#i hate tossing and turning i do it for like 2 hours its not fair

[sunflowercandie]

I love sleep I love everything about it. Sleep is so good it's amazing all the blankets and pillows nothing can compare nothing is better than sleeping

Hate going to bed tho icky nasty

[kazscrows]

Crooked Kingdom Reread

Chapter 2: Wylan

The first Wylan chapter!

Wylan’s very first thought:

What am I doing here?

That thought had run through Wylan’s head at least six times a day since he’d met Kaz Brekker. But on a night like this, a night when they were “working,” it rose and fell in his head like a nervous tenor practicing his scales: WhatamIdoingherewhatamIdoingherewhatamIdoinghere.

#relatable

Wylan watched Kaz deal another hand to Smeet, Jesper, and the other players at the round table. He wore the same sky-blue staff jacket as Wylan and his hands were bare. Wylan had to fight not to stare at them.

Imagining Kaz wearing that jacket is funny

I mean.. they have little clouds on them!

I should draw him in it

Kaz’s hands moved as if they’d been made for no other purpose than to manipulate cards…

Trickster hands…

…long white fingers flexing in easy rhythm, the shuffle precise, each turn economical. Kaz had claimed he could control any deck.

Wylan is fascinated by Kaz’s hands and you know what? That’s fair.

Me too

Wylan knew Nina could handle just about any man and any situation, but he didn’t think she should have to sit half-dressed in a drafty gambling parlor, perched on some leering lawyer’s lap. At the very least, she was probably going to catch cold.

Wylan is worried she’ll catch a cold that’s so cute 🥺

Matthias probably isn’t in the room because he’d just have steam shooting from his ears the whole four hours

And he might kill Smeet over how he’s eyeing Nina

Smeet grinned, clearly pleased. “This is nothing compared to managing a business.”

“I can’t imagine how you do that either.”

“Sometimes I don’t know myself,” Smeet said on a sigh. “It’s been a hard week. One of my clerks never came back from his holiday, and that meant I was stuck shorthanded.”

Hate to break it to you, but that clerk is definitely not coming back

Jesper rose and reached for his guns. Wylan clutched the bottle of champagne in his hands as the other players pushed back from the table, ready to grab their own weapons or dive for cover. But all Jesper did was unsling his gun belt. Gently, he laid the revolvers on the table, fingers brushing over their high-gloss ridges with care.

Poor Jesper

He’s offering up his children

…what was Jesper thinking? He loved those guns. He might as well cut off his own hand and throw it into the pot.

See? Wylan gets it

But it’s alright it’s all part of Kaz’s plan (sort of)

He tossed Wylan a cape and mask, the trappings of the Gray Imp, one of the characters of the Komedie Brute. “Let’s go.”

“Me?”

“No, the idiot behind you.”

HA

Poor Wylan constantly getting teased and mocked

Kaz rarely used his cane when they were roaming parts of the city where he might be recognized. But despite his lopsided gait, Wylan had to jog to keep up with him.

Kaz’s disability never made him weak

He’s probably also pushing through the pain because everything they’re doing is for Inej

“How is—”

“Nina is fine. Jesper is fine. Everyone is fine except for me because I’m stuck with a gang of hand-wringing nursemaids. Keep a watch.”

BAHAHAHA

Here’s Matthias

I love how Kaz knew he was going to ask after Nina

And I love how he is just so done with everyone being worrywarts

“hand-wringing nursemaids”

They’re like: Now Kaz, dear.. are you sure this will work? Is this even… safe?

He’s over it and very stressed

I love Kaz

They should have some faith in him though!

Kaz blew again, lips pursing in time with the pattern of a new command. The dogs quieted and flopped to the floor with a disgruntled whine. one even rolled over on its back.

“Now why can’t people be this easily trained?” Kaz murmured as he crouched to oblige the dog with a belly rub, black-gloved fingers smoothing the short fur.

I’m cackling

And of course the classic Kaz stops heist to pet dog scene™️

Wylan could still hear the clerk screaming as Kaz dangled him by the ankles from the top of the Hanraat Point Lighthouse. I’m a good man, he’d shouted. I’m a good man. They were the last words he’d spoken. If he’d talked less, he might have lived.

Oh I forgot Wylan witnessed this!

I started to think this was a memory Kaz had, but it was actually Wylan recounting it

And I told you that clerk was never coming back from holiday

He’s super dead

Jan Van Eck has a printing press under Wylan’s name…

This man feels me with rage

“I’m slowing you down,” he said.

Kaz flipped open another sheaf of documents. “I knew exactly how long this would take. What was your mother’s family name?

I love how Kaz just immediately proves his thought wrong

Kaz planned on needing more time to peruse the files by himself

He knew Wylan would be helpful in finding out the names things were under. He brought him along for that, not as an extra pair of eyes to read

Our thoughts can lie to us

Wait.. wait.. Wylan just said that his mom “died” when he was eight-

Wylan is.. he’s sixteen now!

You’re telling me Jan Van Eck just hid Wylan’s mom from him for eight years—

Oh my gosh—

He couldn’t go to her funeral because there was no body- She’s still alive-

“…Why do you guys say that, anyway? No mourners, no funerals? Why not just say good luck or be safe?”

“We like to keep our expectations low.”

I’ve always thought this was kind of funny

I got excited when Wylan asked this question in the show, but then Inej answered him instead of Kaz and I remember being like:

“Yay he said the thing!! And Inej.. said the other… thing ..?”

I was confused at first and then later a little disappointed because… I don’t really think it’s something Inej would say?

It just hit different than having Kaz say it

Like honestly it was kind of depressing instead of mildly humorous

It’s a little depressing when Kaz says it too but…

For a second I thought they had actually changed the answer, but really I had just forgotten Kaz was supposed to say it

Like “Huh.. that seemed wrong I guess they altered it a little”

But the quote wasn’t wrong the person was—

And this is now a very long rant for two short lines of dialogue—

Has more bullet points than my entire Joost chapter review. RIP Joost—

But it bugged me in the show okay??

Kaz never yelled the way Wylan’s father did, but Wylan had learned to listen for that low note, that bit of black harmony that crept into Kaz’s tone when things were about to get dangerous.

I’ve always loved imagining Kaz’s voice and I love how Wylan explains how it gets more dangerous sounding here

Kaz isn’t really a yeller. He doesn’t need to be loud to scare people

“…he’s been making donations to the Church of Saint Hilde for the last eight years. If you want to pay your respects to your mother, that’s probably the place to start.”

Wylan stared at Kaz dumbly in the shadowy room. He’d never heard of the Church of Saint Hilde. And he’d never known Dirtyhands to share any bit of information that wouldn’t serve him.

He’s in such disbelief that Kaz would just tell him something out of.. can this be called kindness?.. Yeah, I think so.. maybe

Does Kaz have ulterior motives for this? I honestly can’t remember…

Regardless, Kaz really does care for his own. His Crows

Oh Wylan was so sure Kaz would just kill Smeet’s daughter…

I mean he’s thinking about the lighthouse incident again

Kaz had held him by his ankles and the clerk had wet himself, screaming and begging for mercy before he’d finally given up Smeet’s whistle commands. Kaz had been about to reel him back up when the clerk had started offering things: money, bank account numbers for Smeet’s clients, and then—I’ve got information on one of the girls at the Menagerie, the Zemeni.

Kaz had paused. What do you have on her?

Wylan had heard it then, that low, dangerous note of warning. But the clerk didn’t know Kaz, didn’t recognize the change in the rough scrape of his voice. He thought he’d found a wedge, something Kaz wanted.

…

Slowly, Kaz began to let the man’s legs slide through his grasp. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Knowing someone holds your life in his hands. The clerk’s voice rose another octave as he realized his mistake. She’s just a working girl, he screamed. She knows the score! I’m a good man. I’m a good man!

There are no good men in Ketterdam, Kaz said. The climate doesn’t agree with them. And then he’d simply let go.

Kaz was actually so insane for this

Insanely hot—

But in all seriousness. Kaz doesn’t just kill people. Especially children

He was about to let this man go free right up until he realized just how rotten and disgusting of a person he was

We’ve all seen the memes that are like “Kaz is okay with murderers , but he draws the line at disrespecting women”

And we stan

Well.. I don’t actually condone murder that actually is super bad-

Don’t kill people— but…

This is just a book—

Don’t include almost the entire chapter challenge go—

Annnd I failed immediately

Kaz squat down so he could look the little girl in the eye. “What’s this big fellow’s name?” Kaz said, laying a hand on the dog’s wrinkled neck.

“This is Maestro Spots.”

“Is that so?”

“He has a very fine howl. Da lets me name all the puppies.”

“Is Maestro Spots your favorite?” asked Kaz.

She appeared to think, then shook her head.

“I like Duke Addam Von Silverhaunch best, then Fuzzmuzzle, then Maestro Spots.”

“That’s good to know, Hanna.”

Her mouth opened into a little O. “How do you know my name?”

“I know all children’s names.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes. Albert who lives next door and Gertrude on Ammberstraat. I live under their beds and in the backs of the closets.”

“I knew it,” the girl breathed, fear and triumph in her voice. “Mama said there was nothing there, but I knew it.” She cocked her head to one side. “You don’t look like a monster.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Hanna. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Now the little girl’s lip trembled. “Did you come to eat me? Da says monsters eat children who don’t go to bed when they’re told.”

“They do. But I won’t. Not tonight. If you do two things for me.” His voice was calm, almost hypnotic. It had the coarse rasp of an over-rosined bow. “First, you must crawl into bed. And second, you must never tell anyone you’ve seen us, especially your da.” He leaned forward and gave Hanna’s braid a playful tug. “Because if you do, I’ll slit your mother’s throat and then your father’s, and then I’ll cut out the hearts of all these sweet slobbering hounds. I shall save Duke Silverhaunch for last so that you will know it’s all your fault.” The little girl’s face was as white as the lace on the neck of her nightgown, her eyes wide and bright as new moons. “Do you understand?” She nodded frantically, chin wobbling. “Now, now, no tears. Monsters see tears and it only whets their appetites. Off to bed with you, and take that useless Maestro Spots along too.”

Kaz is the boogeyman confirmed

“When she was gone, Wylan slipped out from behind the door and followed Kaz down the steps. “How could you say something like that to her? She’s just a child.”

“We were all just children once.”

“But—”

“It was that or snap her neck and make it look like she fell down the stairs, Wylan. I think I showed remarkable restraint. Move.”

I probably didn’t need to include this entire scene, but it’s always been a favorite of mine

Kaz is so scary here

And yet- he’s almost playful too

If he hadn’t threatened to kill her parents at the end it’s a mostly silly conversation

Matthias gave a high birdcall from the other end of the street. Kaz glanced at his watch and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it wildly. “Right on time.”

They rounded the corner and slammed directly into Cornelis Smeet.

Previous | Next

[hizashiiis]

Bakusquad + “Why are you awake” Part Two

PART ONE HERE

So here’s part two! Fun fact, the song Jirou plays you in her part is actually a song I wrote! I didn’t include any of the lyrics though because its lowkey really cheesy :/

I hope you like this! This one is for Sero, Mina, and Jirou.

Warnings: insomnia, depression kinda

Sero Hanta

- Sero is very much a hypocrite when it comes to getting enough sleep

- He’s constantly up at all hours, even sending you random texts if he can’t sleep

- But when you aren’t going to bed at a normal time?

- He’s so sad

- He looks like you kicked his puppy and then him in rapid succession. 

- It’s crazy because he seems to just instinctively know when you’re awake

- Like he bolts up in his bed all, “they ain’t in bed. I’m abt to beat some ass.”

- He’s never sure if he’s right though, so he texts you a meme he made specifically for you being up too late

- It’s probably really cheesy and outdated, but the effort is there

- If you respond to it (because you will) he knocks on the wall between your dorms and talks to you 

- Often, you both just stay up like that

Sero’s body is awake before his mind, moving him to sit up in bed before he can think. He was having a really intense dream; something about talking mice. He didn’t mind it, but he woke up as if he’d had a nightmare. 

Faintly, from the wall beside him, he can hear low music playing, but he can’t make out what song it is. It’s coming from your room, though, so he’s concerned. 

The sky outside is dark, clouds drifting across his windowed view of the moon. It must be pretty late; all the noise is gone, leaving nothing but static air, and the music. He leans over his bed to look at the time on his phone. It’s around 2 am. The song you’re playing ends, and he recognizes the next one. It’s on your sad playlist. 

He sends you the meme, as well as an invitation for a hug as soon as it’s morning. You respond almost instantly, assuring him that you’re fine, you just couldn’t sleep. But he knows you better than that. 

Knocking on the wall between you, he hears the music stop suddenly. He calls out to your wall. 

“Mi amor? What’s keeping you awake?” He’s met with silence for a moment before your shaky voice responds.

“I’m okay. I just kinda got hit with some sad, y’know?” He does know. He knows that this happens sometimes. It happens to him, too. But he hates hearing your voice sound so lost. You almost sound hopeless, and he can’t bear it. 

“I understand.” He places his hand up to the wall, wishing he could hold you. Unfortunately, you had both been told off by Iida for sleeping in each other’s rooms more than enough times lately, so he couldn’t just go see you. He opts instead for hugging a stuffed giraffe you had gotten him after the Sports Festival. 

“Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?” He asks, stroking the giraffe’s head as if it’s your hair, not knowing that on the other side of the wall, you’re holding a stuffed lion the same way. 

“Distract me?” Your voice comes out only just loud enough for him to hear you, but he understands. He begins to tell you a story. He’s told it before. It’s about a great hero, one who fights crime valiantly, and his partner, also a fantastic hero. He ad-libs parts of it, making pretend villains say silly slogans, and recounting how the heroes save the day. 

As he reaches the end, he hears you giggle a bit. “Oh? Did it work? Are you smiling over there, my sweet?” He calls to you, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“A little bit.” You respond, playing with your stuffed animal. “If you keep talking, maybe I’ll even smile more.”

He laughs, eyes bleary with sleep, but happy to talk to you the whole night.

Mina Ashido

- Honestly, she’s no better than you about staying awake

- She tries to sleep, but her thoughts are always racing

- Sometimes it’s thoughts of you, sometimes of new things she wants to try in training, or things she wants to see if she can convince her friends to do

- But she wants you to get adequate rest, even if it’s hard for her to do the same

- She used to get told off for sneaking to your room every night, but then Momo and Iida saw how much better you were performing in school on the days after she’d been there, and they started letting it slide

- It’s nicer for her, too, because she has someone to ramble to as the two of you fall asleep

Mina skipped down the hallway toward your room. It was a bit past midnight, and usually, you would be asleep by this time. It was well past lights out, and classes had run long that day, not to mention the endless exams that were happening at UA right now. So when she reached your door, she was surprised to find you watching a movie on your phone instead of snoring. 

“Hey bug! Why are you still up, don’t you know what time it is?” She says, throwing a grin your way as she puts her blanket down next to you. 

You shrug, yawning. “I could ask you the same thing, love.” She pouts at that, tossing her arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.

She watches you watching your show for a few minutes before saying anything. It looks good, she supposes, but she has a better idea of what to watch. “Scoot over.” She pushes you lightly, giggling as you scrunch to the side to give her more room. “Do you wanna watch something with me?” She asks, holding up her phone. 

You look at her for a moment. “That is what we are currently doing, is it not?” You hold up your phone in return, showing her the paused screen. 

“But I have a better movie!” She insists, unlocking her screen and shoving it above yours so that you can see her pick. She’s right, it is a better movie. You guys have watched the entire Studio Ghibli filmography, but even you know that her favorite, “When Marnie was There,” is the better option at this particular moment. 

You toss your phone to the side, pulling her in to lay next to you. “Fair enough, bubs, I guess yours is better.” You feign reluctance, watching her excitedly press play and tuck the blanket in around the both of you. Her arm curls tighter around your shoulders, and she giggles as the opening credits start. 

“Hey Minari?” You use her favorite nickname, looking at her through hooded, sleepy eyes. She hums in response. “Why is this one your favorite?”

Hearing the question, she pauses the movie, turning to look right at you. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking about her answer. “I guess because they remind me of us! Like I’m Marnie, and you’re Anna, and we’re having this great adventure together!” You feel your face heat at her words, thinking about the movie more critically now. Mina continues, “It’s like…” she pauses, finding the right words. “Like Anna is learning how her friendship with Marnie can make her feel more right, as a person. And I feel like that about you!” 

You’re tearing up now, unsure how to respond. Mina is so many things, and being with you is that important to her? It’s a new feeling, but certainly a welcome one. You pull her down, giving her a kiss. And then another kiss. And one on her nose. 

“Press play, Mina.”

Kyoka Jirou

- Lol u think she sleeps?

- She does, but not at night

- Were it not for classes, Jirou would be essentially nocturnal

- So you try to remind her to go to sleep

- Sometimes you’ll walk past her dorm at night, and you hear her guitar, softly playing her favorite songs

- Before you got together, sometimes you would sit outside her door and listen to her play

- Not in a creepy way, there’s just a little common area right outside her room and you like took a book there, you weren’t like ooh it’s late i think i’ll sit outside someone’s room and listen to them

- You aren’t Mineta. 

- But anyway

- Now that you are together, Jirou thinks it’s really sweet that you listen to her play

- Sometimes she leaves her door cracked open so you can come in

It’s 4 o’clock in the morning, and the light is on in Jirou’s room. You had come out to go to the bathroom, but you noticed her guitar, and decided to stay. The soft strumming is pretty, and you’re glad to be one of the few people allowed to hear it. 

Opening Jirou’s door just a bit more, you nod toward her desk chair in a silent question. She nods, so you go sit down. 

She’s playing a song you don’t recognize, and the lyrics are sad. Even still, it’s beautiful, and your eyes seem to naturally close, taking in the melody of her voice. She used to tell you her voice wasn’t anything special, but she seems content now to let you listen. 

The guitar resonates with the last few chords, and the ending note is held for three beats. When she’s finished, Jirou opens her eyes and looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.

“It was beautiful. Did you write that?” You ask her, your hands fidgeting with the urge to hold her own. She nods, but doesn’t say anything. 

You don’t acknowledge the sad theme of the song. She’s told you before that sometimes sad songs are easier than happy ones. That the melody is clearer. You don’t mind. All her songs are beautiful, and they reflect her in them, and isn’t that what makes a piece of art?

“I have another one, if you’d like to hear it?” She looks nervous; something you never see on her.

“I’d love to!” Your exclamation seems to snap her out of the anxiety in her eyes, which narrow a little. 

“Just…” She starts, looking away from you to adjust the capo on her instrument. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Confused, you nod, and she starts playing. 

The song starts out with a few chords repeating in a loop, and then she begins to sing. The lyrics are confusing to you at first, and you still aren’t sure why she’s told you not to freak out. But then she gets to the chorus, and it begins to make more sense. 

Lyrics, in essence, are a poem, and this one is a love poem. Her thoughts, written out, are so sweet and loving, that you’re sure you don’t know what to think. She sings elegantly, like someone who’s never known how to dance, and yet is waltzing perfectly across a shining floor. 

She finishes the song with a declaration of loyalty, and you realize your eyes are watering. She looks at you, waiting for your thoughts. 

You say nothing. You don’t know how to say anything, so you stand, cross to her, and pull her into a hug. She’s not usually one for physical touch, but she holds you tightly. 

“It’s about me, right?” You laugh, leaving a kiss on her calloused fingers. She rolls her eyes. 

“Obviously.”

She smiles at you, pulling you to lay on her bed as she puts her guitar in its case, taking the capo off the strings. “You should sleep. It’s like, morning now.”

“You should too.” You retort, still holding her hand. 

“No.”

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

---

Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”   

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions. 

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

 Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

[everafterkeiji]

Song: Getting Over You by Lauv

Summary: Unexpected things happen all the time but meeting him was one of the best parts of it.

Pairings: Atsumu Miya x gn!reader

Word count: 7.1k

Tags, Genre: implied enemies to semi lovers! trope, slight angst, curse words, timeskip! Atsumu

A/N: pls i didn't intend to change it last minute but pls let me know if u liked it cuz im still having second thoughts <3

“No- I’m sorry.” Atsumu says as you felt your heart snap and break into two distant pieces. You already limited your expectations but there was a miniature amount of hope that you held onto and that was when you should’ve lost your grip.

“It’s fine, ‘Tsumu.”

It obviously wasn’t. No matter how loud the cries of your heart were, what mattered to you in this moment was to forget it ever happened- to run away and never face another failed trial of love. Atsumu can see past your smile and he hated the way it had to end in a way he avoided. There would be a time where his feelings would be up to confrontation but when it finally happened, he’d became a coward.

He was late to realize what the outcomes could lead to. How certain was he that your paths would meet again? How was he sure that he can revert this scenario in a better way that he wanted when you were losing your hold onto him?

“I have to go but it was nice knowing you, Miya.” Your lips were tugged in a weak smile while he questions why his body lacked the power to move but what resumes to play in his mind was the way his name escaped your lips like it was a curse to say it.

Turning your heel, there was an ache in Atsumu’s head. Was it regret? His decisions tied in knots? His emotions unable to declutter themselves? Hesitantly, he reaches for you. His hand wrapped around yours as you glanced down on his soft skin you used to despise to get near to.

His eyes told you stories that were hard to decipher all at once. His stories didn’t start with a setting, it started and ended with you, not a single page where you weren’t there but it seems like the chapters you had in your own story were being torn off to erase the traces of false hope.

“Y/N, I'm so sorry.” He whispers while you felt his hand tighten to make sure that you could stay- even if it lasted for a minute because he wasn’t sure fate could spare you two another moment.

But then, you softly removed his hold on you while the cold sweat runs down his forehead.

“It’s okay, ‘Tsumu. We were just never meant for each other.”

We could’ve been.

-

“Thank you for your time.” You bid the player as both bow each other as a way of manner. You gathered your bag as the athlete turns to you with a kind smile.

“I enjoyed the interview. I’m impressed at how prepared and professional you are. How long have you been doing this?” He asks, adjusting his outfit while you toss your bag on your shoulder with your camera slung around your neck.

“There was a journalism club back in my high school and I joined in ever since I was a first year.”

“You’re in college now?”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles at your formality while he gives a pat to your shoulder.

“That’s good to hear. Goodluck with everything- I believe that you’ve got bright things ahead of you.” Your heart fluttered at the compliment while you bid your goodbyes. You step out of the hotel feeling the satisfaction hit you like a prize. The report can finally be simplified into a few more subtle fixes and maybe by 1am, you’d be able to present it to your professor without doubting your work.

Sighing happily, you decided to reward yourself to a lovely lunch with a view you often visited due to a reminiscent feeling that bubbles in your system. After ordering, you sat outside admiring the way the sun sets and leaves a lasting beauty before the moon shows.

The stress was fading from you. You had expected that the project would’ve taken weeks for you to finish knowing that some retired athletes usually avoid questions to why they left the sport they used to love. You had called a few, a struck of confidence was enough to make you do so but they often cancel your request because they either paid attention to your young age or because they weren’t ready to be asked such personal questions about them. You were lucky to score and interview with a well-known athlete whose had his fair share of the spotlight during his early 20’s. Sadly, his retirement was due to an accident and his weak body levels couldn’t bare the adrenaline of the sport. He was kind, patient, and understanding. Ever since he agreed, your attention was on the questions you’d lay upon him seeing that this was an opportunity you can’t waste. After gathering some of his past glories, you narrowed down your interrogation on what remains important to benefit the topic of your project. You were more than proud because of the compliment he had given you and the fact that you might be able to catch a break after a hectic week.

Opening your camera and flicking through the photos to decide on which you were going to use. Suddenly, a photo meets your sight. The peak of blonde and gray hair with a uniform that you missed.

The Inarizaki Volleyball Team.

Most especially, him.

A few years has passed since you’ve seen him and his brother. Osamu’s last interaction with you was filled with nothing but sweet memories and a hug that you could never forget the warmth of, while Atsumu’s last memory with you remained bittersweet- like a sour flavor in his tongue that never left. You tried too hard to forget fragments of your time with him but because of how much work you put yourself through, you lost time to reflect on the moments that didn’t hurt.

Half of your high school life was compressed into confusing parts of your story.

But the chapter that seems to be the most influential part of it, was where you got to meet the blonde who has stomped on your heart.

It was funny to be remembered as a person who had the guts to sneeze during the great Miya setters serve.

“Achoo!”

You immediately cover your face with your handkerchief as your sneeze echoed through the gym making Atsumu’s hand lose its power because he was stunned by the sound, the ball hitting the net instead as he almost hits Aran who was wide eyed that ball went his way. The team could hear Osamu’s ‘uh-oh’ and it was enough for them to know what the setter feels after the unfortunate event.

Atsumu grits his teeth as the other team cheers knowing they got the score while his head jolts to the crowd, aggressively searching for the one who messed up his serve. Even eyeing his fans who got scared by the way he turned his head in their direction.

Meanwhile, you’ve got glares surrounding you as your friend nudges you, letting out an exhale of disbelief that you’ve got death stares.

“We’ll get the next point ‘Tsumu, don’t worry.” Osamu says landing a hand to his brothers' shoulder while Atsumu readies himself for the serve of the opposite team.

“Whatever.”

After that certain match, Atsumu was more than determined to hunt down whoever caused the flunk of his serve. Silly as it is, he’s never heard someone dare to speak during his serve. He’d always let out a hand signal for them to be quiet- let it be known that if someone spoke, he’d be fine with it but a whole sneeze? He’d never let it go, especially when it resonated in his ears.

So, imagine the look on his face when he hears the exact same sound when he was just stopping by his locker.

“Fucking dust.” You said sniffling as you closed the door to your locker, and you were face to face with a wide-eyed Miya Atsumu holding out his finger and pointing it to you, as if he was accusing you of murder.

“It’s you!” He shouts making you raise your eyebrow at him, but the raise of his voice had intimidated you.

“What?” You asked him, not finding a single clue on whatever he was pertaining to.

“You messed up my serve by sneezing.” He says in the tone of ‘as-a-matter-of-fact’ making you lick your lips, a hand to your hip as you looked at him.

“I’m not apologizing for something I can’t control.” You were completely baffled by this man. Sure, you were his classmate, but this was your first year and you barely cared to take notice of all of them, only focusing on your school group that had you busy.

“You could’ve held it for like 2 more seconds at least.” You blinked before letting out a tired exhale as you eye him up and down. The setter of the school's volleyball team, you were aware of that because of how many matches you’ve been dragged to, but he’s never come up to you before.

This was a whole other introduction.

“Miya, right?” You asked him as he steps forward, looking down on you with a sly smirk.

“I guess I’m sorry.”

Atsumu stays silent for a few seconds but returns to his angry pout as he continues to stare at you.

“What’s your name?” Atsumu asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Y/N.”

From thereon, it looked like your life’s plot had spiked up. Atsumu was- you could call it as a miscalculation. Someone so loud and had his ego constantly fed was not someone you would stick around due to your strict schedule of balancing schoolwork and papers from your club. It was like a bump in the road wherein the objects in your car would’ve been juggled around because of the impact- that's what it felt like. Thinking that two years would’ve passed by like a breeze, time slowed down with him. The constant bickering and arguments were embedded in you like a tattoo. The way his cackle would echo through your ears when he’d struck a nerve to you, the way he’d purposely call you nicknames you swore you hated, to the same jokes can be dragged on for hours, and how every fiber of your body promised you’d leave when you’ve had enough.

But promises were always broken.

You stuck around and he did too. Atsumu provided you with his trust and company whenever you needed it. It’s a pleasant experience but it surely wasn’t at its best. What comes with it were headaches and harsh words but having a person who knew you until graduation and stayed was a different reason. He was a familiar, a person who isn’t a call away when you needed it but being in their presence would give you a pinch of comfort.

Maybe the only thing you can thank Atsumu for is getting to know his twin brother.

You accidentally sent a text to Osamu about you panicking about a missing file to be passed the following day and Osamu was up and ready to help you locate it. After finding it, you decided to treat him for being a life saver and he of course, was having the time of his life for the free food- it was also his favorite restaurant at that moment. During this time, you’ve got to talk more about each other. Months pass now Osamu and you were way better friends than you and his brother.

You and Osamus’ bond were the type that was just so serene, hardly any type of judgement when you’d bring up a problem, and all secrets were kept tight.

Osamu was the shoulder you can lean on, while Atsumu’s would shove your head away when you do so.

Your friendship drifted away when Atsumu stabbed your heart with the words “No.” and “I’m sorry.” You hesitated that day, to dial Osamu’s phone the way you used to, but it never happened. Your sobs muffled your voice and if you called him, he’d never understand a word that you’d say.

The opposite is that Osamu would understand everything.

Because you and Atsumu mirrored the same amount of pain.

He’d never seen his brother so- ruined. Atsumu’s thin walls didn’t shield his shouts of sorrow while Osamu withstood every bit of the torture show his brother had. Checking him on the next day, the setter was fast asleep with bags under his eyes and a red nose, clutching onto his pillow so tightly.

Osamu knew that day that the damage has been done and not a single band aid would mend the two shattered hearts.

-

Atsumu strolls to the around looking for a restaurant along with his teammates. The sun has fully set making the streets of Japan light up with how busy and crowded they were. Bokuto and Hinata were busy pointing at stands that had their favorite slabs of meat while Sakusa trails behind them with a mask, wanting to be removed from the push of people. As the eyes of the blonde land on a certain stand with multiple notes stuck onto a board, he smiles fondly. He then sees two kids running with smiles on their lips as they held each other's hand, obviously excited to explore the night.

“Come on, don’t be a wuss.” Atsumu says as you rolled your eyes and thought hard about his hand that was held out in front of you. Atsumu grunts before taking your hand in his before you could even decide properly. You followed his lead as he walked you through the sea of people. You were nervous that he had left practice to accompany you. Observing you from afar, you looked devastated, but you continued the rest of the day with a smile like nothing happened. Seeing that you looked dull talking to Karou, he pulled you away from whatever void of sadness you surrounded yourself in.

“Atsumu shouldn’t you be at practice?” You asked sighing, still with his hand in yours as you stopped by a stand.

“I should be but whatever that Karou did is obviously hurting you, you idiot.” Your eyes widened at his statement and this reaction confirmed his suspicions as anger forms inside of him. What could that boy have done to get you this upset? Did he physically hurt you? Atsumu hated how he cared- it wasn’t his business to meddle with but the frown on your lips was something he wanted to remove from you.

“Thank you.” You muttered as he buys you the same thing he ordered. He sees how you weren’t as colorless as before. The lights of the night brought saturation to your features as his eyes adored every feature of yours.

“It’s nothing.”

“Atsumu-san?” Hinata asks, tapping the boy on the shoulder while the blonde awakens from his escape.

Atsumu looks around once more, seeing that there wasn’t a trace of you, he moves on.

Like he was supposed to do in the first place.

-

“For our new assignment, why don’t we take the vice versa of your last project. Retirement is inescapable but why not find the reason they’d got into the sport. What makes it so exhilarating and unforgettable? That will be our topic this week. I’m giving you a week for interviews, photos, and articles. Video format is more suited for this task. Is that clear?” You all nodded as you wrote down the list of possible athletes to meet, jotting down an outline of some key points to remember.

“A tip for you all: look for the younger generations. It doesn’t matter to me what status the athlete stands in right now, it could be a friend or even a child. What I’m looking for the depths of the details in your research.” The professor stands making all of you bid him goodbye as he walks out of the room. You gathered your notebooks, sighing that you won’t have the time to properly rest- an exam was near right at the submission of your new task. You realized that you needed to sort out the things you were required to do before everything would pile up and get tangled in the short amount of time.

Who should I interview? God, everyone is so busy at this season. You thought. It’s true- you realized that matches were always lined up by this month. You also had classes to attend to and your mind could collapse at any given moment. You were more than worried about organizing your time properly but the feeling that you’d have several sleepless nights haunts you. You wished he could have extended the submission- though it didn’t get any better since after exams you tended to be drained from studying all night.

Going back to your apartment, you decided to put sticky notes all over your wall to help you sort out your priorities. Tomorrow would be Saturday meaning that you’ve done all the works to be passed on Monday and that you had zero meetings or classes. Saturday and Sunday would be divided to work parts, by Monday you should be up and running to work again.

You couldn’t let go of this group. It had given you countless of opportunities- even an offering to be an editor at a well-known magazine agency. You were in queue for the letter, so you decided to continue with the tasks of the group. You were thankful that you got used to the craziness of it all. The ability to multitask, to put the phone down once in a while, managing your time, those were just one of the benefits of getting used to it. The things you hated was that you barely had time for yourself. To lounge and just do nothing never met with what you were doing. You envied how some people from your group would plan some hang outs during a busy week and you always questioned how they managed to do it all without panicking.

You yawned as you felt your stomach growl at the scent of the delicious street food. Seeing that you fell short on money because the amount that was in your wallet was enough for your way home, it meant you’d have to wait to eat dinner until you came home. Letting out a groan you decided to walk your way even if you get shoved. God, you were starving and exhausted. The emotions were starting to fill you the more you moved. It didn’t help that everyone was so loud. You could hear the sound of the cackles from the drunken men in the corner, the cries of the baby that brought irritation to your eardrums and even the off-key singing of a (possibly) drunk girl at karaoke. You just wanted to cover your ears and crawl back to your bed not caring if you’d only be able to get 2 or 3 hours of sleep.

As you walked, you felt a boiling pile of liquid drip to your stomach making you let out a yelp as your clothes were drenched in the coffee stain that you despised. The liquid got to your skin making you wince at just how it impacted on your skin. You felt your eyes water as the woman tried to pat away the drink but instead made it worse because you wanted the fabric to be away from you as possible- which was the opposite of what she was doing.

“Oh my god- I'm so sorry.” She kept saying while patting your abdomen while you tried to wave her off, but she kept going making the tears flow from your eyes as you chose to walk away, covering your face at how humiliated you were. You sobbed in your hands as you bumped into someone before removing them from your face to find a bench to sit on but seeing that people were already turning their heads to look at you, you’ve had enough already.

Finally finding your bus stop, you sat down burying your face in the palm of your hands sobbing as your mind replays how you’ve made a fool out of yourself for the last time. Everything was going terribly and you didn’t know how to control it without losing your cool. Sure, you’ve managed to escape the people but the feeling is still badly glued to you.

“Is everything okay?”

Someone asks but the voice became a blur to you because you were so focused on your sobs and the unstable breathing.

“Go away.” You whispered but there was a weight added to your left side as you kept your face hidden behind your hands.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” The man says looking down before standing up to leave the bench, making you intake in a sharp exhale, relieved he left.

“Why does everything have to be so fucking difficult? How am I gonna interview a volleyball player at this state?” You rambled on thinking that guy has exited your business and was free from companion.

“I mean- we’re not close- but I’m a volleyball player?”

You wiped your eyes as your heart started to run a mile now that you’ve familiarized yourself with his voice.

Lifting your head, there in front of you was the one thing that your heart had wished to see.

“Atsumu?”

His eyes widen as his chest expands, his heart growing ten times bigger than it was while it beats like a drum on heavy metal song.

“Y/N- I didn’t know- wow.” Breathless, speechless, weak- those were the words that defined your emotions. You wanted to pass out- to act like you just mistaken him for a person but he was real and you had a hard time believing it.

“Atsumu?" God, he missed it. The way his name would fall of those taunting lips of yours. The tone in your voice leading him back to the memories that he couldn’t push away.

You had to believe it. There was no other way that your starvation can make you this delusional. You called his name like you were unsure that he was ever real- like a character your brain had developed to cope with your sorrows. You dared to touch him, maybe if you did it would be a wisp of air but you were scared that if you reached out to him, you could feel his skin and remember how you wanted it to be within your grasp all the time.

Perhaps it’s a dream but this time you’d never want to wake up if this was the only way you can be together.

“Y/N..I- how are you?” How could he manage to act so civil? Your presence shocked him like electricity in his veins, pumping his heart at an unusual speed. His voice was unsteady and low, experiencing the same thoughts like you.

It’s like he was dragged back to your last encounter. Seeing your eyes filled with so much agony and how you looked so torn from his rejection, it’s the same look that you had now. It’s like his eyes were playing a risky game with him but he couldn’t complain since he’s been wanting to see you ever since you let go.

“Well, I’m burned-out that’s for sure.” You said with a light chuckle as he sits back down, wondering if it’d be alright to be close to you.

“What’s this interview about?” He asks, fiddling with the strings of his jacket while you tore your eyes away from him because you knew the admiration for him would erupt anytime soon.

“What got athletes into the sport in the first place.” Atsumu places his finger under his chin, thinking deeply about what offer he just made.

It’d mean that he could be in the same room with you for more than the hours he spent crying to himself but why waste the chance? You needed it- heck you wouldn’t be this distraught if you weren’t so affected by it. There was a never-ending list of things to do but meeting with Atsumu wasn’t even in your list of expectations because you were over with hoping into something that takes a miracle.

But he is the miracle.

“Atsumu..I don’t want you to see me like this.” You said, looking down on your hands that were on your lap, letting your hair fall in front of you to avoid his concerned gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen you in years, this is not what I planned to look like when I first see you.” Atsumu feels his heart frown at how low you spoke of yourself, but he understood. If you saw him in the state that you were in right now, he too would feel like he could’ve done or look better, even at least handle the situation without crumbling apart.

He knew you were in a troubled place of your mind but he just wonders where you could talk about why everything fell apart.

He missed the way it was casual to talk to you. Maybe an insult as a greeting, or a flick to the arm but he never expected to talk to you with his heart dropping in your hands. He just couldn’t forget the way you’d let him go that day during graduation, it’s almost like the sensation was still lingering around his palm even if he held a ball.

He just wished he said yes, only then, you’d be meant for each other.

“Do you mean it?” You asked sighing, not baring the weight of his silence. The pace of his heart quickens as he starts to worry if this was the confrontation that he held back all these years.

“The interview.” He was more than glad to do it. He was thankful that you weren’t talking about the bad memories or the circle of tension you two were in.

He looks at you while another strike was given to his heart seeing you this way. He’d do everything to bring back the color in your features.

“Of course.”

You smiled at his words as you both stand up but you felt conscious about the stain that was still stuck to your shirt making you desperately try to hide it by pulling your bag to the messed up section. Atsumu didn’t know that the person he had followed was the same person that got coffee dipped down on them. He didn’t recognize you at first because you had your hands covering your cries. He was worried for you when you ran off but when he knew it was you, he couldn’t believe if it was luck or a granted wish.

“Just wear this.” He says, handing you placing his jacket on your shoulders as your heart flutters at how he looked at you, completely filled with sincerity and the way his hand stayed on your shoulder.

“What the fuck do you want?” He asks you with a knife-like stare, purposely bumping harshly into you.

“Wow Miya, I was just walking.” You said returning the same fuel that he had.

“Then get out of my way then.”

“Thank you.” You said smiling lightly. He catches a glimpse of your smile and he feels his world light up at the sight of it.

I missed you.

“So where to?” He asks as you walk beside him just like old times. His height still intimidating you but it was still difficult to believe that this was the same Atsumu you had fallen for in high school.

“My apartment. We missed the bus so I hope it’s okay for you to wait.”

“I can always drive us there.” You’ve never whipped your head faster than this moment. You always trusted Osamu when he said that Atsumu couldn’t be a better driver than his own brother because Atsumu liked to rev up the engine like one of those scenes in a movie.

With the thought in your mind, you laughed.

Atsumu stops walking as he lets himself dwell at the sound of it.

Then there was a smile that he couldn’t contain.

“Sorry for laughing, ‘Tsumu. Never pictured you to have a car earlier than ‘Samu that’s all.” You explained as he chuckles, continuing to be beside you, a place that he finds himself to be the happiest.

“Yeah yeah I get it- I’m a little careless but not all the time y’know?” He says while he leads the way. The breeze felt comfortable now, it had a tweak of coldness but maybe it was just the atmosphere of you two.

When you walked to his car and told him your address, there was another silence but you tried to tell yourself that this was just Atsumu. Nothing to be worried about because you’ve known him for too long to act like all distant.

This is Atsumu- that's every reason that there is to feel nervous around him.

“How long have you been living there?” He asks while you started to feel just how badly you wanted to give in to sleepiness. You shifted once in a while to control yourself from falling asleep in his damn car. Every urge to just lay quiet for a while but you knew this would lead to a deep slumber.

“Ever since graduation.” You answered, annoyed that his jacket was inviting you to lay there and sleep away your stress though you were scared that once you wake up- Atsumu would be gone again.

“And you didn’t call to tell me about it?” He jokes but the chuckle that he expected never came because he knew just how awkward it’d be if you actually called just for that sole reason. Atsumu bites his lip at his failed attempt to drag the conversation on.

Then you giggled.

“I wanted to but I wouldn’t wanna bother the famous MSBY player.” You said smiling at him, proud that he continued on. You knew from Osamu of course, a single update when he had mentioned how well his restaurant had become, you also saw them in a poster once, even recognizing a few of his past opponents.

“Well, it would be a shame.”

There you are.

You finally arrived at your apartment and again you felt the slice of satisfaction as you removed your shoes and placed them on the table. You were partly thankful that your apartment was clean since you never have the time to spend a whole day in it only coming home late at night. Atsumu looks around as you prepare him a drink and a few snacks-it'd be rude not to.

Atsumu sees the photos where you won several awards for your loyalty and hardwork at your club. He sees how time passes and you grew into a version of you that he finds even more flawless then before. Your equipment and how everything was organized on your desk, he knew how much things changed because he used to see you doubt yourself every time you’d finish a paper but now you won awards because of them.

“Atsumu, is it alright if I shower real fast?” You asked while he raises a brow at you confused that you had to ask for his permission.

“Of course, Y/N- you didn’t have to ask.” He said chuckling while he sits on the couch, letting his eyes wonder around.

“I promise I’ll be back.”

“Please don’t rush yourself. Take yer time. “ He says while you smile at him before dashing to your room to gather new clothes, feeling like you’ve won a lottery with how happy you were to remove the coffee drenched top, tossing it to your laundry bin while you step into the shower enjoying the way the water decorated your skin, cleansing it from all the worries. While Atsumu scrolls on his phone to ease himself from the anxiousness. His finger would casually glide over Osamu’s phone number, to ask him what to do.

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower like a whole new person. You saw the way Atsumu’s eyes lit up when you walked in but you pushed the thought away. He pats the seat next to him while you grabbed your notebook and pen, ready to scribble down the questions.

“Are there any uncomfortable questions you’d want to avoid?” You asked him while he shakes his head while you took note of the possible questions.

“Is it okay for the interview to be filmed?” He nodded while you leaned onto the pillow, sighing happily at how you’ve managed to calm down from the pile of embarrassment earlier.

“Thank you for doing this, ‘Tsumu- really you don’t know how much I appreciate you for this.” You said leaning your cheek on the side of the couch as Atsumu copies your actions staring at you lovingly.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He says smiling while you returned to write a list of questions for him. With every time you look down on your notebook, Atsumu’s eyes never left you while his mind recalls every moment where he msised the opportunity to tell you just how beautiful you were.

Soon, you’ve fallen asleep while he lets the feeling sink in.

I’ve never wanted to hold you more than I do now.

He sighs before placing the blanket on your body while he kneels down and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, his finger tracing your cheek.

“You’ll never know how much I missed you.” He whispers while you shifted in your sleep meeting his face. Before he stands up, he feels you reach for him while he’s left surprise at your touch.

“Stay please.” You whispered while he smiles weakly, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I always will.”

-

The morning comes and you felt the blush creep on your cheeks remembering how easily you felt asleep. You wondered if Atsumu stayed, if he left- you couldn’t really blame him. So yawning and stretching when you woke up, you certainly didn’t expect to see Atsumu cooking you some breakfast. You couldn’t even move your legs, every part of you has gone stiff just admiring the way he moves.

“Hey, good morning.” He greets with a wave, a spatula in his hand, a bright smile tugged on his lips.

“Atsumu- oh god I’m so sorry.” You said as you went to him. You caught a whiff of what he was cooking and you swore you could’ve drooled knowing you didn’t even got the chance to eat dinner. Atsumu knew that of course so he called Osamu up in the morning to serve you the best breakfast he could ever make. He was initially supposed to make you dinner but you fell asleep before he could do it so this was his rebound.

“Idiot, it’s fine. Just sit down on the table and I’ll prepare the food.”

“Atsumu-“

“Just go, Y/N. I promise it’s okay- you deserve to rest before you work again.” You couldn’t even think properly with his words. It was so minimum but it was something you’d forget to do- rest. Hearing him remind you that sets a new feeling in your system. You did obey him though, you sat on the table as he even handed you coffee for him and you, placing the breakfast on the table. God, he was everything. You thought that after a few years, you two would completely drift apart but it seems like you were wrong for the hundredth time.

“Please don’t even think about ways to thank me, it’s nothing to me. “ He says taking the seat next to you while you place the food on his plate. You couldn’t even utter a word at how grateful you were for him and he’d be happy to get used to seeing you first thing in the morning.

“Atsumu, after breakfast can we have a run down of the questions first?” You asked him, growing more comfortable.

“Yeah sure.”

-

You sat on the couch, placing your camera on the table aligning it to the best possible angle as Atsumu sits down in front of you. You had your notebook on your lap as he praises how you looked so professional even if it was just a practice.

“Ready?” You asked while he nods with a smile as you pressed the camera to shoot so you could keep your composure, even if you struggled to.

“What does the sport mean to you?” You asked him, your eyes glimmering with the suns rays hitting it perfectly, while the words were removed from Atsumus mind. Seeing his hesitation, you decided to reassure him.

“It’s fine if you can’t answer straight away. I can always change the question if you like.” You commented, smiling at him to make sure he doesn’t feel rushed to answer. He nods, still not finding the exact same words to describe what he wanted to say.

“I’ll change the question for now.” You said while he let’s out a sigh before listening to you once again.

“What was the biggest struggle in your career?” He sends you a worried stare but his mind nearly bursts at his answer.

“Getting over you.”

You dropped your pen on the couch as Atsumu continued to speak since this was the answer his heart was sure of responding to.

“I tried to forget- I did. For every year that passes, the more fucking harder it gets to act like I didn’t love you back when you walked away.”

“Atsumu-“

“I know I said no- I was too late to realize how stupid I was to be scared of falling for you. I couldn’t let myself be the man who could love you when all this time I tried to hate you because I knew I would hurt you- and I already did.”

We get hurt a lot but it doesn’t mean I won’t come back to you.

Love grew and died during your second year at Inarizaki.

Before Atsumu, you found Karou. A boy who was a new recruit to your group whose helped you multiple times and has shared a conversation with you about your similar likes. There was this strange infatuation with him that even Osamu had to question how deep was the bite of love on you. You’ve fallen, of course. Occasionally leaving notes on his desk to just let him know how he made your day but it never worked. He would only paste the note on another persons desk like it was nothing. Not even getting the reaction you wanted, it felt too normal when it shouldn’t be. Realizing how this was just rejection in the shadows, you gave up. Obviously heart broken at the mere thought of how your chances were blown away. When Atsumu saw how gloomy you were that day, he had to show you how much you didn’t need Karou and there grew a different bond between the both of you.

And with a bond like that, you became attached to him.

It was all becoming clearer and clearer as you realized that you fell for the wrong person first.

“You’re too stupid to fall for a douche like him. “ He says kicking the rock that was in front of him.

“You’re lucky with that admirer of yours, Miya. I’ve never seen someone stick around you for so long.” You teased. It’s true the half of the twin hearthrob has gotten himself a sincere admire. It wasn’t one of his crazy fans- this was a person who genuinely cared for him and the words on every note he received would make the poor boy blush uncontrollably and you envied how he’s yet to realize that he too was falling for this unknown person.

While you two were oblivious to the slip up of the universe, it took a toll on you.

Because the notes you’d leave on Karous desk, always ended up on Atsumu’s instead.

“I wanna meet them so bad. Just to see if they actually care and it’s not a prank. They haven’t given me a note and it’s been what a month? I doubt it was ever real.”

“With the amount of effort they gave, I’m sure it was real.”

It’s real for me even if it shouldn’t be.

There wasn’t any other way then to accept the feelings that stayed on your skin. The moments where you thought that being around Atsumu would bring you stressful banters and more, it turned into butterflies that surrounded your room. You chose to deny it at first but remembering that graduation and good-byes were near, you had to tell him at some point.

And when you did, you poured your heart out and not even a single drop was caught.

“Last words before I forget your dumbass?” He taunts while you felt your sweat drip down the side of your forehead as you couldn’t control it anymore. You wondered if there was a simple word to describe just how much you adored him without turning it into a whole speech. This was it- you had to do it or else you’d end up being stuck on the feeling of loving him.

“I..like you Atsumu and I can’t say good-bye without telling you.”

Then there was the awful silence that he gave making you clutch onto your shirt, preparing you for the worst.

But by the way he looked so terrified and frozen, you knew.

“Atsumu?”

“No- I’m sorry.”

“And I don’t know what I’d do if I let you leave again.” He whispers as he leans closer to you, taking your hands in his while your ability to speak has been taken away by how gentle he was as his thumb caresses your hand and a look that looked so fragile.

He takes his hand and cups your cheek, pulling you close to him as his vulnerability increases.

“Do you feel the same too?” He was being so careful because a wrong choice of a word could make it all fall apart again and you could feel how tense he was but he holds you like a gem- something so beautiful that it’d cost him his life if he ever dropped you.

Your hand lands on the same hand that was on your cheek while Atsumu’s eyes widen remembering how you neglected to hold his hand before.

But it stayed.

Closing your eyes and melting in his touch, you spoke.

“I never stopped loving you, Atsumu.”

He lets his forehead rest on yours, a smile on his lips, who was soon to be on yours.

“Then be mine all over again.”

[notasdriedapricots]

19: 9 hours for Liz and Lucas for June prompts x

I'M HERE. July is almost over, but I'm here. This turned into a monster and I am so sorry. There's probably so much I could cut, and it's poorly resolved, and the prompt got very lost in the way, BUT it's something.

As always, thank you Iris for sending these, even if I take forever to get to them. From this list. 2200 words because I am a monster. I am so sorry. Also there is a musical part in this one, so if you can play that it'd be cool :D Okay, bye!

9 hours

Liz stopped playing when she heard the front door open and then close. She looked at the guest room's door with a smile, waiting for it to open next. Nothing.

"Lucas?"

No response. She checked her watch; in the middle of practicing a particularly hard passage she'd lost track of time, and of the fact that he should have gotten home over an hour ago. An hour ago even if he had taken the extra shift and forgotten to tell her. After leaving the bow on the table and setting the cello on its stand, she peaked into the living room. Empty. No white lab coat on the hanger next to the door, like he always left it when he was back. I'm about to get murdered, aren't I?

"Lucas?" she tried again.

His voice, muffled and lower than usual, reached her from the couch. "Here."

Liz found him lying on his stomach, face burrowed into a pillow and hands linked over the back of his neck, with the lab coat still on. Everything screamed 'hard day'. She leaned over the back of the couch, worry behind her eyes, and rubbed a hand softly up and down his spine. He sighed to her touch, the gesture reminding him to relax his muscles.

"Everything okay?"

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on his surroundings: the flat, the couch, her hand on his back. His shift – what had turned into a 9-hour shift, breaks not included – was over, and he was no longer at the clinic. It didn't smell like alcohol and disinfectant, but like fresh flowers and coffee. He was home, with Liz.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," he sighed. "Hi." He freed one hand and reached behind him to grab hers.

She leaned down to kiss it, and he squeezed back in response. Liz bit her lip, pondering whether or not she should push further. "Bad day?" she risked, brushing his knuckles with her thumb.

"Could have been better."

She bit her lip again; that was enough of an answer to not dig any deeper. Her other hand raked his hair softly and Lucas suddenly felt his shoulders relax, unaware of how much tension he'd been holding there. He moved his hand away so hers could run down to his nape, letting out a low grunt when she squeezed; even she knew those muscles shouldn't be that stiff.

"You shouldn't be taking extra shifts when you've been so tired." There wasn't a trace of reproach in her voice, just soft concern.

"It wasn't that." She stayed silent, waiting for him to continue if he wanted to; giving him an out if he didn't. "I… I thought I was discharging a long-time patient today and… I thought wrong. We thought wrong."

Liz didn't know what to do. He'd been coming home so happy from work for weeks, seeing him suddenly this down completely threw her off. He was used to her shutting down when she was nervous about work, but it was the first time she was the one on that side of the situation. What do you need? What can I do? She debated whether to leave him alone or not. Maybe that's why he didn't come find me when he got home? But leaving while he needed her was unthinkable, she wouldn't risk it; if he wanted to be alone, he would tell her.

Lucas felt her let go of his hand and lightly tug at the collar of his coat. "Off."

She tossed it over a nearby armchair and sat astray his hips, and he got out of his head for just a second, long enough to raise a curious eyebrow to himself before his mind was flooded again with that morning's events. She leaned forward to plant a kiss on his neck, and when she felt him let out his deepest sigh yet, she knew she was doing the right thing; he didn't want to be alone. Another kiss landed behind his ear, before she sat up again.

"He got injured over the weekend and half the progress he'd made…" he started. Her hands slid under his scrubs and pressed onto his lower back, slowly but firmly, with both force and care, working their way up as she tried to recall how he did this when they were in opposite places. He rewarded her with a low grunt as he rolled his shoulders back. Ah, god bless you, Liz. "I don't know which one of us was more heartbroken, if I'm honest. He worked so hard for months…"

Liz felt a weight in her chest, a weight she assumed was only a fraction of the one in his. "You'll get back there."

Frustration slipped into his tone. "Yeah, but we were supposed to be there already…" With another deep breath, his voice turned pensive. "It's odd sometimes. Working a job where your biggest reward is to stop seeing your patients? Hoping you never see their face again unless you're crossing paths during a run in the park? I was gonna miss him, but realising I wouldn't need to for at least another two months…"

The defeat in his voice made it clear which patient he was talking about. A young man, a boy, that he always mentioned as one of his favourites. A teenager that had been in a very bad accident where he'd lost his dad, so that on top of his physical recovery was dealing with an even bigger emotional one. Of course he'd stayed back late, taken the extra shift probably to bring him back and work out a new plan moving forward. And of course you're still thinking about it.

"Shit happens, love." She felt him breathe in to respond. "I know. I know that doesn't help. But…" She looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head as her hands pressed between his shoulder blades. "You've always said it's rarely a straight road. And this is no one's fault."

"It's just that I… I'd never had something like this happen before. I'd heard professors talk about it over and over again, telling us to be ready for it, to expect it, but in five years it had never… actually happened."

To you. It had never happened to you. "Lucas, this is not your fault."

"I know that. I know, but…" His voice died. He'd been fighting that thought all day, only managing to do so because there was another bigger, much more bothering and heavy one.

She waited for him to continue. He didn't. "But?"

Another moment of silence. "It's not fair."

Liz sighed and stopped her hands, fighting back sudden tears. He'd never sounded so exhausted, so defeated, so unlike him. She had never hated this much that job of his that she so deeply loved. She threaded her arms under his, grabbing onto the front of his shoulders as she leaned forward again, letting all of her weight fall onto his back, trying to somehow protect him from his own thoughts.

He welcomed the pressure of her body on his. Okay, I get weighed blankets now. Again, he focused his attention on his surroundings, on her, the warmth of her body, the lingering hints of her perfume, her breath on his skin when she nuzzled under his jaw and then kissed his neck, long and soft. Her temple rested against his.

"I'm sorry, love," she whispered.

Her lips found his cheek and he turned his head to meet her mouth. It was sweet, calm, and soothing; a kiss that tried to convince him that 'it will be okay, you can still get there, you will get there'. He managed to turn onto his back, and wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. He brushed the back of his fingers on her cheek.

"Thank you, darling. I'm okay. Just tired."

She looked into his eyes and could tell he was lying, downplaying it. A frown crossed her forehead and she cradled his face in both hands.

"Stop it. Don't doubt yourself." If I'd managed to work faster this injury wouldn't have been a problem. She gave him a warning look. "Stop. I can't stand it."

"Maybe you should get another boyfriend, then."

She sat up. "Oh, you mean one that at least doubts himself over the right things?"

"Hold on, what is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry, love, but there is such a thing as 'too much gel', you know?"

"I haven't used gel since we got out of the Villa, what are you-?" He smiled despite himself. "Oh, I see. That almost worked. Thanks for trying, though."

The playful look she'd managed to put on vanished. Okay. Big guns. "Floor."

"Excuse me?"

"Get on the floor. On your back."

"Darling, you're gonna hurt your knees…"

She slapped his chest, both holding back small smiles. "Har-har. I mean it. If even I can tell your back is messed up, it's because it's really messed up. Floor." She got off him and walked away towards the bedrooms.

Lucas sighed and complied, kicking off his shoes before lying on the floor with his ankles crossed on the couch, hands on his stomach. He closed his eyes. Why? Why did I have to play it safe instead of pushing him a bit further? I could have, he could have made progress much quicker and save… maybe 3 weeks? At least 2. And we wouldn't be here. Fuck, Sam, I'm sorry. He remembered the kid hugging him, apologizing to him for not being careful enough. 'You're the one back on crutches, what are you apologizing to me for?', he'd answered, trying to hide his own sadness to not bring the kid down even more. But truth was, he'd never felt more useless.

He heard a chair set next to him, and then Liz started to pluck strings on her cello. When the bow finally pulled the warm sounds he'd grown to adore, goosebumps instantly covered his entire body. He needed to make a joke or he was certain he would start to tear up, so he opened his eyes and looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Really, Liz? Cyndi Lauper-?" She shut him up with a kick without missing a beat.

And so he closed his eyes again and followed the melody as it flowed through his body, seeming to relax the last tense muscles while his thoughts started to slow down. Things started to fall into place and seem – at least a little – less dramatic, for some reason. We will work through it. It will be okay. We will get back to that point. The goosebumps never left his skin, and he almost shivered every time the sound got specially high or low. Damn, you're amazing…

Of course Liz hadn't just chosen any song to play for him, but one with a chorus that would say something. She couldn't do anything to solve his problem. She couldn't even do anything to help him with it. But what she could do, what she would do, was be there for him; to play for him, or give him what were probably underwhelming massages compared to his, or whatever he needed… But she would always be there. If she had to play a cheesy 80s ballad to get her point across, so be it.

Lucas kept getting lost in the sound of an old melody turned into something familiar and foreign at the same time; the strange part was that he'd never expected to hear 'Time after time' played on a cello, but the known one was that it was Liz playing it. She finished the song and silence filled the flat again. Lucas sighed deeply, a small smile playing on his lips. The corners of his eyes burned.

"How the fuck do you do that? It's just metal and wood."

"And almost 20 years of training," she allowed herself to joke at the sight of him visibly more relaxed. "And, you know, my soul."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. I love you so much. "That must be it."

The corner of her lip twitched into a brief half smile before concern returned. "Lucas it's-"

"Gonna be okay. I know. Shit happens." He offered his hand and she rested the cello on an armchair before lying down on the floor next to him and setting her head on his chest. He kissed her hair. "It's nice to know that you'll be waiting to catch me when I fall, though."

She snorted a laugh and hugged him tighter. "Time After Time."

"Okay, that is a cheesy line."

"It is. But I Will Always Love You."

They were both grinning now. "Oh, thank god. This will be an Endless Love, then. I promise I'm Never Gonna Give You Up."

She let out a loud laugh. Just when I thought I couldn't love a sound more than you playing the cello… "Never gonna let me down?"

"Never gonna run around and desert you."

"Good." She sat up and pressed a finger to his chest. "Now go take a shower and then we'll see what happens if I put Careless Whisper on, shall we?"

[carllisle]

In honour of @notquitetwilight ’s birthday, here is the latest instalment of the Cullanos prequel, the famous incident involving Esme, Carlisle’s second wife, and a motorcycle-shaped pizza slicer. 

For those who have missed the instalments so far, see below: 

The Second Mrs Cullano - Carlisle’s wedding to Wife 2

A Taste of Boston Part I - Carlisle and Wife 3 Esme take business with the daughter they are newly reunited with to Boston

A Taste of Boston Part II - Carlisle and Esme take on a hit job while their daughter Rosalie gets to grips with this new lifestyle 

More content can be found on @notquitetwilight ‘s blog under the tag the-cullanos and on my blog @carllisle under the tag the-cullanos. 

This instalment has content warning for sex (not explicit) and violence. Don’t get us wrong, this is still shitposting. But at this point we are really, really invested. Shout to @stregoni-benefici and @carlislesscarf who are screaming in the back of the clown car that me and Juliet are steering. 

The Second Wife and the Pizza Slicer

Esme liked the rain. She liked how the streetlights reflected in the water on the pavement, the neon colours lighting up her path. It didn’t lighten her black mood. The sound of her stiletto steps were lost in the rain as she marched down the street like she owned it. Half of it she did own, not that the IRS needed to know that. There was only one shopfront she was interested in tonight, though. Ahead, the pizzeria stood dark and empty, unassuming and inconspicuous wedged between a barbers’ shop, and a meat deli. Convenient for the pizzeria to have one of their suppliers next door. Those shops were closed too but that was to be expected; it was after 1am. 

Her heart raced in anticipation as she walked through the darkness. Between the buildings was a small alleyway and she slipped down it. At the back door of the pizzeria was Tony, the long-time security guard who took most night shifts on the property, and Esme forced a smiled at him. “Hey handsome. They leave you out here without an umbrella?” 

He grinned at her, rain dripping down his bald head and onto his coat. “I left it on the subway on my way in.” 

“Carl not give you a lift?” Tony lived practically on Carlisle’s route into the pizzeria and he often picked him up when they both had to come in. Tony glanced at the sleek Mercedes that was hidden at the back of the alley and shook his head. “The mrs came in with him today.” 

The mrs. Snakes writhed in her stomach. She couldn’t bite back her spite and it wiped the smile off her face. “Is the cunt with him now?” 

“Nah. She left ‘bout an hour after they arrived. Carlisle helped them out in the kitchen tonight and she didn’t much like being left alone.” 

“Heaven fuckin forbid she make herself useful. She’s only meant to be four months pregnant, ain’t she? Not exactly time for her confinement.” 

Tony’s smile faltered. “Something like that. You got any weapons on ya?” 

Esme frowned. “What if I say no? Ya gonna pat me down?” 

“No. Won’t let you in, though. You’re always packin’.” 

“You got me there.” Esme opened her coat, taking out her two handguns - white and inlaid with mother-of-pearl - and handing them over. Tony raised his eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. Knives were taken out of each shoe along with the two throwing-stars strapped to her thigh. 

“Is that everything?” 

“You know I don’t need weapons to kill him, right? I could kill him with my bare hands.” 

“I know.” He hid her weapons in his coat carefully. “But you won’t. So I don’t worry.” 

Fury rippled through her and her eyes went wide for a moment, but he held her gaze and she let out a hard breath through her nose. He was right. “You’ve worked for us too fuckin long. You can read me too well.” But her hard face broke and she gave him a genuine, albeit brief, grin. Anger had only flared in her because he was too right. “Here,” she gave him her umbrella. “You need this more than me.” 

Tony smiled. “Thanks, Esme. In ya go.” And he pressed his thumb to the scanner on the door and let it swing open. 

She lightly punched him on the shoulder as she passed, and waited for the door to close before making her way down the corridor. Ahead were the stairs to Carlisle’s office and she ran up them quickly, anger creeping back. It had been months since she had been here last. Since Mrs Cullano announced to the world her pregnancy, actually. Esme had cut off all contact with Carlisle that day. He had broken her goddamn heart and sadness hadn’t yet set in. She was still a raging fire and she was ready to burn down anyone who came too close. But when he had called her sounding unhinged and told her to meet her here, she couldn’t tell him no, cause she knew that tone he had - it was the same one he had had when, six months ago, they had been told that ten million had gone missing. Esme had recovered it from the 15-year-old hacking prodigy who had stolen it before adding her to the payroll, but before that Carlisle had been enraged and dangerous and he needed her to hold him back. Something bad had happened. 

“Carlisle?” The door to his office was unlocked but he wasn’t inside and it was dark. On the far side of the room was a wall of bookshelves and she quickly crossed to it and pulled on one book - The Godfather by Mario Puzo - and the bookshelf swung open like a door. Carlisle had always joked how cool he thought secret doorways were and they both thought the choice of book to be the secret lever was funny. It felt like a million years ago. It felt like yesterday. Behind it was another corridor and a metal spiral staircase that led down to the final door - that only opened one way - into the restaurant below. No one was allowed to use this but Carlisle and Esme, not even Mrs Cullano. Her heels clacked on the iron and her fur coat dragged out behind her. She tossed it aside on one of the booths close to the kitchen and she caught sight of her reflection in the windows. No, I don’t want to seduce my ex boyfriend, she had told herself earlier, but her wardrobe choice said otherwise. She wore the red satin dress he had bought her for his second wedding, backless save for chains of diamonds and clinging to every curve she had, and the ring he had bought her as a sign of their commitment still kept its place on her right hand. She looked away, embarrassed at how long it had taken her to make her hair so sleek and soft, or how long it had taken to slap on her face. It was exactly how she had looked at his wedding, like she wanted to punish him for marrying that bitch. 

“Carlisle?” 

“Kitchen,” came his reply. 

She strutted through the kitchen door and tried to keep her breathing under control. After not seeing him for so long, the sight of him was overwhelming. Carlisle stood at the salad bar chopping lettuce. On the counter behind him was a fresh pizza, the slicer forgotten next to it. 

“You didn’t sound right on the phone.” 

“I ain’t right.” He looked up at her and his eyes went wide. “Oh God, Es. You look…” 

“Whaddya want?” 

His jaw clenched. “It’s her.” 

“Her?” Esme heard the spite in that one word. “Your baby bank?” 

Carlisle turned to toss the knife he was using into the sink. “Don’t call her that.” 

“What? You don’t want me calling her what she is?” 

“She ain’t.” 

Esme laughed bitterly. “She got your baby in her, ain’t she? The fuck else you want me to call her? Yummy mommy? Mother of your child? Gimme a fuckin break.” 

“Es-”

“No, don’t! You called me out here in a fuckin storm to help with your marital problems? Get outta here!”

“Es-”

“I don’t wanna hear it! You dragged me out here in the middle of the fuckin night to tell me you got problems with your cunt of a wife? The one you knocked up who’s now shouting from every fuckin rooftop that Carlisle Cullano came in her! God, it makes me sick.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with-”

“Shut up!” Esme stared at him across the kitchen. It was hard not to cry. It felt like her heart was breaking. When she had heard that Mrs Cullano was pregnant it felt like her world was collapsing. In the month and a half since then everything had gone black and white but that was what it was always like without her other half, just empty. Carlisle put colour into the world. 

“Weeks without contact and this is how we’re gonna start, huh?” His words weren’t gentle. He looked wounded. “Not even a ‘hello’?”

Esme sucked her teeth. “Hi.” 

Carlisle laughed humourlessly. “So we’ll cut the bullshit, will we? Right to it? Where the fuck have you been?” 

“On vacation.” 

“Where?” 

“Nowhere in particular. Just needed a break.”

“From what, Es? Me? What’s got you so bothered?” 

“Your kid, Carlisle! She’s having your fuckin baby!” Esme’s shout came short and furious and she threw a plate at the far wall. It smashed loudly. “D’ya know what that’s doin to me?”

He stared at her across the kitchen, mouth open and eyes wide. He looked angry. “Ain’t that what you wanted for me? To have a wife and kids, cause you knew it’s what I wanted? I did what you told me.” 

Esme threw her hands into the air. “Yeah, and?” 

“I’m not a fuckin mind reader!” He slammed his fists on the metal worktop, his voice getting louder. “‘I want you to have a wife and a family’, that’s what you said to me on the morning of my fucking wedding! I asked you to marry me on the day of my fucking wedding to her! And you turned me down again! I did what you told me to do and now you’re fucking punishing me! How’s that fair?” 

Blond hair fell into his eyes like it did when they fucked. His face was red like it was then too. Esme saw the pain in his face, the anger that matched her own. “You shoulda known.” 

“You didn’t even know. I can’t read minds and I can’t see the future and I can’t feel how you’re feelin unless you tell me!”

“Alright.” Esme stormed over to him and slammed her hand on the counter next to his. She raised her chin in a challenge. “I hate her. I hate her perfect face, her perfect fuckin body, every strand of hair on that empty fuckin head. I hate that you chose her.” 

“I didn’t!” He seemed to tower over her but she stood her ground. “I chose you! I choose you every goddamn time! But you don’t ever choose me! Do you know how many times you broken my heart?”

If it was half the number of times she had broken her own heart, Esme was sorry. She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was impossible to talk about right now. “You gonna tell me why you’re calling me out here sounding like that?” 

It looked like Carlisle wanted to shout again and his hands balled into fists either side of his salad.. “She ain’t pregnant, and if she was it wouldn’t be mine. Probably my cousin Renato’s.” 

That pulled Esme up short. There was too much to unpack. “Whaddya talkin about?” 

“She been fuckin him. For months, Es. Maybe a year.”

“Renato? But why? He looks so much like you but he’s got half the braincells and twice the idiocy. Why’s she fuckin a Dollar Tree version of you?” 

“Cause I weren’t gettin her pregnant.” He dropped his gaze. 

Esme blinked, trying to process it. Her lash extensions were heavy and made her vision go funny, so she fixed her gaze on Carlisle’s face instead. “How’d you find out about them?” 

“She kept sneaking off so I had her followed. Got plenty of photos proving it. I’ve seen way more of Renato than I’m comfortable confessing to Father Thomas, but at least he looks like me. Guess it’s kinda like watching my clone fuck my wife.” 

“That ain’t right. And why the fuck would she lie about being pregnant?” Esme’s hands were trembling. 

He sighed. “She knows I don’t love her and I think she knows I wanna leave but she would miss the money, ya know? So she wants a way to keep me tied to her.” 

Esme’s anger was bubbling beneath the surface. She hated that bitch more than ever for making Carlisle look like that. “How did ya find out about the faked pregnancy?” 

“Medical records are kept online now. Your little hacker found hers. Two weeks ago she had a negative pregnancy test at her doctors’, and another one twelve weeks ago. There was never a fuckin baby.” 

“That lying cunt. Why’d you think it’s your cousin’s if there had been one, anyway? Ain’t you hittin it raw?” 

“Yeah. But… I can’t have kids.” 

“We had one. Or did you forget?” 

Carlisle grabbed Esme’s wrist and roughly pulled her closer. “I think about her every day, Es. Every goddamn day, just like I think about you.”

“Don’t.” She tried to pull away half-heartedly, her voice angry. “I can’t.” He ran his fingers through her hair and she stumbled closer until their bodies were pressed together. Knowing the wife wasn’t pregnant had broken down one of Esme’s walls. “Why’d you say you can’t have kids?” 

“I got the snip.” 

“When?” 

“Two weeks into my first marriage.”

Esme gripped the front of his jacket in both hands. “Why?” 

He slid his hands to the small of her back and his fingers caught on the diamonds. “You look so fucking good, Es.”

She shook him lightly. “Why’d you do that?” 

Carlisle grinned half-heartedly. “Cause I knew I didn’t want no kids with no one but you.”

“I wanted to die when I heard she was knocked up.”

He stroked her hair again. “Don’t say that, Essie.”

“I mean it. I thought about it, ya know? I was gonna drive my car into the Hudson and let it drown me.”

“Hey.” Carlisle held her chin between his finger and thumb and tilted her face up to look her in the eye. “Don’t ever say that, baby. I ain’t livin in a world without ya, alright? You go, I go.”

She took his hand and kissed his palm, keeping her gaze locked with his. “You go, I go.”

“I fuckin love you, Es.” 

“I fuckin hate her.”

“Yeah, me too.” Carlisle sighed and ran his finger down her neck and torso, watching how the silk of her dress moved over her skin. “What are we gonna do?” 

“We? She’s your wife.” 

He chuckled. “My problem is your problem, ain’t it?”

Esme hit his chest again. She was still furious. “Unfortunately, yeah. Want me to kill her?” 

“Nah. I don’t want cops sniffing around ya. Someone else should probably do it.” 

“Tanya owes me a favour, what about her?” 

“Don’t trust her, Es, she’ll double cross ya soon as she’ll fuck ya.” 

She managed half a smirk. “Weren’t that long ago she fucked us. Guess we’re due for a double crossing, then. So not her. The Blacks?”

“They don’t trust us and I can’t blame em for that. We’ll think of someone.”

There was a long silence then. Esme pulled free from his arms and slowly wandered around the pizzeria kitchen. Her heels echoed over tile and steel. She was the other side of the industrial island counter and Carlisle was arranging his salad into edible art when she spoke again. “I wanna do it, Carl.”

“What?” He looked up at her with lettuce sticking out the corner of his mouth. 

“I wanna be the one.”

“I dunno if that’s the best idea.” He turned away from her to grab a slice of pizza that was on the counter behind him. 

“You married the cunt.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know she was gonna be this fuckin crazy!” Carlisle protested indignantly. He took a bite and wrinkled his nose. “Fuck. Why does my dough always turn out like shit?” 

“Cause you ain’t ever learned from the Old Country. You do it the American way.” 

“Shut the fuck up!” he laughed. “Most Italian place you ever been is the Shore!”

“That’s cause my cheap partner never took me on vacation anywhere more exotic than Miami Beach!” She strutted back over to him and took a bite from the slice. “God, it is shit. Reckon even Renato could do better.”

He laughed again and wrapped her in his arms and stroked the skin of her back. “I missed you, ya know?”

“Yeah, me too. But I mean it, Carlisle. I wanna be the one to pull the trigger.” 

Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, Carlisle kissed her neck. “You gonna shoot her?” 

It was impossible to keep her eyes open. “Maybe. I dunno. Fuck,” she sighed quietly when he bit where her neck met her shoulder. She had missed him more than words could say. “I want her gone. She betrayed you and she took you from me.” 

His kisses moved down her collarbones and to the neckline of her dress. “No one can ever take me from you, Esme. I’m yours.” When he grasped her by the waist and turned her, she knew what he wanted. He lifted her onto the counter next to the bad pizza and he kissed her mouth. She parted her lips and grinned when she tasted salad and pizza margherita on his tongue. It didn’t matter. It was him. 

After a while he sank to his knees in front of her and pushed up her red dress. “Fuck, Es. No underwear? Did you come here with an agenda?”

“Who says I wasn’t going somewhere else after here?” she asked, but her voice was shaky as he pulled her to the edge of the counter. She gripped the edge for support and the pizza slicer brushed her fingers.  

“You sleeping with someone else?” Carlisle murmured against her inner thigh. 

“Well since we stopped seeing each other, I have an opening available.” 

“No you fuckin don’t.” His blond head disappeared under the short hem of her dress and Esme wondered, in the back of her mind, if Tony would be able to hear her screams. Carlisle certainly liked her taste better than the pizza. 

Some time later they were both so lost in their passion that they didn’t hear the unlocking of the front door or the quiet steps in the restaurant. Esme’s face was buried in Carlisle’s neck as he pounded her on the counter and his eyes were closed in bliss. 

“What a fuckin surprise.” 

Both of their gazes snapped to the kitchen door that had swung open. Stood in the unflattering  industrial fluorescents stood Mrs Cullano, a pistol raised. It reminded Esme of the one she had taken to their wedding. Unreliable, difficult. Mrs Cullano was no shooter. Instinctively Carlisle shielded Esme with his body, still inside her. Esme couldn’t hold back a moan at his movement. 

“You’re dead, Platt,” Mrs Cullano hissed, her finger on the trigger. Her arm wasn’t steady. 

“Kill her and I’ll tear your fuckin throat out.” Carlisle’s voice was low and deadly. 

“And murder our baby?” 

“Give it up. There ain’t no baby. And if there was, it would be Renato’s. You think I’d let you have my kids? You’re mad.” 

Mrs Cullano’s face went red. 

“Carlisle,” Esme said quietly. She turned Carlisle’s face back to her. “She ain’t got the guts. Fuck me. Please?” It was a move of dominance to show Mrs Cullano, an outsider, that no one would ever come between them or their love. And that Carlisle would always choose Esme no matter what. He leaned down to kiss her and moved with her. 

The scream that Mrs Cullano let out haunted them both for years to come. Absolute grief and loss echoed in the kitchen, rage and delirium. When the gun went off the bullet went stray and was embedded in the wall over the stove. Without missing a beat, Esme grabbed the pizza slicer next to her and threw it with unbelievable precision. The only sound was that of the young woman’s body collapsing onto the floor, the round blade with a handle in the shape of a Harley-Davidson buried deep into her forehead. Instant death. Blood poured from the wound. Esme felt relief and pride wash over her. 

“Fuck,” Carlisle gasped, moving faster. He kissed her hard and gripped her hips and then rested their sweaty foreheads together. “That was so fucking hot. Marry me, Es? Marry me, please!”

Esme moaned and nodded, clutching his back to stop her from losing herself completely. They were both close, both more turned on by exacting revenge than they could handle. “Yes! Yes, Carl, I’ll marry you!” 

After they had finished and set their clothes right, Esme stood over the dead Mrs Cullano’s body. “Jesus Christ, what a fuckin mess. This blood is gonna take ages to clean, look, it’s gone all under the cupboards! Ugh. I don’t have the energy.” 

“What should we do with her?” 

“I dunno. She’s your fuckin wife.” 

“Was. She’s no one’s wife now, she’s fuckin dead.” 

“Well, yeah. Hey, d’ya mean what you said? To marry ya?” 

“Yeah. Did you really mean you would?” 

Esme stepped over the body and made sure not to get blood on her Jimmy Choos. “Yeah. I wanna be your wife.” 

Neither of them smiled, but they shared a long gaze. Then Carlisle pulled out his phone and quickly dialled a number. “Hey, it’s me. Get some of your guys down the pizzeria, we need some clearing up done. Yeah. Mhm. Three or four. Yeah. Platt’s with me. Ha! Yeah. Yeah, the Mrs found us. Esme put her down, though, so we need it sorted. Clean-up and removal, remember this is a working kitchen, alright? I want it clean of evidence and up to code, ya goddit? Okay. See ya in twenty.” 

Esme opened one of the cleaning cupboards and pulled out a spray and cloth. 

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Carlisle told her and he waved a hand. “They’ll be here soon for her.” 

Esme looked pointedly at the counter where he had fucked her and grinned. “I was thinking more about cleaning that up. Don’t want extra flavour in the pizza tomorrow, do ya?” Bending over, she sprayed the wet area on the metal countertop. With great satisfaction she felt him press against her backside and stroke up her back. “Ready for round two already?” 

“You fuckin bet. D’you know how much it turned me on to see you like that?” 

“Yeah. But save it. Let’s not have our first time as an engaged couple be in front of your dead wife. Bring’s a whole new meaning to ‘the body’s not even cold’, don’t it?” 

Grinning, Carlisle kissed her back. “Or when she told me she’d let me keep you ‘over her dead body’, huh? Joke’s on her.”

Esme wiped the counter down thoroughly and threw the cloth in the nearby bin. She turned and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ain’t no one tell the Surgeon what he can and cannot do. 

“Nah, no one. No one but his Heart.”

[enochianribs]

Chapter 2 of the Cabin AU is up now!

Read on Ao3 here, or under the cut. 

(Reblogs appreciated!)

The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered.  The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered. 

 “Mmm...great.” Another item on his to-do list. 

 Dean was willing to bet there were more leaks in the living room. 

For a moment he debated allowing himself to be lulled back to sleep. It was all too easy to slip back to that dream again: blurry hands, soft mouths, quiet murmurs, everything he missed and everything he’d never had. Not really. 

 Rain gently pattered against the outside of the cabin, the storm grinding in from the East and then settling its haunches right over the hills to stay for the night. The sun was rising, and the pink sky cast shadows from the drops on the window pane, little spots phantom dripping down his sheets. 

 It was the first morning since he’d gotten to the cabin that he’d slept in past sunrise. Sluggishly, he sat up, diggin the heel of his hand into his eyes as a yawn fought its way out of his chest. He turned his head, and reached out with a hand to wake his companion, before reality caught up with him and his hand fell to the mattress, going through the ghost.

 That’s right , he thought. His mouth tasted like ash.

 If he laid there any longer his chest would become heavy, and his breaths ragged, so he tossed the covers off, and trudged over to the shower. The cold water bit through the fog better than anything else could, and he leaned his temple against the glass door waiting for it to heat up and fill the room with steam. 

 Normally, he’d air dry, but it was chilly and an urgency hung around him. He grabbed the bleach-spotted towel hanging sadly by the door towelled off quickly. 

He wandered idly, picking his daily morning tasks up and dropping them before he’d complete them. Something pulled him around the house. He was forgetting something.

Dean was midway through folding the quilt and draping it on the sofa arm when they caught his eye. 

Two large feathers sat in the middle of the massive dining table (he still wondered who had built and what they’d been thinking—  the thing could seat the knights of the round table if necessary). Tugging the fridge door with one hand he reached blindly for the pot of coffee he kept iced, and nudged it closed with his knee, never taking his eyes off them. 

They were captivating. He continued to stare as he poured himself a cup, spilling some of the coffee onto the counter. He’d forget to clean it up, and it would stain, but that was okay. If they asked, he was experimenting with wood staining.

Dean could examine them once he made himself some kind of breakfast. Those were the rules: remember to feed yourself, and then you can do whatever you want to with your day. Breakfast ended up being toast and jam, and he plopped it down at the end seat of the table, and reached for the feathers before he took a bite. 

The color on the first one was so dark it looked heavy, but it was as light in his hand as any feather should be. He held it up and squinted, twisting his wrist back and forth. It caught the light and reflected a shimmering oil slick back at him. The colors shifted, hues iridescent.

 At first glance it could be a raven’s, but it was at least four times bigger than that.

 The second one was more muted, the black towards the base of it dappled into a brown and white, and it was downy soft where the other was sharp and precise. Yesterday he’d thought it was grey but better light proved that it was a grey-brown.

He’d assumed that it was from the same bird—  creature , but now he wasn’t so sure. Dean didn’t know the first thing about birds. However, he knew several people who did. 

▵▿▵

“Hey, Bobby. Can I talk to Rufus?”

“He’s kinda in the middle of some’in’, Dean.” The roll of his eyes was audible, as someone yelped in the muffled background. “Can I call you back?”

“Please?” Dean asked, grinning cheekily even though he wasn’t there to warm Bobby over in person. 

Bobby made a disgruntled noise and paused, before sighing. “You’re doing the face aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine. You never want to talk to me .” 

“You know that’s not true.”

“Hm.” Bobby replied. Out of spite, he kept the phone next to his face as he shouted for his attention. “Rufus! It’s Dean.” 

Ouch , Dean mouthed wincing at the volume, as he listened to the sound of two old men grumbling at each other before fabric shifted, and Rufus picked up the phone. 

“He lives.”

A smile burst its way through Dean’s concentration. “Hey Ruf, gotta question for you.”

“Coulda called us sooner. We were beginning to wonder if you’d sold the cabin and moved somewhere warmer with pink flamingos.”

The image made Dean snort. Him at the beach? Unlikely.

“Nope.” Dean quipped. “Still here and freezing my ass off. You guys ever think about installing a damn heater?”

“And pay that bill? Hell no. We added a fireplace, what more do you want from us.”

Good ol’ crabby Rufus. “What do you know about birds?” 

“A lot.” As per usual, he was being obtuse.

“Know of any big enough to leave behind two foot feathers?”

Rufus whistled. “Not in North America, unless you’ve got ostriches running around.”

“That’d be a negatory. So there’s nothing you can think of?”

“Nope. Did you find something, kid?”

“Holding one right now.”

“No shit.” He could hear the bewildered tone of his voice over the shitty connection. “Well, I guess keep an eye out. It’d be real hard for something that big to hide, and even harder for it to sit comfortable in those pine trees with the branches so dense. I’d say you’re about to make the biggest zoological discovery in North America in the past century. Keep us posted?” 

“Will do.” Dean said, and he heard Rufus handing the phone back over to Bobby. 

“Hope everything’s okay up there, Dean.”

“Everything’s peachy, honestly. Anyways—” He checked the clock on the stove. 8:30. The hardware store would be open in a half hour. “I’ve got some errands to run, so I’ll leave you to whatever it is a couple of old farts do in retirement.”

“Hey—” 

Dean grinned to himself. “See ya, Bobby.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

The line went silent, and Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket, bobbing his head to the side in thought. Though he didn’t get a definitive answer, at least the call had eliminated the options of native fauna. 

▵▿▵

At nine in the morning, Dean was usually one of a small line of people waiting outside Lafitte’s Goods to needle Benny’s brain for fixes and tools of the trade. Pamela was waiting against the brick wall, hand shielding the summer morning sun from her eyes, reading a 99 cent paper back with interest. 

“Hey, Pamela.”

“Dean-o. Call me Pammy.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not. But Pam works. I’m not your mother.”

“You call your mom by her first name?”

“Fair point. What’re you here for?” She nodded her head and bounced off the wall, as Benny unlocked the doors. A couple of grizzled old men shuffled in ahead of them, beelining it for the plywood. 

Porch season. 

“Roof’s got a leak.”

“Leak season.”

“Apparently. This is the third one since I got here.”

She squinted at him, like he was omitting something important, and popped the bubble of gum in her mouth. Dean started to itch under her scrutiny. He hated being studied like a lab rat.

What was the woman? A witch? Why was she peeling back layers of his get-up without warning.

Dean coughed, and used Benny’s presence as an excuse to wiggle out from under her gaze. “Gotta—  yeah, see you.” Turning on his heel he fled towards the adhesives, face contorting with embarrassment. 

Holy fuck, somehow he’d gotten even more awkward. 

Dear god, help me. 

Benny never pried unless Dean seemed interested in offering up information, and for that Dean was actually incredibly grateful. Most days he didn’t want to talk about anything, certainly not his past, but Benny and his bushy beard and warm eyes had managed to wiggle through his walls, just a little. 

“Benny.”

Benny stared at him from behind the register, inquisitive expression considerably easier to cope with than Barnes' hungry expression. A friendly smile danced across his face as he assessed Dean’s no-doubt rosey cheeks. 

“She’s got her claws in you, huh.”

Dean ducked his head, glancing sideways at the brunette woman still looking at the different kinds of rope. A tramp stamp peeked out from under the bottom edge of her tank top. Dean tapped his fingers on the pock-marked wood counter and turned his attention back to his friend. “Is she always like that?”

“Sure is,” Benny drawled, ringing up everything Dean had haphazardly shoved onto the counter in his escape. “You just happen to be the newest, prettiest , plaything in Pringle.” The burly man winked.

 Pink crawled up Dean’s neck  from his collarbones and spread into his cheeks once again. Christ, there was no escape from these people. Still stammering, Dean practically ran back to the Impala. 

▵▿▵

 The phone vibrated in his back pocket. By the third ring, Dean had parked Baby in her usual spot, and he struggled to tug it out of his pocket, checking the Caller ID. 

California. 

He pumped the window down, the air getting warm inside the car, and he flipped the phone open, inhaling sharply. He should have called before now. Shouldn’t have let so much time pass. In the fall, he’d be too busy to take any of Dean’s calls anyways. 

“Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Sammy.”

Several seconds of too-long silence passed between them. 

“Where have you been?”

Dean swallowed, thick, guilt permeating the small space. 

“Sorry, I just—” He didn’t have an excuse. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You still could’ve picked up the phone. I tried to call you about six times. You don’t always need to have something to say, y’know…  It just would’ve been nice to know you’re still breathing.” His brother’s voice was basically a whisper at the end. 

“I know.” Dean closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing shakily. “I know.”

“I had to hear it from Bobby. Dean—” Sam’s voice pitched up to that octave it always did when he was upset. “Dad’s gone again.”

Fuck. 

“And that’s fine. It’s not like I’m ten and incapable of caring for myself but I thought—  I thought he’d be back by now. It’s been a couple of weeks.”

“Shit, Sammy.” 

“I think he’s fine. He sent a vague text a couple of days ago, it’s just with school starting in two months I get worried. Not even for him, just for us. I can’t pay for school myself, and I can’t afford to miss anything because of Dad. If my grades drop, I’m out.”

“I know.” God, Dean knew.

Sam was a late bloomer for college. The kid was brilliant, but he’d been dealt a bad hand, and it was a miracle Rufus and Bobby had invested in a saving fund for the two of them decades ago. At twenty-two, Dean knew that he’d already had trouble securing the scholarships. Stanford wanted the best and brightest, not the kid with seven schools on his high school transcript and an overabundance of unexcused absences. 

The guilt piled up and perched itself on his shoulders until he sagged into his seat under the heaviness. It was his job to keep John out of trouble, not Sammy’s. And instead he’d run away from that responsibility. 

The repair materials sat in the backseat, and his heart twisted in his chest. The meadow sat peacefully in the late afternoon sun, just across the short distance of woods, and it still kept its secret. He didn’t want to go back. Not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of independence.

“Look,” He could kick himself for how his voice cracked. “If John doesn’t turn up by the end of the week, I’ll come back. I’ll help. Promise.”

For what it was worth, a facet of his brother’s relieved sigh sounded apologetic.“Thank you, Dean. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“Okay then.”

“Bye.”

“Talk to you soon, Sammy.” Dean’s jaw clenched involuntarily, as he flipped the phone closed and tossed it against the passenger door. His frustrated shout echoed between him and the trees, but he didn’t feel better.

Always this .

Historically, John would do something stupid and irresponsible and Dean would drop everythign to clean up the mess and no one would thank him. Not really. That was fine.

Family was supposed to break your heart. 

 ▵▿▵

 The leak proved to be an easy fix. 

Dean fought the attic door that led to the roof, following the small staircase up until he was on the balls of his feet, head sticking out as he pulled himself onto it. The shingles were rough, cracked and damaged from the winters, and he scrapped the length of his arm against it.

 The source of the leak took only a minute to find. Five or so shingles were missing, leaving nothing but the wood underneath, which did nothing but absorb any and all precipitation. The rubber sealant smelled terrible, and he gagged dramatically, almost dropping the metal can in the process. Done applying, he plopped his ass down, determined to see it dry properly before he went back inside.

Half assing things had always resulted in a stern talking to in the least, and it had been something he’d struggled with growing up, his mind yanking him a thousand directions until his head was spinning and John was disappointed. 

Dean grit his teeth, purposefully dragging the raw scrape against the rough roofing, the burn biting through the thought, bringing him back down from that far off place he so frequently wandered to. He didn’t even know how he got there, but he found himself lost, shrunk down, smaller than the hand-me-down leather jacket he tried to fill.

From the roof he could see almost everything. It turned out that Rufus and Bobby’s cabin foundation was built onto a gentle slope.

The rain clouds had dissipated, migrating to the flat plains further south, and it left a crisp atmosphere behind. The sun poked through the remaining gargantuan cumulonimbus clouds, sunbeams gently caressing the grass. Grey mist rose from where the creek beds greedily absorbed the heat. It reminded him of the paintings of cowboys, sitting on a stallion, bathed in golden light, their backs to the audience, all the edges illuminated and throwing everything else into stark purple shadows. 

 The burn of the scrape subsided as a sense of peace settled Dean, his body melting into the shingles. An hour passed before his stomach growled, and he climbed back down for lunch.

 ▵▿▵

 Tapping. 

Tapping at the window pane only inches from his face. 

Groggy and only slightly encrusted (gross) Dean opened his eyes and was met by dark blue ones, a tawny human hand pressed up against the glass. 

 Dean’s soul evaporated out of his body, back pressed to the headboard as he scrabbled for the small knife he kept under his pillow. Before he could look again, it was gone.He launched himself out of bed, so very entirely grateful that he’d had enough sense to go to sleep in his boxers and his worn-out threadbare Kansas shirt. 

Holy hell.  

Fingers trembling, he opened the window, leaning almost all the way out, hovering a few feet above the ground.A single feather slowly came to rest soundlessly on the pine-needle carpet. The view from the window remained unyieldingly motionless. 

Black-eyed susans had begun to sprout in the shade, despite themselves, and now they quivered where they grew between the pine-roots even though the morning wind had not pierced through the woods yet. 

Craning his neck, he glanced up, half expecting the last thing he’d ever see to be a terrifying bird man staring down at him like he was lunch. Nothing. 

Dean practically fell out of his room, chanting under his breath in a poor attempt to calm himself down as he stumbled down the short hall to the living room. 

It’s human.

“No,” Dean spoke to the picture frames on the walls. He had no idea what he was denying, but the situation begged to be denied. He paced back and forth in the living room, no doubt wearing the floor down despite the fact that he was wearing socks—  the ones with the holes in the heel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Oh my God, it was so very not okay. 

Suddenly, the couch seemed like the perfect place to suffocate himself to unconsciousness. Someone else could deal with this. 

 No , he thought. You wanted this to happen, you dirty liar. Stop panicking and deal with it. 

Wings was human- or at least partially human. He looked like a man. Dean’s thin eyelids fluttered closed, and the image was painted on the backside of them with crystal clarity. Square jawline, arrow-straight nose, curiously arched eyebrows…  and the eyes . They were so blue. And they had been looking right at him. Watching him. 

It was entirely ridiculous that his eyes overshadowed the massive lurking darkness behind him, of what had to have been his wings. 

A human with wings. 

This was crazy. Everything was crazy.

The way he saw it, there were two directions this could go: he could pretend he hadn’t seen anything, and this would be tucked away into the delusion box that he kept under lock and key at the back of his mind and he could grow old being none the wiser of whatever breach of reality this was, or he could go find it. 

The first option was sounding real nice. Normal. Well adjusted. 

He was well adjusted. 

Besides, Dean wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t a dream.  this entire thing was a fever dream and he was in some hospital bed back in Lawrence, stuck in a coma. Dean pinched himself, viciously and stared at the white marks left on his forearm, helpless. 

Nope. 

“Okay.” He barked out a laugh. 

He should call Jo. 

After a few more minutes of pacing and hyperventilating, he decided against it. He would tell her—  of course he would! —but when it came up.

The Harvelle’s were good people and they’d shown him nothing but kindness. 

The situation had to be broached with care, or the small home he’d built in the life he wanted to live would topple in on itself, and the rubble and dust would drown him.

Trust issues were a problem of his, and he’d been aware of them since high school, when he’d had too many secrets to keep and any semblance of a support system was states away. 

God, he knew the way he clammed up was obvious, but sometimes he surprised even himself. If he was being honest, there was a lot more to it than a strong need for privacy. Didn’t matter though. In the end, after all the nit-picking and self beratement, it boiled down to fear. 

Jo could keep her mouth closed, but there was always a chance she’d accidentally tell someone, and there was a high chance it would be the wrong person. If he let it slip that this thing existed, who knew what would come packing. And he knew sooner or later, someone would bring the heat. Words got around easily in a small town like Pringle and he knew everyone would be at his door, wanting a chance to see the freak of the week. 

Which… was a thing that existed. A human with wings, that called the small clearing his home.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He felt protective over the man, almost ferociously so. 

The day’s hunting trip wasn’t happening— now Dean was paranoid.

What if he accidently shot him? Or scared him off permanently? 

His stomach churned, acid and bile climbing their way up his throat. The burn was familiar. Half his childhood had been spent subsiding panic attacks and anxiety, calming down Dad or Sam or both at the same time. 

▵▿▵

The tin echo of a gunshot managed to penetrate through the thick log walls of the cabin.In a heartbeat, he was scrambling for the ancient shotgun. The front door swung open, the little voice in his head told him to close it behind him, but his feet carried him quicker than his mind and so he left it swinging on its hinges at his back. 

An anguished scream gargled its way from somewhere deeper into the woods, due south of the cabin. Rocks dashed the soles of Dean’s feat and he swore out loud, having forgotten his boots at the door. 

Shit shit shit.  

Someone was nearby, and they were ballsy enough to fire a weapon despite the illegality of hunting on private property. His mind raced at the same speed he ran towards it, a limp skewing his gate every few steps. Stray branches caught the sleeves of his shirt, tearing through the fabric as he refused to slow down. 

It’s just a deer. 

He knew better. 

They’re just after a deer, or a bison that wandered away from the heard or an elk or something—  

Another blood curdling scream erupted from amongst the pine, this one loud enough to rattle the crows out of their nests. They cawed, the sound of dozens of pairs of wings taking flight muting the pained groans. 

He knew better. 

Please—  please. Not Wings.

He faltered over a boulder, panic overtaking muscle memory and skidded to a halt at the crest of a ledge. The scene below knocked the breath out of his chest, leaving a vacuum in its wake. 

Campbell, one of the more elderly hunters of the area was standing over another tawny body. Giant black wings sprawled out, twisting and twitching in the dirt and mud, feathers slightly splayed underneath his back. 

Campbell’s face distorted in pain, a tense moment passing before his wild eyes landed on Dean, the whites of his too visible, even from ten yards away. Blood pumped out from a wound on his neck, and he had a hand clamped down onto it, slick with red, he held a shotgun limply in his left hand, the butt of it dropped heavily to the ground. 

Semi-satisfied that Campbell didn’t seem interested in shooting again, Dean fixated every ounce of attention on Wings and his breath hitched. Smeared across his mouth and chin was a copious amount of blood. He’d bitten Campbell. Dean’s heart swelled with pride.

Good . 

His short encounter with Campbell prior had proved that the man was a bag of dicks, cocky and far too keen on the killing aspect of hunting. It skeeved Dean out then, and it certainly did now. Campbell was still looking at Wings like he was prey. Though no component of the scene begged to differ: the man was naked, teeth bared, but he was incapable of escaping, the gunshot wound in his abdomen bleeding him dry. 

Dean leveled the end of his shotgun at Campbell’s head. “Get the fuck away from him.”

Campbell backed away from Wings, the muscles in his right arm tensed, like he wanted to put it up defensively, but it was necessary he kept pressure on the wound. It looked like Wings had gone for the jugular. “It attacked me, Winchester.”

“And?” 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

Dean would put money on the fact that he looked the part, he could feel his chest heaving, something akin to dull rage pumping through his veins. He prayed the tremor in his hand didn’t betray his hesitation. “I said move .”

Obeying his orders, Campbell stepped back, never taking his eyes off of the strange man. Agony flashed across his face where he laid in the dirt.In his hands, he held a silver blade. Wings looked from Campbell to Dean, expression visibly softening.

“Give me your coat.” Dean didn’t have much time, glancing at Wings, he saw that a red gleam of blood was starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth and his eyes moved frantically. He slid down the slope and went to take off his jacket and remembered his was only in his boxers. “ NOW .” 

Campbell shirked it off and threw it at Dean, staying exactly where he was. Moving quickly, Dean pressed the thick fabric to the wound, moving his other hand to the back side to see where the bullet went. There was no opening there, and he was thankful that Wings was naked. He could skip the sometimes detrimental process of removing his clothes to assess the wound better.

 He tied the jacket around him and slid one arm under his legs and the other across his shoulder blades, lifting him up carefully. Dean had to get him back to his house immediately, before Wings lost too much blood.

One last time, he regarded Campbell. He felt the sneer tug his lip up, his voice like acid trying to eat through the other man’s bones until he was nothing. “Get the fuck off my property. And don’t tell anyone about this. He’ll be fine, not that you care. But you won’t be if I see you here again, or if I hear about this from anyone. Do I make myself clear?”  

Samuel’s eyes darkened clearly at war with Dean’s threat, but his skin was taking on a pallor akin to lethal blood loss. He nodded curtly, acknowledging the agreement, at least for the moment. 

Reasonably satisfied that Campbell wouldn’t shoot them in the back, Dean turned and left, the body draped over his shoulder too warm.Dean’s hand wrapped around, hand feathering over his taut side, avoiding the wound. He could feel his fingers wet with blood. 

Wings was whispering something feverishly, though Dean couldn’t catch a word of it, his eyes glazed over with pain, searching the sky for something with a fervor of a religious man with hell hounds on his heels. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean murmured, straining to carry the both of them the distance to the cabin. “I’ve got you.” 

Wing’s head lolled to the side, and his body went slack. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but Dean couldn’t afford to cry now. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to get them inside safely. He swallowed the terror. He ducked and wove through the undergrowth, fearing that the drooping wings would catch on a branch or boulder. 

The time it took until he could lay Wings down on his dining room table felt like hell had manifested on Earth, keenly able to feel life slipping away in his arms.

Once Dean managed to put Wings on the table without his head smacking the wood, he tore the kitchen apart for salt and a bowl of water and some clean washcloths, and sprinted to the bathroom, yanking the drawers out and emptying their contents onto the counter and sink until his eyes landed on the tweezers and isopropyl alcohol.

It wasn’t a perfect med kit, but there was no other choice. It had to do. 

Dean approached the table cautiously, worried that too much movement would set him off. The dark wingspan spread out almost three feet on either side of the table and Dean swallowed a stone.

He had no idea what to do next, not really. The closest experience he’d had to being a doctor had been treating John’s stab wound when he was thirteen and John had come home more beaten than usual.  

He stared helplessly down at Wings.  

“He...help.” Wings voice was like a ghost’s, he barely heard it, and he was standing right next to him. He looked up at the cobwebbed chandelier lighting like it was something holy and mesmerizing and Dean realized he was losing him. 

“Shhh… it’s okay.” His forehead was sticky with sweat and drying blood, and Dean pushed some of the unruly black wisps from his eyes, humming low. “I’m gonna help you.” 

Wings hand shook, following the edge of the table, feverishly searching for something to hold onto. Tentatively, Dean slid his fingers between his, feeling his calloused palm against his own. “Wings. Wings, you gotta listen to me. Wings, please . You have to lay still.”

He had no idea if the man understood a single word he was saying, but it seemed to do the trick. Over the span of a terrible minute, his breathing slowed down, and his grip on Dean’s hand went from frail to almost bone crushingly alive. 

Wings’ blue eyes were on him, flickering a little in the low light. Dean waited, untrained, unable and unwilling to play operation on him while he was still conscious, eyes desperate to look at anything but the daunting task before him. 

Eventually, he passed out, his painful grimace replaced by a soft one, and Dean began to remove the shrapnel bullet, praying to anyone who was listening that it had not shredded his insides beyond repair. 

 ▵▿▵

 At some point in the night, Dean had gotten up to draw the curtains and lock the door, willing to sacrifice only a moment to seal them away from the rest of the world. 

 Now, sunlight pierced through the cracks, illuminating them both in thin lines of white light. He watched Wings toss and turn, his face gnarling into pain each time he moved.

 What if Dean had fucked it up? What if the next breath he drew was his last? His mind raced, punishing him for every moment’s hesitation that could very well lead to his death. 

 Dean caught himself following Wings jawline, examining the stark contours of his face like he would never see them again. Please, just please make it out alive.

 “Don’t die on me, Wings.” The words slipped out subconsciously. “Please, God, don’t die on me.”

 Dean had the decency to cover him up with the quilt. The two’s hands were still tightly entwined long after the heartbeat in Wing’s wrist lulled Dean into sleep, tumbling heart over head. 

[rigmarolling]

Historical Holiday Traditions We Really Need To Bring Back

Here comes Santa Claus, and also a bunch of annual holiday Things we do to ensure he commits a truly boggling act of breaking and entering and leaves goods underneath the large plant in the living room.

Because I’ve always got a hankerin’ for the days of yore, here are some historical holiday traditions we really need to bring back:

1. Everything that happened on Saturnalia

Saturnalia was the ancient Roman winter festival held on December 25th--which is why we celebrate Christmas on that day and not on the day historians speculate Jesus was actually born, which was probably in the spring. 

Saturnalia was bonkers. As the name suggests, it celebrated the god Saturn, who represented wealth and liberty and generally having a great time.

Above: Their party is way cooler than yours could ever hope to be.

During Saturnalia, masters would serve their slaves, because it was the one day during the year when everybody agreed that freedom for all is great, actually, let’s just do that. Everyone wore a coned hat called the pilleus to denote that they were all bros and equal, and also to disguise the fact that they hadn’t brushed their hair after partying hard all week, probably.

Gambling was allowed on Saturnalia, so all of Rome basically turned into ancient Vegas, complete with Caesar’s Palace, except with the actual Caesar and his palace because he was, you know. Alive. 

The most famous part (besides getting drunk off your rocker) was gift-giving--usually gag gifts. Historians have records of people giving each other some truly impressive white elephant gifts for Saturnalia, including: a parrot, balls, toothpicks, a pig, one single sausage, spoons, and deliberately awful books of poetry. 

Above: Me, except all the time.

Partygoers also crowned a King of Saturnalia, which was a predecessor to the King of Fools popular in medieval festivals. The king was basically the head idiot who delivered absurd commands to everyone there, like, “Sing naked!” or “run around screaming for an hour,” or “slap your butt cheeks real hard in front of your crush; DO IT, Brutus.”

Oh, wait. Everyone was already doing all that. Hell yes.

(Quick clarification: early celebrations of Saturnalia did feature human sacrifice, so let’s just leave that bit out and instead wear the pointy hats and sing naked, okay? Io Saturnalia, everybody.)

2. Leaving out treats for Sleipnir in the hopes of avoiding Odin’s complete disregard for your property

The whole “leave out cookies and milk for Santa” thing comes from a much older tradition of trying to appease old guys with white beards. In Norse mythology, Odin, who was sort of the head god but preferred to be on a perpetual road trip instead, took an annual nighttime ride through the winter sky called the Wild Hunt. 

Above: The holidays, now with 300% more heavy metal.

Variations of the Wild Hunt story exist in a bunch of European folklore--in Odin’s case, he usually brought along a bunch of supernatural buddies, like spirits and other gods and Valkyries and ghost dogs, who, the Vikings said, you could hear howling and barking as the group approached (GOOD DOGGOS).

That was the thing, though; you never actually saw Odin’s hunt--you only heard it. And hearing it did not spark the same sense of childish glee you felt when you thought you heard Santa’s sleigh bells approaching as a kid--instead, the Vikings said, you should be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

Because Odin could be kind of a dick.

Odin was also known as the Allfather, and like any father, he hated asking for directions. GPS who? I’m the Allfather, I’m riding the same way I always ride.

And that was pretty much it: “I took this road last year and I’m taking it again this year.”

“But,” someone would pipe up from the back, “there are houses on the road now--we’re gonna run right into them. We could just take a different path; there’s actually a detour off the--”

“Nope,” Odin would say. “They know the rules. My road, my hunt, my rules. We’re going this way.”

So if you were unlucky enough to have built your house along one of Odin’s favorite road trip sky-ways, he wouldn’t just plow right past you.

He would burn your entire house down--and your family along with it.

Kids playing in the yard? Torch ‘em; they should have known better. Grandma knitting while she waits for her gingerbread Einherjar to finish baking? Sucks to be her; my road, my rules, my beard, I’m the Allfather, bitch.

Above: Santa, but so much worse.

To be fair to Odin, he could be a cool guy sometimes. He just turned into any dad when he was on a road trip and wanted to MAKE GOOD TIME, DAMN IT, I AM NOT STOPPING; YOU SHOULD HAVE PEED BEFORE WE LEFT.

To ensure they didn’t incur Odin’s road trip wrath, the Vikings had a few ways of smoothing things over with Dad.

They would leave Odin offerings on the road, like pieces of steel (??? okay ???) or bread for his dogs, or food for his giant, eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, because the only true way to a man’s heart is through his pet. 

People would generally leave veggies and oats and other horse-y things out for Sleipnir, whose eight legs made him the fastest flying horse in the world and also made him the only horse to ever win Asgard’s coveted tap dancing championship. 

(Side note: EIGHT legs...EIGHT tiny reindeer...eh? Eh? See how we got here? Thanks, nightmare horse!)

Above: An excellent prancer AND dancer. 

And if Odin was feeling particularly charitable and not in the mood for horrific acts of arson, children would also leave their shoes out for him--it was said that he’d put gifts in your boots to ring in a happy new year.

If all that didn’t work and the Vikings heard the hunt approaching, they would resort to throwing themselves on the ground and covering their heads while the massive party sped above them like a giant Halloween rager. 

So this holiday season, leave your boots out for Odin and some carrots out for his giant spider horse or you and your entire family will die in a fiery inferno, the end.

3. Yule Logs

Speaking of Scandinavia, another Northern European winter solstice tradition was the yule log. Today, if you google “yule log,” something like this will pop up:

...which isn’t an actual log, but is instead log-shaped food that you shove into your mouth along with 500 other cakes at the same time because it’s CHRISTMAS, and I’m having ME TIME; so WHAT if I ate the whole jar of Nutella by myself, alone, in the dark at 3 am?

But that log cake is actually inspired by actual logs of yore that Celtic, Germanic, and Scandinavian peoples decorated with fragrant plants like holly, ivy, pinecones, and other Stuff That Smells Nice before tossing the log into the fire.

This served a few purposes: 

It smelled nice, and Bath and Body Works scented candles hadn’t been invented yet.

It had religious and/or spiritual significance as a way to mark the winter solstice.

It was a symbolic way of ringing in the new year and kicking out the old.

Common belief held that the ashes of a yule log could ward off lightning strikes and bad energy.

Winter cold. Fire warm.

Everybody loves to watch things burn. (See: Odin.)

The yule log cakes we eat today got their start in 19th century Paris, when bakers thought it was a cute idea to resurrect an ancient pagan tradition in the form of a delicious dessert, and boy, howdy, were they right.

In any case, I’m 100% down with eating a chocolate yule log while burning an actual yule log in my backyard because everybody loves to watch things burn; winter cold, fire warm; and hnnnngggg pine tree smell hnnnnggg.

(Quick note:  The word “yule” is  the name of a traditional pagan winter festival, still celebrated culturally or religiously in modern pagan practice. It’s also another name for Odin. He had a bunch of other names, one of the most well-known being jólfaðr, which is Old Norse for “Yule father.” If you would like to royally piss him off, or if you are Loki, feel free to call him “Yule Daddy.”)

4. Upside down Christmas trees

I just found out that apparently, upside down Christmas trees are a hot new trend with HGTV types this year, so I guess this is one historical trend we did bring back, meaning it doesn’t really belong on this list, but I’m gonna talk about it, anyway.

Side note: Oh, my god, that BANNISTER. I NEED.

Historians aren’t actually sure where the inverted Christmas tree thing came from, but we know people were bringing home trees and then hanging them upside down in the living room as early as the 7th century. We have a couple theories as to why people turned trees on their heads:

Logistically, it’s way easier to hang a giant pine tree from your rafters upside down by its trunk and roots. You just hoist that baby up there, wind some rope around the rafter and the trunk, and boom. Start decorating.

A Christian tradition says that one day in the 7th century, a Benedictine monk named Saint Boniface stumbled across a group of pagans worshipping an oak tree. So, instead of minding his own damn business, he cut the tree down and replaced it with a fir tree. While the pagans were like, “Dude, what the hell?” Boniface used the triangular shape of the fir tree to explain the concept of the holy trinity to the pagans. Some versions have him planting it right-side up, others having him displaying a fir tree upside down. Either way, it’s still a triangle that’s a solid but ultimately very rude way of explaining God. Word’s still out on whether anyone was converted or just rightly pissed off that this random guy strolled into their place of worship, chopped down their sacred tree, and plopped HIS tree down instead. Please do not do that this holiday season.

Eastern Europeans lay claim to the upside-down tree phenomenon with a tradition called podłazniczek in Poland--people hung the tree from the ceiling and decorated it with fruits and nuts and seeds and ribbons and other festive doodads. 

(God, who lives in these houses? Look at that. That’s like a swanky version of Gaston’s hunting lodge. Where do I get one? Which enchanted castle do I have to stumble into to chill out in a Christmas living room like that?)

Today, at least in the West, upside-down trees are making a comeback because...I don’t know. Chip and Joanna Gaines said so. 

Some folks say it’s a surefire way to keep your cats from clawing their way through the tree and then puking up fir needles for weeks afterward, which checks out for me.

5. Incredibly weird Victorian Christmas cards

So back in the 19th century, the Christmas card industry was really getting fired up. Victorians loved their mail, let me tell you. They loved sending it. They loved getting it. They loved writing it. They loved opening it. They loved those sexy wax seals you use to keep all that sweet, sweet mail inside that sizzling envelope. (Those things are incredibly sexy. Have you ever made a wax seal? Oh, man, it’s hot.)

The problem, though, was that while the Victorians arguably helped standardize many of the holiday traditions we know and love today (Christmas trees, caroling, Dickens everything, spending too much money, etc.) back in 1800-whenever, a lot of that Christmas symbolism was, um...still under construction. No one had really agreed on which visual holiday cues worked and which...didn’t.

Meaning everyone just kind of made up their own holiday symbols. Which resulted in monstrous aberrations like this card:

What the hell is that? A beet? Is that a beet? Or a turnip? Why is it...oh, God, why does it have a man’s head? Why does the man beet have insect claws? 

What is it that he’s holding? A cookie? Cardboard? A terra cotta planter?

And then there’s this one:

“A Merry Christmas to you,” it says, while depicting a brutal frog murder/mugging. 

What are you trying to tell me? Are you threatening me with this card? Is that it? Is this a threat? How the hell am I supposed to interpret this? “Merry Christmas, hide your money or you’re dead, you stupid bitch.”

Also, why is the dead frog naked? Did the other frog steal his clothes after the murder? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?

Victorian holiday cards also doubled as early absurdist Internet memes, apparently, because how else do I explain this?

Is this some sort of tiny animal Santa? A mouse riding a lobster? Like, the mouse, I get. Mice are fine. Disney built an empire on a mouse. And look, he’s got a little list of things he’s presumably going to bring you: Peace, joy, health, happiness. (In French. Oh, wait, is that that Patton Oswalt rat?)

But a LOBSTER? What’s with the lobster? It’s basically a sea scorpion. Why in the name of all that is good and holy would you saddle up a LOBSTER? I hate it. I hate it so, so much. Just scurrying around the floor with more legs than are strictly necessary, smelling like the seafood section of Smith’s, snapping its giant claws.

This whole card is a health inspector’s worst nightmare. It really is.

I gotta say, though, I am a fan of this one:

Presumably, that polar bear is going in for a hug because nothing stamps out a polar bear’s innate desire to rip your face from your skull than candy canes and Coke and Christmas spirit.

This next one is actually fantastic, but for all the wrong reasons:

I know everyone overuses “same” these days but geez, LOOK at that kid. I can HEAR it. SAME.

If you’ve ever been in a shopping mall stuffed with kids, nothing sums it up better than this card. This is like the perverse version of those Anne Geddes portraits that were everywhere in the late 90s. “Make wee Jacob sit in the tea pot; everyone will--Jacob, STOP, look at Mommy; I said LOOK. AT. MOMMY--everyone will love it.”

Actually, you know what? Every other Christmas card is cancelled. This is the only card we will be using from now on. This is it. 

Wait, no. We can also use this one:

Merry Christmas. Here’s a fuckin’...just a dead fuckin’ bird.

[shimmeringclouds]

Chapter 2

'Another day wasted.'

It was the first thought to come to your mind when you had awoken the next day, the sun already high above the horizon and glaring through your windows.

You didn't feel well rested, despite having slept for hours on end. Your mind was tired, your heart still ached, you didn't feel as if you had the strength to open your eyes. You just lay there on your bed, unmoving and unbothered.

You would have stayed there all day, had it not been for your hunger. Clutching at your stomach in pain, you remembered how you had barely eaten anything the previous day, too busy wallowing in self pity to even think about eating.

With a groan, you slowly sat up on the edge of your mattress, blinking away the sudden head rush that came with the movement. The floorboards felt cold beneath your feet, sending shivers up your spine as you placed them flat on the wooden flooring. You rubbed at your eyes as you stood up, stumbling out of your bedroom to go and wash up.

It was unbearably hot in your living room, prompting you to open up the patio doors to allow some air inside, the humidity increasing as a new wave of warm air wafted into the room. The echoing sounds of cicadas that rested on tree trunks beyond your fencing filled the air, buzzing and buzzing until that white noise in your mind was finally cancelled out.

You chewed slowly on your food, maybe to waste more time so that the sun would go down and you could go back to sleep. But it was barely noon and the sun was still hovering high in the sky, scorning you with its intense rays as if to punish you for wishing it to leave. It was going to be a long summer's day, and you were already sick of it.

Sick.

You suddenly placed your half-eaten plate of food down with a clatter as you scrambled to your feet, slapping a hand desperately over your mouth as you felt it rise and boil in your throat, barely making it to the bathroom as your stomach spewed out bile into the sink.

It was happening again, you realised as you continued to gag, fumbling to turn the tap on to wash away the disgusting sight before you, prompting you to choke again. It was all going so well, and now it's happening again. Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed them shut. Just make it stop. Please make it stop.

Your legs finally collapsed from beneath you and you tumbled to the tiled floor, hands still clutched to the edge of the basin as you crouched down, head low and breaths heavy. A cold sweat had broken out over your skin, leaving you shivering and abnormally feverish.

It wasn't fair, you thought miserably. Nothing had happened. Nothing had gone wrong. But apparently something did go wrong. Things always go wrong. You can never seem to be at peace, no matter what you try. The sudden waves of anxiety that hit you when you least expected it wasn't your fault. And yet it was entirely your fault. Nothing made sense. Nothing ever made sense. You were too stupid to understand. You could never understand.

'If only I didn't go outside yesterday.'

But it still would have happened. This would still have happened. You didn't know why, but it would have. Because that's just how it works. It's not supposed to work that way. But for you, it does. You didn't need to understand. You just needed to let it happen. Even if you didn't want it to. You have no power, no control. Just fall to your knees and cry, as you always do. That's how it always works.

You stood up shakily, hesitantly staring back at the face in the mirror. She looked better than you did. Smiling, happy, glad she was behind the glass and wasn't there with you.

You blinked, and the image changed. That was you. You, with the messy hair and the dark, tired eyes, the sickly skin and pinched cheeks, frail and weak, gaze sullen and dazed. Lost and confused. Sad and pitiful. That was who you were.

Unable to look any longer, you twisted the faucet back on, cupping handfuls of cold water and splashing it over your face multiple times, scrubbing harshly at your eyes and mouth, rinsing it out to get rid of the sickening taste of bile. You didn't dare look back into the mirror as you grabbed your towel, rubbing it over your face and tossing it aside before exiting the bathroom.

Breakfast didn't sound appetising anymore, and you regretfully threw the rest of the food away. You stood in the middle of your living room, glancing around from the couch to the TV, to the console next to it, to the small bookshelf stuffed with a few books you had decided to keep for whatever reason, your fingers furling and unfurling against your palms.

They finally landed on a slim, black, hard-cover book shoved lopsidedly into the bottom shelf, it's ringed binder hanging out over the edge of the dark wood.

You reached for it, gingerly pulling it out of the shelf with the tips of your fingers, holding it at arms length as if it were some kind of wild animal. The first few pages were frayed and withered, but the rest were crisp and clean, untouched and unused.

You stared and stared at the tough cover, running your gaze over the blank darkness, as if you were searching for something. But you knew everything you were searching for was inside the book. The courage to look was dwindling away as time tricked by.

You suddenly grasped the corner of the cover, flipping it open with force and coming to a halt at the sight of the first page. All you saw was coloured blotches, streaking across the otherwise empty paper in messy lines. The blues and greens merged together in a disgusting mesh of hues, the watery disarray of paint unable to form any real structure.

After staring at it for a long while, face stoic, you flipped over to the next page. The paper was stiff and wrinkled, less like paper and more like cardboard, crackling with the slightest amount of pressure applied to it.

It was just the same as the previous one, if not, worse. You couldn't look at it for longer than a couple of minutes before moving on, and that time hastily shortened down to a few seconds until you finally reached a blank page.

With a shaky breath, you grabbed a pencil from one of the pots on your shelf and silently seated yourself down at the low table behind you. You hovered the lead over the white canvas, carefully moving it along with your hand, the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper filling your ears.

Your arm made jerky movements, wrist flicking left and right as you attempted to make an outline of something you had seen before, with the lead eroding away ever so slowly with each stroke. You watched your hand wander to every corner of the paper, pausing with a flinch every now and then when it moved just a little too far off the intended path.

The clock ticked on and on, seconds to minutes to hours, with you sat at the low table in the bright light of the sun in your living room, scratch, scratch, scratching away, even as your pencil became blunt, forcing it to mark out the lines of a seemingly misshapen landscape, thin and delicate lines becoming thick and crooked veins.

It wasn't until the pencil began stabbing the paper with its splintered tip that you finally stopped, moving your hand off the page to look down at the horrible mess you had made. It was the same picture as the others, only much, much more awful, with less colour and less sense of mind.

That same stoic face stared down at the page. Your grip on your pencil was now limp, your hand dropping to the floor by your side and the tool now slipping from your fingers, rolling over the floor and out of your reach.

You can't do anything right, can you?

The sting of tears in your eyes was going to drive you mad. You stood back up, ignoring the needle-like numbness in your lower limbs as you staggered to your bedroom, the urge to get out of the deathly silent house growing stronger.

You changed out of your clothes into an oversized beige hoodie and shorts, thinking that it wouldn't draw attention to yourself, only to realise that it would draw attention because what kind of idiot would wear a hoodie in the middle of summer? So you tossed it aside and pulled on a white vest and a grey dress-shirt on top instead, thankful that the loose fitting clothing would at least cover your curves.

You slipped on the first pair of sneakers you saw and left the house, your keys, purse and phone stuffed into your back pockets. You stood in front of your door for a moment, unsure of where to go, then ultimately decided that it really didn't matter, and you turned left and started walking.

You kept your head low, hands awkwardly swaying by your sides, unsure of where to put them because you had no other pockets. The sun was lower in the sky now, gently stretching your shadow behind you as you walked further and further down the street, following it wherever it took you because who cares where you would end up?

As always, there was no one outside besides you. The gentle patter of your footsteps against the cobbled pathway was the only sound you could hear besides the familiar twitter of birds above you. It was moments like these when you began to miss the sounds of the city, with its constant bustling streets and roads filling that emptiness in the air and somewhat reassuring you that you weren't completely alone in this world.

But here, you were. You were entirely alone.

You always thought you would be okay with that, and yet you were now hating it more than anything. How pathetic.

Glancing upwards, you noticed with a blink that the houses in the village were now far behind you. You paused, turning to look over your shoulder to see the shrunken structures in the distance, and your surroundings were instead replaced with rolling green fields of tall grass, mutely swaying in the breeze. How long had it been since you had started walking?

Despite your confusion, you turned back around and continued onward. You shouldn't think about it too much. You didn't want to think at all anymore.

And so, you walked. You walked and walked and walked. You had no idea where the road was headed towards, you had no idea if you were even in the Akashika District at that point, but that was fine. The unknown was welcomed with open arms. Anything to keep your mind quiet.

Unfortunately for you, though, all good things must come to an end. That end came far too quickly when your legs and feet began to ache. Your body was becoming tired — most likely due to you not having any food in your system — and your shortness of breath under the brutal summer heat was making your head spin. You needed to stop soon, unless you wanted to faint.

With great reluctance, you steered yourself to the side of the road, kneeling down with your knees tucked into your chest and your forearms hanging over them. You pushed your hair away from your face, disliking the sweat accumulating on your temple. Whilst you caught your breath, you looked back again down the road you had walked up, and the town was now a lot smaller than it was before.

You would have to walk back there eventually, you reminded yourself, and you outwardly groaned. You didn't want to do that. But you guessed it was your own fault, anyway. You deserved this. It's the consequence of your actions, isn't it? You acted irrationally, and now you had to suffer further.

The sound of a car horn startled you from your thoughts. You whipped your head over to your right with wide eyes, watching as a white car rolled to a stop a few feet ahead of you, its tires crunching against the dirt. The engine died down into silence as you heard the clutch being pulled into place with a squeak, catching a brief glimpse of a shadowy silhouette through the windscreen as it shuffled to get out of the car.

You were frozen in place as you watched a man step out of the vehicle, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he regarded you with a curious look, raising a brow as he stepped closer. His rounded face looked so familiar, as well as those large, half-lidded eyes, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. He wore a white shirt complete with a deep blue tie, which hung loosely under his unbuttoned collar. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, exposing his forearms.

"Are you okay there?" He asked, sauntering to a stop as he stood over you. You stared up at him, breath caught in your throat, unsure of what to say. No, you were not okay, but you couldn't just tell people that, could you? You had to be okay, you had to be normal.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you." You attempted to smile, the strain of forcibly stretching your lips across your cheeks paining you greatly, and you would have kept it up if the man hadn't frowned at you. The smile that was more akin to a grimace slowly slipped off of your face, replaced by a nervous pinch to your lower lip instead.

"You don't look 'fine' to me," he stated bluntly, leaning down a little so that his head was mere inches away from your own. "What are you doing all the way out here on the ground?"

You inched yourself back slightly, wobbling under the uneven balance on your limbs. Excuses, you had to come up with excuses, but that was becoming an increasingly difficult task when the man interrogating you seemed to know that you were lying before you even spoke.

Just as you were about to lose your balance in your crouched position, he grabbed onto your upper arm to steady you. The warmth radiating from his palm seeped through your sleeve, your already boiling skin heating up further from the touch. You felt your cheeks heat up, too, the unfamiliar touch of this (admittedly attractive) man leaving you in a slight daze.

"I-I was just out for a walk, and I got tired, that's all," you quickly stammered, unable to look him in the eyes lest you burst into flames. His scrutinising look didn't falter, instead increasing as he squinted at you harshly.

"You look like you're gonna faint. I think you're a little more than tired, lady."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest at his words. You were fine, totally fine, why couldn't he just accept that?

You gasped as you suddenly felt yourself being lifted off the ground, your arms pulled forward as he forced you to follow behind him. He was leading you to his car, his grip on you firm as if to say that you didn't have a choice.

"Where are you taking me?" You couldn't exactly trust a man you had just met so easily. He stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at you with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, sorry! I'm gonna look weird if I just start dragging you over here, huh?" He released your arms to bow mockingly, peering up at you through one eye as the other closed in a wink.

"The name's Akashika Ozo. Taxi driver, at your service." He grinned widely, seemingly proud of himself for the little skit he had pulled. Ozo straightened back up, taking a hold of your forearm tenderly this time and gesturing towards his car. "I was just planning on giving you a lift to wherever it is you're going. If you want one, that is."

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Skyline Manor by GleefullyCaptainSwan Chapter 2/13

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Or on FF

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Chapter 2: The Swan Thief

“Do I really have to go to dad’s tonight? I was gonna help Will with all the planning for the barbeque!” Henry was packing his clothes into his small suitcase that he used on the weekends he spent with his dad.

“Yes, this is his weekend, and you know it’s important that you spend time with him.”

“I know, I get it.” He groaned. “But can I still see Will before dad gets here?”

“Alright, but don’t be late getting back, your dad will be here in less than an hour. You know how much he hates to wait.”

“That’s because he gets uncomfortable being around you for longer than two minutes.”

Emma laughed. “Well, let’s not make him uncomfortable then.”

As soon as his mother walked out of his room, he reached into his drawer to pull out the notebook he kept so well guarded. He stuffed it into his backpack and zipped it shut. Carrying his stuff, he tossed everything down by the door and slipped into the hall.

Instead of heading across the hall to Will’s, he walked next door and knocked on 4C. Looking around anxiously, he waited for an answer. As he was about to give up, the door opened, Killian stood in front of him, his hair disheveled with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Morning, lad. Everything alright?”

Henry glanced down the hall toward his apartment. “Yup, just checking in to see how your first night went.”

“Are you some sort of welcoming committee?” He joked.

“Nah, did Ruby come by yet?”

“Ruby?” He said with a twitch of his lip and a look of confusion on his face, obviously she hadn’t invited him to the barbeque yet. God, no one ever did anything urgently around here.

He heard a bark from behind the man and a dog came skipping out from one of the rooms. “Cool dog.” He exclaimed, slipping under Killian’s arm, and entering the apartment.

“Why don’t you come in and say hello to the dog.” The man said sarcastically before pausing with a sigh. “His name’s Smee.”

“Hey Smee. I’m Henry.” He looked up at Killian. “Anyway, I stopped by to invite you to a barbeque, since apparently Ruby hasn’t done it yet. And by the looks of the place, you might need somewhere to eat.” He looked around at the empty apartment.

“Yeah, my stuff is supposed to arrive tomorrow. So, what’s this barbeque you’re going on about?”

“It’s an annual thing we do here, barbeque on the roof to welcome summer. Everyone comes and it’s a good place to meet all the neighbors. You can bring a friend or girlfriend…”

“Ah, well, I don’t have a girlfriend, but I suppose I can bring a date.”

No girlfriend. “So, you’re single?”

“You’re pretty nosey for a kid.”

“Mom says I’m curious. You should meet her; her name is Emma.”

“I think I met her boyfriend yesterday. Graham I believe.”

“Oh him, yeah. He’s a security guard for old people.” Henry said, brushing off the question.

“I beg your pardon?”

Henry ignored the question, not wanting to get into any discussion with him about Graham. “So, you’ll come to the barbeque?”

The man laughed. “Well, I don’t suppose you give me much choice, lad.”

“Awesome, I’ll let Ruby and Will know.”

“Is Ruby your little friend’s mom?”

Henry shrugged, “Ruby doesn’t have kids.”

Killian just shook his head, “Alright, well I need to get to work, so I guess I’ll be seeing you at this barbeque.”

“Oh, where do you work?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Do you work for the CIA or something?”

“I bet you work on a boat.” Henry mused.

“Bloody hell kid.” The man’s eyes widened.

“I knew it.” Henry cheered as he patted the dog on the head and walked to the door. “It was the anchor keychain. And you seem like a boat guy.” He shrugged, stepping out into the hall. “See ya later, Killian.”

The door shut behind him and the grin on his face grew wide. He knew he was a Captain. He just knew it. He ran back to his apartment, turning back quickly to knock on Will’s door.

“Oi, I thought you went to Neal’s today.” The man answered with just a pair of shorts on. “You know I sleep in on Saturday’s.”

“Sorry, just wanted to tell you that 4C is coming to the barbeque.”

“Bloody hell, I didn’t even talk to Ruby yet, how did he know?”

“I invited him, we’re friends.” He said with a shrug, turning and entering his apartment, closing the door behind him. As soon as he did both of his parents turned around from the spot they were standing.

“There he is. I told you he would be on time.” His mother said with an icy tone.

“Hey kid, you ready to go?” His dad walked toward him, grabbing his bag from the floor.

“Yup.” He wrapped his arms around his mom and hugged her. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

“You too mom.” He squeezed her tightly and then gripped his backpack, turning to his father who nervously shifted toward the door.

“I’ll have him back by 7pm tomorrow. See ya then, Ems.” He paused, then opened the door, ushering Henry into the hall.

“Be good, Henry.” His mother hollered after him.

“Hold the elevator.” Henry looked up as his father called toward the man at the end of the hall. Henry smiled when he recognized Killian.

“Hey, Killian.” Henry greeted him happily as he entered and stood next to him.

“Hello again, lad.”

“This is my dad, Neal.” He said, staring back at his dad. “Dad, this is Killian, he just moved in next door.”

“Perfect.” His dad mumbled under his breath. “Why isn’t it ever an old lady?”

“Sorry, Mate, what did you say?” Killian inquired.

“I said, nice to meet you.” His father lied. Henry wanted to laugh at the man’s immediate reaction to Killian. His dad always seemed to be intimidated by other men, especially if they were anywhere near his mom.

He had long since given up the childish notion of his parent’s getting back together. While he was sure his dad still had an interest in his mom, he had overheard enough conversations between them where his mother had made it clear that there was no future between them.

His mother never said a negative thing about her father to him, but he was old enough to know that his dad wasn’t exactly husband material. He had heard Ruby refer to Neal as a “grown child” when she and his mom had returned from one of their “girl’s night out” parties.

The elevator arrived at the ground floor and Henry parted ways with Killian with a wave, climbing into his dad’s truck for the drive across town. His dad lived in the city, preferring to be in what he referred to as the hustle and bustle of the big wigs or something equally as stupid as that sounded.

As soon as he got to his room, he pulled out his notebook scribbling excitedly after the events of the afternoon.

Captain Jones strutted through the town of Bostonia, observing the townsfolk as they scurried around preparing for the annual ball. Occasionally he caught the eye of a maiden milling about, sizing up his options for the evening. He had been summoned by the King on an urgent yet delicate matter, one that required him to be discreet regarding the reason for his visit.

As he approached the castle, a guard gestured to him and immediately escorted him to the back of the castle, he was led into the garden and told that the King would be with him shortly. Killian had never been to Skyline Manor before, he was unfamiliar with the town of Bostonia, and its inhabitants.

“Captain Jones.” He turned and saw a man striding toward him. Surely this was King David. He bowed, then stood to meet the man’s eyes.

“Your Highness, I came as soon as I got word of your request.”

“I appreciate your expedience, as well as your discretion in this delicate situation.”

“I fear I do not know the details of why you have summoned me.”

The King caught the eye of his guard and nodded slightly, the man stepped inside the castle walls, leaving them alone. “I am not sure if you are aware of my sister’s situation.” Killian nodded that he did not know the situation that the man was speaking of. “Princess Emma is to choose a husband at the upcoming ball.”

“I am not looking for a wife.” Killian said with a slight chuckle.

The King laughed heartily. “No, no. My sister is being courted by a dear friend of mine, Duke Humbert. It is my hope that she will choose him to marry on this night.”

“Then I truly am confused as to why I have been summoned.”

“I don’t want anything to distract my sister from her suitor. However,…” He leaned toward the Captain. “Have you heard of The Swan Thief?”

“Aye, he is renowned throughout the lands. No one knows his true identity, yet he has managed to lighten the purses of many a kingdom. The rumor is that he has a reputation of sullying plenty of fair maidens in his wake.”

“Including my sister.” He said quietly. “Many years ago, my sister placed her misguided trust in him when he was but a young man, he deceived her, and she was left with a son. Obviously, the scandal of an unwed Princess suddenly finding herself with child would have brought dishonor on our kingdom and thus Princess Emma hid away until Sir Henry was born. Our people were told that Sir Henry’s father died and abandoned him, his pockets full from the kingdom’s coffers and Princess Emma took pity on the boy and raised him as her own.”

“And what of the boy? Does he know of his origins?”

“Sir Henry knows that he is the son of Princess Emma and that if the truth came out, it would be dangerous for both he and his mother.”

“My apologies, your highness. Your sister’s virtue aside, how does this involve me?”

“I have it on good word that The Swan Thief plans to disrupt the ball this evening.”

“He is in town?”

“Yes, my wife, Queen Margaret has received a special jewel from the Queen of Arendelle. I believe he will attempt to steal this item.”

“And you would like me to stop the man? Why me, I’m certain you have very capable guards?”

“You have a certain reputation, one that has reached the shores of Bostonia. You are the most feared Captain in all the realms, and you always catch your man.”

“For the right price.” The Captain added.

“Yes, and I believe you will find this price to be most pleasing.”

“And all you require of me is to capture this Swan Thief in order to take my payment?”

“Discreetly, yes. I do not wish my sister or my nephew to know of his presence. His being here would be most unpleasant for the festivities and my sister.”

“And where will I find this Swan Thief?”

“I believe he is on his way to the castle, even as we have this conversation.”

“And you will divulge to me his true identity?”

“His name is Neal Baelfire.”

~*~

Emma spent the rest of the evening nervously cleaning the apartment. She was never prepared for Henry to go to Neal’s. Half the time he would call and cancel hours before Henry’s was to leave, other times he would show up thirty minutes early wanting to know why he wasn’t ready to go.

As much as she wanted her son to have a relationship with his father, she hated the fact that she had to share him at all.

Her front door opened, and her best friend Will came bounding through the room. “Do you have beer over here?”

“I thought it was BYOB tonight?”

“It is, but I forgot to go shopping because I slept in.”

“Which one was it, did you forget to go shopping or sleep in?”

He laughed nervously, “Which one gets me beer?”

“Why do I love you so much?”

“Because I’m handsome and I put up with you?” He jumped over the back of her couch and landed on the cushions below him.

“How old are you?”

“Come on Em, please?”

The door swung open, and Ruby walked in with a twelve pack of beer and a bottle of rum in her hand. “Let’s get this party started.”

“My hero.” Will exclaimed, jumping up to unload Ruby of her treasures.

“I figured you would forget again.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

“I knew you loved me.” He said lovingly, kissing Ruby on the cheek.

“Eww, you know we’re never gonna happen right?” Ruby shoved him toward the kitchen.

“Only in my dreams, lass.” He teased in their usual ritual.

“Where’s Graham?”

“He gets off at eight, he’ll be here in a bit.”

“Is that when they put the old people to bed?” Will laughed.

“You’re as bad as Henry.” Emma groaned. “He has a great job.”

“I know. I’m kidding, Emma. It’s just…sometimes he’s a bit…”

“Wooden? Boring? Predictable?” Ruby chimed in.

“You guys are terrible friends.” She complained. “He’s a really nice guy and I like him a lot.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Emma gave them both a warning glance before she opened the door. However, it wasn’t Graham at the door but the new neighbor she had seen in the hall the night before.

“Hello, sorry to bother you, lass, I’m your new neighbor. Killian Jones.” Emma tried not to stare, she really did, but the voice was mesmerizing and his eyes kept drawing her in, suddenly she found herself unable to blink. “Hello?” He repeated and she shook herself out of her trance.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m Emma.”

“My stuff is still being delivered and the moving company lost a few of my boxes. You wouldn’t happen to have a bowl I could borrow?”

“Um, sure, yes I mean. One second.” She turned around and wandered into the kitchen, looking through her cabinets for a bowl.

“So, you’re the mysterious Jones in 4C?” Will questioned the newcomer. “Henry told me he invited you to the barbeque next weekend.”

Emma’s head snapped toward Killian. Her son invited him to the barbeque?

“Um yes, the lad is very friendly.” He said with a tone of discomfort.

“Here you go.” She offered the bowl toward him.

“Thank you, love.” He responded and she felt as if her tongue was swelling in her mouth causing her to be unable to speak.

“Uh yeah, no problem.”

“I’ll bring it back tomorrow, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.”

“Well, enjoy your evening.” He turned to leave before Ruby crowded behind her.

“You like poker or alcohol?” Emma turned and glared at her friend. “We’re having an adult night.” She announced with her tongue practically hanging out of her mouth.

“Oh, well, I’m making dinner for my date, actually. But thanks for the invite. Perhaps another time.” He said with a smirk that made Emma’s heart race.

“You’re welcome any time at my place. I’m just across the hall at 4D.” Emma shoved her friend backwards into the apartment.

“Thanks again.” He smiled and Emma slammed the door shut quickly.

“Oh my God, Ruby, I’m surprised you didn’t throw your bra at him and start screaming his name.”

“Did you see that man? Damn.” Ruby sighed.

Emma bit her lip, she had to admit the man was easy on the eyes, but he did just say that he was making dinner for a date. And oh my God, she had a boyfriend. Greg or Garret… her brain was suddenly going blank.

~*~

Killian walked back to his apartment in a haze. So that was Henry’s mother. He had only caught a glimpse of her when he saw her in the hall previously, but up close she was almost intoxicating. It was a true shame that she was attached to the man he had met previously.

He opened the door to his apartment, Belle standing at the counter stirring the pasta on the stove. “Did they have a bowl.”

“Aye.”

“Oh great, it’s always nice to have good neighbors.”

They finished preparing dinner, sitting down at the table with Belle to enjoy their hard work. “I forgot to mention that I was invited to a barbeque this weekend, care to join me.”

“Who invited you?”

“Apparently I moved in right before the annual barbeque. Henry, the lad next door invited me.”

“You got invited by a kid?”

“Aye, odd child, very curious. Possibly working undercover for the CIA.” Killian joked.

“Aww, you made a friend your own age.” She teased.

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious though, it’s nice. Maybe he doesn’t have any other friends around here.”

“Not true, he said his best friend lives across the hall. I think he said his name was Will.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet.”

“You think everything is sweet, lass.” He teased.

“I think you’re sweet.” She blushed and he tried to ignore the smile on her face and the way she stared at him with emotion in her eyes.

“You wound me, French. I may be dashing, dare I say devilishly handsome even, but sweet? You take that back, woman.” He chased her down the hall toward the bedroom, capturing his prize as he dragged her into the darkened room.

~*~

When Henry returned home the next evening, he found his mother lying on the couch, her sleep mask over her face. “Mom?”

His dad dropped his bag on the ground loudly and Emma jumped from the couch. “Oh hey, what time is it?”

“It’s 7pm.” Neal announced. “Are you sick?”

“Not really, no. Headache.” She groaned. “Did you have fun, kid?”

Henry glanced at his dad and lied. “Loads, we watched Pokémon and ate pizza.”

His mother started to laugh, and Henry narrowed his eyes. She immediately recognized his warning. “Well, that’s great. Sounds fun.”

“I’ll uh guess I’ll see you in a couple weeks.” His dad announced, and Henry wrapped his arms around his waist before taking off down the hall toward his room as he shouted his goodbye.

He stopped at his door, listening to his parents talking softly in the other room.

“So, about the next visit. I have to…” His dad started before his mom cut him off.

“Seriously, Neal?”

“I’m going out of town for a couple of weeks. Business.”

Henry rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure the business he was talking about was a dark-haired woman with big boobs that his dad had spent all weekend facetiming.

“Did you tell him already?”

“I was kind of hoping you would just let him know.”

“Of course you were.” He mother said flatly.

“I just hate seeing the disappointment on his face.”

“Maybe try not disappointing him so often then.”

Henry sighed and quietly closed his bedroom door. He tossed his bag into his closet and slammed himself down onto his bed with a thud. Digging into his backpack he pulled out the old notebook and scanned through the last words he had put on paper. Biting his lip, he grabbed his pencil.

Neal Baelfire sat alone in a darkened corner of the Thirsty Lion tavern in the port of Bostonia. The busty red haired bar wench sauntered over to him with a cold mug of beer, slamming it on the table as the suds poured down the sides of his glass.

“Anything else I can get you?” She cooed.

“How bout some company?” He offered. “Perhaps just the two of us?”

“You payin’?” She said with a drawl.

“You got a room here? I need a place to stay.” He asked, dropping a cloth bag onto the table, the sound of coins clanging together bringing a smile to her face.

“Let me get you a key, sugar.”

As the woman retreated, Neal watched the portly man on the other side of the bar, drinking his pint alone. The man was always on time, never a moment late. His plan was falling into place. Soon he would take what he needed, what was owed to him. He would be able to afford the life of luxury that was denied him, that she had kept him from. Once he had the ice diamond, he could afford a new life, far away from Bostonia.

Once he had the ice diamond, he would have his son again.

[kyuublu]

Quick Thrills

Kyoutani Kentaro x reader

Underground Fighter AU

Part One

Song rec: Monks - Frank Ocean

5 YEARS BEFORE

The smell of booze and smoke was a thing I got used to pretty quickly, did I ever grow fond of it? Not really.

“Y/N, take out the trash wouldya?” My boss approached me from the side before taking the glass I had previously cleaned. “Yes, Sir.” I gave him a quick nod, making my way towards the back door of the small bar.

With the trash in both hands I leaned against the door, pushing my way into the cold night air. A couple of barking dogs could be heard in the distance. As I approached the garbage containers, another sound got my attention. Heavy breathing.

I turned to look at the alley behind me. A figure was uncomfortably slumped against the wall, panting like their life depended on it. Oh, its him again. After recognizing the stranger, I carelessly threw the trash into the container and decided to approach him.

“Got your ass beat again, huh?” I was a little cockier than usual, probably due to a couple of shots I had to share with some customers. The boy looked up, a bit taken back from the sudden encounter. He huffed out a chuckle and looked back to the ground.

“You should’ve seen how they looked like.”

If you looked close enough, you could make out a small glimpse of a smirk, hidden behind his harsh frown. “What a shame, I would’ve loved to see that. I only ever see you around here, all beaten up.” The boy was shaking slightly. After effects of the adrenaline probably.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, so...” He declared, not once meeting my gaze. I only hummed in response and quickly looked at the watch on my wrist.

“My shift ends in 10 minutes. You can come over to my place after that.” His brows furrowed even more at the last comment, making me laugh a bit. He didn’t even look flustered. “I’m pretty good at handling wounds, ya know. My dad was a nurse.” Finally he turned to meet my eye. Silence.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

A grin plastered across my face, I always liked people who didn’t talk too much.

5 YEARS LATER

As I applied yet another coat of the clear liquid across my lips, my confidence visibly rose. A quick look in the mirror only confirmed my thoughts. I looked ready to manipulate yet another man.

After leaving the mess of a bathroom I was in, I quickly spotted my partner in crime.

“Is this really necessary again?”

Kyoutani Kentaro.

One of the new upcoming fighters in the underground scene in tokyo. After years of training and beating himself to the top (literally), he has finally reached the potential of becoming the best of the best. Of course, he didn’t get that far all on his own though.

“Yes Kentaro, you know how we play.” I gave him a side glance before walking up to the bar to get another drink. “Wasn’t your plan to play fair? When did that change?” He grumble as he began leaning against the counter. His eyes were wandering around the crowd until they focused on a certain spot in the VIP section. “Oh come on, that was years ago!” I waved off his attempts at leaving the club early. I knew only wanted to get out of here as fast as possible.

“Making connections, knowing your crowd. That’s what will get you even further than any of those fools that you fight against.” Holding his gaze for a minute I turned back to look for the VIP section. “You mean, milking rich guys for their money.” His brow perked up in expectation. He knew what I was doing, but he also knew it worked everytime.

“How about this? I go and get the big bad rich guys to bet on you-“ I walked infront of my dear friend as I poked his chest playfully. “And you introduce yourself, act nice for a bit and then excuse yourself because you need some rest before the game tomorrow.” The man only let out a dry chuckle before shrugging “That was my plan from the start.”

After introducing ourselves to most of the investors that were lingering around the VIP section, one caught my eye specifically. It was always the same type of guy. I could already feel the disgust of my working partner when the man shook my hand with the biggest smirk.

“Please tell me you’re going home with that guy. Anyone but him.”

“Come on ken! You know the guys I go for... And he’s one of the biggest investors for-“

Before Kyoutani could listen to any more of my drunk bullshit he stopped me with a pat on the shoulder. “Just call me if this idiot pulls some funny shit.” I giggled and nodded my head like a little kid, only to so him roll his eyes. He knew what I was getting myself into again, and he’d let me do it again.

The apartment I was currently in must’ve been huge. As soon as the investor guy, that had previously introduced himself as Atsumu, and I had entered the place there was a huge glass wall. It provided a view of the whole city. The rest was just a blurr due to his lips crashing on mine as soon as we stepped in.

“So you and Kentaro.. Is there something serious between y’all?” His voice only sounding like a whisper next to my ear. I put my head back for a second and looked him dead in the eye.

“Are you serious? I’m his manager.” I grabbed his face closer before he could make another dumb comment. Suddenly Atsumu backed away again with a smirk. “So what? Just because ya work for somebody doesn’t mean it can’t become more.”

I noticed pretty quickly that his while personality seemed to revolve around teasing people. He got off on making people visibly uncomfortable.

“Don’t compare my working ethics with your flings at the office.” The fake blonde only scoffed before guiding my hips against his more forcefully. This was gonna be a long night.

“Ya really think he’s gonna win?”

“I don’t think so, I know it.”

[Kyoutani POV]

She always does this shit. That was the first thing I thought as soon as I heard the door open at 9 am. My eyes snapped shut as she wandered around the room, clumsily getting out of her clothes and looking for the couch in the dark. The smell of alcohol filling the room caught my attention as I peaked through my barely shut eyes.

She often slept in underwear, but I still didn’t get used to the feeling it gave me when I saw her walking around so carelessly. Y/n finally found the end of the couch and slowly sprawled herself onto it. I could only see her feet peaking out from the side. I hated when she came home like that. At this point it wasn’t just reckless, she just seemed pathetic.

1st Fight

[Y/N POV]

“Aran! You looking fine as always, I see.” The man held out his arms invitingly at the sight of me. “And you haven’t changed a bit, y/n.”

After letting go from the crushing hug, I frowned at his response. “I hope that’s a compliment.”

“I would never mock you, my friend.” He patted me on the shoulder until his eyes met Kentaros behind me. The fighter wore his usual frown, which was only accentuated by the black eyeliner under his eyes.

“I’m guessing you’re the infamous Mad dog I’ve been hearing about.” Aran held out his hand but was only met with another cold stare and somewhat of a grunt. I only sighed at his behavior. He always gets weird around new people, or just almost anyone besides me in general actually. I pushed his figure towards the door Aran had previously opened for us. “Sorry, he’s always a little grumpy before a fight.” The old friend only nodded and gave Kentaro a quick glance before entering after us. He was probably weirded out like most people who met him.

“You always seem to know someone, any place we go.” Kyoutani was trudging beside me now as we headed towards the lockers.

“Well yea, you always get to know some people when you work at a bar.”

“You quit like 2 years ago.” He huffed out.

“Like I said, you gotta know your crowd and thankfully I did enough research before we entered this scene.” My friend didn’t seem to convinced as he side eyed me. Poking his side I teasingly grinned up at him.

“Just appreciate my efforts, you big baby.”

[Kyoutani POV]

After hitting my last punch I knew it was over for the guy. His eyes only showing fear before I could draw out another swing to his face. I could feel the excitement taking over me when his body landed on the floor. I knew what was coming next.

“The Winner is... Maddog!”

The referee held up my hand before the guy could even stand up properly. At this point even the small crowd of people surrounding the ring weren’t paying attention to the guy who was knocked out. Everyone seemed ecstatic.

My eyes immediately found y/n’s. Without a doubt this was the best thing about winning a fight. The cheering from the crowd was nothing against the look she gave me every single time I won. Just for a moment, it felt like I was the only one she had eyes for. A genuine smile began forming on my lips when I saw her chanting with the crowd. Sadly the moment was over way too fast.

A sudden pat on the shoulder pulled me back into reality. The referee and I spoke a quick word and then I headed out of the ring. Back at the lockers I had just calmed back down again. The adrenaline usually stayed for a couple more hours after a fight but this time it didn’t seem to go down until a certain y/h/c came into view. She held out a big chunk of money in her hand and waved it around proudly. I couldn’t hold back my smile.

“Look at my boy taking big money home tonight.” Tossing the money on the spot next to me, y/n began to come closer. “I’m proud of you.” Her smile was wholeheartedly this time again until her gaze focused back on the money.

“But don’t get too cocky for now. You know who’s coming up next.” I nodded slowly in acknowledgement. “Come on, let’s get outta here.”

After walking for what felt like hours, we finally ended up at a bus stop where a bus was already waiting for us. Not just for us though.

“Really? One of those travel buses again?”

The woman beside me sighed again at my clear frustration. “Kyoutani, you know we can’t afford some freaking limousine.” Rolling my eyes at her exaggeration, I trudged after her into the vehicle. “We could’ve at least took a train or something.” This time she didn’t reply but only showed the driver our information. After handling that, we made our way towards our seats.

I was beat after this fight, but I sure as hell wasn’t to happy about having to sleep on an uncomfortable bus seat.

“Hey, I’m sorry dude but we just can’t spend the money on whatever we feel like.” It was clear that she genuinely felt bad about the situation. I shrugged as I took the seat next to her and threw my head back.

“It’s alright, I trust you with the organizing and stuff. You’re the boss after all.” The woman suddenly perked up at the ‘boss’ remark.

“Uhh so I’m your boss now, huh? I thought I was just your little assistant that takes care of you.”

My cheeks almost began to turn red until I pushed her shoulder playfully. “Sh-Shut up ya idiot.” Her giggles filled the rustling inside the bus and made my knees weak simultaneously.

Thank god I was already sitting.

[Y/N POV]

Kyoutani was out in minutes after the bus left the station. I looked over his awkwardly placed form. His arms were crossed over his chest and his head was slightly tilted to the side.

My brows furrowed once I took in the current state of his body. He had scratches and blue spots here and there but that couldn’t compare to the pure exhaustion that was emitting from him. I knew this routine took a toll on him but everytime he came out of a fight I just felt bad. It was always a mystery to me why he had started fighting in the first place. The only thing I knew was his background of causing a lot of trouble in high school until he got kicked out of his home.

Thankfully our paths crossed pretty soon after and I took him in after finding him all busted on the streets. The idea of being his manager came when I first saw him fight in an underground competition.

My job at the bar only kept me somewhat afloat and my life seemed to be spiraling into a continuous cycle of depression.

Back then his fascination with fighting might have been out of pure need for thrill, but I was truly amazed by it. His drive shook me awake from that weird state I was in.

But it was still strange to me, what did he keep doing it for?

This guy got me way too worried. I shrugged off my thoughts, carefully placing my head against his shoulder. I slowly lulled my way into sleep as I took in the scenery of the drive to our next destination.

Shibuya

____

Hope u guys enjoyed another AU fic. Also Part 2 is coming pretty soon!

[starryse]

Hot & Cold

13 Days of SVT Christmas- Day 3

Jeonghan x Reader

Fluff, Christmas au, friends?enemies? to lovers au

2.2k

Snow was a given on Christmas, that, anyone knew. It wasn’t odd for inches of snow to cover the ground, and for the sky to be a bright white instead of its normal shades of blue. However, when it comes to Christmas plans, everyone seems to forget about the same snow they had been squealing about days prior.

You weren’t an exception.

Your breath fogged the window in front of you, the dew forming blurring the outside view. Groaning, you dropped your head down, forehead resting on the cold glass.

You didn’t mind staying cooped up inside when the roads were too dangerous to drive on, in fact, you loved it. It was a nice change of pace when you had to stay home; rather than having thousands of plans a day with only 24 hours to do them, your only option was to relax and work around the house. But when your roommate's annoying friend was also going to be snowed in with you, you couldn’t dread it anymore.

“Aww what’s wrong y/n? Hot date get canceled cause of the snow?”

You backed away from the window, a slight red mark left on your forehead. “Actually no, I’m just so excited to be stuck with you,” you scoffed.

Jeonghan’s smug smile grew, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips as he plopped onto the couch, “ah ditto, beautiful. I can’t wait to spend Christmas with you.”

“Please can you stop arguing for just 5 minutes? We’re snowed in for God knows how long, try and get along”

You and Jeonghan turned your heads towards the scruff voice belonging to your friend. His hand rubbed his creased forehead, eyes squinting shut. You sighed, nodding your head as you walked over to the male, “I’ll do my best, just keep your little devil in check and we’ll be fine”

Jeonghan cackled, leaning over the couch, white-sleeve cladded arms resting on the back, “does that mean you’re my angel?”

You groaned as you walked away from the smirking dark haired man on the couch, “Oh my God I’m going to my room”

“Can I join?!”

You flipped off the laughing male, quickly shutting your door right after.

The sun had begun to set, the snow just barely letting up from earlier. The sunset outside shown through the sheer curtains in your room, soft orange hues reflecting onto your walls. You had been in your room for a few hours, most of which were spent groaning and whining about the crazy amount of work you had to complete before next semester (which was in a week). The other good chunk of the time was you lounging on your bed, fingers mindlessly scrolling through your phone as you mentally prepared yourself to be in the presence of Jeonghan for what could be days.

Yours and Jeonghan’s relationship was a complicated one. Simple really to your shared close friends (which happened to be all of your friends), to them it was mere sexual tension, convinced you both had to big of egos to fuck one out. Meanwhile, to outsiders it may seem as if you truly hated one another, that the pure existence of each other was the bane of your lives. But for you, you didn’t know what it was. You didn’t hate Jeonghan, God no. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy his remarks from time to time. And maybe you found him incredibly attractive. Also you 100% daydreamed about him more than you’d like to admit.

No. No no. He annoyed you. Constantly antagonizing everything you did, whether it was when you tripped over nothing and landed on a pile of Mingyu’s dogs shit, or when you were rejected by the waiter you had tried flirting with. Jeonghan always had some remark that made your blood boil.

But he was also the same guy who knew how hard you had studied for your exam, only for you to fail it, and proceed to comfort you and order you takeout. And there were all the times where Coups couldn’t come home and Jeonghan offered to stay with you (he knew how much you hated being alone at night.) He’s confusing. But then again you could only guess you were too.

“Hello my angel, dinners readyyy”

Jeonghan stood at your door, his body leaning against the frame. His dark hair casted over his eyebrows, hair parting to reveal his forehead and the small scar above his eyebrow (you may or may not have accidentally did that when you first met).

You rolled over from your previous position facing your window. Sitting up, you stretched your arms as you twisted your back. Jeonghan couldn’t help but shamelessly watch as your shirt clung to your skin as you moved, he was a simple guy. His eyes quickly darted up towards yours when you gazed over at him.

“Sooo why are you still standing there?”

Your question seemed to snap him out of his haze, his mouth stuttering out random words before he flipped you off and “ran” back out the door. That seems to be a common occurrence in the house. You snorted, standing up from your bed to go eat dinner.

“They say that the snow isn’t going to let up anytime soon. Don’t be surprised if we’re snowed in the next 2 days” Seungcheol leaned back on the couch, his elbow propped on the arm rest, head in his hand as he flipped through the Netflix shows.

You sat between the boys, feet propped on the coffee table in front of you,“can’t we watch a Christmas movie, Christmas is literally tomorrow?” Your answer was quickly given when Cheol kicked your legs off the table, causing them to fall onto the ground with a thud. You muttered a few curse words under your breath, bringing your legs up to sick criss cross on the couch.

Jeonghan laughed as he watched the two of you banter over something as little as a Christmas movie, though he wasn’t entirely surprised- you were both immensely stubborn.

Waiting for the perfect timing, Jeonghan slyly reached behind your back, grabbing the remote from the crack of the couch between you and Cheol. His eyes darted from the tv to you two as he sneakily flicked on a movie.

The sound of Christmas bells and people talking caught both yours and the pouty man on your lefts attention, your mouths shutting as you turned to the tv screen.

A loud screech erupted from your mouth, your legs quickly bouncing on the floor as you pointed a finger at the pouting man, “YES! In your face, Cheol! Christmas wins again!” Said man slunk down in his seat, half of his body towards the floor as he groaned in annoyance, “Jeonghan really? I thought you were on my side man”

Jeonghan merely laughed, his arm patting Seungcheol’s shoulder, “What can I say, I’m a sucker for Christmas movies,” his eyes drifted over at you, watching as yours lit up in delight as you watched the movie in front of you, “and maybe I like seeing others happy.”

Seungcheol only sighed, knowing fair well why the dark haired boy betrayed him. Oh how he had looked forward to being a third wheel.

It was close to midnight now, the first movie had been done for a few hours as the 3rd one ran. The small living room was lit up by the lights strung on the tree in the corner and the strands along the archway. You may have fallen asleep halfway during the 2nd movie, leaving just Coups as Jeonghan fell asleep in the beginning of the 3rd.

Seungcheol looked over towards your two huddled figures. You were stuck to Jeonghan’s side like glue, his arm drapes around your side, hand pressed against your hip. The blanket previously wrapped around you was now discarded on the floor, the only thing keeping you from freezing was whatever body heat Jeonghan was radiating without a blanket himself. The eldest sighed, muttering an idiots under his breath as he stood up, tossing the blanket over the two of you before switching off the tv and heading to bed.

“MERRRRYY CHRISTMAS!!”

You moaned, leaning your body away from the sound, stuffing your head into the closest thing next to you. The feeling of hair in your mouth caused you to spew, your eyes peeling open as you lifted your head. The view of Jeonghan’s head right next to yours made you gasp, your eyes widening in shock. You glared over at Seungcheol who stood in front of you with a smug grin, similar to the one the sleeping boy always wore, “Seungcheol. What am I doing?”

The boy tilted his head in mock confusion, “well it seems to me you’re sleeping with Jeonghan?” You scrambled up, grabbing the pillow next to you before wacking the manically laughing man as he ran to sit next to the tree. The sudden movement caused said boy to stir, his hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You halted your movement, turning to look at Jeonghan who was now sitting half awake beside you on the couch.

“Merry Christmas”

You quickly answered back, a slight pink rising to your cheeks at his deeper than normal voice. God bless mornings.

Seungcheol clapped his hands, a grin etching across his face as he leaned his body over to grab one of the presents underneath the tree, “y/nnn, this ones for you!”

You smiled back, standing up from your seat, dropping the blanket on the floor in the process as you walked over to sit next to Cheol. You grabbed the present from him as he waved one of his hands at Jeonghan, the dark haired boy getting the hint as he tiredly walked over next to you. You waited for Seungcheols cue to open it, his head nodding. You greedily tore the wrapping paper off, the scraps falling onto the floor as well as Jeonghan’s legs that were sprawled in front of him. The boy looked at you, eyes squinting, “in a hurry much are we Y/n?”

You ignored his comment, instead gasping at the camera you’ve been wanting that sat in your hands. Your eyes widened, body immediately flinging into Coups’ already open arms, “you’re the bestest best friend ever, thank you Cheol.”

Seungcheol squeezed you one more time before you leaned back onto your knees in front of the tree. You passed one of the presents from you to Seungcheol, placing it in his hands that were held out flat in front of him. For a 25 y/o, he sure was giddy like a child when it came to presents.

The man cackled at the sight of the sushi boxers in front of him, the hidden meaning of the gift a fond memory, “thanks Y/n, I will cherish these beautes forever.” You smiled, patting his head. You sat back next to Jeonghan, waiting for more presents to be passed about.

Seungcheol smirked at the small, light blue wrapped present in the back of the tree, “ah, I almost forgot about this one. Y/n, this last one is yours”

You narrowed your eyes at the smug man, wondering why he was smirking at you because of a gift. Hesitantly grabbing the gift, you began slowly unwrapping it (much much slower compared to the first few presents you had torn open.) As you focused on the present, you didn’t notice the nervous man next to you, his fingers fiddling together as he gnawed on his bruising lip. He watched you through the hair that crowded his sight, cheeks the color of the lights that decorated the tree.

Your heart slowed at the now un-wrapped present, hands gently lifting the silver chain. You glanced up, eyes meeting Seungcheols. He shook his head, pointing a finger towards Jeonghan as he pretended to stretch his arms out. Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth forming a small O. You looked down at the necklace, fingers tracing the jeweled heart as you opened the locket. Your breath hitched at the engraved letters- a J for Jeonghan and your own first initial as well.

Jeonghan jumped at the sudden contact, his heart beating rapidly at the weight of your body against his. Snapping out of the shock, he softly wrapped his arms around you, his hand placed on the back of your neck as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head. He was on fire, maybe not literally, but he sure felt as if he were in flames.

You pulled back, hands gently cupping his cheeks, “why?”

Jeonghan smiled, and not the usual devilish smirk he did- no, this was different. Was it adoration? Happiness? “Because I'm maybe, possibly, 100%, for sure in love with you”

You melted at his words, a light laugh sounding before pressing your lips on his cheek, “Well maybe, possibly, 100%, for sure am I in love with you too”

The man's eyes lit up at that, a large grin spreading across his face. Pulling you back against him, he squeezed your body as he fell against the ground, a loud cheer leaving his mouth. Your laughs filled the air, a sound you were sure your neighbors could hear 2 doors down.

Seunghceol sighed at the sight, though a fond smile was hidden behind that, “let the 3rd wheeling begin.”

[particularemu]

I Missed You | A Bang Chan Scenario

Word Count: 3857

Type: Smut

Warnings: Light choking at the end

Author’s Note: For my bby @channiesmixtape​ 

I apologize, this is SO RUSHED, like yikes. 

Sorry it took so long fam! Thank you for supporting my writing 🥰

Chan was a cruel man. 

A very very cruel man. 

The past hour or so you’ve been at the gym with your boyfriend. You two originally planned to do some couple’s yoga class, but the stupid thing was cancelled last minute because the teacher was either sick with the flu, or didn’t feel like teaching odd 20-something-year-olds how to balance on their significant other’s limbs while in difficult yoga poses. 

Despite your silent internal protest, Chan decided to take the time and get some “much-needed” exercise. Honestly, you just wanted to go home and binge watch the latest K-Drama you and Chan started before he had to go on tour. The lazy bone was hitting you hard today. 

Instead of sitting on your phone for the next hour, you decided it might not be a bad idea to get some exercise yourself. After all, you did eat a whole tub of ice cream last night for unknown reasons. Might as well hop on a machine to work off the extra calories you consumed while watching the latest Weekly Idol episode. 

After walking around the gym staring at the intimidating machines for 10 minutes, you decided the exercise bike looked the least intimidating. You just get on and pedal right? 

Unfortunately, about 20 minutes into your Stray Kids Spotify playlist, your knee decided it was time to burn like hell. Well you tried.  A+ for effort. 

Without anything better to do, you figured watching your attractive boyfriend work out was a good idea. Boy were you wrong. 

Watching your muscular boyfriend work out was filling your head with some dirty thoughts. 

With Chan’s busy schedule, you haven’t exactly had a ton of time to hump like bunnies, so you’ve been super horny for the past couple of weeks, for no apparent reason. 

Chan had to travel for about a month. About 2 days into his absence you started to realize — wow, you guys had sex wayyyyy too much. You couldn’t even last 2 days without sex before you began to masturbate to the memories of his hands on your body. Of course the toys you had stashed under the bed in a lockbox helped dramatically, but none of them filled you up like Chan did. 

“Back so soon?” Chan teased, flexing his arm as he lifted the dumbbell.

Your thighs instinctively pressed together, praying to the sex gods that you weren’t turned on enough to seep through your leggings. The last thing you wanted was the whole gym to see a wet patch through your skin-tight pants. 

“My knee decided that exercise wasn’t in the cards today.” You shivered at a sudden breeze that slipped through the crack of the open door — mentally cursing those who opened it. You grabbed your hoodie, throwing it over your head and slipping your arms through the sleeves as Chan put the dumbbells away. 

Chan stretched his hand out to you, inviting you to lace your fingers between his perfect ones. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“I can wait if you have more to do.” You intertwined your fingers with his, leaning your head against his shoulder as he lead you to the door. 

“Nah. I don’t want to stick around here if you’re in pain. You need to rest.” 

“Alright you’ve convinced me. Let’s go home.” You giggled as Chan swung your hands obnoxiously while the two of you walked out the door. 

---------

“Gosh, what’s the hurry?” Chan giggled as he stumbled into your small living room, practically knocking into the small table you had placed against the wall near the door. To be fair, you did kind of shove him into the room. 

“Chan. It’s been a month since we’ve watched our drama. I’m going crazy here. I want to see if she’s finally going to get together with him.” You threw your bag onto the coat rack, flinching when the unstable piece of furniture rocked under the weight of your unreasonably large bag, making Chan giggle as he watched you steady the hunk of wood. 

“Fine, fine. You could watch it without me you know.” Chan stepped on the heel of his shoe, slipping out of them with ease before sprawling on your dingy blue couch. He flinched a bit as the springs poked him in the side. 

“Yeah, everything I own is falling apart. I did buy a new mattress though. Wanna binge watch it on my bed?” You threw your keys into a small bowl resting on top of the table next to the front door. Chan gave you that bowl when you first bought that apartment because you kept losing your keys and other important stuff like chapstick, pain killers, and your extra phone charger. 

Chan sat up from the broken-down couch, laughing as the piece of shit groaned under his weight. “What did you do to this thing?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s like 87 years old. My grandmother gave it to me a long time ago, and from what my mom has told me, they did it everywhere.” You cringed at your own words. Probably wasn’t the best story to tell your boyfriend when you were hoping to get dicked down later. 

Oh well. 

Chan visibly cringed before hopping off the ragged couch. “Yep. Your room sounds lovely.” 

You laughed, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend's neck. “You know… we could always do more than watching shows in there.” 

“Oh really.” Chan’s eyebrow shot up in the air, a dorky grin tugging at his lips as you finished your proposal. 

“We can cuddle.” You kissed his lips. “And kiss.” You pressed another soft kiss to his lips. 

“I like the sound of that.” Chan smiled, hands sliding down your shoulders before linking under your butt and lifting you up. 

You couldn’t help but squeal a bit as Chan lifted you off the ground, arms and legs wrapping around him as if you were a koala bear hanging onto a tree during a severe windstorm. 

“I’ve got you.” Chan chuckled as he walked the two of you to your less than extravagant bedroom. 

Truth be told, being in his arms like that made you feel safe. It’s been far too long. The entire month he was gone, you craved moments like these. You missed having his arms around you as you giggled over senseless things, watching your K-drama together, sitting in the recording studio listening to his new music. All those moments were replaced with 3 AM text messages and 5 minute calls before bed.  

“I missed you.” You nuzzled your head into his neck. 

“I missed you too baby girl.” Chan pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, chuckling when he saw your sheets. “I hate to ruin this moment, but I have to ask. Are those taco sheets?”

“I happen to like tacos a lot.” You giggled. “And they were on sale.” You added, making Chan laugh. 

“I love them.” Chan nuzzled his nose against yours — the corny action making you fake-gag. 

“Be nice to your boyfriend.” Chan laughed. 

“No.” You retorted. 

“Fine.” An evil grin made its way on Chan’s face before he tossed you onto your mattress, laughing with you as you bounced a couple times. His laughter died down a bit as he crawled onto the mattress, snuggling next to your body.

You smacked his arm, “Hey! That’s one way to ruin the mood.” 

“Oh? What mood did we have?” Chan couldn’t stop his laughter. “Last I remember we were talking about your grandparents going at it on your couch.” 

You mentally smacked yourself. Why on earth did you think it was a good idea to bring that up when you were hoping to have his fingers shoved into your vag. 

That’s when it hit you. 

“What if I strip for you?” Your eyes met his, noticing the slight blush tinting his pale skin. 

“Are you seriously trying to convince me to have sex with you?” Chan’s hands ran along your side, making your body shiver at his touch. 

You wanted more — so much more, and he knew it. His large hand lingered on hip, squeezing the soft flesh softly as he waited for you to say something — anything that would give him permission to devour you bit by bit. Despite his teasing, he wanted this just as much as you did. 

“I was really hoping to get laid tonight.” Your voice shook slightly, confidence wavering as you tried your hardest to keep your composure. Frankly, you were ready to get on your knees and beg, but you were hoping it wouldn’t come to that. 

Chan chuckled a bit before pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. It was as if time stopped, all that mattered in the world was his lips against yours. “That’s funny. I was hoping for the same thing.” 

You moaned softly as Chan’s lips met yours once more, hands traveling up your torso to guide your shirt and sports bra up your body. Your lips separated to remove the unnecessary garments, only to connect once more when he tossed them across the room. Chan swiped his tongue against your lower lip, slipping into your mouth when you obediently parted your lips for him. 

This kiss made up for all the kisses you two missed out on while he was gone. It was the perfect mixture of clashing teeth and tongue as you two felt each other’s warmth in a tight embrace. His breath ghosted across your skin as he pulled away from you, hands darting to the back of his head to yank his shirt off. 

“Ugh, you’re perfect.” Your hands darted to his chest, fingertips feeling the taut muscles.

Chan just chuckled, eyes drinking every inch of your exposed skin. “So are you.” 

Your heart nearly stopped when Chan swung his leg over your hips, piercing gaze watching your cheeks tint a rose color as he straddled you. His fingers fiddled with his belt buckle, unbuckling the damn thing at a painfully slow pace. 

If you weren’t so entranced by his hands, you probably would have said something along the lines of ‘My grandfather moves faster than you,’ and thrusted your hips into his for effect. However, the way his hands looked as he threw the offending piece of leather across the room sent a wave of electricity up your spine.

Your heart panged against your ribcage as if it were playing an obnoxiously loud drum solo at a Metallica concert as your mind flashed with various images of Chan’s hands doing dirty things to your body. A moan escaped your lips as you imagined him sticking his fingers in your mouth before driving them into your pussy, fucking you mercilessly with his fingers as his tongue lapped at your slit. 

A scene straight from a porn movie was playing in your head as you watched your boyfriend slip off his pants in front of you. Was that weird?

That doesn’t matter. 

With each passing second, your underwear grew damper and you found yourself wanting him — and his hands — immediately. 

Speaking of hands…

Chan’s hands were glorious. Your eyes followed their every movement, eyeing up the veins that scattered across his forearms. His knuckles were scraped slightly — most likely from today’s session with the punching bag at the gym. His fingers were the perfect length, and you knew what they were capable of. The thought if his fingers ramming into your g-spot sent a wave of excitement through you. 

You were far too busy gawking at his hands to notice that he caught you staring. 

“I knew it!” Chan’s excited voice startled you a bit, effectively turning off the dirty thoughts you were having and replacing them with pure panic. 

“Knew what?” You looked away, cheeks tinted scarlet as you fiddled with your thumbs. 

Maybe he didn’t actually catch you eye-fucking his hands?

“I knew you had a thing for my hands.” 

“Shit.” The four-letter word slipped from your lips before you could stop it. 

Chan laughed at your reaction, arms wrapping around his midsection as he fell to his side. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Hey! You laughing at me isn’t helping.” You swatted his shoulder. 

Sure it was kind of embarrassing to admit that simply looking at his god-like hands would turn you on faster than the speed of light, but it was kind of nice to know you didn’t have to hide it anymore — not that you were doing a good job. 

Chan’s laughter died down. “Sorry. I’m not making fun of you. I just don’t see it. What makes my hands so sexy baby girl?” 

“Chris.” You rolled him over and straddled his hips, grinding your core into his growing cock. “I find everything about you sexy — including your hands.” 

Your fingertips grazed along his chest, fingers dipping into each curve of his abs as you ground your hips into his again, hoping he would get the hint to quit teasing and fuck you already. “I want you Chris.” You slid off his lap, fingertips tugging at the waistband of his boxers. 

Chan’s eyes darkened with lust — or was that your imagination? Nevermind, that doesn’t matter. 

You were more focused on his hand palming his length through the navy blue boxers you were trying to remove from his body. The erotic sight making you more and more excited for what was to come. 

It had been so long. You were dying to unwrap him. 

“What exactly do you want baby girl?” Chan purred. “I bet you’ve had some amazing dreams about my hands.” He smirked when your face flushed red. Bingo! “Tell me, what exactly do you want me to do.”  

His words sent shivers up your spine. Well, the boy already knew you had a hand fetish. Might as well have some fun and get him to do what you’ve been dreaming of. After all, you have been having the same exact wet dream for over a month. Having Chan there to fuck you senseless would be so much better than riding a dildo on the bathroom floor. 

“Please finger me.” Your voice shook ever-so-slightly, all sense of pride leaving your body as you practically begged for his touch. Even though it was embarrassing to beg for his fingers up your coochie, you knew it would all be worth it in the end. Chan would do anything to please you. “I want your tongue.” Your hands rested on his hips, thumbs dipping into the evident dips near his hip bones. 

A sinister smirk took over Chan’s features as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “You’re such a good girl.” 

His praise turned you on more than you’d care to admit — especially when it reminded you of how he praises your golden retriever. Despite that awkward comparison, you still love to hear his words of approval when you two are intimate. 

You moaned as Chan traveled down your clothed body, quickly ridding you of your leggings. 

“No panties?” Chan teased, shooting an award-winning smirk at you as he chucked your leggings across the room. 

“It’s easier to not wear any with leggings. Then I don’t have to worry about panty lines.” You glared at him. “Just, get to work!” 

Boys wouldn’t understand. 

Chan couldn’t help but laugh at your passionate outburst as his hands ran across the smooth skin of your thighs. Your frustration was quickly replaced with pleasure when he opened your thighs, his warm breath ghosting across your core as his hands left you bare and spread before him. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Chan’s lips pressed against your thigh quickly before he hovered over your center, tongue darting across his lower lip as his eyes drank in every dip and curve you had to offer. 

Even though the words were nice to hear, you didn’t need him to utter those 3 little words. The expressions on his face as he took off your clothing, piece by piece, made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. His eyes always watched you with such wonder, hands always feeling the need to grab the parts of you that you once thought were horrible, a blush always evident on his cheeks when you were the most vulnerable to him, those were the unspoken words that didn’t need to be said. 

You mean the world to me.

Without warning, Chan dove into your folds, tongue flattening against you as his fingertips pressed into your thighs. The overwhelming pleasure took you by surprise, making your back arch as a loud moan echoed through the room. Your head pressed into the pillows, hands tangling in Chan’s curly locks as his middle and index fingers entered your core. 

The sinful sounds echoing in the room only heightened your pleasure — the sounds of moaning, sucking, licking, and slurping making your thighs shake around Chan’s head. 

This was exactly why you guys couldn’t fuck in the dorms. It wouldn’t take long for one of the boys to hear the two of you and either A) ask you two to stfu and stop, or B) wonder if someone was dying. You two tried to fuck in the dorms once, but your voice (and Chan) betrayed you.

A harsh suck brought your attention back to the brunette between your legs. Chan backed away from your core, “Eyes on me princess.” 

His big brown eyes watched every one of your reactions as his lips enclosed around your clit, sucking harshly, sending intense waves of pleasure through your body. Chan’s fingers curled inside you, hitting your g-spot with each harsh thrust. 

The amount of pleasure you were feeling was indescribable. No vibrator could compare to the feeling of his fingers ramming inside you while his tongue flicked your clit. You couldn’t help but hope that he wouldn’t be gone this long again — even though you knew that wasn’t going to happen. Chan was an idol. Going on a world tour could take him away for nearly a year. 

“Oh my God Chan.” Your whole body tensed as your orgasm approached, toes curling as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you. It was as if a coil was tightening more and more with each pass of his tongue until it snapped. 

A mixture of curse words and Chan’s name slipped from your lips as you reached your high, toes curling as your fingers let go of his hair to fist the sheets. Your thighs shook around his head as Chan’s tongue lapped up your juices, riding you through your orgasm. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that.” You panted, body shivering at the intense orgasm that was still making its way through your body. 

Chan chuckled a bit, pulling his boxers off his body before hovering over you. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose, making you giggle a bit, before asking, “Can you keep going?” 

His eyes held concern, which warmed your heart, but there was no way in hell you’d pass up having his cock inside you. 

“Please keep going.” Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “I need more of you.” 

Chan pressed kisses all over your face before lining himself up with your core. “I’m happy to oblige.” 

Your fingernails dug into Chan’s shoulder blades as he pressed into you — feeling every inch of his cock rub against your walls as his hips rocked into yours. Chan’s hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight so he wouldn’t crush you. You pressed your face in the crook of his neck, aiming to suck on his skin as he set a quick pace, thrusting into your heated core. 

“No marks.” Chan commanded, the authority in his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

“Yes sir.” You could swear you felt him twitch inside you at the title. Darn. You were really hoping to litter his pale skin with some dark purple marks. Then the whole world would know that he was yours. Then again… Perhaps he had a point. That could make for some bad publicity for Stray Kids. 

Chan’s lips pressed against yours, giving you something to do with your tongue as he deepened the kiss. His hips slammed into you faster, gaining power with each thrust. You could feel his breath ghost across your lips as you parted for air. The new control you had over your mouth gave you the energy to focus on wrapping your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing him tightly as his hips ground into yours. 

“I’m close baby.” Chan’s husky voice sounded strained as his thrusts became erratic. 

“Choke me.” If you weren’t having the time of your life, you’d be embarrassed by how fucked out you sounded begging for his hand around your throat. 

Chan groaned, hand immediately finding its way to your throat, pressing down firm. It was glorious, but you still wanted more. 

“Harder.” 

Chan quickly obliged, cutting off most of your air supply with his hand.  The feeling of his fingers digging into your skin brought you to your second orgasm within seconds, a choked cry escaping your lips as you clenched around Chan’s cock, milking him into his own orgasm. 

Chan released your throat, a deep moan echoing in the room as you tightened your thighs around his hips, forcing him to stay inside you as he hit his release. You could feel his cum coat your walls as he slowly rocked his hips against yours, helping the two of you ride out your orgasms. You repeated his name over and over as if it was the only thing you knew, arms holding him closer as you basked in the afterglow. 

“I came inside.” Chan pulled out, running his hands through his hair, stress taking over any previous emotions he had felt. 

You sat up and rushed to him, rubbing his shoulders to bring him down from his freakout. “Don’t worry, I’m on the pill.” 

Chan sighed, relief flooding throughout his body as he sunk back into your embrace. 

“Besides, even if I wasn’t, I kind of put you in a chokehold with my legs, so you would have had a right to freak out at me.” You giggled, running your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“You know, having children with you wouldn’t be so bad.” He mumbled.

You weren’t a fan of having kids in your early twenties, but hearing him admit that he wants kids someday warmed your heart. At least you knew if something were to happen and you got pregnant, you’d have Chan by your side. “Yeah?”

“You’d make a great mom.” Chan murmured, sleep slowly taking over the poor boy. 

“I think you’re too tired to think straight.” You couldn’t help but tease him. He looked so tired. 

Chan merely chuckled, pulling you under the covers to press your bodies together. “I am tired, but it’s true.” 

You leaned your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep was Chan’s whispers, “I missed you.”

[ex-vengeancedemon]

Averting Disasters and Other Ways to Avoid Your Problems

Chapter 2

Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Mentions of things that occurred in Angel: The Series season 5.

Main Pairing: Buffy x Spike

Characters: Buffy, Spike, Giles, Willow, Xander, Andrew, Faith, Dawn

Summary: Set in 2008, five years after Spike's resurrection at Wolfram & Hart. Buffy is living in Cleveland guarding the hellmouth. Spike has left Angel and company and is hiding out in Chicago. The Scoobies are scattered. When something starts going wrong with the slayers around the world, it's time to get the gang back together.

Masterlist & Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Cleveland, Ohio

Buffy woke up groggy. She was still in her bed. It was still dark outside. Her eyelids felt heavy as she squinted through the dim, struggling to focus. After a disorienting minute, she shook the fog from her head and glanced at her alarm clock resting on the nightstand, its only fixture. She had meant to decorate. She would....eventually.

The segmented, glowing red numbers on her alarm informed her it was four in the morning. That couldn't be right. Could it? Had she really only slept for an hour? Add sleep deprivation to the list. Whatever list that was. List of future problems maybe.

A light patter of rain beat down on the roof and decorated the windows with beads that shimmered with the occasional passing headlights. Buffy couldn't recall forecasting rain that night. It had been still and cloudless all night. Good patrol weather. A distant crack of thunder sounded and the windows vibrated softly. 

Buffy frowned as she swung her legs out of bed. When her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor she was irritated to notice a healthy coating of dirt scattered on the ground and clinging to her soles. She would have to clean it up later. It could wait. No way did she plan on going all vacuum crazy at four a.m. She wasn't that lost to reason.

The house rattled again with a closer shock of thunder as Buffy made her way downstairs. It was kind of nice. The storm. It broke up the quiet. Buffy reached the kitchen and snatched the kettle from the stovetop. She filled it with water without bothering to turn on the lights and switched the burner on. A quick cup of tea and then back to sleep. It was something her mom had done. If she woke up in the middle of the night restless, her mom would somehow know and... what did she say? She would say something. Buffy's hand slipped slightly and the kettle dropped the rest of the way to the burner. She jumped at the sudden noise just as some water that had spilled hissed against the now red hot grills. 

Buffy held a hand to her head and winced as she noticed a fresh bruise she didn't remember getting. She sighed as she rummaged through her cupboards looking for the box of tea bags. She didn't have to look too far. The cupboards were dangerously empty. A grocery run was definitely called for. The joys of living alone.

As she grabbed an old UC Sunnydale mug from the dish rack she noticed the answering machine was flashing green again. Another message. Someone needed to cut back on the caffeine. Then again, maybe it was Giles. Maybe the time was more reasonable in England. Buffy was too tired to think about the exact time difference. 

The tea kettle started whistling and Buffy redirected her attention, pulling the kettle off and fixing her cup of tea. She had never really liked tea. But her mom had drank it and Giles drank it and so it was just something she did now. She let the cup steep while she went to check her messages.

As she reached out her hand she noticed that her sleeve was torn. And it was her favorite shirt. Buffy picked at the ripped seam in the cute white top she had bought for Dawn's graduation. Her brows furrowed. Why had she worn it on patrol? She never wore it on patrol. She didn't wear it last night.

Buffy spun around, suddenly uneasy. But she heard nothing but the light taps of rain. The kitchen was dark and empty without barely even a slinking shadow. Moving quietly and deliberately, she made her way to every door in the house and checked the locks. Everything was locked, bolted, and chained. Just as she had left it. At least, she was pretty sure that was how she had left it. 

What was that thing her mom always said? Something to do with tea. Or had it been coffee? Hot chocolate? Something about tiny marshmallows?

A note a panic started to rise in the back of her mind, but it was impossible to pinpoint why. She made her way back to the answering machine and hit the button.

"Hey B," Faith's voice came through. "Look I-" Her voice cut off, then returned with a waver. "I don't know. There's just- something's wrong. I woke up in the cemetery last night. No idea how I got there. And you never got back to me... it's been a week. I need help. Call me."

Buffy's face paled and she staggered away from the phone. A week? A week since Faith called last. It couldn't be, she- 

She couldn't remember anything.

***

Chicago, Illinois

"Where's Willow?" Spike asked, more than a little irritated. "I'm sorry but your being on the case doesn't exactly strike me as reassuring. Where's the witch?"

Andrew had made himself comfortable on the one chair Spike owned. Bit of a cheeky bastard that one. Barging into someone's home and stealing his chair. Next thing he's gonna start raiding the fridge.

Andrew raised his hands. "Hey now, patience is a virtue."

"Don't have any virtues." Spike pressed off the wall and moved to grab his jacket.

Andrew gave another nervous grin. "Right. Well. She's in Cleveland. You know..." He seemed to struggle for words. "Working on it. It's a bit of a mess right now... well, everywhere."

Spike slung his coat on and began buckling his boots. "Does she know?"

"Willow?"

Spike looked up from what he was doing with a frown. "Buffy."

The name felt strange. He hadn't said it out loud in years. No one to say it to.

"None of them know what's happening," Andrew answered, his face darkening. "We haven't been able to risk informing them. At least, not yet."

Yet. Spike hated that word. Only reason to use it was to put off some horrible thing or another.

"Where's Giles? He have anything in that bookish brain of his that'll... help?" 

Andrew shook his head. "Not yet. But he's-"

"Workin' on it. Right," Spike finished, straightening up. "Guess it's time for a little field trip then."

Andrew's face brightened up. "Oh you're gonna love the car! It's got those special glass windows... you know so you don't turn into powder and all. And," he leaned in conspiratorially, "it's a total chick magnet."

Spike raised an eyebrow at him. "Right. So I guess it's just the burning dash to the car then. Brilliant." 

Spike grabbed Andrew by the collar and tossed him out of the chair towards the door. He stumbled a bit before catching himself on the door and shooting Spike an indignant look.

"Hey! That's Armani!" Andrew protested as he straightened his suit and walked up the stairs.

***

On the drive to Cleveland, Andrew had been able to more or less catch Spike up to speed on what they knew so far. The color commentary on his own life was a bit less than welcome, but Spike had refrained from socking him in the jaw so that was something.

So far, it seemed that slayers all over the world were having strange lapses in memory. It started with small things, forgetting they had called someone, forgetting to meet up for coffee. Small things. But lately, things had been getting significantly worse. Huge blocks of time - days, weeks, for some even months - had been lost. No one was sure why. The girls seemed more or less normal during the blackouts. As far as anyone could tell. But they had been getting more and more reports of the same phenomenon. Slayers were losing time. Andrew seemed cagey to say much more than that on the subject.

Willow was already in Cleveland where both Buffy and Faith were stationed. If something was going wrong with slayers, it seemed only logical that they'd both be feeling the effects. Although no one had been able to reach either of them for days.

Giles was already on a flight from London. Xander was apparently also on his way, not that Spike really gave a damn. Xander was all but useless in most cases. 

"So, anyone told Dawn?" Spike asked, breaking the silence that had fallen after Andrew had suggested a road game.

Andrew shook his head. Spike could almost say there was something like guilt there. 

"Why not?" Spike pressed. "Think she'd want to know if the big sis was in danger."

"Buffy didn't want Dawn involved in any of this stuff," Andrew replied. "We're just respecting her wishes."

"She's already involved," Spike muttered under his breath. "Not like there's an out for any of us now, is there?"

Andrew didn't respond to that last bit. Spike wasn't sure if he was just pretending he hadn't heard or if silence was his answer. Guess it was all the same.

The thought of seeing the gang again was... uncomfortable. He hadn't seen any of them besides Andrew since he had burned to ashes and been buried beneath the rubble of Sunnydale. They didn't know he was alive. She didn't know he was alive.

He had planned on telling her. Eventually. It just... he wasn't sure if fair was the right word. But it just didn't seem fair to barge back into her life. He was dead. They saved the world. He died. End of story. She was free to go off and live a semi-normal life with a normal guy. At least, that was the lie he told himself. The truth was always worse.

[project-rosewood-476]

Love? What's That?

*slaps this blog* THIS BADBOY CAN FIT SO MANY SIDE FICS IN IT

Here's another side fic. This one also focuses on an interaction between Tabby and her stepdad but this is on the more gentler side.

Yes this is still angst but its more of a hurt/comfort thing I promise you. It ends on a semi happy note

“You know most of my problems stem from you. Honestly, I would be better and have more freedom if you’d just disappeared off of the face of the planet. It’s only you that has a problem with me! If you’d just upped and left, we would all be much happier,” spat out a 12-year-old Tabby as she slammed the bottom kitchen cabinet that she was cleaning.

Today and night, she was ordered around to do busy work around the house when her stepdad could have quickly done it himself. But no, he was too busy being a lazy piece of shit even to entertain the thought of doing his responsibilities around the house. He was breathing down her neck all day and telling her what to do when he saw that she would do it anyways on top of lacing into her about her problem with authority and other mental issues. He just wouldn’t back the fuck off, and she was dead ass tired. She had enough, and that’s what caused her outburst because he wasn’t going to listen otherwise.

Tabby looked over at the kitchen clock on the stove longingly. It was well into 2’o clock in the morning, and her mom was supposed to be home two hours ago. She knew that her store was chaotic and busy, so it took time to clean, but this was outrageous even for her. She had a sneaking suspicion that something was up, and apparently, she wasn’t the only one.

“Yeah, well, careful what you wish for. Keep it up, and you may get it,” The older male grumbled and looked away.

Tabby snapped her head up from what she was doing and looked over at him with a suspicious and confused look. Surely this was one of his ploys to guilt-trip her into apologizing for what she said, or It was a trick to get her hopes up only to smash them down. But something about what he said just sounded different. Like he almost meant it. She just couldn’t place her finger on it. Yet something about what he said was off, and it disturbed her.

“What do you mean by that?” Tabby asked slowly.

“Don’t worry about it! That’s none of your business!” he snapped at her.

“You can’t just drop an ominous phrase like that and tell me not to worry about it! Whatever it is, I have a right to know! Come on; we’ve been through thick and thin with each other! You can tell me. I promise you won’t be alone!” she pleaded.

“I SAID DROP IT, TABITHIA!” he raised his hand about to hit her, which caused Tabby to flinch and attempt to block his oncoming attack before hearing her mom pull up in the driveway finally.

He slowly put his hand down and straightened up before turning away from her.

“Get some rest. Your mother and I need to have an adult conversation,”

“Uh oh, this can’t be good,” said Tabby in thought.

She slowly stood up and put her cleaning supplies away. Her eyes widened in horror as they darkened with troubled thoughts. Oh god, she sincerely hopes that their suspicions weren’t correct. They both hated being wrong, but they both prayed to whoever was listening up there for this one except for the first time.

The look her mother gave her when Tabby made eye contact with her as soon as she walked through the door was enough of a confirmation. Tabby hung her head in defeat and began to cry silently. She moved past her dad as fast as she could so he couldn’t see the weakness in her and into her room.

That night was the longest ever in Tabby’s life so far. That night was the night she saw her parents fall out of love with each other. She tried to go to sleep. It wasn’t often her dad let her go to bed willingly, and she planned to take full advantage of that.

“Who cares if he leaves? Good riddance for me! I can finally get my freedom! We don’t need him! And honestly, it’s high time that she kicked him to the curb for good!” she grumbled to herself as she tossed and turned. She was still wide awake, listening in to her parent’s conversation. He was angry, but it was more of the cold and calculating anger. Yet, he still didn’t hit her or yell at her, for that matter. How come he was gentle with everyone else except for her? It wasn’t fair.

“Come now; I know you don’t believe a word you just said.,” she said in thought, trying to reason with herself.

“And what if I do?” she challenged out loud to herself.

“You don’t. Wanna know how I know? Because if you believe that you would be celebrating with joy instead of hurting for him and crying and secretly praying that he won’t leave. You are scared,” she said to herself in thought matter of factly.

“I mean, I guess I am hurting for myself and him...I mean, yeah, he’s hurt me more times and ways that I can count. But does he deserve to be hurt in return? Cheating on someone? Especially that person who you’re supposed to love and care for and be loyal to? That’s just low! He’s done everything for us! He took me in and raised me when he didn’t have to! And he stuck around for Adam, too, when he could of just have his fun and left again! But no! He stays here, makes sure that we’re fed and not dead and takes care of us, and teaches us how to take care of ourselves! And my mom dares to do this to him?!”, she was seething in rage as she clenched her bedsheets, making her knuckles turn white and banging her head against the pillow as hard as he could.

“I sense a feeling of betrayal here,”

“That’s an understatement. I mean, I’ve always viewed my mom as this very moral person. She preaches that like fire and brimstone. But I guess once a coward, always a coward. I’m just upset that I was let down, that’s all,” she admitted in defeat.

“Ah, there it is—the truth. Now, let’s go over this rationally. It wouldn’t be a good idea for him to leave. Because if he did, how would that affect Adam? Are you willing to have that conversation with a 3-year-old? Are you ready to tell him the truth of why daddy is no longer with him? Because we all know mom won’t do it. Speaking of mother dearest, as much as we would like to believe that she doesn’t need another man in her life, you and I both know that with a short amount of time, she would fall back on her old habits of bringing strangers into the house namely other adult males. Do you want to go back to that? Especially with Adam on the line? You know that no other males out there other than dad would be willing to take care of other kids other than his own. What if he left and mom brought home another strange male who’s just as bad as dad, if not worse?! Are you willing to put Adam through that?! Is that the price you’re ready to pay for your freedom?!” she interrogated herself in the hellscape she called her head.

Tabby was crying hysterically at this point. She didn’t want to lose her best friend/dad, who’s she’s known for eight years. He’s all she knows. She didn’t want to be left alone again like she was all those years ago for a brief time. Only this time, he won’t come back. Oh god, this wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t how she wanted it to happen. She scolded herself on how she could be so selfish as to disregard Adam like that. Adam, her pride and joy. The sweet innocent little boy who was a ray of sunshine to all. She could never throw away what she worked so hard to raise. She needed to provide stability for him. Even if the abuse wasn’t good for him to be around, it was still stability nevertheless. She would much rather have him around someone he trusts and is used to growing up with than some stranger who would do god knows what to them that mom brought in off the streets. Tabby can’t be everywhere at once, and she won’t always be there to protect him. She’ll put up with the abuse for a while longer until Adam is eighteen and out of there. She’ll suffer if that means Adam can have safety and stability.

She loved him that much to do so.

“What is love?” She asked aloud.

“I’m not sure you would have to do more thinking about that,” her conscience admitted.

Tabby slowly came out of her dissociative state. She blinked and looked around her surroundings in confusion before looking at her alarm clock.

6:00 am it read.

“Ah fuck I’m going to be late for school if I don’t hurry my ass up!” she said in a panic.

She hurriedly got ready, looking messy, but she’ll fix that on her way to school and in the bathroom before school started.

She hesitantly reached for her doorknob before stopping.

“What if he’s not there? What if he did leave?”

She hesitated but turned the doorknob.

“Only one way to find out”

She pushed her bedroom door open and was greeted with the warm air mixed with the sickly sweet scent of Malibu 100, vodka, and cheap beer. The living room and kitchen were a mess covered in dishes, disorganized clutter on the floors on top of empty beer cans everywhere, and the two liquor bottles. Tabby coughed at the smells, and already she was feeling a migraine coming on from the Malibu. She told herself she’ll clean up after school since it would probably still be there when she got back. She simply did not have the time. She’ll deal with the lecture and beating later. She knew that he spent the rest of the night drinking his sorrows away. The only thing that brought her relief was seeing her dad passed out on his chair.

“He didn’t leave us after all,” she thought warmly.

Tabby couldn’t help but run over and hug him and didn’t want to let him go. Even if he reeks of sweet liquor and cheap beer coming from him, it was oddly comforting to her. She didn’t care if her migraine was getting worse. She was afraid that if she let go and went to school, she would never see him again.

“Huh, hey, what’s the meaning of this?” he slurred awake, blinking to try to clear his surroundings. He looked down to see Tabby nuzzling his chest, crying, half hanging on him and half on his lap.

“Tabby, honey, what are you doing? You’re going to be late for school, and you still have to clean this mess up,” he meant to have a harsh undertone, but he was too wasted, his voice slurred with softness and concern instead.

“I didn’t sleep at all last night! I was too riddled with anxiety! I overheard everything you and mom talked about! I was so scared that you would have left us! And then I would have to worry about raising and protecting Adam and making sure that mom doesn’t bring home any strange man that isn’t you ” she talked fast, and word vomited all over him like she was spilling her sins at the altar.

“Tabby, honey, why would I do that to you and your brother and your mother?” he sounded so concerned. It’s so hard to believe that in any other circumstances or the fact that if he were sober, he would have pushed her off of him and chewed her out, and beaten her for being a baby.

“Because mom cheated on you! And you deserve to be happy! And you deserve so much better! You do so much for us and go above and beyond! And I just love you so much, and I hate seeing you hurt! And it’s just not fair!” she was sniffling, hiccupping, and blubbering mess.

“Tabby, honey, listen to me. Hey, no, look at me,” he said gently as she lifted her face.

“I will never abandon my children or your mother. That’s not what you do to people who have been there for you through thick and thin. I can’t just leave my two favorite children on their own. You both need me,” he patted her hair to calm her down.

Tabby didn’t say anything. She just sat there and held onto him, whimpering, trying to catch her breath.

“You know I’m proud of you. You are becoming everything I’ve dreamed of you becoming,” he said so soothingly as he continued to pet her hair.

“Really, you mean it?” she looked up at him, hopefully.

Like with alcohol, she was falling for the sweet poison of his words.

“Oh yes. Surviving rosewood is no small feat. It takes so much mental strength to do so and be a top-notch leader at that. I am so proud of you for how far you’ve come and how far you will go. I have raised a strong, independent daughter. Yes, I do consider you my child,” he continued to slur his words, but he was so sweet and comforting.

Like her dad with the Malibu, she continued to down the sweet poison of his words like there was no tomorrow. She was becoming drunk on false praise and promises. Even though she knew that it was only temporary, she didn’t care. She would deal with the damage later.

“D-dad?”

“Yes, honey?”

“W-What is love?”

He hesitated and thought for a moment.

“Love...love is being there for those you care about. Even if they hurt you, it’s about the unconditional love you have for them. They might not appreciate it now, but they will in the long run. I guess I’m just loyal to a fault,” he looked away, embarrassed.

"So love is loyalty then?” Tabby lifted her head and cocked it to the left in confusion.

He thought about it for a moment.

"Yeah, love is loyalty."

She thought about it. It made sense to her. She was loyal to her group, and she loves her group. And her group is devoted to her, and she knew that they loved her. So that checked out. She's loyal to heath and would never do anything to hurt him and vice versa. So that checked out. And she’s devoted to her dad because he was the only one to raise and take care of her and teach her when no one else would. She holds him to the highest esteem. And she loves him despite everything. Hell, she believes that hiding the body brought them closer because they share a traumatic experience. And if he didn't love her he didn't have to stick around and go above and beyond for any male with a kid that's not theirs. He didn't have to, and he still chose to anyways. So in a sense, he was loyal to her.

So that means he loves her.

“Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. I don’t hate you; I just miss you,” she said as she buried her face into his chest.

“I love you too, honey,” he said as he continued to hold her and kiss the top of her head.

He continued to hold her close as she just spilled everything and everything. She knew that he would use all that information against her later and be in trouble for it, but she didn’t care. She was desperate to have her best friend back, even if it was fake and temporary. He was patient with her, and he listened. Pretty soon, he fell back asleep, and she fell asleep on him like a little kid again. Safe and sound.

She didn’t go to school that day.