now and then. She sniffles. One of the serving girls showed her this hiding spot, saying that no one ever looks under here since it’s so deep in Maegoir’s Holdfast and who can fit beneath a bed anyway?

Why does the Hand even have this room—maybe this is where Lady Lysa is supposed to sleep, instead of in Lord Littlefinger’s rooms. Myrcella isn’t supposed to know about that, of course. But she knows a lot. She knows that Joffrey isn’t going to be a very good king, and that Mother and Father should’ve never married, and that the mean old black cat Tommen wants to catch had another owner before. Myrcella heard Uncle Jaime speak about him once, and the person who owned the cat before. Uncle Jaime says many things about before Myrcella was born, but only when he is drunk and sad.

She twists a bit of string around her string until her finger turns purple. By now Joffrey must have found Sweetrobin and Tommen. She hopes that Sweetrobin cried and punched Joffrey in the nose. He gets to hit Joffrey without getting in trouble, since his father is the Hand. Myrcella is just a girl though, and must be a sweet little lady who lets Joffrey do whatever he wants. Last time she complained to him about cheating in games, he bit her ear. Mother wiped her tears and told her to bear it with a smile. Myrcella stopped complaining after that, but it still burns in her stomach.

Father says he won’t be like this forever, at least. Myrcella hopes so. She imagines him fully grown, but still the same way, and instead of twisting her arm he twists her neck. Just like Tommen’s kitten that bit him once. Joffrey let the poor little creature under Tommen’s bed, and Tommen screamed about monsters for weeks afterward. She sighs. There aren’t any monsters here that Myrcella doesn’t already know.

Myrcella hears footsteps down the corridor and holds her breath. Oh, if Joffrey finds her, he’ll tug at her hair and scratch at her arms! He’ll be so horrible, he always is! She’d rather die than be found by him!

--

Tiptoe through the cellar or crawl under your bed.

Anywhere you’ve fled, I am going to find you!

Stay inside the shadows, all you girls and boys.

Don’t you make noise, or I am going to find you!

--

“Are you afraid?” Myriame asks Arya, but she shakes her head. She refuses to be afraid. Not now, when they’re still hiding from the men who took Father away and locked Sansa in her room.

She shivers and Myriame pats her arm. She’s one of the serving girls—Arya heard Father call them Lord Varys’s little birds, once. Before everything went so wrong. But when Father was taken, a group of serving girls took Arya by the arm and hid with her in an alcove. They cut her hair, they dirtied her face, they shredded her fine dress and pinned a dirty pinafore to her shoulders. No more Arya Stark, just Nan. Nan, amongst Myriame, and Celia, and Delight, and Sera. Just another serving girl hiding behind curtains, nor beneath the bed.

“It will be alright,” Myriame whispers. “The only ones who go down here are us. Everyone else gets caught like Princess Myrcella. Those men won’t ever get us.”

Arya shivers. No one speaks of Princess Myrcella and how she disappeared without a trace. Did bad men steal her away like Father and Sansa? She dares to ask, “How do you know?”

But then their breath because there’s men outside their room. Their voices are harsh and drip with ill intent. One of them calls Sansa a whore and Arya wants to stab his eyes out with Needle. But then they enter the room and she squeezes her eyes shut and holds her hands over her nose and mouth. They can’t find her. They can’t! They’ll take her away from Father and Sansa, and who knows what they’ll do to Myriame!

There are four beds in this room, a servants’ dorm. Arya dares to peek. They check beneath one bed. Then another. One of the men cackles, “I can smell you, little girl! Where are you hiding?”

Neither of them dare to breathe. The man says in a high pitched mockery voice, “Ready or not, here I come!”

Arya burrows into Myriame’s side and waits to die. There is noise, yelling, shouting, terrible noise. Then there is heavy silence, only broken by Myriame’s breaths. Arya doesn’t dare open her eyes. Not for a second.

Myriame murmurs again that it will be alright, but Arya keeps her eyes firmly shut, counting the seconds.

--

Run, run, run! Creep up on my grave!

Run, run, run! Stalk the night away!

Scuttle off into the night! But what’ll be behind you?

Don’t you speak! Hide and seek!

--

Tywin barricades the doors shut in his wrath. How do two grown knights go missing in daylight?! And not just any knights, but his own—he needs Gregor Clegane’s bloodlust to scour the Riverlands, like a beast on a leash. And Amory Lorch is slime suited for the most unsavory tasks that Tywin cannot do. But they are gone, disappeared without a trace.

Just like his granddaughter Myrcella.

He sheaves himself onto his chair and pours himself a goblet from a blood red decanter. Years have passed, and still Cersei blames the Dornish. But even Tywin can’t point the finger at them, as there is no evidence at all. Myrcella simply played hide and seek one day, and was never found. Most likely some depraved monster of a servant took the girl for his own desires and threw her into the Blackwater, a fate entirely underserved for anyone of House Lannister. The fact that the girl was too sweet to harm a fly just makes the wound sting greater. Without her calming influence, Joffrey is an unhinged little bastard, and Tommen a spineless fool. What is Cersei teaching her children?

Not to mention she’s let both Stark girls escape! First Arya in the chaos after Eddard Stark’s arrest, then Sansa from a barricaded room! Last Tywin heard, they were both back in their mother’s custody at Riverrun. And Robb Stark is proving himself to be a wolf on the battlefield—he’ll have to deal with the boy himself. If he can stop him from overtaking the Riverlands and spilling into the Westerlands! Tywin could gouge his daughter’s eyes out for her folly. They will never get Jaime back, now that they’ve lost their bargaining chips!

Tywin hears footsteps lead up to his door and barks, “I am to be undisturbed!” He doesn’t hear them head back down the stairwell, and he growls to himself. Idiots, he is surrounded by idiots! He stalks to the door and swings open the door.

There is no one there. He blinks, then closes it. He turns back towards his chair, and the window is open. Cold sweat beads at his brow. He never opened that window, and yet the curtains blow in the wind.

A princess and two knights go missing in broad daylight without a trace. This must be the work of faceless Men from Braavos, paid to…to what? Myrcella is an obvious target, if less obvious than Joffrey or Tommen. But why Clegane and Lorch? Perhaps this is a Dornish ploy, as revenge for Princess Elia and her children—

Something falls over in his adjoined privy and Tywin swears he hears footsteps come up the stairwell once more. He steals into his bedroom without so much as a whisper, as one breath. He must hide. The wardrobe’s doors are swinging in the breeze. The Faceless Man will hear him close them, surely. But where else? His heart pounds in his temples and his vision swims. By the gods, are they already inside the room?

He looks down. It is insulting, but his only choice. Tywin squeezes himself beneath his bed and pushes himself towards the wall. The walls themselves are hollow, to allow the servants to attend without disturbing his betters. If he can find the trapdoor without alerting the assassin, he can survive this.

He is Tywin Lannister, the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He will not die here! He holds his breath, and wills his numb hands to stop shaking.

--

Like a frog inside a skillet, a lobster in a pan.

You don’t understand that I am going to find you!

Be still as a mountain and quiet as a mouse, ‘cause any little sound,

And I will surely find you!

--

Joffrey is dead. Joffrey is dead! And the castle isn’t safe! Tommen scurries into an abandoned room deep in Maegor’s Holdfast. There’s just a trundle bed in the corner, boxes piled on top of each other in the center, and dust coating everything. Once, Myrcella showed him this room while playing hide and seek—but that was when she was still here. Even years later, no one understands what happened to her, or to Gregor Clegane, or Amory Lorch, or to Grandfather. Mother blames the wicked Dornish. Joffrey blames evil Northmen magic. But Tommen knows, he knows that it’s the monsters. He has seen them in the night! They are in the walls! They are beneath the beds!

Tommen told Margaery to run before he fled the wedding feast. He hopes she survives. But he can’t think of more than finding his hiding place. He’ll never make it out of the castle, not with the smallfolk starving and so angry at them. He’ll sneak out at night, before the monster goes feeding. And then he’ll head…somewhere. Anywhere but here!

Try as he might, Joffrey haunts his steps. His bloated purple face, the bile and blood spilling down his chin to pool in Mother’s lap. Mother screamed and screamed when he died, like the day when they couldn’t find Myrcella or Father. The monsters must have killed him too, like everything else in this castle. And now he is alone!

Tommen shrieks, and claws at his hair. He can’t breathe! They can hear him! They can smell him! He is next!

He crouches down on the bed in the corner. He wills himself to breathe but he’s too afraid. Joffrey is dead! Myrcella is dead! Grandfather is dead! Will they ever find his body?! Tommen chokes on his sobs and his entire chest aches. He hurts. It hurts. The fear, it hurts, make it stop—

He collapses to the ground. He writhes, and scoots beneath the bed, and muffles his screams into the dust and the dark.

--

Tick—tick—tock, are you ready or not?

Tick—tick—tock, listen to the clock!

Hasten off into the black, don’t waste another heartbeat,

Don’t you peek! Hide and seek!

--

Dragons roar from over Kings Landing, and Cersei sobs into her hands. She should be on the Iron Throne to meet the usurpers, but then they burned her Kingsguard at the gates and—and she panicked. She ran, and hid beneath a servant’s bed.

King Aegon Targaryen the Sixth, come back from the dead! With silver-gold hair and bronze skin and indigo eyes, thirty thousand Dornish spears at his back and that miserable little chit Shireen Baratheon as a bride with the Stormlands as her dowry! And Daenerys Stormborn, Queen Beyond the Sea, come to help her nephew claim his throne with their shared dragons! They each ride one, with one reserved for the sister that Lannister men murdered along with godsdamned Elia Martell! Cersei could scream, but then they’d find her.

She must escape.

If she makes her way back to Casterly Rock, then she shall be saved. No dragon can defeat the heart of the Westerlands! Cersei can still salvage this, even with all her family dead and her dreams scattered to ashes in her throat—

At least there is no valonqar. The prophecy took her children from her, but her neck is still her own.

At least she got to hold Joffrey as he died. Myrcella and Tommen had no bodies to bury. He was her first, and her last, and she prays that he found his siblings from wherever those wretched monsters stole them away.

Muffled footsteps creep from beyond the corridor and Cersei can’t breathe. A servant? A Dornish spear? A Dothraki? Daenerys? Aegon? A monster?

Bare feet enter the room, splattered with dirt and blood. One of Varys’s little birds? They skip to the edge of the bed, and a sweet voice rings out, “Found you!”

Swift as night and brutal as the Blackwater, a hand reaches under and grips Cersei by the hair. She screams as she is dragged out, and then she can’t scream because hands are at her throat and twisting—

--

Let the countdown begin!

10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1!

--

Rhaenys peeks out from behind the door. All is still and silent. Not even the flies are buzzing. She stifles a giggle into her hands. Aegon raises an eyebrow, and she explains, “Everyone always hides under the bed. A child’s mistake, it can be forgiven with time and wisdom.”

He shakes his head, before resting his chin on her head. “You’ll never need to hide beneath the bed again, I swear it.”

“I know.” She trusts her brother. She loved him before he could even remember her face, of course she trusts him. Him, and their aunt Daenerys, and their family in Dorne, and all her friends hiding in the walls—Rhaenys shall never be alone again.

Her family are in the throne room, and she shouldn’t keep them waiting. How happy they will be to see her! How happy she will be to see them! The weight of years of hiding bows her shoulders. It is time for her to stop hiding, stop seeking, stop this game and take her place in Aegon’s circle. He will be so proud to see how she’s survived. Mama would be proud. But Rhaenys…well, old habits die hard.

She shimmies beneath the bed and pulls Aegon down with her. He laughs and she lets the shadows become her. Just once more. Once more, the darkness becomes her. Rhaenys bares her teeth in a grin. What better tool for a new king than a monster who knows where everyone hides? Aegon survived the last game between them, and she’ll keep it that way.

She tells Aegon to count to ten, and he holds his breath.

A clock ticks somewhere.

There are many who covet the throne. And the countdown begins anew.

--

Ready or not, here I come!

[thefandomlesbian]

“I just want you to hold me.” -hotchreid ♥️

Spencer can smell the bad day coming on with the dull pain in his knee, the sudden arthritic weakness, the shift in barometric pressure outside, the weather forecast telling him the chances of snow showers. Parting the curtains, he peers outside and looks at the dark sky, the white flakes sharp against the navy backdrop. He adjusts the wrinkles in his pajamas. “Aaron?”

Aaron lies in the bed from which Spencer just rose. He doesn’t move. His whole body is tight, breath bated. He’s awake. But he ignores Spencer’s voice. Spencer isn’t surprised. 

Of course they have bad days. 

They have days where Spencer needs his cane. They have days where Jack throws tantrums and breaks things and screams about how much he misses his mother and wishes Aaron wouldn’t have replaced her. They have days where Aaron buries his head in his hands and tries to keep from weeping until they get home late at night where he can plant his face in Spencer’s chest and cry in a silent peace. 

And this day, Spencer knows, was preceded by vapid looks, a vanishing smile, quivering hands, and the unopened bottle of Lexapro in the medicine cabinet that Aaron hasn’t touched since he brought it home from the pharmacy. 

Spencer kicks up the heat and runs his hand through Aaron’s hair, planting a kiss on his temple. “I’ll be back soon.” Someone has to get Jack to school, and it isn’t going to be the one lying limp in bed pretending to be asleep to try to avoid the necessary confrontation with his own sadness. 

Spencer remembers that time, that one bad day, he hiked off into the woods with the team, and once he made it to the burial site, his knee caved underneath him, and Aaron picked him up onto his back and carried him all the way back to the Suburban.

Some days, Aaron needs Spencer to carry him, too. 

Spencer cooks Jack’s favorite breakfast and then rouses him, feeds him, ensures he brushes his teeth and clothes himself, and then he takes him to school. 

“Why’s Dad not here?” 

“Your dad isn’t feeling very well today.”

“Oh. Is he sick?” Jack looks hopeless in the rearview mirror of Spencer’s car, and Spencer hopes it won’t be a bad day for him, too--he can handle Jack having a breakdown or Aaron having a breakdown, but both of them? He doesn’t have enough hands for that.

Spencer tilts his head. “Sort of. Not the kind of sick you can catch, though.” Jack frowns at him, perplexed. “His brain is sick. It makes him sad and tired. It happens to some people in the winter, because the sunshine gives us vitamins, and without those vitamins, we can’t cope as well.” 

Aaron has a long list of diagnoses, and seasonal affective disorder is on that list. Spencer doesn’t think it’s his right to share those things with Jack, though. 

“Will you make him happy again?”

Jack asks it like it’s easy. “I’m going to try,” Spencer says, “but he may need to go to the doctor.” If Aaron doesn’t want to take the Lexapro, he needs to take something else. The listlessness, loss of appetite, empty expression, distance between them--that’s not like him, that’s not the Aaron he married. Aaron loves to cook and always smiles at him and will sneak up behind him to grab his waist and spin him around in the kitchen and kiss him and play with his hair until he falls asleep. Aaron would never flinch away from Spencer’s touch or refuse to meet his eyes or mumble about having already eaten when Spencer knew damn well he hadn’t. It’s the depression talking, not Aaron. 

Spencer drops Jack off at school, and then he goes home, where the furnace rumbles and spills warmth into the cold space. He draws all of the curtains closed to try to keep the warmth from escaping, and then he tiptoes to Aaron’s bedside. The mug of coffee he left on the bedside table hasn’t been touched and has grown cold. Aaron’s jaw is tight. His arms are crossed across his chest, hands in his armpits, like he couldn’t warm them up enough under the blankets. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spencer places a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. Aaron’s whole body twitches, like he expects to be slapped, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Aaron.” His jaw shifts sideways as he grinds his teeth. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, measured and full. “I’m fine.” The two words grate out from between his lips. Spencer caresses his face, curling his fingers into Aaron’s hair. 

“I know that’s not true.”

“I have a headache. I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” Aaron reaches for the covers to tuck himself in deeper, as if to avoid Spencer’s scrutinizing gaze, but Spencer is sitting on the blankets and won’t relinquish them. 

He traces Aaron’s eyebrow with his thumb. “If you eat something, I’ll bring you some ibuprofen. You shouldn’t take it on an empty stomach.”

“Not hungry,” Aaron grates. His voice is short; he’s losing his patience with Spencer’s antics, if antics is the right word for Spencer trying to break through the prickly shell Aaron builds around himself when his world comes crashing down. 

Spencer, though, Spencer is unflappable when it comes to Aaron’s moods. “You didn’t eat lunch or dinner yesterday.”

“Wasn’t hungry then, either.”

“You have a headache because your body is trying to tell you you’re hungry.”

“I have a headache because this pain in the ass won’t let me rest,” Aaron snaps. Spencer drags his thumb over Aaron’s cheekbone and waits for his words to register, the sharpness to his tone, the anger that dwells inside of Aaron burbling up to the surface all at once and finding itself an easy target. That’s fine with Spencer. He can take it. “I’m sorry,” Aaron mumbles, a shameful afterthought. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” 

“I know,” Spencer promises. He shifts the blankets and wriggles himself beneath them, sitting up with his back on the headboard as Aaron tries to make space for him. “You haven’t been taking your Lexapro.” Silence. “How long?” 

Dark eyes flick up to him and then dart away. “Since before the honeymoon.” 

Four months. It’s been longer than Spencer suspected. “Why?” 

Aaron hesitates to answer, but then he says, “Cialis.” 

Oh. “You never minded taking the Cialis before,” Spencer rationalizes quietly. It certainly didn’t bother Spencer--whatever Aaron needed to get himself ready to perform was his business. Lexapro caused a reduction in sex drive, and they had the tools they needed to account for it, as far as Spencer was concerned. “What changed?” 

Aaron averts his eyes and then closes them. “I…” He closes his mouth, and then he opens it again. “I didn’t want to need the Cialis on our honeymoon. I love you. I’m attracted to you. That should be enough.” 

“So you stopped taking the Lexapro?”

“I didn’t need the Cialis, did I?” 

“I don’t know if you’ve realized, but we don’t have a lot of sex when you’re miserably depressed, either,” Spencer reminds him gently. He takes Aaron’s big head off of the pillows and places it in his lap, and Aaron snuggles there like a kitten against its mother’s belly. “Are you thinking about hurting yourself?” Aaron shakes his head. “Are you telling the truth?” He nods. 

There was a time when Aaron’s answers to those questions were different, but Spencer trusts his word. “I’m sorry,” Aaron whispers. 

“Don’t be,” Spencer scolds quietly. “I want you to be comfortable with yourself, and with us, and the medications you take… But it doesn’t make a difference to me whether or not you take Cialis, or Lexapro, or anything else. I just want you to be safe and happy.” 

A dim flash of red rises to Aaron’s cheeks. “It makes me feel impotent,” he admits. “I’m not old enough to need it.” 

Spencer cards a hand through his hair. “Then you’ll go back to the psychiatrist and try another antidepressant.” He traces the wrinkles in Aaron’s forehead with his fingertips. “Will you get up and eat some breakfast if I call them?” 

Aaron’s eyes hang heavy. He’s lain in this bed for over ten hours, but he looks just as exhausted as he did when he lay beside Spencer last night. “Not right now…” He exhales through his mouth. 

“What can I do?” It’s an important question to ask, one Spencer sometimes forgets--Spencer knows by now that he tends to think he has all of the answers, and that is rarely ever the case. 

Dark eyes flicker back up to him. “I just want you to hold me for a little while… if that’s okay.” 

Spencer smiles. “Of course.” He lies down beside Aaron, and Aaron places his head on Spencer’s chest, allowing Spencer’s skinny arms to wrap around his body and hold him in place while the warmth from the blankets wreaths around both of them. 

It’s a bad day, sure. But they have yet to encounter a bad day they can’t overcome together.

[alternateafterthought]

ARCANE - Part 7

ARCANE

Ø  Meaning: Secret, Mysterious, Understood only by few. MAGIC

Ø  Pairing: Panther Hybrid Min Yoongi x Reader

Ø  Summary: Some secrets are kept for the good of people. Some secrets are kept for abuse or power. Yoongi had been a victim of abuse and power, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else use secrets for that purpose. So, when Y/N comes into his life with secrets, he doesn’t want to fall into that rabbit hole again. He doesn’t want to give all his trust to someone who will abuse their power over him. But maybe Y/N’s secrets are a good thing.

Ø  Genre: Hybrid!au, fluff, angst, eventual smut

Ø  Warnings: None

Ø  Word Count: 1170

Ø  A/N: Hey guys… here is the next part of my Min Yoongi fic!! I can’t believe it, I actually wrote two parts in the same week!! I seem to be completely inspired for this story now so it’s been good to continue to write!!  So, I really hope you guys love and support this fic like you did with GOLDEN TIME!! If you want to be added to a tag list, message me or leave a comment or ask!! I would love and appreciate your feedback!! Thank you so much

PREV / NEXT

Sitting in the airport lounge, Y/N had done everything in her power to make sure Yoongi and her parents didn’t once get anytime alone.

Yoongi happily sat on a couch, almost tucked behind Y/N as she double checked they had everything they needed. Y/N had been right when she told Yoongi she wouldn’t need a passport, considering his status. To the airline, Yoongi was a pet, even if the staff treated Yoongi kindly, he was still a pet.

“Hey?” Y/N turned to get Yoongi’s attention, leaning in to whisper. “Did you need anything for the flight? A book? Headphones?”

Yoongi thought about it, his fingers absentmindedly still playing with the ends of Y/N’s shirt. The heat coming from Y/N was welcomed by Yoongi as he thought that maybe he should have something or not.

“How long is the flight?” Yoongi whispered back.

“Only an hour.” Y/N reassured him.

“I might just sleep for the hour.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across her lips. Yoongi’s head had been lulling since they sat down, she could feel his hands on the hem of her shirt, like he was trying to keep himself awake. His eyes were only half opened, his ears twitched, flattening into his hair to keep them warm.

“Okay.” Y/N nodded before listening to the announcements. “This is our call. Let’s go.”

Y/N took Yoongi’s leash as she stood, waiting for Yoongi to stand to his full height next to her. They followed her parents, who confidently walked towards the gate, her mother only looking back once to make sure they had followed them.

Before long, Y/N and Yoongi were settled on the plane and in the air, Yoongi’s head laid on the back of the chair asleep. Y/N focused on the book she read, completely immersed in the worlds of her imagination. She was, in fact, doing everything to avoid talking to her parents, even if they wouldn’t make a scene in public, she also didn’t want to be questioned for her decisions.

Y/N was happy she adopted Yoongi. She would always be happy for adopting him. She had everything in her power to give him a normal and happy life. And he had the power to give her the exact same thing.

“Yoongi?” Y/N soft spoke, shaking the sleeping panther next to her. “Yoongi, we’re almost there.”

Yoongi blinked franticly. Trying to right his vision as he opened his eyes. His half-lidded eyes finally focus on Y/N, seeing her smiling at him first before he sat upright, stretching.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice caused them both to look up to where she stood, her mouth in a thin line. “You two will be travelling back to our house before you try to go to your grandmothers. We have a lot to talk about.”

“I already have a car picking us up.” Y/N shrugged.

“That friend of yours?” Y/N’s mother was polite enough not to show disgust at the mention of Y/N’s best friend. “I’ve already contacted her and told her you will be travelling with us.”

“What-“

“Do not fight this Y/N. I told you, we needed to talk about… your hybrid.”

Now it was Y/N’s turn not to cause an argument in public. She was to scream, maybe throw some type of tantrum over more then one thing that was going to happen. From having to talk about a grown woman making a decision that will only better her life, all the way down to Yoongi.

“Fine.” Y/N settled with as her mother gave a sharp nod and walked back to her seat where her father read a newspaper. “I really can’t apologies enough for what’s about to happen.”

“It won’t be that bad, will it?” Yoongi asked.

“Let me put it this way…” Y/N turned to face Yoongi completely, looking into his tired eyes. “You are now about to enter another’s territory. And they don’t want you there.”

After landing, Y/N and Yoongi were quickly ushered out and into a car, Y/N noticing her families driver before they were whisked away. Y/N noticed that Yoongi’s hands held his backpack tightly, refusing to let it go for even a moment for the short drive to her parents house. His body, however, was completely pressed against Y/N’s side, not leaving an inch of their sides untouched. And with that, Y/N could feel the slightly unsteady breath coming from Yoongi.

“So,” Y/N trying to think of someway to distract Yoongi. “I was thinking that after we get home and unpack, we go into town and do some grocery shopping.”

Yoongi only nodded, his eyes shifting over her to outside, watching as the town was slowly disappearing into trees. The green passing the car quickly as they kept driving and driving, finally coming to a large gate.

Pulling into the driveway of the familiar cage Y/N had been confined to for years, an angry shiver ran down her spine. It was the walls that held her prisoner because of things no one could control, even if her parents tried to.

It wasn’t always some type of prison to Y/N. It was actually a beautiful place to grow up in, she was lucky to have been raised in the way she had been, from the now wide-eyed Yoongi next to her, she had been raised a privileged life. Her parents were once so young and loving, happy to see her, happy to see each other. Y/N could never escape that sinking feeling that it was her fault that her family fell apart.

Finally stopping in front of the large black from door, seeing half the door as a window, she could see straight through into the house. The pristine whites and blacks of the house was on full display as they both walked up the seven steps to the porch.

Y/N stopped, causing Yoongi to crash into the back of her. He was about to ask what was wrong but then he saw the look on her face. She stared, almost like she was going to cry as she stared through the large window into what seemed to be a living room. A large black piano sat in the middle of it, completely untouched, alone and like a gaping hole in the life of Y/N and her family.

“Y/N?” Yoongi’s hand came up to rest on her bicep, bringing her attention to him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N looked at Yoongi with a distant look. “Everything is okay. Let’s go in.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel like a bug, walking straight into the spiders trap. She also couldn’t help but feel like she was dragging Yoongi into the situation as well. All she knew was she promised herself, promised Yoongi that she would protect him with her life.

Y/N had been raised by wolves, she herself was a wolf in sheep’s skin. She would tell you that. And a wolf protects their pack.

As Y/N and Yoongi walked into the battlefield, he was her pack. And she would protect him.

PREV / NEXT

Tag List

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[commonwealthoccurences]

Roll Your Eyes (One More Time)(Part Two)

Note: I know this probably seems like it doesn’t follow the prompt, but I swear I just take inspiration weirdly lmao. Word Count: 2,373 Prompt: The Wanderer

Day: 12/27 Sole wasn’t fond of recovery units and the stench of antiseptics, the way the ward was so busy yet so quiet at the same time. They could pick out the stench of burn cream from a mile away, the result of more grenades being thrown after they managed to get Danse and his tin can dragged to another room. They’d lost more than a handful of good soldiers that day, soldiers Sole knew all too well, and they weren’t sure they could do it anymore.

Maybe it was the fact that they had almost lost the steadiest thing in their life; a long time rivalry with one of the most prominent Brotherhood soldiers. Maybe it was the fact that they weren’t born into the time, where losing the people you cared about was more than normal, more than common. It was eating at Sole, though. If they had been another minute later, if the grenade had made it any closer... They chewed at the skin around their nails, looking over at Danse, where he laid unconscious on the hospital cot.

He wasn’t knocked out for too long after they got him back to the Prydwen, a combination of the pain from the doctors treating his wounds and the fact that one of the people carrying him had knocked him straight into a doorway due to the Prydwen shifting. He needed as much rest as he could get, though. The injuries weren’t terminal but he wasn’t in the greatest shape and straining himself anytime soon would put him out of work. Permanently. Sole knew that was the biggest way to scare Danse into listening.

They only visited when he was asleep, creeping in, light on their feet to avoid disturbing him. It was hard to ignore the way the doctors shot them looks when they poked their head in after being told Danse had finally gotten back to sleep. Judgement or fondness, they couldn’t decide, but it wasn’t something they enjoyed.

Once again, they had snuck in after a passing soldier had nudged them and told them that Danse was asleep. They brought a book this time, grateful they were on a short break, and curled up in the chair across from his bed, glancing up from the words every now and then to make sure he was still breathing. Why? They weren’t sure. They didn’t know why they visited so often, couldn’t put the words together to brush off the teasing directed their way about their disgust for Danse turning into something else and “Everyone saw it coming” comments.

Sole refused to spend any time dwelling on those thoughts, or acknowledge the fact that the disgust had indeed left their chest whenever they saw Danse, and instead was replaced by a bubble of concern for his well being. What that meant, they didn’t know. They didn’t want to find out, either.

It was exhausting to be so concerned all the time and they weren’t sure they’d last much longer. Initially, they planned on putting off their resignation from their position until Danse was awake and ready to talk. More coherent. As much as they didn’t get along, he was the one who recruited them, sponsored them, and if anyone was owed an explanation other than Elder Maxson, it was him. But they were so, so tired of wondering if another one of the soldiers in the intensive ward was going to pass in the night, and the first thing they would hear in the morning would be that another friend had left them.

So they packed up their bags one night, making sure to leave behind anything Brotherhood issue, and set them to the side, out of sight so no one would make a comment. It was hard to hide the way they would suspiciously shuffle whenever someone would mention upcoming missions, but luckily, no one saw through the way they would simply nod in agreement and look away.

After a Paladin from that day passed, just barely having turned seventeen, Sole knew they weren’t going to last any longer. They had to get out before the feeling of fear and loss suffocated them and they were trapped on the Prydwen for the rest of their days, claustrophobic and terrified. The last night they spent in Haylen’s quarters, sharing a cup of coffee and discussing pre-War literature, giving away nothing that they were about to run from everything they’d worked so hard to achieve. No, not run. They weren’t a coward. They simply weren’t made to watch people die over and over again.

Haylen bid them a good night and didn’t comment on the fact that instead of heading down the stairs to their own quarters, they were headed up. To Maxson’s. With a breath they paused in front of his door, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe they didn’t have to do this, maybe they would regret it. But when they closed their eyes all they saw on replay was Danse being thrown through the wall, his body slamming against the ground, and the way they struggled to get him to keep his eyes open.

After that it wasn’t exactly hard to build up the courage to knock sharply against Elder Maxson’s door. He opened it and raised an eyebrow, silently inquiring as to why they were bothering him so late at night. “Can I come in? We need to talk.” Sole asked, their hands clasped in front of them, shoulders tense.

Maxson scanned them carefully, eyeing them for any weapons or ill intentions. Then, he stepped aside and gestured into the room swiftly, not wanting to waste his time. Sole stepped in and listened to the door click shut resolutely behind them.

The following morning they left, bags packed and strapped to their shoulders, their dog tags tucked into their shirt; Maxson had finally found his kind streak and allowed them to keep them, on the condition that he would allow them to be taken forcefully if they were using them to impersonate the Brotherhood. They ignored the confused looks passing members shot them as they made their way past a patrol that was heading out, instead hiking the strap of their bag higher on their shoulder and walking faster. If they could make it out before news made it back to Danse, they were golden. They really didn’t feel like him yelling at them over intercom since he couldn’t get out of bed.

Leaving was easier than they thought it would be, though a sting of regret struck once they were off Brotherhood territory. They’d forgotten to leave a letter to Danse in explanation, they were so busy trying to explain themself to Elder Maxson the previous night. They shot a quick prayer to every God they could think of to not run into Danse in the future. The way he would chew them out incessantly would be more than painful if they did see him again.

Once they’d made it back to Sanctuary and settled in, unpacking their bags as they thought about everything they’d gone through in the Brotherhood up until that point, they broke out their gloves and headed out to the fields. There was something beautiful about the sweat and blood that went into farming. No one died from watering the corn and turning the soil, and for that, Sole was more than grateful.

Precisely one week went by before they were alerted by Preston to a small group arriving at the front gates of Sanctuary. Something in Sole just knew. It was Danse, and they were about to experience the lecture of a lifetime, and they didn’t have the energy to throw back their usual rebuttals. How would he even understand? He’d grown up in that mess, grown up losing people left and right like it was nothing. And sure, it broke him, but to him that was normal. Sole let out a deep breath and rolled their eyes before tugging their gloves off and stepping out of the gate to meet them.

Sure enough, Danse was being flanked by four Brotherhood soldiers, who started to smile and wave when they saw them, but were quickly shot down with a single glare from Danse. Danse folded his arms over his chest, the metal clanging as irritatingly as ever, and directed his nasty expression straight at them. They almost flinched. Almost. “We need to talk.” His voice was raspier than it had been before. Then again, getting blown up would do a lot of things to you.

They clenched their jaw and scanned him for a moment, trying to judge what damage was left from what he had gone through. There was nothing too visible, but he was definitely putting more weight on his left leg. Sole ran their tongue across their teeth, wondering if something had done permanent damage. “Alright.” They agreed, surprising him. “You boys can head into the bar. Tell Amber it’s on me.” They directed a warm smile to the soldiers behind him. They were no stranger to the fact that they could probably use some sort of break.

Danse shook his head at this, but said nothing and watched them leave. Sole turned and headed back to their home, not bothering to look back to wave Danse on to follow them. His footsteps echoed ominously behind them, a sound they fought themself not to msis, but other than the impending temper tantrum he was sure to have about honor, it was reassuring to know someone reliable had their back at the moment. They’d all too often felt exposed, walking through the Wasteland without the sound of a metal soldier behind them.

Sole, unenthusiastic as ever, pushed open their door and gestured inside, and watched in annoyance as Danse released himself from the metal contraption he walked around in. Yeah, he was definitely favoring his leg. They sucked air between their teeth. There was no way he was coping well with that; he struggled with feeling like he was doing well enough even before he got injured, and they were sure he was on strict orders not to overdo it, even though that was all he knew.

“What are we talking about?” Sole shut the door behind him, maybe a little too harshly, and moved to lean against the wall.

Danse turned on them with a glare straight out of an old school comic book. They sighed. There was no beating around the bush with him. “You abandoned post.” He fixed his eyes on them and casually leaned his hip against the back of the couch. Yeah, something had definitely happened to his leg.

“I was discharged by Elder Maxson.” They shot back, glancing down at his leg.

“And why wasn’t I informed of this before you left?” His tone had gotten significantly colder.

Sole sighed. “I left in a hurry. I meant to leave a note or something. Honestly, I didn’t even think you’d notice.” 

“Bullshit. You’ve been visiting every day since… I’m not stupid, Soldie- Sole. I just got injured in combat, protecting you.”

They froze, mid shake of their head. “You were asleep.”

Danse was the one to roll his eyes that time. “You mumble when you read. It woke me up every time. Plus, you’re not exactly the stealthiest.”

Sole scoffed. “I saved your ass once because I’m stealthy, so now I know you’re lying.”

“You read the book you always keep in your foot locker until three days in, when the scribes scavenged a copy of Alice In Wonderland.”

They had no retort to that. Shit. He really was awake when they went in there. They tried so hard to brush it off, and simply shrugged. “Is there a point to this.”

“You came into the ward every day after I got injured and read, on breaks and during your free time, when you thought I was asleep. And then you up and vanish without a word?” He was spitting out the words like they disgusted him.

“What’s. Your. Point.”

“I’m so sick of the mixed signals you give out!” Danse threw his arms up and turned away from them.

Sole was definitely used to the Paladin’s anger, even revelled in it at one point, but this was new. Usually his anger was cool and calm, stern and biting, but never did it have any outward energy. It was like a switch had flipped. They shifted in discomfort; they didn’t know how to react to this version of Danse. “What happened to your leg?”

“I got thrown through a wall. And you’d know exactly what happened if you stuck around and asked instead of sneaking around and then jumping ship because you’re too scared.”

That was not going to fly. They weren’t a coward, and he knew that was the one way to get them riled up every time, like clockwork. Sole strode forward easily, eyes narrowed in fury. “Scared of what, huh? What the hell was I scared of, Danse?”

He turned and looked at them before shifting forward. It wasn’t far, but then, with the way they were trying to get in his face out of anger, he didn’t need to move very much. He grabbed their jaw between his hands and kissed them. Out of frustration or pure expression of what he was trying to spit out from the moment he’d saved their life, he didn’t know. Both, probably.

Sole definitely wasn’t expecting that, but after a moment, they relaxed and rested their hands on his shoulders, kissing back, as they weren’t one to let someone catch them off guard for long. When Danse pulled away and stared at them intently, they raised an eyebrow. “You’re frustrating, you know that? I’ve been trying to get on your good side from the beginning, wondering why I saw any hope in you, and all you do is get under my skin and piss me off.” His voice wasn’t harsh, more breathy than anything.

They laughed and rolled their eyes. “So I’ve been told.”

Danse shook his head. “God, you piss me off when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Roll your eyes.”

“If you insist.”

Before they could think to make another gesture, Danse kissed them hard.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Red Dead Secret Santa

Howdy @mileycyprus-hill​ I’m your secret Santa this year! I hope you like my gift to you! 

Masterlist

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Arthur sits astride his horse, his fingers aching from the cold. He shaked his hand a little, trying to fend off the ever-pressing chill. Even inside these rabbit-fur gloves, the low temperature bites his skin. Not only that, but his toes are chilled, his nose, his neck and ears. The one thing that keeps him warm is the thought of coming home to you and his two children. 

You’ve been Arthur’s anchor for many years now. Even before the gang fell apart, you were his rock. His best decision was to marry you, and his two favorite days were when his children were born. However, despite having a proper home now where you can live a quiet, peaceful, and most of all safe life, Arthur still has his wandering spirit. He definitely doesn’t stay away for as long of periods as when he was just a gang member. Usually he’s only out a couple of days. 

He’d left three days ago to go “hunting with John”. Or that’s what he told you and the kids. In reality, he’d taken a trip down to Blackwater to do some last minute Christmas shopping. He wanted something special for all three of you, and luckily Blackwater, being the large port for trade that it was, provided just that. After he’d done some shopping, he’d continued wandering to hunt for game, mostly as an excuse to you for being gone so long. 

The wind blows hard again, picking up a cloud of the freshly fallen snow and nearly taking his hat. His hand steadies it, securing it back onto his head and keeping him warm. Oh what he wouldn’t give to be in his warm home with the most important things to him. The steady mare beneath him snorts, seeming just as miserable as him. He pats her neck. “Almost home, girl.”

Around him, the iconic sharp mountains south of Valentine appear out of the fog. They’re covered in a beautiful blanket of snow, thanks to the major winter storm that had come through the night before. He looks up at the darkening sky, feeling even colder at the sight of the thick clouds. 

After another hour of riding, Arthur finally reaches the fork in the trail that will lead him home. Just as the snow begins drifting down in fat flakes again, he sees the lights of his cabin. His heart lifts at the sight, thinking about your face. 

When his mare’s in her stall with some food and a blanket on, he heads to the cabin with the gifts tucked away inside the furs in his arms. The moment he opens the door, he hears a squeal. Smiling, he drops his load on the floor and bends down to pick his five year old daughter up. 

“Papa!” she huffs in his face. She pokes his red nose. “Cold, papa.” 

“Yep, I’m cold, darlin’.” 

“I get a blanket, papa,” she says and he puts her down, chuckling as her short legs carry her off. His eyes immediately find you. His entire body warms at the sight of you coming over to him to greet him with a kiss. He returns it enthusiastically, loving the feeling of you in his arms again, right where you belong. 

“Where’s my boah?” he asks gently when you pull away. 

As though on queue, the two year old comes toddling out. He’s carrying his stuffed horse, his eyes the same color as yours nearly hidden under his mop of dirty blond hair. “Pa!” he hollers at seeing Arthur. Once again, he bends down to pick up his son. 

“Hey son. You been good for your mama?”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” you tease, patting Arthur’s back as you go over to the stove to pull dinner off. 

Smiling, Arthur puts his son down and then takes off his winter gear before helping you pull out the dishes. 

“Mm, smells so good, darlin’,” he says, looking at the meal before him. He’s just glad he got home in enough time to eat with his family. “So, how was our little girl?”

You sigh a bit. Your daughter has always been a daddy’s girl and when Arthur leaves, she can be a downright nightmare. She pouts a lot, but the likelihood of her throwing a tantrum multiplies by ten. “She’s… well, you know how she is.” 

Arthur smiles and decides to go and find her. After all, wasn’t she getting him a blanket? He goes to her room that she shares with her brother and finds her laying in bed on her favorite blanket. She instantly grins when she sees him and he knows she’s been waiting for him to come fetch her. 

“Come on, baby. You gonna come eat?”

“I have a blanket, papa.” 

He chuckles and picks her up, her blanket still clutched to her. She instantly lays her head on his chest. He loves how cuddly she is with him. He remembers briefly how when she was about a year old, she’d gotten sick. Both you and him were so scared she’d die, and Arthur spent many nights with her tucked against his chest as he sat in a rocking chair by the fire, trying to keep her alive. Ever since then, she’d been his biggest fan. 

When he walks out with her in his arms, you smile again and the four of you sit down to eat. Arthur silently says a thank you to whomever might be listening that he got home tonight. After all, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. He wouldn’t miss spending it with his family for anything in the world. 

The next day is spent in some chaos. You and Arthur always clean the house from top to bottom during the day of Christmas Eve, hampered by your two kids. Although your daughter tries to help, she’s only five. Plus it’s Christmas, which means she’s more hyper than if you’d let her drink some of your morning coffee. Her brother isn’t much better, and being two he’s as destructive as a tornado. However, you and Arthur manage to keep them mostly in check. It’s still a relief when night comes and you can finally sit down to eat dinner. 

Arthur always catches a wild turkey for Christmas Eve dinner and this year is no exception. If Arthur prides himself on anything, it’s his ability to take care of his family. He sometimes regrets not giving the same attention to Eliza and Isaac when they were alive, but he’s grown a lot since they died. When the gang fell apart, it really shook his world but when you stuck by his side he knew he’d die for you. 

Arthur sits down at the table, sighing as he prepares to carve the turkey. You’ve done your best to create a beautiful dinner; Arthur grabs your hand and tells you it looks wonderful (although he’s sure the potatoes have a little more garlic than needed). Luckily your kids are sitting relatively quiet, although it’s clear they’re jittery. 

After stuffing yourselves, Arthur does what he’s done every year since you began your family and sits down in his chair. His daughter immediately crawls into his lap, a book in her hand. 

“Papa, here’s the book,” she says, handing it to him and then curling into him. He chuckles and opens the book. He reads this every year on Christmas Eve after dinner. You sit in another chair with your son on your lap. He’s clutching his stuffed horse again, but he’s got his wooden cowboy that Arthur made him for Christmas last year. As Arthur begins to read, your son plays with his toys, thankfully quietly. 

You love listening to Arthur read, how the words come alive with his deep tones. You love watching him even more right now with his daughter tucked against him. He’s been such a blessing as a husband. Never have you had to worry about how ends would meet, about food being on the table, about your children’s safety and it’s because of his efforts. 

When Arthur finishes reading, he closes the book and his daughter yawns. “Hey, why you goin’ to sleep? We ain’t done yet, baby. Ya need your Eve gift.” 

Immediately she perks up and hops off his lap. “Papa! Go get it!” 

He chuckles and stands up, and so do you. He kisses you briefly before heading outside into the darkness. It’s traditional for your kids every year to get new pajamas and a new story book before bedtime. 

After a few minutes, he comes back in with two packages, similarly sized. Your daughter immediately squeals with excitement, but your son runs over and grabs his leg. “Pa! Up, up!” He gestures for Arthur to pick him up. 

“A’right, gimme a second, boah. Ya gotta open your present first.” 

He hands the kids their gifts and they immediately rip into them. His daughter giggles when she sees the pretty little night dress of her favorite color, while the boy inspects his new boy’s union suit. He’s young enough to not really understand the tradition yet, so he’s a little disappointed. However, he sees the children’s book and gets excited. Although he can’t read yet, he loves stories. 

After the kids have opened their present, Arthur puts his arm around you. “A’right kids. Who can get dressed in their new pajamas first?” 

Your daughter stands up, giggling madly. “Me! Me!” She books it into her arm, closely followed by her brother, although his stubby legs greatly hamper his speed. 

When the kids are in their room getting dressed, Arthur grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him. He bends down and kisses you deeply. His behavior tells you that, if the kids were already in bed, he’d be laying you down near the fire and making sweet love to you. It’s all you want as well, but too soon the kids’ door opens and your daughter comes bustling out in her new PJ’s, followed by her pouting brother. It’s obvious who finished dressing first. 

Arthur rewards both of them, telling them how good they are. He then tells them it's time to read one of their stories for bed and that the sooner they go to sleep, the sooner they get presents. You follow them all into the kids’ room and watch as Arthur sits down on your son’s bed. His daughter, as always, crawls into his lap as he reads one of their new books. It’s expected when he finishes, they both argue to him to read the other one. If it hadn’t been Christmas Eve, he probably would’ve said no, but tonight’s different. 

By the time he’s done reading, both kids are drifting off. He stands up and lays his daughter in bed, pulls the covers over her and kisses her head. After, he does the same for his son. When he’s done, you go in and say your good nights and give kisses as well. 

After both kids are put down, you and Arthur clean up the house and then lay out the kids’ presents for the morning. Without a doubt, your daughter will come out of her room in the middle of the night to gaze at them to make sure they’ve shown up. You don’t mind though, she never opens them until morning when you and Arthur have woken. 

When everything’s done, Arthur pulls you into a one-armed hug and gives you a squeeze. “Come on, beautiful. We got a long day tomorrow.” 

With a yawn, you nod and let him guide you to your bedroom. Once there, you begin pulling out your nightgown to change. Arthur’s hands are suddenly on you and he’s kissing your shoulder from behind. 

“You ain’t gonna need that now, darlin’. I’m gonna keep you warm all night.” 

Sighing, you let Arthur slip your clothes off and begin touching you. With surprising speed and strength, he picks you up and tosses you onto the bed. Giggling, you watch him crawl over your naked body. With a wicked grin, you can tell exactly what he’s going to do.

“Can I give you my gift early?” he says, but he doesn’t wait for you to respond. Sighing in the pleasure of his touches and kisses, you know it’s going to be a long night. 

[bb-tings]

One Night With The Devil

reader x rafe x a hint of barry 

request: your masterlist tags said to send some barry requests, so, if you feel comfortable, what if you were rafe's girlfriend and he couldn't pay him the money he owed for drugs so instead they made a deal together where barry could have his way with you for a night as a way of rafe paying off his debt? 

(fyi, just in case you didn’t see it the first time: I COMPLETELY CHANGED THE POT FROM THE TEASER {but the barry part comes in part 2})

summary:  In which Barry would do anything to get the girl back. Screwing Rafe over in the process, well that’s just the icing.

(part one is basically just barry & y/n hurting rafe’s feelings) 

warnings: LOTS of cussing, lots of yelling, lots of anger, lots of talk about sex but no sex (yet)

TAGLIST:  @ampanonyg @ims0golden @jjsmentalpolaroids @stargazingstarkey @letsgofullkook @jjmbanks @maybanksbaby @1-800-jjslut @simpforstarkey @jellyfishbeansontoast @ilovejjmaybank​​ @royalpogue​ @bitchell-marner @rafecameronswh0re @baby-pogue @sunwardsss @k-k0129 @afterglowsb-tch13 @in-stability @ilovejjmaybank​ @abbiesthings​

taglist requests are open 😊

⁓

        She watched the sweat roll down his face, knowing that the sun’s rays weren’t the only reason for the salty perspiration. Rafe wrung his hands together, his shoulders rigid as he spoke with Barry. She didn’t need to hear the conversation to know that neither boy was happy about the situation, however, they showed very different emotions. Barry looked fed up with the rich boy, not wanting to hear another lame excuse as to why he, once again, didn’t have the money he owed. Even though the Cameron boy was much taller than the dealer, he couldn’t help but be afraid of the dealer. He had been threatened with his life and the very few things that he cherished, but he still somehow found the bravery every week to show up at Barry’s place with empty hands. 

        Y/n was well aware of Rafe's unhealthy habits, but after many, many attempts at trying to get him to stop or get help, it only resulted in yelling matches and tears. She was also well aware of the fact that she could do a lot better. Y/n had somehow always found herself involved with the wrong types of boys. From rich, stuck-up, coke-addicted, college dropouts to surfing, adventure chasing, daddy issues having, stoners to criminal, shotgun carrying, ex (most likely dishonorable) military, drug dealers. But that was just a few vague types. Guess Maybank and her current beau weren’t the only ones with daddy issues. At least she was happy in ⅔ of those relationships.

        Barry’s eyes moved to the young girl hiding behind the open door, biting his lip when she crossed her arms over her exposed chest in the low cut crop top, not realizing that it only made the skin more visible and teasing to his eye. 

“Damn, how the hell did you score that? Cause I’m picturing a few ways you could repay me.”

        Rafe looked up to Barry, confusion written on his face. He stood up straight and followed Barry’s eyes, watching his girlfriend stepping out from behind the door and closing it. Rafe took notice of how she seemed to be captivated by Barry's stare, neither being able to look away.

“Nah, man, she’s off-limits.” Hearing this made Barry laugh, knowing at one point in his life, he two could have muttered those same words about the same girl.

        He wished he could tell him the truth, the truth that Rafe has no idea about. The truth that lived before Barry himself even met Rafe, before he lost the girl. That girl was his, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t gonna get her again before the drugs get to him.

“Boy, when you gon’ get it. Ain’t none-a’ yo’ shit off-limits to me. As long as you owe me, yo’ shit, is my shit. But, ya’ know what, I've decided that I don't want yo' money anymore,” the boy looked over to where the young girl was still standing with a smirk on his lips. “I want something a little more personal to you."

“You’re joking, right? Like you can’t be serious-”

“Why cain’t I be?” This time Barry got right in Rafe’s face, invading his personal space, at least what was left of it.

“B-Because she’s- she’s a-”

“Because she’s what? A virgin? You one dumb mother fucker, Cameron. You know that? Look,  we both know that ain’t true. I know she’s a freak, and I know that she didn’t make you wait that long. She wanted it just as bad as you, didn’t she?” When Barry’s statements were met with silence, he continued.

“I told you. I run this shit, Cameron. Nothing happens on this island that I don’t know about. Not one girl that you get, hasn’t been through me yet, Country club. So you either tuck tail and go beg daddy for some big cash, or you tell yo’ sweetie over there to open up. Either way, you best get rid of that pride until I’m satisfied.”

        At that moment, Rafe weighed his options. He thought about how he could come clean to his dad, tell him about all the shit he had gotten himself into over the last two summers. How he started to sell things around the house to support his addiction, how he was the reason 2 out of 6 of his dad’s priceless watches somehow came up missing. He thought about how he could tell his girlfriend that she had to give it up to his drug dealer for him to drop his dues. He could only imagine how that would go over. But he was angry now. What the fuck was Barry talking about? What had Y/n not told him?

“You want me to WHAT?!”

        It had been a couple of hours since they were parked outside of the infamous trailer. Rafe had tried to wait it out as long as possible before telling her about the deal, but it was getting late and he knew that it was now or never.

“Trust me this is the last thing I want you to do. But-”

“Then why the fuck are you asking me to do it.” Y/n stood in his room with her fingertips on her temples. She couldn’t comprehend what was going on. Y/n watched Rafe smoke his joint while he sat against his headboard. Standing at the end of the bed, watching Rafe tilt his head back and drop it against the wall. She let the thoughts run through her head, all the questions she had. Running, chasing. Why did she let herself get here? Did she sleepwalk her entire relationship? What had she done to make the boy think he had some type of control or say so over her? “What the fuck is wrong with you, Rafe?”

“What’s wrong with me? How about how you? What’s going on with you and my drug dealer? Huh? You’re a liar!” Y/n couldn’t believe her ears. The things coming out of his mouth had her stumped.

“What the actual fuck are you talking about? First of all, I have been nothing but faithful to you, Cameron! And we both know you can’t say the same about yourself. Second of all, my relationship- my past relationship with Barry, is none of your damn business. We’ve had our troubles, but don’t you dare call me a liar, because I have ever only been honest with you. “

“If you’re so fucking honest then why didn’t you tell me that there was even a relationship. Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to have your drug dealer threaten your life and then in the same sentence tell you that he’s fucked your girlfriend before you even met? Because you didn’t tell me-”

“BECAUSE YOU NEVER ASKED! I’m so sorry that it’s hard for you to hear about all the guys on this island that fucked me before you did, but I’m not sorry for doing it. I’m sorry your pride doesn’t allow you to pull your head out of your ass and see that we’ve both been in other relationships before us. I don’t know what you want me to do, Rafe. What? You want me to list them? Is that what you want? Just in case you ever come in contact with one of them and they tell you about our past. Yeah, Barry was my boyfriend at one point. We’ve fucked multiple times. Wanna know who else? The Maybank kid you hate so damn much, fucked him too, more than once. I sucked Kelce off during my freshman year in the boy’s bathroom. Made out with Topper lord knows how many times. I’ve even hooked up with Kie. In your house, in your sister’s bed. So many people other than you have touched my body. That’s something you’re just gonna have to live with. Because I like sex, Rafe. A lot.” 

        Y/n wanted to make him angry. She wanted to see the blood rushing to his head, the veins in his arms getting tight. Wanted him to feel the anger, the same anger rushing through her. The same anger that had her ready to walk away. “Let’s not forget the time your father was willing to risk it all for me.”

“Shut up.” Rafe had traded his spot on the bed for the corner of his room. He was facing the wall with his head in his hands. Palm pressed into his ears. Y/n loved that the 6‘2, almost grown, boy looked like a kid throwing a tantrum. But she wasn’t done.

“What is that hard to hear? Does it hurt that the man you hate the most, the man who looks at you, his own son, with such hatred, almost fucked an underage girl?”

   Rafe was fuming at this point. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth barring down. He was in a hunched position as if the lower he got would allow the words to feel further away.

“I bet it sucks to know that the first time you introduced me to your family. Your friends. That we all had you fooled. Looking at each other, shaking hands as if none of us had never met before. I bet it makes you feel like less of a man, right? Silent whispers with our eyes, sharing secrets we each shared. Making a pact with our glances and our body language. You’re not the man anymore, are you rafe? I wish I had let Mr. Cameron touch me. Ward Cameron’s hands running all over my-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Rafe had snapped. Listening to her words. Hearing the details, it messed with his head. Fucked up his version of the last year. Before he could stop himself, he crossed the room and his hand was wrapped around her throat. He loved her and his body knew it. His grip wasn’t too tight. Nothing he hadn’t done to her before, but now it was different.

“Get your fucking hands off me.” Y/n lifted her hands and shoved Rafe’s shoulders away from her. When she looked back up at the boy she saw them. The tears. He had the nerve to cry, after everything he had put her through. The drugs, the abuse, the yelling, fighting, sex, lying, cheating. If she could deal with all of his bullshit without breaking down and losing her mind, then he had no fucking right to.

“I’m so done. I’m so over letting you run over me, controlling me. Thinking that you own me. Thinking you have the right to whore me out to save yourself. As if I’m some fucking toy. I’m a fucking human being, Rafe. And I’m done. We’re done. It’s over.”

        Rafe stood there, hopelessly watching, as the girl he didn’t know how to love but wanted to so bad, came to her senses and left. Feet planted, tears rolling. They had met his lips now and he could taste the salt. He watched as she packed all her shit up. She was good at remembering where all her leftover shit had been stored and it took her all of 5 minutes to pack it all up.

        When she opened his bedroom door and stepped out, she saw Sarah waiting on the steps with a couple of bathing suits in her hands. Y/n knew by the smirk on the girl’s face that she had heard everything, or at least the worst parts. Sarah stood up and leaned on the stair railing, handing the pastel-colored clothing down to the frustrated girl.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah laughed at the girl’s cringing, scrunched up face. She waved her hand and smiled down at her.

“It’s fine. Unlike some people, I know Topper had a life before me. But that Kie situation, something about my bed. Yeah, I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that one.” Y/n let out a small genuine laugh. She sympathetically smiled at the younger Cameron.

“That’s not what I was apologizing for.” Y/n looked shamefully towards the ground, feeling bad for what the girl had to hear about her family. She looked back up towards the staircase when she heard a sigh leave her lips.

“I’ve known that my dad has issues since I was pretty young. Honestly, I’m just glad that Wheezie and I weren’t the ones who got the fucked up genes. Especially me, I feel like Wheezie could hold her own, ya’ know?” At this Y/n chuckled and then reached for Sarah’s hand.

“Yeah, but if anyone’s holding their own, it’s definitely you, babe.”

“Love you, be safe,” Sarah watched as one of her closest friends started walking backwards towards her front door.

“Will do. Love you too.”

        With that Y/n let herself step outside of the house and into the outside world. Before she walked to her car, she let herself look around the yard. She wanted to take it in, all the memories. Good, bad. As much as she hated that she had let him put her through shit, she didn’t want to regret anything. She wanted to believe that it was something that she would one day look back on and smile. Smile at the thought of whatever she had learned, smile at whatever life experience she could apply the knowledge to. The young girl was done with letting Rafe damage her view on things. She wasn’t gonna let him hurt her anymore. Mentally, emotionally or physically. She was done.

        So as Y/n slid into the driver’s seat of her car and drove her way out of the Tannyhill yard, she allowed herself to hum along to the song playing on her radio. But when she reached the main road and her fingers unconsciously pushed the bar protruding from her steering wheel up, her eyes caught the green arrow on her dash pointing to the right. 

        Y/n turned her head towards the same direction and looked at the many houses that she knew people didn’t deserve. She knew that half the people in Figure 8 didn’t deserve half the things that they owned. They were stuck up, rich white people (most of them anyway) that didn’t give a shit about anybody but themselves. So instead of turning right, towards her own medium-sized home, with her warm bed, where her family was waiting. She turned left.

Towards the cut.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 15: A Home

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold puts herself to bed

Read on AO3

Mrs. Gold rested her forehead against the passenger window of the squad car. The cold glass gave her something to focus on. Something real and solid in this swirling haze of booze and impossible facts.

Sheriff Swan was driving her home. Graham had done this, more times than she could remember. Whenever she was out making too much trouble to ignore, Graham would take her back to Mr. Gold. 

Emma Swan was taking her away from him.

Graham had always been quiet, but Emma kept trying to talk. Mrs. Gold kept her face to the window and let the words wash over her. 

“I know it’s hard to get out of a bad relationship. I can’t imagine what it’s like to get out of a bad marriage. But it’s really important that you learn to put yourself first. Put your own safety first. And if that means walking away--then you just gotta do the brave thing.”

Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. 

The words felt weird in her head, foreign and familiar at the same time. Like something she had known once, but forgotten. What was she remembering it from? A movie? Some hokey book she’d read as a kid?

Mrs. Gold had never cared much about being brave. It didn’t take courage to do what Mr. Gold ordered her to. If she was being honest with herself, she did tend to obey him out of fear--fear of disappointing him, fear of his disdain. Fear of losing everything he gave her, especially those scant, precious fragments of himself.

“And I will help you! I just need you to tell me you need help.” Emma Swan was still talking. “Just give me a reason. I’m not afraid to use excessive force.”

She looked up. “On Mr. Gold?”

Emma pulled into the driveway of Mr. Gold’s house and parked the car. “Why not give a wife beater a taste of his own medicine?”

“He’s is not--”

“Yeah, but he’s not a responsible dominant either,” Emma cut her off. “The kinky stuff is based around trust, so you gotta find someone who’s trustworthy. Good for you if you like pain play, but for the love of God, don’t give that kind of power to someone who isn’t going to care about you.”

“I told you in the station, the problem isn’t how Mr. Gold uses me. The problem is that he hasn’t done anything with me in months!” Fighting off tears, Mrs. Gold unbuckled her seat belt and tried to bolt out of the car.

She got two steps toward the house before everything got all spinny again and she had to slow down. Before she knew it, Sheriff Swan was beside her, holding her up by the elbow.

“Okay, lightweight, whatever you say.”

Mrs. Gold jerked her arm away. “I’m alright on my own.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She was still walking beside her. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tuck you into bed. Unless you invite me in or I have reason to believe a crime in progress, my jurisdiction ends at the front door.”   

“Whatever,” Mrs. Gold muttered. She had Mr. Gold’s keys in her coat pocket. The weight of them was like ballast on a sailboat. They steadied her. 

Emma followed behind her as she went up the porch steps. She waited by the door while Mrs. Gold fumbled with the keys. There were so many of them. Months ago, Mr. Gold had sent her out to have copies of the house and shop keys made for herself. That was one of the first strange things he’d done. Those keys were in her purse in the front hall. She still wasn’t used to letting herself come and go. Mr. Gold’s key was original to the house, a brass skeleton key from the 1890s. It wasn’t any trouble to open the door and walk in. 

“You gonna get the lights?” Emma asked.

“No,” Mrs. Gold held her head high. “I like the dark.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Guess that’s your choice. But before I go, I gotta say it again: Call me, if you need help. Or if you have questions about how other people do BDSM. Or if you just wanna talk. Okay?”

Safe in the darkness, Mrs. Gold gave a condescending smile and a nod. “Sounds great.” 

“Take care of yourself.”

“Sure,” she said. And shut the door. 

****

She didn’t turn the lights on as she made her way to the kitchen. Mr. Gold’s house was big enough and clean enough that she never worried about bumping into things or stumbling over a pile of clutter. Nothing like the place where she’d grown up--cramped and filthy, piled high with junk. They never wanted to throw anything away. You never knew when you might need something that you hadn’t used in ten years, but you knew it was wrong to waste money on getting a new one when there was a perfectly good one around here somewhere. 

Mr. Gold’s house was a better home than her father’s house had ever been.

She didn’t stop moving until she got the refrigerator. Wincing against the blinding light, she searched for a bottle of sparkling water. She put the cool glass against her swollen eyes and sighed. She kicked away her heels and leaned against the refrigerator door. When she drank, the bubbles popped sharply against the inside of her mouth. It was a needle-sharp pain, soothing in its way.

She’d never drunk sparkling water before she met Mr. Gold. They always used the tap, and if it tasted like dirt or sand, well that was just extra minerals. Not like they could do anything about it. If it tasted like chlorine or carcinogenic runoff from some factory upstream, they couldn’t do anything about that either. People like them just had to keep drinking what life gave them because they couldn’t afford anything better.

She’d have to go back to that--if anything happened between her and Mr. Gold. If he decided he didn’t want to be married to her anymore. Their pre-nuptial contract was very clear: If the marriage ended for any reason, Mr. Gold kept everything. Even her clothes and jewelry. Even her wedding ring.

And her father would have to start paying rent again. She’d never hear the end of that. Of course, she never heard the end of it when Mr. Gold told him he didn’t have to pay rent anymore. Or, more specifically, that whether or not he had to pay rent was entirely up to Mrs. Gold.

The idiot florist had hated hearing that. Mr. Gold had given his daughter financial control of his shop and his house. She could waive the rent or charge him double or kick him on the curb and burn the buildings to the ground as she saw fit. Her father had sputtered and raged and sworn a blue streak when he’d found out. But marrying Mr. Gold meant she didn’t have to listen to his tantrums anymore.

Would he take her back? If Mr. Gold kicked her out, would she even have the option of living with her father again? 

He’d told her she could, on the day that she left. Her father had said that she could always come back. But she knew that he meant she could leave Mr. Gold and apologize for the unforgivable crime of liking sex. She could live with her father if she was willing to put herself on his idea of good behavior. If she never told him what she really thought about anything. If she was willing to cook and clean and slave away in the flower shop just so the two of them could have enough money to scrape by. Like she was a fucking teenager again.

Shitty as it would be to be back in that house, it was probably better than being homeless.

She finished the bottle and threw it in the trash. She still hadn’t turned on any of the lights. She could walk around Mr. Gold’s house blindfolded. In fact she had, many times. And on her hands and knees. And on a leash. And with a ten-inch dildo in every hole she had. That was how Mrs. Gold paid rent. 

Do you have somebody you can stay with tonight?   

Emma Swan’s words had been ringing through her head since she’d first heard them outside of Granny’s. She’d told the Sheriff that she didn’t have anyone. That was probably true. No one who would pick her up at the police station, at least. No one who would want to deal with her while she was drunk and emotional. No one wanted Mrs. Gold when she was at her worst.

Not even Mr. Gold. 

****

The door to the bedroom was open. The bedroom, where all this trouble had begun. She’d had a dream that her husband loved her, and when she’d woken up, she’d tried to make it real.

But he had been dreaming about Belle. 

Belle.

The name had a weird echo in her mind. The other woman. Her husband’s lover. The only other person she could blame for her unhappiness. Was Mr. Gold thinking about Belle now? Would he tell Belle that he had spent a night in jail?

Would he tell her he had done it so Mrs. Gold wouldn’t have to?

In the bathroom, she ran a washcloth under hot water and pressed it against her face. Most of her makeup had been cried off earlier, so the wash was more for warmth. When Mrs. Gold looked at herself in the mirror, all she saw was her own exhaustion. Red eyes, flushed cheeks, quivering lips. Even cleaned up, she was still a mess.

But Mr. Gold had put himself in jail for her.

She looked closer at her reflection, so close that she pressed her forehead to the glass. So close that she couldn’t see the whole of her face. She was just an abstraction, broken apart into pieces. What about her was worth that kind of sacrifice? What about her was worth anything? In the mirror, she was nothing but pink skin, dark lashes, sky blue eyes.

Mama’s eyes.

Mrs. Gold jerked away from the mirror like it had electrocuted her. Maybe it had. Something had to happen to make her hear a voice in her head.

It was her own voice. Only sadder, more gentle. That was how her thoughts had been in the squad car too. And she’d heard it before then. Off and on, in little flashes just like this. She’d been hearing it for weeks. 

If there was anything creepier than hearing a voice in your head, it had to be agreeing with that voice. It was right, she did have Mom’s eyes. Sky-blue, just like Uncle Peter and  Andrew used to have. Just like Janine and Chloe still did.

But she had never thought of her mother as mama. That sounded like something from some historical drama where everyone wore ball gowns and corsets. Maybe she was being possessed by the spirit of a Regency aristocrat. Maybe one of her past lives was trying to communicate with her from beyond the grave.

Or maybe she was very, very drunk.

She turned the light off in the bathroom and peeled off her dress, then looked around her armoire for something she could sleep in. Mr. Gold had never bought her any comfortable pajamas, only negligees and skimpy short sets. In the past--which Mrs. Gold was about two weeks away from thinking of as “the good old days”--she’d rarely worn anything to bed. Once they got home, the only reason she wore clothes was so Mr. Gold could take them off. Especially her lingerie. Mr. Gold liked nothing more than to rip her underwear off her body and leave her in tattered rags before he fucked her 

Mara Trudine probably couldn’t have kept Sugar ‘n’ Spice in business if Mrs. Gold hadn’t needed to restock on panties every week. Well, that was one way to help out an old friend. 

There was one long sleeved tee-shirt in her wardrobe. It was mostly see-through, with a pattern of red velvet roses dotting the thin red mesh. In the magazine, the model had worn this shirt with a camisole underneath. Mrs. Gold was lucky if Mr. Gold let her wear a bra when she went out in this shirt. 

But it was the closest thing to comfortable that she had. A pair of leggings would keep her legs warm. Mrs. Gold didn’t own any sweatpants or yoga pants--or any pants at all for that matter. Mr. Gold had always treasured the ability to grab her whenever he wanted her. Skirts and dresses provided the best access, so that was all he let her buy. 

She sighed. Of course, that was in the past. The way Mr. Gold was acting now, he might as well have bought her a space suit to wear around town, helmet and all.

This was the first night she’d ever spent alone in this house. This was the first time she’d ever gotten into this bed and not expected Mr. Gold to join her. As she pulled back the quilt, Mrs. Gold was struck with a memory from last night: Her husband, trembling with rage, throwing this same blanket over her body before he left. She had tried to make love to him. She had tried to pretend to be Belle, just to get him to touch her. And he had seen it as a betrayal, a violation.

He was right.                    

Mrs. Gold knew that she had done wrong. Her actions were not just immoral, but incorrect. In trying to force her husband to be near her, she had only made him want to be further away. He had run away from her to the guest bedroom. Run and hid, like she was a monster.

Emma Swan kept trying to protect Mrs. Gold, but she didn’t understand. Mrs. Gold hadn’t just done wrong, she was wrong. She was the wrong person. It felt like she always had been. Wrong as a daughter, wrong as a friend, wrong as a student, wrong as a girlfriend. 

Wrong as a wife. 

For as long as she’d been married, she had told herself that the feeling of wrongness didn’t matter. No one’s opinion of her mattered except for Mr. Gold’s. She didn’t have to be good at anything else, as long as she was the slutwife he wanted. But over the past several months, he had made it clear how little he wanted anything to do with her. Maybe he hated her as much as everyone else in Storybrooke did. 

She couldn’t sleep in this bed. This was their marriage bed. If their marriage was broken she’d be better off sleeping on the floor. At the very least, she would follow in Mr. Gold’s footsteps and run away to the guest room. There, she knew, she wouldn’t have the memory of Mr. Gold hating her. If he thought of Belle while he had waited for sleep last night, she didn’t know it for certain. She wouldn’t have to think about it. 

With the lights still out, Mrs. Gold went across the hall to the other bedroom. Mr. Gold’s dressing gown hung from a hook behind the door. She buried her face in the silk and breathed in his scent. Before she could think about what she was doing, Mrs. Gold had wrapped the dressing gown around her body. She pulled it tightly over her shoulders, hugging herself, pretending Mr. Gold was holding her. Pretending that Mr. Gold would ever hold her again.

This bed was smaller than the one in their room. It felt less empty with only one person in it. The pillow smelled like Mr. Gold’s hair.

I love you.

The voice in her head again, saying what she wanted to say. She had never told Mr. Gold that she loved him. Until recently, she didn’t know that she had. Now the knowledge was a burden. It was an ache in her heart, a hole that would never be filled. 

Everything was over.

****

He leaves her in a swirl of wine-red smoke, at exactly the stroke of midnight. He goes, to walk into a trap the two of them have all but set themselves. He goes, to keep her safe from his enemies. He goes, to lay down the final pieces of the plan that will--someday--lead to their complete happiness. 

As he leaves, he keeps his face turned away from her. She understands. When he gets to where he is going, he will have to wear the mask of a devious trickster. Tears would spoil the effect.  

Her eyes are moist as she watches him disappear. 

Candlelight reflects the golden sparkles in the skin of his hands, the glinting crinkles of his hair. His leather-clad back has a dark gleam to it. He keeps his shoulders straight, his arms poised--ready to put on a show.

She cannot look away from him. She would say that she is memorizing him, but she already knows him by heart.

They will be together again.

She must believe that, even when he is gone from their home. She trusts her husband. She trusts the plan they have made together. She trusts herself. She will ensure that they are together again. She can do the brave thing and know that bravery will follow. Though the power she has is small and meager, there is enough determination in her to move the world if she needs to.

If Rumple needs her to. 

She cannot stay staring at the place where he was. There is work to be done. Her husband is doing his part of the plan, now she must do hers. 

Since she is already in the dining room of their castle, her first task is to fetch the chipped cup. It sits in a place of honor on top of the magical cupboard that creates their meals. 

The sight of this cup never fails to make her smile. She had dropped it, on the first of many times one of her master’s orders had shocked her. For a time, it was a shameful thing for her, a sign of failure. Over time, she had decided that she liked his orders, and that she wanted him to give her more. She had offered him the imperfect cup, and he had understood what she had wanted--and he had given it to her.  

When she had left, her lover had destroyed this room. He had smashed all the plates and cups, except for this. Later, he told her that he had wanted to throw it against the wall, but instead he had broken down in tears. He had it clutched to his chest when she found him in the dungeons.

Since the wedding, the meaning of the cup changed again. Now they serve each other, whenever they wish to play. The cup is imperfect, but it is beautiful because of what it means to them. It was the first object they shared together, even before their wedding rings.

She holds it delicately, as she walks to the next room. The night is dark, but torches light at her approach. Even if they didn’t, she knows the way. The castle is her home, and she walks without fear through every hallway. 

The small room at the end of the corridor holds everything Rumple has of his son. There are clothes and toys and even a few battered schoolbooks. This is the boy that he lost a lifetime ago. This is the boy that he will destroy the world to get back. She has never met Baelfire, but she loves him. She will do anything she can to reunite her husband with his son.

If she could, she would take everything in this room. The memories are so precious. She would give them to the boy, once they find him. But her husband has given her specific instructions, and she trusts him enough to follow them. Magic can be fickle, especially when there are too many variables. If they ask it for too much, there is a greater chance that something might go wrong, and an even higher price to pay. They will only need one object of Bae’s to be able to find him in the new world. She can only take the shawl.

It is yellow wool, a little ragged and dirty from belonging to a young boy. Her husband knitted it himself. She feels the love that was woven into every fiber of it. 

She cushions the chipped cup against the shawl and holds both objects in one hand. With her other hand, she draws out a single glove from the pocket of her gown. It is a magic glove, made of black velvet and her husband’s golden thread. As soon as it is on her hand, she is transported to the next room.

This is a room with no door. It can only be entered by using her husband’s magic. This is where he keeps things safe, including his secrets. This is where he stores the remains of his life before he had magic. 

There is a wide bed, stuffed with straw. A rough-hewn farm table with a bench and pair of stools at either end. A spinning wheel wound with simple yarn instead of the gold her husband is famous for spinning. She looks over these furnishings with familiarity and with fondness. She has been in this room many times before.

Often enough to know where to find what she seeks. 

A small table serves the function of a desk. It is piled high with papers, mostly drawings. Rumple’s first wife drew pictures of their son when he was a baby. And when the boy had grown older, he had developed the same talent. 

Her mental image of Baelfire comes from a sketch he made of himself: Wavy dark hair and steady dark eyes, a boy who has already suffered and struggled more than he ought to have, a boy who smiles rarely, but is rarely afraid. She would rather take that drawing than handle what lies on top of it.

The dagger that controls her husband is an evil thing, but he has made her the mistress of it. When he proposed, he gave her the dagger, and submitted to her all the power of the Dark One. Together, they have studied its magic, tested its limits. While she does enjoy having some authority over her beloved, the thought of anyone else using the dagger on him--or hurting him with it--is enough to make her blood boil.

She cannot allow that to happen. She cannot allow the dagger to fall into any hands but her own or Rumple’s. This is the only weapon that can hurt him. She will never allow him to be hurt. She holds the dagger to her chest, just like the shawl and the cup.

She takes off the magic glove and finds herself in the tower room where her husband does most of his work. He knew that he was leaving, so he has put away most of his potions and equipment. 

He may never see these things again.

Tears burn in her eyes. Stumbling to his work table, she lets their things slip from her arms. Her satchel is up here, Rumple must have placed it in this room. He gave her this satchel, the last time they were separated. The last time she had to leave her home. It is brown leather, with a design of a red rose blooming among the thorns.

She sets the cup and the shawl inside the satchel. Then she takes the dagger and slashes the glove to shreds. Golden sparks and wine-red smoke emanate from the glove as magic destroys magic. Now she will never be able to enter the safest room again. But neither will anyone else.

Everything she needs to carry fits inside the satchel. She could probably fit the entire potions cabinet and her husband’s spinning wheel inside and never feel the weight of it on her shoulders. 

Her mission is done, but she has no will to rest. Their bedroom is at the bottom of the stairs below this tower, but she cannot bring herself to go there now. She has never slept a full night in this castle without her husband, without at least expecting him to join her. Their marriage bed is large and luxurious. It will feel so empty without him. She cannot sleep there.

 She wanders over to the window. A waning moon and hundreds of stars cast a soft glow over her husband’s spinning wheel. When he needs to think, he will spin straw into gold, working continuously from dawn until darkness. A day’s work fills up a bobbin of thread, and he has more bobbins than she could ever count. They mark centuries of pensive isolation. He starts every spinning day with one empty, and the work isn’t over until it’s full. 

 But when she looks at the flyer, a bobbin is already waiting there, half-filled up with gold thread. 

For a moment, she is perplexed. It is unlike Rumple to leave a loose end. But then she smiles. She understands. Her husband has left her with a message. An unfilled bobbin means the day is not done. There is still more work to do.

They are not finished yet. 

[chelseaheskett]

5:22PM, THURSDAY. JANUARY 30TH, 2020.

She hated the idea of Elliot having to do more work after a full day at the office, preparing to take his first solo case to court—but the box for Vanessa’s new bed frame, leaned against the wall in the twins room, was starting to create a safety hazard. Late in the week, when he got home from work, Chelsea greeted him with a kiss and a proposition. The babies were napping in the playpen downstairs, so it gave them the perfect window of opportunity to finally set it up. Well... Chelsea was there for moral support. Verbal encouragement! She was there to supervise. She couldn’t reach down and hand him any of his tools, or anything, so she relaxed into the rocking chair in the corner of the bedroom, sipping on a cool glass of lemonade. “Where are the coveralls!?” She whined when he came into the room and settled onto the floor. Much to her dismay, Elliot had stripped down to a loose white tank top and sweat pants. Chelsea wasn’t happy about it! No matter how good he looked otherwise! Sex fantasies aside, though, they had a job to do. 

Halfway through, when the bottom of the bed frame was all screwed together, Elliot got the best of her. She’d been distracting him the entire time with her running commentary: constantly telling him how good he looked, how much she loved him, how hot this whole thing was making her feel. She got down on the floor under the guise of offering him some assistance, but really it was just an excuse to get close and touch him. His skin was shiny with sweat, his hair was falling all over his face. The touching started out semi innocent. A hand on his back, at the base of his neck, on his bicep. Brushing the hair off his forehead. Kissing him on the cheek, just because she could. Trailing her mouth down to his throat, and kissing his sweet spot until he squirmed. Her hands started to stray, too, until Elliot dropped the screwdriver and construction on the bed momentarily halted. 

Chelsea had to let him finish putting the bed frame together all by his lonesome. A baby monitor went off a few minutes post-orgasm, and Chelsea went and tended to the kids with wobbly legs walking down the stairs. Fed them and started on dinner for her and Elliot while he worked. Took Vanessa to unveil her big girl bed after bath time. She climbed straight over the railing, instead of crawling through the appropriate opening, and squealed. Chelsea scoffed to hide her laughter. “Puppy dog!” Vanessa pointed to one printed on her bed sheets. She’d been a huge help in picking them out when they went shopping the previous weekend. Elliot had to tuck her in. Like Jack’s bed, it was too low to the ground for Chelsea and her pregnant belly. She was getting so big, thirty-two weeks along now, that it was hard to even hold Isaac, and lift him into his crib. Her little boy seemed happy in his cot. Didn’t care too much about Vanessa’s new bed, thank God. Chelsea cuddled him and said goodnight.

Somehow, but somehow not surprising, Elliot was strong enough to move Vanessa’s old crib into their bedroom all by himself. Chelsea kept forgetting about it, and practically tripped over it multiple times in the middle of the night on her way to the toilet. The baby was constantly putting hard pressure on her bladder, and flaring up bursts of pain in her abdomen on and off all night. Elliot must’ve fallen asleep before she did, for once. She felt utterly exhausted and like she’d gotten no sleep whatsoever by the time morning came and Elliot kissed her goodbye, like always, before leaving for work. “Mornin’.” Chelsea mumbled, stretching her arms out. Her bed hair was sticking up in all angles and he smoothed some of it down and out of her face. “Oh, I bet Isaac loved that.” She smiled, sleepy. Elliot kissed her temple and his lips lingered. Chelsea whinged and reached for his tie to pull him back into bed. He was running late. Right! He had court for his case today! “Okay, go, go! Good luck, honey. Not that you need it!” Tomorrow was the weekend—they could cuddle in bed as much as they wanted to then. She adjusted his tie with one eye open. “Okay, baby.” Every other Friday was always when custody week started with Jenny. Chelsea would just have to stack all the babies in the car and pick her up from school later on in the day. Elliot kissed her on the mouth this time. Chelsea sighed into it. “I love you, too! Bye, gorgeous!” She replied, calling out when the warmth of his body was gone and she could hear the bedroom door lightly close behind him. 

12:59PM, FRIDAY. JANUARY 31ST, 2020.

The day was meant to be uneventful. She hadn’t been to the grocery store in awhile, because she absolutely refused to shove all three toddlers into a single shopping cart. A week without her Mom’s help at home and being in constant pain because of the baby was really starting to suck. Donna had been trying to catch up all week, so they could finally talk about the elephant in the room, but Chelsea always had an excuse. Today, she thought she might use it to her advantage. Get it over and done with and get something out of it. She called her phone early morning and Christian answered it. Chelsea tried not to give her emotions away, and politely asked if she could speak to her Mom. Didn’t trade any more niceties, didn’t do small talk. When her Mom got on the other end of the phone, Chelsea simply asked if she could look after the kids for an hour while she went food shopping, and suggested they finally sit down and talk when she got home. Her Mom was eager. Agreed, and didn’t mention the fact that Christian was there, at her house, answering her phone. Disgusting. 

Chelsea shot Elliot through a message, knowing it’d probably take a while to get a response when he had court. She got a reply a little while later, but by that point her phone was in her back pocket, and she was stuck in the kitchen arguing with her Mom. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want him anywhere near me or my family! Period!” Chelsea spun around, dropping the dishes from lunch into the sink. “You know what, Mom? Do whatever the hell you want! You’ve obviously made up your mind if he’s sleeping over at your house.” Chelsea pulled a face, clearly repulsed. 

“Watch how you talk to me, Chelsea.” Donna retorted, like she was still a little girl and not a full grown ass adult. Sure, maybe Chelsea was acting a little bit like a brat, or a child throwing a tantrum, but... this wasn’t okay! How was she meant to just sit still and take this? She refused to accept this. Nope. It wasn’t happening. 

“What do you want me to say, Mom? Do you want me to just lie and say that I’m happy for you? Because I’m not! I’m not happy! I’m fucking furious!” Chelsea cussed. Ignored the literal swear jar, half-stuffed with dollar bills, only a small distance away from her on the kitchen counter. “And the fact that you can’t understand why makes it even worse!” Chelsea’s voice was going hoarse. “Put yourself in my shoes for... for just a second, okay? Your boyfriend assaulted me, he assaulted my husband—”

Donna cut her off. “I know that! I know! I’m not completely blinded by love that—”

“Love?” It knocked the wind out of her entire body. Chelsea squinted at her mother. “This has to be some sort of sick, twisted joke! How can you love him after what he did to me? I’m your child, for God’s sake!” The tears prickled her eyes. 

Her mother took a step forward, almost pleading with her. Chelsea was grateful that they had the kitchen island keeping them apart. “People make mistakes, honey—”

“What, like Elliot?” Chelsea spat, recounting their argument last week. “You might be all about forgiveness, Mom, but trust me when I say that I will never forgive you for throwing that in my face.” She tried her best to keep her voice even and strong. Spoke with conviction.

“You never even let me finish what I was trying to say last week! Stop being so stubborn and listen to me! Please!” 

“No, you listen! As long as you’re seeing Christian, I don’t wanna see you. You can come here, you can see the kids, because they love you and they miss you, but... but that’s it. I’ll be nice, I’ll be polite, but you and me? We don’t have a relationship anymore. I’m done!”

Donna started crying before Chelsea did. “Chels, please—”

“Whatever, I... I’m leaving. I’m going to the store. I can’t even look at you right now.” Chelsea grabbed a tea towel and wiped the soap off her hands. Dramatically threw it onto the counter and started off to leave the room.

“Don’t you dare walk out on me, Chelsea Grace!”

“Yeah? Watch me.” She called over her shoulder. Hastily grabbed her purse and keys from the table in the entryway and slammed the front door behind her. It was loud enough to possibly wake up one or all of the babies from their afternoon nap, but that was her Mom’s problem now. Chelsea waddled to her car, hands gripping her swollen stomach, and slammed that door open and closed, too. Turned the A/C on full blast, to give herself some air. Get her breathing back under control. She drove around the corner from the house to sit and park the car there. Just until she could calm down long enough to make the short drive to the grocery store. 

After a few minutes of meditative breathing, and stroking her stomach, Chelsea’s phone buzzed with a message. She was surprised when MY BABY 💞 💖💕 flashed on the screen; fully expecting her mother to be bombarding her with notifications after their argument. Chelsea opened the text, quickly scanned over the message. She was too keyed up to reply. Locked her phone and dropped it into her cup holder, leaving Elliot unanswered. For now, at least. She shifted gears and started to drive. Blasted the radio, so she didn’t have to think. Repeated eggs, over and over under her breath, so she wouldn’t forget.

Grocery shopping was nice. Distracting. She got a couple cereal boxes of cinnamon toast crunch for Jenny. Filled a cart to the brim with food and fruit and diapers. Got supplies so she could make them enchiladas for dinner. Chelsea’s feet were sore and swollen. She’d only been walking around for half an hour, tops, and she was already exhausted. She arched her back and stretched, feeling achey all over. The baby was misbehaving. She was almost at the checkout with her shopping cart when she remembered eggs. Huffing, she rolled her cart down a couple more aisles until she found them. She reached up to grab a carton and toss it into her cart. 

She felt the pressure build up in her abdomen. It built until she could feel it pop, and then release, and fluid started to trickle down between her thighs. “Shit!” Chelsea cursed. She fumbled and the carton of eggs splattered on the floor, all yolk and eggshells and amniotic fluid. She was wearing a dress, so the water dripped right down her legs and pooled at her feet. Soaked her sneakers. The fluid was blood-tinged, from what she could see past the cracked eggs. “Oh God, oh no.” She gripped the handlebars of the shopping cart, breath accelerating. It was gushing out of her, without any signs of stopping.

“Hey, are you alright?” One of the grocers approached, wearing a uniform and carrying a yellow caution cone, ready to clean up her mess.

Chelsea was hunched over, one hand white-knuckling the bars on the cart and the other cradling her stomach, as if she could hold herself together. As if she had the power to stop this from happening. “I think my—my water just broke, but I... I’m not ready. It’s too early.” Chelsea said, voice shrill, breath ragged. 

The guy looked like he was barely out of high school. His face went a little pale. “I... I’ll...” He stammered. “I’ll call 911.” He pulled a cellphone out of his back pocket. Someone else walked over; another shopper, Chelsea assumed. An older woman. A stranger with kind eyes. She started rubbing her back for some comfort. “Is there anyone I can call for you, darling?” The nice lady asked, pressing circles into her skin. 

“My husband. He’s in court right now, he’s—he’s a defense attorney, I—” Just to clarify, so the woman didn’t get the wrong idea. Chelsea sifted through her purse to retrieve her phone. 

“An ambulance is on the way.” The kid said, still looking alarmed.

Elliot’s number was at the top of her favourites list. Next to her Mom, and Macy, and Caleb, and Amy, and Lola. Chelsea thumbed over his contact info to call him. It went straight to voicemail. “His phone must be off.” Chelsea cried, raking a hand through her hair. She tried again, for good measure. And again. And again. Nothing. “I’m only thirty-two weeks along, I can’t—I can’t be doing this.” The lady hushed her, told her to breathe, guided her through it. Chelsea was trying her hardest not to keep track of the amount of blood in the fluid on the floor. The grocer left and came back with another caution sign. People around them stared, looked concerned. Tears were streaming down her face, and fluid was still dripping down her legs. “Please, God.” Chelsea prayed through a sob. 

Her first contraction came when the paramedics loaded her up into the back of the ambulance. She gritted her teeth and cried out in agony. Fisted the sheet on the gurney. “Is he gonna be okay? It’s too early. It’s too early!” Chelsea rushed through asking when the pain finally passed. One of the paramedics stayed in the back with her, hooking her up to machines and checking her vitals, while the other one drove. No sirens, Chelsea noticed. The paramedic reassured her. Asked her some questions: if this was her first pregnancy, if she’d ever had complications like this before. Asked about the gestational diabetes. Asked if they could call someone else for her, since Elliot still wasn’t answering his phone. The paramedic took hold of Chelsea’s phone and dialled through to her Mom. 

The woman quickly explained the situation to Donna over the phone. Chelsea could hear Isaac crying in the background, even with the receiver covered. After a minute, the paramedic put the phone on loud speaker. “Chelsea, honey, are you okay? What can I do?” 

“I need... I need you to get a hold of Elliot. Please. I don’t know how, I just...” Chelsea’s mouth was dry. “He’s in court, he’s with Macy. Call Amy, or something, I don’t know. Get word to him somehow, please. Please.” She was still panicked. “I can’t do this! Not now.” She cried some more. “Mom, I’m scared.” 

“I know, honey. I know. It’s going to be okay. Let me go so I can get in touch with him, or someone at the courthouse. You and bub are gonna be fine, okay?” Chelsea nodded, even if her mother couldn’t see it. “I’ll see you soon, hon.” Donna hung up. Chelsea didn’t get a chance to say anything else. Not a goodbye, nothing. She shoved her phone back into her bag. Braced herself for her next contraction.

They stuck her into a birthing suite as soon as they arrived at the hospital. A nurse helped her out of her wet clothes and got her into a hospital gown. Slowly walked her over to the bed and got her to sit down, propped up by some pillows. Chelsea kept her phone close, squeezed inside her palm in case Elliot called. Or her Mom. The OB/GYN on call came in to examine her. Left Chelsea crying for a minute or two to discuss something with a nurse or a midwife or whoever holding a tablet in the corner of the room. “She was here, what? Christmas Eve? Who was on that night? They should’ve picked this up.” The doctor said, hushed and frustrated. “Oh, Johnson? Figures.” Chelsea pretended like she wasn’t listening in on their conversation, but a spike in her heart monitor gave her away. The doctor, Dr. Hernandez, typed some notes onto the tablet before coming back over to sit between Chelsea’s legs. 

“So, Chelsea, you’ve got what’s called an incompetent cervix. Or cervical insufficiency—not that it sounds much better, as a term, but... what that means is that your cervix has already begun to shorten... dilate pre-term.” Dr. Hernandez said, sympathy showing on her face as she explained. Chelsea whimpered. Scrunched up her face, completely confused and trying to control her reactions to the pain she was feeling. “Basically your cervix isn’t strong enough to withstand the weight of the baby. Most likely brought on by the fact that your previous pregnancy was carrying twins.” She continued. “And even though you’re only thirty-two weeks along, he’s a big boy. Top percentile, I saw in your notes.” She smiled, as if this was meant to be comforting. “So it makes sense that this has happened. I’m sorry this wasn’t picked up on sooner. You’ve been regularly attending all of your appointments?”

Chelsea nodded around a sob. “Can you—can you fix it?” She pleaded.

“Normally, if detected early, yes. But with your membranes already having been ruptured—with your water already broken, it’s not safe. There’s risk of infection for you and the baby if we don’t get him out soon. And you’re already dilated a couple centimetres. So we’ll monitor you for the next couple of hours and see how things progress.” 

Chelsea’s breathing was laboured. “No, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t have this baby now. I can’t.” She shook her head. “I can’t do this. I can’t—I need my husband. I can’t do this without him. I need him here.” She rambled through her tears, frantic. “I don’t wanna do this.” Like she had any other choice, at this point. 

“You’re still a few hours off, in my opinion. He should get here before the baby comes.” The doctor reassured her. Lightly patted her forearm. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be here every step of the way.” Chelsea cried harder, because it wasn’t the same. Her Mom had been there for Jack. Her Mom and Elliot had been there for the twins. Now she was virtually alone. No family, no support. She’d practically disowned her mother a couple of hours ago, anyway! Chelsea was starting to hiccup, she was crying so heavily. “What’s your pain level at?” Dr. Hernandez asked. Chelsea simply shrugged, trying her best to calm herself down. “You’re highly distressed right now, Chelsea. I’m going to suggest that I give you a sedative, and something else to numb some of the labour pains. Is that okay?” Chelsea nodded, head dipped back into the pillows, eyes closed. Willing this not to happen, willing it all to be over.

Exhaustion set in. Everything felt fuzzy, because of the drugs. She kept her phone balanced on her chest, waiting for some sort of update from someone. Her Mom, or Elliot, or anybody. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been waiting. How many contractions she’d cried through, all on her own. She was all alone. Her head swimming, like she was drunk. She had to fight to keep her eyes open. The doctor hadn’t been back in awhile. Chelsea had to wonder if anybody, hospital staff or not, would come to check up on her. If anybody cared, at this point. She felt about ready to fade away. 

One of the monitors started rapidly beeping. Chelsea struggled to lift her head off her pillow in time for one of the nurses to run in. “Code pink!” She shouted out into the hallway. Pushed a button on the wall, and the speakers overhead repeated her phrase: CODE PINK, BED 13. CODE PINK.

“What’s happening?” Chelsea mumbled. Tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but the nurse forced her back down. Adjusted the gurney so it was flat, so Chelsea was completely lying down. Pulled the railings up, ready for transport. A team of doctors rushed into the room. She hadn’t seen any of them before. They started wheeling her out of the birthing suite. Dr. Hernandez was suddenly there by Chelsea’s side, hands gripping around the bed railing to help push her to their next destination.

“Okay, Chelsea. The baby’s heart rate dropped dangerously low, so we’re taking you in for an emergency c-section now. We’re gonna get this little guy out, safe and happy. Okay? Do you understand?” She was too doped up on drugs to properly respond. Kind of nodded. Felt too numb and exhausted to fully understand the weight of what the doctor was saying. Dangerously low, thirty-two weeks along, emergency c-section. Safe and happy. The baby would be safe and happy. Everything would be okay. Okay. She understood. “We’re gonna put you under general anaesthesia. We need to hurry—to make sure the baby is doing okay.” The doctor continued to explain.

It happened pretty fast once they got inside the operating room. They transferred her from the bed onto the table. Roped her off from the chest down, so she couldn’t see anything. The anaesthesiologist got her mask ready, holding it by her face. Dr. Hernandez paid her a visit one final time. “You ready to meet your son?” She asked, hopeful and optimistic. 

“His name is Luca.” Chelsea said, groggy. “Luca Elliot.”

They made her count. Count down to blacking out, with the mask finally covering her face. Chelsea didn’t want to count. For once, she didn’t. Her eyes fluttered shut, trying to fight it. Still trying to stop this from happening. Wanting it to be Elliot’s face hovering over her, not some nameless doctor. Not anybody else. No numbers, only Elliot. In her daze, she tried to picture him. The lines around his mouth and his eyes when he smiled. Only Elliot. Chelsea sucked in her last breath, until everything faded and disappeared around her. Until everything emptied out and there was nothing but darkness. 

“Mr. Holt.” The doctor called out, grabbing Elliot’s attention. Still in her scrubs. Now that it was all over and done with, she could explain it to him properly. The man stood from his waiting room chair, expectant. Frantic. 

“During the c-section, your wife’s bladder was lacerated—which isn’t something unheard of happening during these types of emergency abdominal procedures. She lost a lot of blood, so we had to keep her under anaesthesia and prolong surgery to make the appropriate repairs. Do a blood transfusion. Her bladder is fixed, but she’ll have to use a foley catheter for a few weeks. They’re wheeling her into recovery now. You should be able to see her in a little while.” Dr. Hernandez smiled, polite and professional. 

Her gaze drifted to, who she assumed was, Chelsea’s mother. They had the same face. The woman was pushing a stroller back and forth in a steady rhythm with her foot. “There was, however, another complication during the reparative surgery. Cardiac issues run in the family?” She remembered what it said on the family medical history in Chelsea’s chart. “Midway through surgery, Chelsea's heart gave out. She flatlined. We lost her for a few moments, but managed to revive her. She’s stable now, thankfully, and we’ll be closely monitoring her and her heart over the coming days. Our best cardiologist is on it.” If that was any comfort. It couldn’t’ve been easy news to digest. It never was.

A nurse walked past and Dr. Hernandez stopped her in her tracks by catching her arm. “Hey, would you please show Mr. Holt here to the NICU?” She asked. Looked at Elliot. “You should be able to see your son, now.” Smiled, again. “I’ll have someone come get you when your wife is out of recovery and ready to have visitors.” The doctor squeezed his arm before turning to leave, ducking back into recovery to tend to his wife. 

[kingofthereapers]

(A few years before....)

It almost didn't matter what year you were looking at, Lula and Travis could be found in the same predicaments year after year almost as long as they'd known each other. This particular occasion had the two lovers entwined for hours, just repeating those mind blowing waves of pleasure that they could only achieve with each other. A lull had them panting and laying in his bed with sheets and blankets strewn about the room, right along with the clothing they'd gone into this session with. Travis' body ached in all the best ways as he looked up at the ceiling trying to catch his breath. He seemed to stay like that for a while until there was a small buzz of his cell phone coming from wherever it had landed in the throws of passion. With a grunt, he shifted to an upright position and reached down to where he heard the phone initially rumbling against the floorboards. One of his grasps connected and he lifted the cell phone to see just who was messaging him on a weeknight just after 8pm. The message was from Bethany Albrecht. That kind of message might have been strange in the past, but over the last few weeks he’d found himself in a position he’d never been in before, at least not with the wife of a best friend. He was running around with Bethany behind Lincoln’s back and no one had found out yet. 

Beth: Travis, I need to talk to you NOW......get over here.

The message wasn't the type that he usually took kindly to, or even bothered responding to, but having been in her bed over the last few weeks made him take to her a bit more than he'd used to. Without responding, the dark haired man stood up from the bed and began to silently shuffle around the room to find some clothes to put on. Didn't really matter that he smelled like sex, or that he needed something to eat at that point. Nothing too much mattered but taking care of business. By the time he'd gotten fully dressed he could feel Lula's wandering eyes on him now that she'd also recovered from their romp. "I'll be back." That was all he said to her with a passing glance, before he took the steps two at a time down the rickety stairs to the first floor of his much too large house. Travis paused for a moment to give his dog Poe a pat or two on the head, and then he  went right out the front door. Moments after the front door slammed shut the rumble of his Harley could be heard and then it faded away into the distance until he'd arrived at the Albrecht home across town. 

Travis sauntered up to the front door and knocked twice with his knuckles against the well built door before it was yanked open by Bethany. The woman looked panicked to say the least as she ushered the towering man into her home. The height difference between the two was rather comical. Sure, Travis was tall, but on the other end of the spectrum Bethany was quite petite at 5 foot 1. The small woman had grown more shapely over the years that Travis had known her, especially after becoming a mother some months before. Even during the awkward phases they’d had growing up, she was one of those that just always was naturally so beautiful and there was a peace about her that only came with wisdom. Getting caught up with Travis was one of her worst mistakes though. She looked up at him for a few moments with wide blue eyes before she tucked her brown tresses behind her ears and took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant." She whispered to which one of Travis' eyebrows rose slightly. There was always a chance it could be Lincoln's kid after all, I mean after all these years Travis didn't have any kids of his own running around town and he wouldn't have been able to tell you how many loads he'd blown straight into countless women over the years. Being sterile would have been a gift to the world if it had been true. What he didn't know was all the abortions that happened on his account. 

"The fuck does that have to do with me?" Travis asked, stepping further into the house and taking a seat in the nearest recliner as he watched Bethany pace about the floor in front of him. Bethany boldly scoffed at him and rolled her eyes as she glared at him with eyes brimming with tears. "It could be yours you idiot!" She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest for a few beats and then taking a deep breath. "Well, go get it taken care of then." He muttered simply as if that were the obvious option. She seemed to feel physical pain from his words as her hands went to her still flat belly. “I can’t do that…” Her voice grew very soft as both her hands were touching at her stomach that harbored the child that would have been his if she’d gotten to carry it to term. “I have standards, Travis.” She added, those all too caring blue eyes raising from looking down at her stomach. It was now his turn to scoff and roll his eyes. “I don’t want kids.” He said simply, not an ounce of regret or uncertainty in his deep voice. “Well, it’s not just your choice.” She said, going to move past him in the recliner while muttering to herself. “I should have waited on the DNA test before I brought you into this.” He grabbed her arm roughly as she passed him, yanking her back. A cry came from her mouth as she reached for his hand with her other hand to try and loosen his grasp on her thin arm. “Ouch, you’re hurting me, Travis!” She growled at him as she scrambled to try to get out of his grip. 

“I’m gonna call Link.” She said softly, still pulling desperately to get away. “I can’t keep this from him anymore.” That was the second mistake she’d made that night, and it would likely be her last by the look in Travis’ icy blue  hues. None of her clawing even phased him, so his grip didn’t loosen as he stood up and pulled her with him into the kitchen area. By now she was sobbing and trying to make herself as much dead weight as possible on the floor to slow his path to the kitchen, but she was only drawing out the process. Pulling her along flailing behind him was like working with a child throwing a tantrum. It was difficult, but not nearly close to impossible. Finally Travis threw her against the lower cabinets in the kitchen and she whimpered, looking up at him with teary eyes, arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. “Please, don’t do this.” She begged, trying her best to crawl away to where she’d left her cell phone in the other room. Maybe she could call for help before he did his worst. He was much too quick for that though.

One of his large leather boots came to rest on her thigh as she struggled to get away, all the while Travis was glancing around to find the knife block. When he didn’t find one right away he began to pull open the drawers roughly. One of the drawers came off its track and ended up tumbling to the floor, spraying silverware all over the tile. Bethany screamed at the commotion and in another part of the house the cry of a baby could be heard after Beth’s outburst. “Oh my God, please, Travis. I’ll do whatever you want.” She pleaded, tears streaming down her face by now while she still struggled against him. Finally through his searching, the heavily tattooed man found a large butcher's knife that he held up, to Bethany’s horror. His eyes never showed any sort of regret or pity for the woman he was about to torture. Carefully Travis ended up on top of her after a decent amount of struggle as he held the knife backwards in his grip so the blade faced away from his victim and he only had one hand to subdue her with. She’d gotten a few good swipes in and he had a few little trails of blood from his arms and along his chest from her fingernails, but it didn’t stop him. 

Once he’d pinned her legs down and he was sitting on her hips with one of her hands pinned down at her side with his thigh and her other hand back in his grasp again, the burly man flipped the blade in his grasp so it was facing her now. In a second struggle he ended up with his knee on her front, just above her crotch and the foot of his other leg holding her hand pinned to the floor so he was in a kneeling position looming over her. “Calm the fuck down.” He grumbled to which she struggled against him some more to no avail. She tried kicking him with her free legs but it did little to the sturdy man, and it brought her pain from the pressure he was putting on her pelvis to begin with. It  seemed like the struggle was a build up to all of this, but Travis skipped the most intense part of it all. He plunged the blade into her stomach, just above where his knee was holding her, where her child was growing. She screamed out in pain, struggling some more as he pulled away the blood stained blade. “Too bad I didn’t go to medical school.” He muttered with a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he looked down at the blood pooling from the gaping wound in her low stomach. “I could do this whole procedure for you, and you might just survive it.” He continued talking, although she’d passed out from the shock of things and he went to town a little bit more since she wasn’t fighting or screaming anymore. Travis ended up opening up that wound some more and beginning the process of pulling out anything he could reach and easily remove. 

The majority of what he’d emptied from the lower cavity of her body were her intestines, but in the bloody mess of things he found a pear shaped mass that wasn’t at all like the intestines he’d been pulling out. Without a second thought, he cut all the ties to anything holding her uterus in her body and he dropped it on the kitchen floor to add to the gore. What a fitting way for his own child to die; by the hands of his father. Once that was done he slowly got up, set the knife in the kitchen sink and wiped his bloody hands on his jeans. His eyes trailed around the bloody mess that was the kitchen now and Travis turned to the sink where he took the time to clean the knife he’d just used to start the disembowelment process. There wasn’t a sign of any blood on the knife once he’d finished and he used a nearby kitchen towel to hold the blade while he washed the handle thoroughly before tossing the knife on the floor in a bold display of his thoughts about the police in this town. Bethany was still just barely alive, but if she didn’t get immediate medical attention there was no chance for her. He looked down at her for a few moments, wondering if he should call or not and instead he decided to head back home. The roar of his Harley could be heard leaving the Albrecht home and pulling up in front of his house again. The weeds, overgrown trees and bushes loomed around the house in the darkness, but they were familiar shadows to Travis, so he didn’t blink twice as he walked to the front door. 

The door creaked open and slammed shut much like it had when he’d left. He didn’t head for the stairs though, instead he went into the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a beer. With blood splattered on his clothes, face and mostly still covering his hands Travis proceeded to drink down the cool, refreshing beverage right there in front of the light of the fridge. Overhead he could hear the floor creaking, giving away the fact that Lula was on her way down the stairs to investigate. It had been not even an hour since he’d left and he looked a little bit different. Sure, Travis had always been a little bit off and very few people felt comfortable being alone with him, but they had no good reason to think they wouldn’t be safe. Now things would change though. This was the first time he’d gone far enough to end a life, let alone that of his closest friend’s wife. It took a lot to shake up the man standing in front of the fridge, but as the adrenaline began to wear off he noticed his hand was trembling and he felt rather hollow. This was just the beginning of his downfall though. Travis’ darkness was clawing its way out of where it had hidden for all of his life. People had seen it deep down there at times, but now it wanted to come out to play. 

[hecohansen31]

Although he grew up overnight, Michael remains a child in his mind and flesh. His skin and hair smell like milk, he pouted when something annoyed him, he was quickly tired and needed to take a nap... with his army of stuffed animals, his friends! He is very sad after seeing Toy Story because they refuse to talk to him and very excited to meet you, his first human friend (and more!), even if you dont stop sniffing him, calling him "baby", and cuddling him (well, that doesnt really bother him)

(A/N): Hello, lovely!

Again, sorry for being late and I swear that as soon as I getr some time I am going to work onto the foursome one!

I really hope you’ll enjoy it!

WARNINGS; Young Michael, Child Regression and Age Play.

You couldn’t remember what had brought you in the infamous “Murder House”.

Certainly not the rumors, but one day you had found yourself on the stairs at the entrance of the house and Mrs Langdon had ushered you in, mumbling about how “they didn’t have many visitors”, most importantly “ definitely not pretty people like you”.

She had been remembering exactly about her wonderful past as a known actress, touching and retouching her elegant hair and make-up, meanwhile she smoked straight up in your face.

It was truly an understatement to say you hadn’t ever felt more annoyed, but everything had changed once a young boy, around your age had appeared on the stair, still sleepy and softly rubbing his eyes, as a child would do.

The entire image of softness brought a smile to your face and meanwhile Constance grimaced presenting you “her silly grandson, Michael”, you raised to your feet, meeting him halfway to gently offer our hand to him, which he looked confused and brought you in a soft hug, and there somehow you discovered that he still smelt like milk, like a baby would.

You had been surprised by Michael’s openness, but hadn’t minded it too much and had actually beamed when he had softly muttered about already liking you, inviting you to play with him in his room and you had been basically dragged onto the stair, meanwhile he laughed softly.

You had soon discovered a childish room, nothing that would have belonged to an 18 year old boy and neither to someone slightly younger as if, although Michael’s body was all grown up, he was still a baby mentally and you discovered further this, meanwhile you played with him, with his trucks and videogames.

When you had had to go back home, he had pouted obscenely, offering you also a temper tantrum that didn’t come even in the slightest closer to one an adult would make and only the promise between you and Constance of coming back for him the following day, had soothed him.

It had quickly become a routine for you to visit Michael after school or work, each day in the afternoon and stay to play with him, something similar to what a babysitter would do, cherishing the sweet boy.

Only once you had asked Constance if he had some kind of mental problem, and her answer had been a curtly “he basically grew up overnight”, which you had taken as him growing up too fast and regressing as a way to comfort him and his mood.

You honestly found his company refreshing and didn’t mind taking care of him, mostly because Michael knew how to be quiet and nice and sweet with you, becoming pretty compliant in your hand, although he would absolutely threw tantrums whenever he could.

But it would take him an hour to be exhausted and fall asleep, meanwhile you tucked in.

One day you had brought a movie to watch with him, since sadly you hadn’t been able to bring him to the cinema, since Constance had forbidden it, and you had opted for a movie afternoon with him, choosing “Toy Story”, since you knew that Michael had a pendant for cartoons.

You both enjoyed the movie and Michael even cried a bit, when Andy and Woody were reunited.

You left him after the movie, reassuring him that you had had a nice afternoon and would love to spend the following with him and when you had come the next day you had been surprised to discover Michael crouched down in his room, in front of all his stuffed animals and toys.

He seemed analyzing them skeptically and was startled by your hand being posed onto his shoulder suddenly.

“What are you doing, Michael?” you asked softly, cooing his scared state, meanwhile he brought you to move closer to him on the fluffy carpet of the moquette.

“… trying to communicate with my toys” he explained easily and you still didn’t understand what he meant, which shone on his face, because he spoke up again “… like the toys of “Toy Story””.

A small smile appeared on your face, meanwhile you couldn’t help but love the naivety that shone in Michael’s eyes, as if he truly believed into that magic, something which you only associated with children and you couldn’t help but love that characteristic.

“Oh sweetie” you didn’t want to ruin the magic, but also you realized that encouraging it wouldn’t bring anything good and tried to explain to him hat what happened in the movie wasn’t real, getting a very frustrated “why” by the curly boy “… because sweetheart, sadly toys don’t talk… that is a movie, it isn’t real”.

Michael didn’t take the news too well, looking halfway through crying and you swiftly suggested you played with the toys instead as you always did, but he seemed desperate muttering something you didn’t understand, and asked him softly to speak up.

“Then I won’t have friends to play with, like Andy!” he protested, throwing himself dramatically on the bed and you gently came behind him hugging his back softly and snuggling closer.

“Oh, but baby, you have me” you tried to console him, covering in smacking kisses till he finally gave up and snuggled closer to you.

“It’s just… I feel alone… I don’t have any friends” and before you could again remind him of your presence he simply mumbled “… but you won’t stick around fo ever and you have your own grown up things to do, during the day”.

You couldn’t help but be a bit in awe of Michael’s affection towards you, softly mouthing kisses into his back, trying to coax him to look at you, and when you did you gently brushed away his tear, kissing his red cheeks.

“Sweetie, I won’t go away, believe me” and you picked up the first toy you had found on the ground, a little shepherdess, exactly as the one that Andy had in the movie and modulating your voice higher, you mumbled “… now, won’t you play with me, Michael?”.

He giggled, although he was still a bit sad, but picked up another little toy, a little blue stuffed bear.

“… of course, Dollie”.

It was another saved day, over at the Murder House.

… but wait till Michael animated the toys with magic…

[feistypaants-archived]

False Positive [Chapter 6]

Rating: M Words: 2467 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When things don’t go according to plan and Anna finds herself alone and pregnant, she looks to her sister’s best friend, Kristoff, and almost makes a huge mistake.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: This chapter is definitely ... different. I think it works though lmao... thanks again to @kristanna and @frozenwritingcorner kiss kiss kiss kiss

Enjoy!

Anna felt the weight of her duffle bag digging into her shoulder as she stood on the side of the road, waiting desperately for Hans to show up. He said he’d be there as soon as possible, but it had been almost three hours and she couldn’t stop crying. A few of her neighbors had slowed down to look at her suspiciously, but none had stopped when they saw her red eyes, smeared makeup, and shaking body.

Finally, god finally, his silver BMW coupe pulled up beside the curb, and he rolled down his window to look at her. “Well, look at you, all dolled up.”

She knew he meant it as a joke, so she forced out a laugh, but it stung her to her core. “O-only for you,” she sang, her voice tight, before she threw her duffle into the popped trunk and climbed into the passenger seat. “Thank you.”

He pressed a kiss against her forehead before driving off. “Anytime.”

The rumble of the car lulled her to sleep. 

Until the squealing of tires and the sirens of an ambulance shot her awake, and she was sitting in the hospital with her sister, who was paler than normal and unmoving. Anna turned to face her, trying to figure out why they were back here. They couldn’t be back here… 

“Elsa?” She asked, her voice quiet and meek. Anna looked down at herself, in the same hoodie and jeans she was wearing that night. No, it couldn’t be. She refused to believe it. Panic started rising in her throat. It had been six years. Six. She wasn’t here. “Why are we… Where are… What’s…” None of her sentences would finish, tongue literally tangling behind her teeth. Until she managed to shout just one thing. “Elsa!”

Cold blue eyes darted to her, upset that she would make a scene. “Quiet, Anna.”

Anna felt a shiver race up her spine and pierce her heart. This was wrong, this was all wrong. Elsa would comfort her, right? Elsa wouldn’t treat her like this… Elsa… “Where are mama and papa?”

But her sister’s eyes were unblinking. “I said be quiet, Anna.”

“No!”

Elsa’s face stiffened, froze, and she turned calmly to face the front desk again. “Then leave.”

And the floor fell out from under her. She was falling, reaching up to her sister who wouldn’t even acknowledge her, crying out for someone, anyone, to catch her. To help her. To see that she was there.

Her back slammed against something hard, stars bursting behind her eyes as her head followed suit. It was a struggle to stand. She felt heavy, like something was weighing her down. It wasn’t until she touched the wooden handrail that she noticed she was back at her apartment. But she wasn’t, not quite, and her whole body shook as she looked through the window. Another her stood in the kitchen, hands clenched by her side as she fought back tears.

“I’m eighteen, Elsa. I’m not stupid.”

“You’re a child. And he’s… too old.”

Elsa’s own hands were wrapped around her upper arms as she closed herself off, obviously not open to discussion. 

Anna watched herself throw a tantrum, watched herself slam the plate down on the table as her voice rose, laced with frustration. “This isn’t fair, Elsa! You can’t decide who I date! You’re not mom!”

“If you don’t like it, you can go.”

“Go?”

“You’re eighteen,” her voice was full of venom, mocking. “Leave.”

She moved to wipe her cheeks, tears falling fat and heavy, when a new set of arms wrapped around her shoulders, warm and strong and comforting. 

“I’m here, whatever you need.” 

Anna turned in his embrace and tears of grief morphed into tears of joy, her arms wrapping around his waist as he tucked her under his chin. “You can stay as long as you need, okay? I’m here for you, Anna.”

Her name echoed in his voice and she breathed in his scent, a new sense of safety enveloping her.

Anna.

Anna…

Anna?

“Hey, Anna!”

She woke up with a start, gasping for air as she looked around for the source of the voice, not entirely sure where she was or how she got here… until she found her little snowman plush smushed against her pillows. A sigh of relief escaped her.

“Over here,” he laughed, waving at her from the screen of her computer. “You fell asleep.”

Anna shimmied back up her bed, laying back down in front of the camera. “Sorry. Growing a human is exhausting, apparently.”

Kristoff’s warm honey laugh came through the speakers, and she couldn’t stop the smile that stretched over her lips.

After she had confessed her big mistake, they had spent another few hours talking, making sure everything was out in the open and that they were at a good understanding and a place to move forward. Since then they had video chatted most nights when he got home from work and she was too tired to trek over there, and Anna couldn’t help but admit that talking to him was quickly becoming the best part of her day.

They had grown apart a tiny bit in the last year, but mostly because Hans wasn’t the most fond of Kristoff. He always assumed men just wanted to screw Anna and didn’t particularly like her spending time around other guys. But since he was out of the picture, it was pretty nice to have Kristoff back in this kind of capacity.

“Have you told Elsa yet?” He was folding clothes in front of the webcam, shoving up his too old and too loose glasses in between every shirt. 

“Oh you’ll know when I tell her. The whole city will freeze over because of her disappointed glare. You know the one.”

Kristoff laughed again, nodding.

“Think I can just tell her I’m getting fat?” Anna rubbed at her tummy, wondering how long it would take for everyone else to notice that she had a little person growing inside of her.

“Probably not.” He rubbed at his eye. “I think she’ll figure it out.”

Anna groaned before shoving her face into the pillows. “She’s gonna kill me. Do you remember when I started dating Hans?”

Kristoff looked up, straightening his spine. “... Yeah.”

“Sorry, I literally just was having this dream about it.” She rolled back over to look at him. “She kicked me out for dating Hans. God… she might literally kill me for getting pregnant.”

He stayed silent, and she nodded with pursed lips. “I thought so.”

“... If you need a place to stay, you know where I am.”

Anna frowned, closing her eyes. “I think I need someone else to be the dad.” She froze, before sitting up and leaning closer to the screen. “I’m sorry. I’m… I didn’t mean…” she sighed and dropped her face into her hands as a small smile pulled up one side of his mouth. “God, I can’t believe what an idiot I am.”

“How’s your foot taste.” He laughed to himself before realizing she hadn’t caught on to his joke. “... since it’s in your mouth so much.”

“You’re the worst. I cannot believe I ever had a crush on you.”

She heard him drop something before coughing. “You…” 

Anna couldn’t help but look up at him, her eyebrow cocked with confusion. 

“You had a crush on me?”

His cheeks were pink and Anna smiled, rolling her eyes with a chuckle. “Oh yeah, big time. It started when I was thirteen, and you were sixteen, I think?” She tried to ignore how cute he looked when he moved his glasses up on top of his head, his hair pushed back out of his face. “I was grounded because I failed a test.”

The memory came flooding back to her, vividly, like it had just happened.

“And you… snuck into the kitchen and got me my favorite chocolates - you know,” she gestured, leaning closer to the computer. “The ones my mom kept up on the top shelf of the cabinet so I couldn’t reach?” 

He nodded, and his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red.

“Then you sat with me at the table, and helped me study math until I got it, and gave me a piece of the chocolate as a reward each time I figured something out. It was…” she bit her lip, twirling her hair between her fingers. “It was so sweet. You were just so sweet.” Then she changed her expression and stuck her tongue out, blowing a short raspberry in his direction. “And then I got an A on every other test because I was too embarrassed about you coming anywhere near me ever again.”

Kristoff looked like he had swallowed a frog, his face bright and contorted. 

“... You okay?”

He sucked in a deep breath, before blowing it out with almost incomprehensible words. “I’lldoit.”

“What?”

“The… fake the pregnancy thing?”

“... What?”

Kristoff’s whole face had paled, and he was looking anywhere but at her. “... If you want… to pretend I’m the dad…”

Her breath quickened and she grabbed the sides of the computer to pick it up so she could sit up properly. “... What?”

“Can’t you say anything else?” He choked out, rubbing his hands down his face. “Like… not forever, okay? And not like… pretend dating. That’s… not what this is…” He was clearly doing his best to ignore her dumbstruck face. “And in the end… when Elsa is fine with it… you can do like a … paternity test or something… and just act like it was a big mistake… or… something…”

“You…” Anna was completely speechless. Was he crazy? Was he kidding? Was he… “We don’t… you …. dont…” her breathing was shallow, she was so shocked that she could barely catch her breath. “... What?”

Her stomach was churning. He was saying something else, but Anna couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in her ears. Had he just agreed to this? Was this real? Was this… no. She was still dreaming. She had to have been! There was just no way…

“So… deal?”

Anna suddenly felt bile rise in her throat and nodded as she scrambled off the bed, through the doorway as quickly as she could.

Kristoff watched her, expression shocked. But he missed the small voice come through his speakers.. “Guess the morning sickness is starting.”

And then he saw Elsa’s head peeking around the corner.

“Morning sickness?”

Ah, shit.

Kristoff slammed his computer shut as quickly as he could and stood, pacing back and forth as Sven watched him irritably from his bed. What did he just do? Did he just agree to — no, suggest that they concoct some crazy plan to appease his best friend? And then accidentally reveal the secret?! 

She could be a bit brash, but she wasn’t so unreasonable that she would abandon her pregnant sister… right? Right! 

She was a good person. Kristoff had known her for almost a decade and when she finally came out a year ago and started being her whole, true self, he noticed a difference in her. She was less angry, slower to make impulsive decisions, more caring and understanding… But god, she still scared the shit out of him. She had dropped out of law school, abandoning all her efforts so that she could focus on her art.

Which he was so, so proud of her for. He wanted her to be true to herself and do whatever made her happy.

But when it came to Hans, Elsa and Anna never, ever wound up on the same page. Which was fair, he was… the worst. But Kristoff knew he and Elsa couldn’t really have any say in what Anna chose to do with her life. And when Elsa kicked her out the first time, Anna had gone to stay with Hans for a while.

And that left Anna easily startled and even more anxious when she made mistakes than before. And Kristoff was not prepared to ever let her be in that situation again.

He swallowed his pride before opening the laptop back up and pressing the call button.

Anna picked up on the second ring, her face red and hands clasping at her stomach. 

“Hang on,” she mumbled, before returning to the screaming match with her sister.

Kristoff wondered why she even answered, but did his best not to interfere. He had seen enough of their fights to know that you just had to sit tight, stay safe, and wait for it to be over. Kind of like a blizzard.

Or a hurricane.

“Well?!” Elsa’s voice was sharp, as if all her zen, I ride magical horses into enchanted forests and paint naked fairies sitting on mushrooms hippy personality receded back into a hidden pocket. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Anna opened her mouth to speak, freezing when Kristoff’s voice came from the computer.

“It’s mine, Elsa. I, uh, did that.”

She turned on him, then, her eyes alight with rage. “You… did that? You and Anna? When!” They both hummed noncommittally as his eyes avoided both of theirs. Elsa threw her hands up with frustration. “It doesn’t matter! What… what are you planning, here? Are you even… together?”

“No!” They both rushed to answer, their eyes meeting before darting quickly apart. Anna took in a deep breath.

“It was just a… get over Hans thing. One time.” 

“And you’re keeping it?”

“Yes.”

Anna was firm and confident, Elsa was rigid with anger, and Kristoff was just doing his best to remain relatively unnoticed.

“Okay…” she took a deep breath and stood up straight again, nodding. “I’m going back to sleep.” Her words were slow and calculated, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “We will continue this discussion,” she said, looking at Anna and then at the computer screen that held Kristoff. “In the morning.”

And then she left and Anna flopped down onto the bed, and Kristoff let out a sigh of relief. 

“Well,” Anna huffed, dropping her hands hard onto the comforter. “That went just about as well as I expected it to.”

“...Yeah…” 

Anna’s breathing slowed, and Kristoff didn’t doubt she was close to dozing off again. “Well… I guess this is happening now…”

“Yup.” Her lips ended the word with a pop.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head snapped over to look at the computer. “Why?” She turned her whole body to face the same way. “It would have gone way worse if she thought it was Hans’.”

Kristoff laughed, feeling a tiny bit of tension ease from his body. “This is a mess.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Anna nodded, and she smiled up warmly at him. 

“Thank you.”

He almost couldn’t control the absurd laugh that tickled his throat.

“... Anytime.”

[mollymauk-teafleak]

A very very happy Christmas to my lovely girlfriend @spiky-lesbian, I’m so lucky to have you, I hope you like this!

------

Being a father made Vax think of his mother.

Not that he didn’t think of her often already, whenever he’d heard the song she used to sing come on the radio around Midwinter, whenever he’d need something from the back of his closet and find the scarf she nearly always wore, whenever something small and fleeting would bring the grief rushing back so hard it would turn his airways to cement and he’d choke on it for days.

But now every time he’d hold his daughters close, feel them tuck up small and rest their little heads under his chin, every time their eyes would brighten when they saw him, every time they’d look for him when something scared them, he’d think of her. Of how she’d done this for him. Of how she’d felt the same intense rush of love, the dizzying sensation of knowing you’d do anything to protect them, the ache of the impermanence of it all when it had become your oxygen.

Vax thanked the gods for her every day. Without her, the living proof that it could be done, that such a deep and desperate love could be picked up and carried around every day, he had no idea how he would have managed.

Sometimes the thread was so strong in his mind, he could feel her next to him, the warmth she’d always seemed to radiate, the smell of clean cotton and soap. He could feel her hand on his shoulder when he’d sing her namesake back to sleep, whenever she’d fuss in the night, when he’d kiss the many bumps and bruises Johanna collected as she grew up.

He could feel her hand in his hair, fingers stroking through the strands like she used to do when she could sense something on his mind, when he realised he wanted another one.

That was how Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski De Rolo IV arrived, five years after his sisters.

A second child was different to the first. It was like dancing a dance you already knew the steps to but every so often the music would get faster or slower without warning and you’d put a foot wrong. But it was no less exciting, heartbreaking, joyous and exhausting in equal measures.

Now Freddy, nicknamed that way because Vax maintained a child didn’t need a name that took longer to say than they’d been alive, was just over two. He had big blue eyes like his papa and fluffy black curls like his daddy, he was shyer than his sister Johanna but loved to follow her around devotedly and he was in love with reading as his sister Elaina, who read to him every night.

Right now he was sat on the living room rug, the afternoon sun forming a warm little puddle of gold around him, burbling an approximation of an engine noise as he rolled a toy tractor back and forth.

Vax exhaled sadly, feeling that phantom hand on his shoulder again, “He isn’t going to like it.”

“No,” Percy sounded equally defeated beside him, “But he needs them or it will just keep being a problem for him. Damn the shitty eyesight genes in my family.”

Vax nudged him with an elbow, already well aware of where his husband’s mind would be, “This isn’t your fault.”

Percy gave a grunt that was neither assent nor refusal. He anxiously passed the long, thin box from hand to hand restlessly before starting into the room.

Freddy looked up when he heard them come in, smiling his adorable gap toothed smile, “Papa! Daddy!”

“Hello there, little man,” Percy knelt on the carpet beside him, “Got your tractor?”

“Yep!” Freddy waved it in one pudgy fist, “Playing farm.”

“That’s great,” Vax smiled softly, “Can we talk to you about something?”

Freddy seemed to sense the more grown up tone in his voice, looking up curiously, giving a little nod.

They’d noticed it in small ways. How Freddy never seemed sure who was coming into the room, how as a little baby he’d sob until he was picked up, only when held close seeing that it was his dads and he didn’t have anything to worry about. How he would screw his fists against his eyes until they were red. How he seemed unable to follow things when they moved in front of his eyes.

Pike had recommended a trip to the pediatrician who’d passed them on to an optician that specialised in infants. Freddy had seen it as a fun trip, he’d got to sit in a special chair and a nice drow man had asked him to look at a few things and then given him a treat.

And now they had to convince a two year old that was already sensitive to textures and sensations to wear a pair of glasses.

“We’ve got you a present,” Vax explained, taking the box from Percy, “A present that will help you.”

At the mention of a present, Freddy got excited, “Aminals for my farm?”

“Animals,” Percy corrected, smiling, thinking privately that if this didn't go well, a whole fleet of farm animals might be in order, “And no, this is something else. Lets try them on.”

The little blue glasses came on a rubbery band to stretch around his head and keep them in place. Almost as soon as they fixed in place, tucked in amongst his curls and over his slightly pointed ears, Freddy’s face crumpled.

“Don’t like them,” he mumbled, little fingers scrabbling at them.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” Percy looked fretful, his worst fear about this coming true in front of him, “But you’ll see…”

“No,” Freddy’s voice took on that dangerous, wobbly ‘I’m about to full on tantrum and there’s no avoiding it’ quality, “No, don’t like! Gone please. Gone please!”

“Hey, little bud, its okay,” Vax said softly, seeing the panic on his face.

Percy scrambles for something positive, “Love, look. I wear glasses, see? They’re not so bad once you get used to them and then we’ll match.” He reached behind his ears and made his own delicate, gold rimmed glasses bounce in the way that never failed to make them laugh when they were babies.

But Freddy seemed past even that, his rounded cheeks flushed red, upset and angry, “No. Don’t want to, don’t want to match!���

Percy clearly tried very hard not to look wounded at that, hands dropping to his sides and leaving his glasses sitting on his nose all wrong. He tried.

Vax winced internally and gently removed the glasses, “Okay, we’ll try wearing them for little bits at a time and help you get used to them, alright?”

Freddy pouted the way only a two year old could, sinking down into an angry little stormcloud of himself. Percy tried to reach out and bring him into a cuddle but he shrugged him off, mumbling a no under his breath.

Vax took Percy’s hand, knowing his husband would break throwing himself against that particular brick wall again and again. Handing him a problem, particularly an emotional one, with no solution but to wait, was like taking away his hands. So firmly but gently, he picked Percy up off the floor and took him back through to the kitchen.

“I...I hate when this happens,” he eventually mumbled miserably, once a steaming mug of tea had been put in his hands.

“When what happens?” Vax looked over his shoulder from where he was washing the spoon, “Our kids throw tantrums every five seconds practially?”

“No,” Percy groaned, “When they suddenly grow up so a hug isn’t enough to fix their problems any more. It happens so fast, just...just when your back is turned. And suddenly it’s not enough.”

Vax felt a tug deep in his chest and the faint impression of a hand on his shoulder that wasn’t really there. Of course he understood, of course he hated it too.

“Now don’t go all maudlin and philosophical on me,” he murmured, coming over and resting his head on Percy’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist, “We knew this was going to be tricky but it’s nothing we’ve done wrong. We just have to try something new to help him.”

“Yeah…” Percy sat his mug on the counter behind him so he could throw himself into the embrace, clutching him the way he clearly needed to just for a moment.

And then Percy suddenly seemed to stiffen, like something had grabbed him. He disentangled himself and Vax saw that look in his eyes, the one he always got when he’d had an idea that would mean he’d be in his workshop for a while and reemerge probably with some new burns and cuts.

“I’ll be back in just a moment!” he gasped, heading, of course, down towards the door that had once led to the basement that was still cold, still damp, but was now his workshop.

Vax gave a bemused little laugh, shrugging and claiming Percy’s tea for his own. That happened so often he’d started adding more sugar to Percy’s drinks, enough to suit his taste rather than his husband’s.

Of course not being able to snap his fingers and fix every problem his children collected weighed on him, just like it did for Percy. Back when the girls were very young, he stressed himself to bits over every faded smile and skinned knee and bad mark on a piece of homework. But he’d learned over time, growing as his children did. That was a comforting thought; at least they were all in it together.

And eventually, as he’d hoped, there came the padding of small feet and a red eyed little Freddy appeared in the doorway, clutching his tractor.

“Hi daddy,” he cheeped, a little sadly.

“Hello, little buddy,” Vax smiled, holding out an arm so Freddy could waddle closer and rest his head against his daddy’s knee, like he loved to do, “Feeling better?”

“Mm,” he felt a little nod, “Don’t like them, daddy.”

Vax didn’t have to ask what he meant, “I know, Freddy, I know. I’d never ask if it wasn’t really important but they really will help you. Can you be a big, brave boy for me and try to make it work?”

“Girls don’t have to,” Freddy mumbled bitterly.

“Yeah,” Vax sighed, knowing the unfairness of that would be hard to explain, “Your eyes just need a little help. Like daddy’s.”

Freddy made a frustrated little noise, “Don’t look like daddy’s. Stupid glasses.”

“Now where did you learn to curse like that, little man?” Vax had to laugh, his righteous anger was just too adorable.

Thankfully, he was saved from having to explain what curses were by Percy crashing back into the kitchen, looking a little haggard, like he’d been moving at a hundred miles an hour for a good while.

“Freddy!” the mania melted off his face when he saw his son, “Look what I made!”

Freddy looked delightedly curious, he loved to see what his papa made in his workshop, “Something for me?”

“Kind of,” Percy knelt down and smiled hopefully.

What was in his hands was what clearly used to be his spare pair of glasses. But now they looked very different. A large, thick strip of leather had been hastily attached to them with metal clasps, in place of the usual arms, sized perfectly so it would fit around Percy’s head.

In short, a perfect approximation of Freddy’s glasses, made for an adult.

Percy whipped off his usual pair and attached his new, modified ones, fitting them to his head. Vax had to swallow hard so any sobs that would very much ruin the moment stayed firmly in his throat.

Freddy’s eyes were wide and delighted, “We...we match!”

“Yeah,” Percy’s face split into a wide grin, “We match, love.”

If there was anyone who was good at finding new solutions, interesting ways around problems, it was his husband, Vax thought proudly. He felt that phantom hand on his shoulder squeeze and he smiled softly.

He didn’t have his mother anymore. But he had Percy, and that was everything.