#i really needed all that time to get into the correct headspace though. like genuinely

[fingertipsmp3]

Once again I managed to get my homework done way faster than I thought so I'm like "what do I do now"

[nalyra-dreaming]

Holy shit?!

src

“Louis is still fighting to get to something, to unlock the memories that have curiously evaded him. "The pursuit of memory and truth is the driving force this season. It motivates Louis to get to where we're going to get to by the end of it," said Zaman. "Season 1 proved that his memory's completely shot in lots of ways, but who, or what, did that — that's the question I think we're going to have to answer."…

“It all begins with Louis, a textbook unreliable narrator, though Jones and Anderson both bristle a bit at the term. "One self delusion knits itself to the rest of your life," Jones said. He argued that Louis' memory might be "80-90 percent" correct, though it only takes one mistaken detail to muddle a timeline and cancel someone out entirely. "To unwind that, you call into question all this stuff. It doesn't mean that all this stuff isn't right. It's just this thing has altered it a little bit."

…

To Anderson, Louis' unreliability matters less than the vivid reality of his feelings. "It's not necessarily that Louis is a quote-unquote unreliable narrator," he said. "He is, because what he's saying is completely subjective. But I think it has just as much to do with how something felt, the feeling of a person or the feeling of an experience, than it is him actively trying to deceive anybody." That comes out most strongly in Dubai, particularly in the second season. "He's really, genuinely trying to find the closest thing to an objective recalling of events that he possibly can."…

“I like writing for Sam Reid, and I think in terms of how this thing is structured and what's going on in this headspace, it wasn't a big leap to go, 'Oh, he's haunting. He's inside Louis,'" Jones said. When we see Lestat at the beginning of the season, he manifests as what Anderson and Reid referred to as "dream Lestat" — not quite himself, not quite a ghost, not quite a memory, but some blend of all three, filtered through Louis' guilt and grief.

…

"Who is Louis remembering, and how is Louis remembering [Lestat] is always on my mind," said Reid when we first spoke at the Television Critics Association winter press tour in February. "I'm always thinking about it, and I'm always talking about it, much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone." (From across the table we were crowded around, Anderson heckled, "I can vouch for that.") Later, when we met one on one over Zoom, Reid elaborated, "Louis is speaking to himself, so he speaks like Louis. But he's also speaking to Lestat, and he's choosing to speak to Lestat when he's speaking to himself." The first time we see Lestat in Season 2, he materializes before Louis as a gory vision during a moment of mental deterioration, vengeful and overbearingly loving all at once. What was already a blurry line between the ex-lovers has now become indistinguishable.“…

“With dream Lestat assuming a number of dispositions, all dictated by Louis' headspace, separating dream Lestat from the real Lestat was crucial to Reid. "It's clear that Louis is putting the words into his mouth," Reid said. "Who's the guy that he's forced to see looking back at him, saying the words that he thinks he should be saying?" The presence of dream Lestat means that the state of the real Lestat is unclear when the season opens, but becoming this slightly unreal version of his character built on the groundwork Reid had already been laying. Going back to the first season, he often rejected Anderson's impulse to play their scenes together as if they were true. "I know this is not how this happened," he said of Louis' version of events, "which allowed me to kind of lean into the more sow's ear version of Lestat in specific moments, because I knew that we might be revisiting them."…

“For Claudia, Lestat's influence will always linger. "That's his daughter," Hayles said simply. "He doesn't need to be a ghost. He's in her." Louis and Claudia know each other inside and out, and Louis' love for Claudia is all-encompassing, but she sees the writing on the wall the moment he meets Armand: What happened with Lestat will happen again as Louis chooses another man over her.“

(much more behind the link!!)

UPDATE: link to the author’s tweet, Allison Picurro

[ahkaraii]

i might have already asked but are you planning to update five or a lot can change in a year anytime soon?

As always, very happy people are still interested in this story because I've poured a lot of myself into it <3 My answer is, still, I do plan on finishing it! But I've left it on the backburner because I am no longer in the correct headspace, and also, I no longer have the same time availability I did before.

blah blah the usual excuses under cut

I think I hit a crossroads when I lost my old laptop some years back, with it went the psd files for about 12 parts of the story and I was never able to recover them. That, plus the fact that I started Five before I went through clinical rotations, and the karaii before that and the karaii after that are very different people. Not to be too melodramatic about it, but public hospitals in third world countries with intense local gang warfare is pretty ptsd-inducing, and fictional stories about child soldiers quickly start feeling a bit sour when you see in front of you real live people shaped by those forces in a very not-fictional sort of way. You see one person dying and then you see several couple more and you fuck up giving CPR once and all these things kinda pile on, y'know? My comic about Kakashi started feeling like something I couldn't get into anymore. For a while there, all my art felt like it had been drawn by a very different person that I could no longer recognize. Infantile, childish, narrow-visioned-- deep sunk in a place of fiction when real life in front of me demanded my attention.

I've been a medical doctor for a couple years now though, so I've grown into my big boy boots and am doing quite well for myself, as it were. I'm currently a postgraduate resident for psychiatry so art and fandom have returned to being a place for me to destress and chill :) My Five comic is a legacy I am very proud of and really truly do want to finish, but I need to get back into that headspace to do it proper-like. There are so many unfinished stories percolating there that I'd be long-term sad if I fumbled them all in an effort to speedrun an ending. It would be a disservice to my younger self, who was so ambitious and had such a clear vision, y'know?

As it is, these things take time, and patience, and if you've run out of them then I hope you enjoyed the ride, and find greener pastures <3 Life's really truly too short to sweat the small stuff. Enjoy your health while it lasts, and don't forget to make your own meaningful human connections 'cause those can keep you going for a long time :D And thanks for being interested enough to send me a message! I am genuinely very happy people still enjoy my old works enough to come asking me about them. Stay awesome, and don't forget to smell the flowers!

[buckera]

i don't get what's so different about dating a woman vs a man and why it is such a big deal 😣 like i think the only thing that actually differs is the intimate parts? correct me if i'm wrong but is there really anything more? like ok sure, it is different when you are first experiencing it because it's new but isn't that literally all? why do you need more experience to find the one for you? i don't know, i think this idea seems so far-fetched to me because shouldn't character matter more? i don't mean to come off as rude but i genuinely don't know what i'm missing here...

mm at its core, dating itself isn't all that different at all, no. but when you're just opening yourself up to be part of this community and finding out what that actually means to you as a person, even at an age like Buck, it is different on a personal/character level.

so it's in part because it's a man, yes, but also because of the self discovery aspect of it. it affects your judgment how well you're settled into yourself and sometimes relationships don't work because the parties are at different stages in their lives and that's fine. (and as I said, sometimes they do work, you never know)

it's more so the idea of it being a first and how that affects his (or anyone's in that situation) future experiences and attitude, for example I know bisexual people (plural) who were completely turned off dating men because of an experience with one person, even though they are attracted to more than one genders and have been dating so in the past, so to have this significant first to end downright traumatically, that'd have quite the effect on Buck, I'd say.

they might go the distance and they might not, but it's undeniable that dating a man for the first time is a new and significant thing in Buck's life.

and just to add onto the technical bits of it: it is almost like losing your virginity again; sure you've been close to another person like this before and some parts are the exact same, but the nerves of not having the muscle memory for certain things are still there and it's still a learning curve.

so it's not that you need the experience to find the One, it's just that you are less likely to be in a headspace to hold onto them even if you happened to find them first time around (again, you might stay together, it's just less realistic imo, there's always reconnecting down the line too...)

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Unsaid Emily

Title: Unsaid Emily - Charlie x Reader

Words: 4,698

Summary: Y/N is one of the songwriters working on Julie and the Phantoms and cowrote Unsaid Emily. When she has to work with Charlie, sparks fly.

Requested: Only by my idiot brain

TW: None

Author’s notes: I mean no offence to the writers of Unsaid Emily, but I needed it to be this way. Also, I know Charlie just got his car, but it fit my timeline.  I hope you like it.

Credit: @nikascott​

Receiving the call from Netflix to write a song for a kids’ TV show about a ghost band, you were hesitant, but your friend Dan talked you into it. You had written as a duo before – you wrote lyrics while he conjured up what you personally considered the most beautiful melodies – but this job was just for you. 

The brief you’d been given by the show runners didn’t give much away. A song for a runaway son to perform for his estranged mother after his death. The only other information given was that his mother’s name is Emily. Usually, you like vague briefs such as this, but without knowing more, you struggle. 

After speaking to one of the showrunners, you’re invited to meet the writers for more information, so you drive down to where the legendary Kenny Ortega is putting the cast through their paces at a band bootcamp. You’ve worked with Kenny before, so when you arrive, he welcomes you with a smile and a hug before the two of you disappear to discuss the song you’re struggling with. 

“Why don’t I introduce you to Charlie who’s playing Luke. He’s had intensive discussions with the writers and myself about his character and may have some insight on what kind of things Luke would want to say to his mom.” Kenny suggests rather than only speaking to the writers. 

“That would be great, but only if you can spare him for a few minutes.” 

“It’s not a problem. Hey, come and grab some lunch with me, I’ll introduce you, and then you can get the information you need.” You loved Kenny and wanted to write the best possible song for his show you could. Standing, you grab your bag before following him out and over to catering. 

As soon as Kenny enters the large room, he’s called out to and waved at. With a wide smile, he responds to everyone as the two of you grab some food and sit at an empty table. While you eat, you discuss the show, and Kenny’s hopes for it. 

“It may be aimed at a younger demographic, but I want it to appeal to all ages.” He stated as you’re joined by a group of kids so good looking, they can only be the cast. “Hey guys, this is Y/N. She’s one of the songwriters we’ve commissioned. Charlie, once you’ve finished up with lunch, could you spare her ten minutes to chat with her about Luke?” The cast members all say hi before returning to their food. It’s clear to you they’re all creating friendships as they laugh together. But Charlie isn’t getting involved as he looks at you. You can’t help but stare at the actor as his hazel eyes lock onto yours, a small smile on his face as he nods. 

“Sure, no problem.” He smiles wider and you almost choke on your food. Kenny looks over at you, a strange smile on his face. 

:: :: 

“Hi, you needed to talk to me?” Charlie moves along the table once everyone has left to get back to work. You look over at him, noticing how young he looks. From what Kenny’s told you about the cast, you’re not much older than him, but with his short hair and boyish smile, he looks a lot younger than he is. 

“Hey, yeah. I just want some insight into the character of Luke.” 

“Which song are you writing?” He asks, genuinely interested. He leans his chin on his hand waiting for you to answer. 

“The one he writes for his mom after he runs away.” 

“Oh, wow. Tough break.” You can’t help but laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

You pull a notebook out of you bag and open it to a page where you’d scribbled some questions about the character. 

For half an hour, the two of you sit, chatting about the show, about Charlie’s character, and by the time you finish up, you’re pretty satisfied that you can head home and make the song work. After thanking Charlie for his time, you pack your notebook away, ready to go out to your car and drive home. 

“Do you fancy coming and watching a rehearsal before you leave?” He asks, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand. You really shouldn’t, you need to get back home to start working, but you’re intrigued by him. Throughout your talk, you were impressed with the passion he has for both music and acting, but more than anything, the character he’s going to be portraying. 

“Sure, but I can’t stay long. I have a song to write for you.” You grin as you follow him out of catering and into the rehearsal space. Immediately, Kenny calls you over where he’s sat with the young girl playing the lead role. She’s listening to a piece of music you don’t recognize. 

“All good?” He asks when you join him. 

“Great. I should be able to get a rough cut over to you by the end of the week. Is that okay?” 

“Fabulous, I look forward to hearing what you come up with. Ready to see these amazing kids rock out before you go?” 

“Am I ever.” 

“Guys, let’s run through Now or Never.” Kenny calls out. Charlie and his bandmates grab their instruments while the young girl you now know as Madison turns the music off and leaves the stage area. 

As the three guys rock out, you can’t help but watch Charlie. He’s a natural lead singer who commands the stage, even in rehearsal, and you know his fanbase is going to explode once the show airs. You take note of his singing range, mentally adding it to the notes you made earlier. 

“Kenny, you’re onto a winner with this show,” you tell the director as the song ends. “I’m gonna head out and get started. I’ll let you know once we have something for you.” 

Kenny hugs you before turning his attention back to the actors and starts directing them to lead into another track as you exit the room. As you reach your car, you hear footsteps behind you. 

“Y/N, are you leaving?” You turn to see Charlie standing behind you. 

“I have a song to write, the final one y’all need if I might add.” You smile at him, pulling your keys out of your bag. 

“I can’t wait to hear it.” 

“Well, I better make it a great track then, huh?” Your words made Charlie grin widely again and you couldn’t help but think how beautiful it was. 

“You’re the only one to ask about the characters, so I have no doubt it’ll be amazing.” 

His words didn’t surprise you. You were a bit of a method songwriter, needing to get into the correct headspace when writing emotional songs. 

“Let’s hope I don’t disappoint.” You bit at your lip as the ever-familiar seed of doubt began to grow in your mind. It happened every time, but you always managed to ignore it. 

“I’m sure you won’t. Hey, I was wondering if you’d let me hear it before you send it to Kenny.” That did surprise you. You’d been hired by Netflix, yet the lead actor was asking you to share something with him first. 

“Er… I’m not sure if I’m allowed. I mean, what if they don’t like it and don’t use it?” 

“Oh, right. Okay. Anyway, it was nice to meet you.” He held out his hand for you to shake. When your hand was in his, he lifted it and placed a soft kiss against your knuckles. A flicker of heat shot up your arm and your eyes shot to lock onto his. Judging by how wide they were, he’d felt it too. Eventually, you withdrew your hand from his, even though you didn’t particularly want to. 

“You too. Good luck with the show.” Unlocking your car, you climbed in, and started the engine. With one last look at Charlie as you pulled the door closed, you forced yourself to pull out of the parking lot and drive away. 

:: ::

          |@charles_gillespie started following you

 You stared at the notification on your Instagram account. It had been two days since your trip to meet up with Kenny and the cast – well, Charlie in particular – and you’d been working hard on the song. Intrigued, you clicked onto his profile and scrolled through his photos. He clearly loved the outdoors and spent a lot of time hiking or camping. You can’t help but smile when you see photos of him with his family and friends. 

You follow him back and put your phone down to pick your guitar back up to continue working. 

         |@charles_Gillespie sent you a message 

Hey 

Hi 

The app indicated Charlie was typing, then he wasn’t, then typing again, but no message came through. Shrugging, you put your phone back down and continued working. You had a title, a melody, and had almost finished the lyrics. It was full of emotion and if asked, you’d totally admit you had cried more than once while writing it. 

How’s the song coming? Another message from Charlie. It made you smile, but you needed to finish working. You turned your phone off and focused. 

Finally, the song was finished. All you needed to do was to record a rough cut to send over to Kenny and the writer so they could see if it needed any amendments before sending over the final version along with the chords and lyrics. You head into the tiny studio you have set up in your apartment and record the song. It takes three takes for you to get through it without crying, but once you do, you send it straight over and stop working for the night. 

Turning your phone back on, it buzzes insanely with a slew of notifications. Friends checking up on you, your parents inviting you to dinner, an email from Kenny telling you they love the rough cut and asking you to send a cleaner copy tomorrow, and a couple of messages from Charlie on Instagram. Now you’re able to respond properly, you open the app. 

Sorry if I’m disturbing you. 

I hope the song’s going well. 

Hey, sorry. I turned my phone off while I was finishing up. Kenny has the rough cut, so I’m about to chill out and watch a movie. Hope all is well at bootcamp. 

You worry the message you reply with is overly formal, but it’s too late as it’s showing as being seen. You busy yourself making some food and picking out a movie to watch. Settling on your couch to watch the first To All the Boys movie, your phone begins to buzz. 

Charlie 👅🍀

Instagram video 

With a slightly trembling finger, you accept the call and soon Charlie’s face fills half of your screen. 

“Hey, Y/N.” he smiles brightly at you. 

“Hey.” You’re a little confused about why he’s calling you, but you decide to go with it. 

“Kenny played me the rough cut of Unsaid Emily. I just wanted to tell you it’s beautiful and I can’t wait to sing it.” 

“Thanks, I’m glad everyone seems to like it.” 

“Y/N, we didn’t just like it, we all loved it. So many people were crying when they heard it.” 

“I would apologize, but my mom taught me not to tell lies.” His laugh burst out of the speaker on your phone. 

“Don’t, it’s great. It’s gonna be a great addition to the show.” 

You grab the remote for the TV to turn the volume down as the film you’d picked to watch was starting. 

“Hey, what movie are you watching?” he asks when you apologize for the interruption. 

“Oh, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.” You can’t help but notice he scrunches up his face, and you also can’t help but notice how adorable it looks. “What was that face for?” 

“I didn’t think you’d be a chick flick kinda girl…” 

“Oh, I don’t watch it for the story.” You can’t help but laugh as he tries to work out what you mean. 

“What’s the point of watching it then?” 

“Because Noah Centineo’s pretty to look at.” You don’t add the fact he’s not as pretty as Charlie. It’s not exactly something you can admit on a first Instagram video call – not that you’re expecting there to be more. 

“I’m not going to disagree, but is he prettier than me?” You laugh and roll your eyes at him. 

“I’m not going to answer that question on the grounds that I barely know you.” 

“I can see you blushing, Y/N. I think you think I’m prettier, but don’t want to admit it to my face.” He’s full on laughing now and you can’t help but join in. 

“Carry on teasing me, I’ll end this call.” You threaten, making his eyes widen slightly. 

“I’m sorry. So, tell me about yourself?” You see him getting comfortable on what looks like a bed. He’s soon lying sideways on the screen in front of you. You decide to mimic him, propping your phone against a glass candle holder on the table next to you. You lie on your side facing both your phone and the TV. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Well, for starters, how old are you?” 

“I’m twenty-five. You?” 

“Twenty-one.” 

For two hours, the two of you throw questions back and forth as the movie comes to an end without you noticing. 

“Do you think you’ll come to set?” He asks you, surprising you. 

“I think it’s doubtful. Once I record a cleaner version of Unsaid Emily, my job’s done. I’m not needed anymore.” 

“Oh…” Did you detect a hint of disappointment in his voice? No, you didn’t. 

“Well, this has been fun, Charles Jeffrey Gillespie, but I have an appointment in the morning, and I really need to get some sleep.” You sit up, take hold of your phone, and walk out of the lounge to your bedroom. 

“Taking me to bed, already? Haven’t even had to buy you dinner.” Charlie jokes, making you roll your eyes at him. “Okay. Maybe we can do this again? Bootcamp lasts for a while longer yet, then we’re going to film in Vancouver.” 

“That would be great. And thanks again for being nice about the song.” You both say your goodbyes and once the call has ended, you collapse back on to your bed, unsure exactly what has happened. 

:: :: 

It’s been three months since you had Unsaid Emily accepted by the show, and in that time you and Charlie have video called on Instagram a few times, but you’re both crazy busy. You’re working on a score for a videogame while he’s finished up with bootcamp and has relocated to Vancouver to start filming. The entire time, neither of you suggested meeting up even though you both lived in L.A. 

You’re just leaving your parent’s home when your phone rings in your bag. Not recognizing the number on screen, you debate not answering it, but brush your thumb across the screen anyway. 

“Hello?” 

“Y/N? It’s Kenny. Are you okay to talk?” 

“Hi Kenny, I’ve always got time for you.” You hear him laugh down the phone. “What can I do for you Mr. Ortega?” 

“I was wondering, because you did such a great job with Unsaid Emily, if you’d like to come on set to watch it being filmed? See how we’ve adapted it?” Well, that wasn’t what you expected to hear. 

“I’d love to. When do you film?” 

“The day after tomorrow. I’m sorry it’s all so last minute, but I’ve been busy.” 

“I can just about manage it. I’ll book a flight when I get back home, then I’ll message you for directions to the studio.” 

“Sounds great. See you soon, and I really think you’ll love what we’ve done with the song.” You reassure him you will and end the call and get into your car to drive home. 

After juggling a few things around, you’re able to book a flight to Vancouver for the next afternoon. When You message Kenny, he reassures you there’ll be a car waiting for you. You decide to book a hotel for two nights and a flight back the next day. You’ve never been to a TV set, and don’t know how long these things take. As you pack an overnight bag, you realize you’re excited, not only about seeing your work come to life, but seeing Charlie again, in the flesh. 

:: :: 

Arriving in Vancouver, you walked through the airport and out into the arrivals lounge, looking for the driver Kenny had sent to pick you up. You were able to bypass having to wait for your luggage thanks to only having a small carry-on bag so made it through the crowds pretty quickly. When you emerged, you saw a row of drivers holding signs, but none had your name on. Deciding to find somewhere to sit and call Kenny, you move past the drivers in black suits. Directly in front of you is Charlie wearing a wide grin. 

“Hey you. Moonlighting as a chauffeur to make ends meet?” You tease as you approach him. He surprises you by pulling you into a hug. 

“It’s weird not seeing your face on a small screen.” He jokes as he leads you outside, taking your bag from you. You can’t help but notice he’s been working out and his biceps are looking impressive. Well, you knew he had anyway thanks to his constant posting on Instagram, and from your video calls, but seeing it up close makes your mouth go dry. 

“I’ve had to put make-up on. No filters in real life, Gillespie.” He rolled his eyes at you as he unlocked his car, an orange Nissan Juke.

 “Some car there…” You struggle to hold in a laugh and his mock hurt look. 

“Look, it may not be pretty, but it’s great for camping and heading out of town to go hiking.” He was almost pouting when he finished speaking. 

“Okay, okay. I give in.” you climb into the car. “Why aren’t you on set?” 

“I wasn’t needed for a couple of hours, so I offered to come and meet you. I have to be back once you’re checked in at your hotel. Sorry it’s a bit of a rush.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I can go out sightseeing while you’re working hard.” You grin at him. “I’ve never been to Vancouver, or Canada, before.” 

“You’ve clearly lived a very sheltered life.” He’s teasing so you just stick your tongue out at him before turning your attention out of the window as Charlie maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. “Have you even left California?” Again with the teasing. 

“Not only have I left the state, but I’ve also even left the country.” 

“That’s cool, where did you go?” 

“I studied in London for a year, then I backpacked around Europe for another, before coming home and becoming a functioning member of society.” 

“That’s actually pretty awesome. I’d love to do that, just travel around for a year and get to see so many amazing places.” There’s a look in his eyes you recognize. Wanderlust. 

Before long, Charlie’s pulling up outside your hotel and helping you out of the car. 

“I would make sure you get checked in okay, but I need to jet. I’m sorry, shall we meet up later, I can introduce you to the rest of the cast.” 

“That would be great. Message me so I know when to be ready and where to meet y’all.” He agrees, places a soft kiss against your cheek and gets back into the car. You watch him drive away before going to check in. 

:: :: 

When you took the job of writing a song for a TV show, you never expected to find yourself out to dinner with the cast of said show, watching them do karaoke. All of them have included you, which made you feel as if you’re part of their circle, despite their many in jokes and stories from set. Madison greeted you like an old friend, telling you she’d head a lot about you from Charlie. That surprised you because you hardly knew him beyond the few video calls you’d had. 

“He talks about you all the time, and Owen says he can hear his side of the conversations. He teases him about it all the time.” You stare at her, confused. 

“That’s crazy. We hardly know each other.” 

“Doesn’t stop feelings from happening.” She laughs at you, before dragging you up to perform with her. 

The entire evening is a blast, but you all have to call it a night early thanks to their early call to set. You plan to call an uber back to your hotel, but Charlie insists on making sure you get back safe. As you say goodbye to the others, Madison give you a look you don’t even attempt to try and decipher. 

“Thanks for tonight, I had a great time. You’re lucky you guys are so close.” You tell Charlie as your uber moves through the dark streets. 

“Yeah, they’re great and we’re like a family. I know it sounds corny and cliché, but it’s the truth. I think that’s why Kenny set up bootcamp. It makes going to work so much easier.” 

Silence falls over you, but it’s a comfortable one, and all too soon, you’re pulling up outside your hotel. 

“Thanks for making sure I got back safe.” You say as you get ready to climb out of the car. Charlie surprises you by following you. “Oh, you don’t need to see me inside, I’m a big girl.” 

“I know, but my mom would kill me if I didn’t. I was taught to make sure pretty girls got home safe.” You laugh but are filled with warmth at him calling you pretty. 

“I bet you use that line on all the girls.” You give him a nudge with your shoulder which makes him laugh. 

“Not really.” He holds out his elbow for you to tuck your hand through as he walks into the building. 

Once you’re outside your room, you turn to face him and thank him for inviting you out again. 

“It was a pleasure. I just hope you had a good time.” 

“I really did. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” 

“Yeah, see you.” 

:: :: 

The following morning, you’re up at what feels like the crack of dawn. You’re regretting the shots you had the night before as you climb into an uber to head over to the studio. The closer you get, the more excited you become. You’ve seen your songs brought to life on screen before, but you’ve never been there for the filming. 

As you climb out of your car, you hear someone call out your name. You turn to see Madison and her dad walking toward you. 

“Hey Y/N. How are you feeling after last night?” She asks, giggling slightly. You’re more than a little jealous of the fact she’s a minor and is unable to drink any alcohol. 

“A bit delicate, but nothing a strong coffee won’t cure.” You smile as she introduces you to her dad as the three of you walk inside. They stay with you as you’re signed in and given a visitor’s pass. 

“What do you know about this scene you’re watching today?” Madison asks you as you follow her through the hallways. 

“Not a lot if I’m honest. I know a little background to the song and Luke as a character, but nothing else.” 

“Woah, you’re in for a treat. I hope you didn’t wear any eye make-up.” Mr. Reyes laughs at his daughter’s words as you reach the catering tent. The aroma of coffee is calling you. “Well, I’ll see you soon, I’m first in hair and make-up.” The young girl gives you a tight hug and leaves you to fuel your need for caffeine. 

By the time you’ve finished your drink, and a bagel, the tent is filling up around you. You spot Kenny entering and he makes a beeline for you. 

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you again.” 

“Thanks for having me. I’m honored to be invited. I know this is a bit unusual.” 

“Honey, you don’t need to thank me. It was this guy’s idea.” He stepped aside to reveal Charlie, in full Luke costume. 

“Oh…” 

:: :: 

Standing next to Kenny, you’re silent as the opening bars to your song start to play. A lump has already gathered in your throat as you watch Charlie as Luke singing to his mother who can’t see him. You knew it was an emotional song, but hearing it sung live and in context of the show, you can’t quite believe it’s yours. 

You know they have some scenes to film that will be cut into the scene, but you can’t help being mesmerized by the tone of Charlie’s voice as he sings a song of regret. 

You feel tears pricking at your eyes as rounds a corner of the set, belting out the final pre chorus, the rasp to his voice, and tears flowing down his face. Kenny takes a look at you and grabs hold of your hand, giving it a squeeze.��

“You did good.” He compliments you. Wiping at your eyes, hoping your mascara isn’t running, you shake your head. 

“No, that was all him.” Once filming’s over, you make an excuse to Kenny and head outside for some fresh air. You’re feeling overwhelmed and in awe of what they’ve done with your song. 

“Are you okay?” Charlie’s voice is soft as he walks up to stand next to you. 

“I’m fine, just a bit overwhelmed. I never expected it to… to be that good.” You realize you could have offended him and begin to stumble over your words. “Not that I mean… you’ve got an amazing voice, and you injected so much hurt and pain into the song. It sounded better than I ever imagined it to.” 

You feel like a bumbling idiot and turn away from Charlie so he can’t see the embarrassment on your face. He moves to stand directly in front of you, using his hand to gently lift your chin so you have nowhere else to look but directly into his eyes. 

“If the song wasn’t right, I wouldn’t have been able to do what I just did, so it’s all on you too.” It feels as if his hazel eyes are looking deep into your soul. 

“Thank you.” You finally accept a compliment, making him smile. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“Why did you ask for me to be here today?” 

“Because the moment I heard the rough cut of Unsaid Emily I felt it was only right you be here. There something in your lyrics and melody that will truly have an affect on the audience, and I felt you needed to see that for yourself.” He suddenly let go of you and looked away. 

“Why do I feel like there’s an ‘and’ coming?” 

“And… the moment I heard that rough cut, I needed to know more about you. That’s why I followed you on Insta and started the video calls. I needed to know you.” 

You don’t know what to say, not that there’s time for you to. Charlie looks back at you, places his hands on your waits, and bends his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss. It’s quick, but gets your pulse racing. He pulls away, slowly. 

“Is Noah Centineo still prettier than me?” 

You laugh before crushing your lips against is again, this time not so softly.

‘

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‘

Tags: @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @xplrreylo​

If you’d like to be tagged, just drop me a message.

[itsapapisongo]

Soul Nemeses! | WINWIN

Starring: Winwin ft. Hendery

Genre: Comedy | Superhero

Concept: Supervillain!Winwin (The Lobe) | Superhero!Hendery (Freakazoid)

Word Count: 2,786

Prompts: “Stop screaming, it’s just me.” + “I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it.”

Notes: The following is (1) an absurd short-story for the @ficscafe’s dialogue prompt event and (2) a writing exercise to get into a headspace where I can be as silly as possible. Freak Out! is a story I’m very excited for and this was a way to explore the characters and their dynamic. So, without further ado, I genuinely hope you enjoy this VERY SPECIAL EPISODE of Freak Out!

Taglist: @stayinzencity @mother-hyucker @lebrookestore @doievoir @du0tine @naptaemed

All is well in Way City.

Which is to say it’s really not and something is about to happen to disrupt that all-is-well feeling across town. Because a day can’t go by without some burglar, mad scientist, or supervillain indulging in their burglary, mad science, or super-evil shenanigans.

Thus we turn our attention to a deserted, discolored, and depressing city landmark: The Daebak Fair. Once it used to be the kind of place that burst with laughter and excitement, where money flowed every weekend and kept the owners’ pockets heavy and full. People couldn’t get enough of it until, well, they got enough of it.

So much so that it became free real estate for any villain that felt like using the abandoned fair as their lair. This changed, however, when Winwin decided he didn’t feel like sharing. He bought the place, and officially made it his holiday lair. And it’s here that our story takes place.

What once used to be a house of mirrors is now a workplace where a plethora of patented inventions specifically designed for destruction are built, reserved-engineered, dismantled, and kept out of his rivals’ hands.

With all the bells and whistles removed, the lair is quite spacious. Having decorated the place himself, Winwin has hung stolen paintings all over the walls and set tables for dissection, welding, engineering, and even, if he was ever in the mood, arts and crafts. The whole thing has Mad Scientist meets Bob Ross vibes and it’s both odd and endearing.

Winwin is currently dismantling his latest invention—a large crane-looking thingie fitted on the roof a modified golf-cart—out of boredom and frustration after being foiled once again by that red-wearing, annoying, ne’er-do-well freak of a nemesis.

“I can’t believe him,” Winwin grumbles, shaking his head for the nth time. Seeing as he’s alone, he says this to no one in particular. “I craft the perfect plan and he finds a way to thwart it!”

Who would have thought that Freakazoid would have convinced him that creating a gas capable of turning people into clown zombies to do his bidding would be the stupidest  masterplan ever? Winwin felt like he was failing as a villain, not challenging his nemesis enough. He had wondered then and still wonders now if he’s losing it, if he’s gone soft yet he knows he’s not, knows he hasn’t.

So why does this recent defeat grind his gears? Why has Freakazoid gotten to him? Though Winwin knew not to take their rivalry seriously, he sometimes did. It’s standard hero-villain stuff—to hurl insults and humiliate one another—yet something felt off.

He stops working and thinks back to their encounter.

CUT TO: HOURS AGO, IN A COLD, TALL, AND VAGUELY EUROPEAN MOUNTAIN

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Freakazoid had said, hanging off the side of a snowy cliff, for their confrontation had taken place in a cold, tall, and vaguely European mountain. With an impressive leap and a landing, he stood in front of Winwin and pointed a finger at him. “That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard of! People don’t like clowns, dummy! People are terrified of clowns! Ever heard of It?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—’tis a good plan!”

Freakazoid rolled his eyes, scoffing.“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh,” Winwin replied, feeling instant regret for lowering himself to his nemesis’ childish argumentative skills. “It’s a brilliant plan!”

“No, it’s dumb, dumb, dumb!”

And then they debated like adults for a minute or two—

(“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”)

—until Freakazoid clicked his tongue and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Pack it up, big brain,” he told him, not unkindly but definitely disappointed.

“Why should I? I already have a small zombie army at my disposal.”

“Small clown zombie army at your disposal.”

Winwin groaned in exasperation. “Yes, yes, that.”

“You’re doing this out here in the middle of nowhere. There aren’t even that many people around so I wouldn’t call it an army. I’d call it a small terrifying crowd.”

“Oh.”

Freakazoid nodded and crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. “Did you even think this through?”

Winwin suddenly found himself speechless. Genuinely and anxiously speechless. He didn’t have an answer other than “I don’t know” and he hated resorting to admitting he didn’t know anything. He was the most brilliant supervillain in all of Way City—the Lobe, some called him—and admitting ignorance was (1) not on brand for him and (2) his worst nightmare.

“I don’t—I’m not sure—I—”

“Alright, you.” Freakazoid shook his head and gently guided him away by his elbow. “Pack it up. Get out of here.”

“But—”

“No butts, not tiddies, not ding-a-lings,” said the hero, his pout a judgemental feature in his face. “I expected a lot more from you. Clown zombies? Aiya.”

“I—” Winwin’s eyes widened and he felt them welling up with tears. “You’re right. I think I’m overdoing it. I might be overtired. It’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

“Turn off the cloud.”

And so he did. Winwin turned to see Freakazoid—lean, clad in red, black domino mask concealing his identity, his insignia that of F and an exclamation point on his chest, his black hair, slicked back as always, haswhite streak in the shape of a bolt across it—grimacing back at him. For a second, Winwin thought he could hear the world’s tiniest violin play a sad tune for himself as he pouted and got on the modified golf-cart he’d driven around the mountain to spread the gas around.

“Hey, big brain,” he heard Freakazoid call after him, the hero’s voice distant. He noticed it had softened somewhat. “It’s a dumb plan but I know you can do better.”

“Thanks, Freakazoid,” Winwin mumbled as his nemesis gave him a thumbs-up.

The moment was ruined the moment the idiot in red opened his mouth again—

“Now, git!”

CUT TO: NOW, BACK TO WINWIN’S LAIR

“Can’t believe I cried in front of him,” Winwin says, cringing.

“Yeah, me neither,” says a familiar voice.

Startled, Winwin squeals then yelps. A wrench flies off his hand as he falls off four feet to the ground and lands squarely on his bottom. He groans, and feels the back of his head throbbing. Opening his eyes, he blinks once, twice, thrice until he makes out the unmistakable silhouette of his nemesis looking down at him. Freakazoid couches and leans in so close, Winwin can feel his breath against his forehead.

“Stop screaming,” the hero says, “it’s just me.”

“Stop scream—are you serious? You nearly gave me a heart attack, you imbecile!”

“I know but that’s no reason to scream your lungs out.” Freakazoid offers his right hand and a half-smile. “Time to go upsies, big brain.”

Winwin glares, refusing the offer for help. “I don’t need your—” he begins but is cut off when he’s lifted off the floor. It’s both rough and gentle, in that he feels he’s taken several tight turns in a roller coaster without whiplash and is suddenly standing upright without imbalance. “Thank you.”

Freakazoid waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t.” Winwin scoffs then wags a firm finger in a gesture of warning. “Nor shall you mention that I cried all the way up there in those cold, tall, and vaguely European mountains.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Freakazoid raises a hand, making a gesture that’s supposed to imply his discretion. He frowns then tilts his head with a shrug. “I mean I would dream of it so I might come up. Like, cards on the table, I might tell some of my dream friends about it.”

A beat as Winwin glares, turns to a camera that’s not there, and rolls his eyes.

“Are you quite finished?”

“No, not really—”

Winwin sighs and turns, picking up the wrench he dropped and returning to his work. “Why are you here, Freakazoid?” he asks, his voice laced with despondency.

“Oh,” is all Freakazoid manages to say. Winwin hears him clear his throat and take a step forward. “About that. I came to apologize, big brain. Didn’t mean to be, well, mean to you. It’s just that—” he pauses and the villain can practically see him shrugging. “—I think I’ve been a bit overworked too.”

“Was it your idea to apologize or was it Sgt. Qian’s?”

“That’s neither near or far.”

Winwin groans, doing his best to not roll his eyes or rub his face. “Neither here or there,” he corrects him.

“Exactamundo!”

“Did you come here to aggravate me?”

Freakazoid deflates, looking forlorn for a second before he clears his throat and the usual and insufferable aura of confidence that encompasses his very being returns. He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck.

“Come on, big brain, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just that—” Freakazoid groans, throwing his head back like a teeanger not wanting to admit he’s responsible for some wrongdoing. “—it was such a good plan!”

Winwin’s eyes widen as he takes a step forward and squeezes Freakazoid’s shoulders. “Come again?” he queries. “It was a good plan?”

“I mean—duh!—zombies I can handle but clowns? Geez. Ugh. No. Nightmare fuel.”

“So you did like it?”

“Like it? No, bud, I absolutely, definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, love it. Let me tell you, Lobe, it’s—” Freakazoid motions he’s kissing his fingers then wiggles his left hand as if to say mamma mia. “— diabolical.”

Winwin feels warmth spread across his cheeks and immediately clears his throat, looking away to avoid giving Freakazoid any satisfaction or a glimpse at his embarrassment. He laser-focuses on taking apart a component from the machine, cautious not to tinker much with the cylinder that contains the clown zombie gas, and pretends he’s not giddy with excitement and validation.

Then, just as he’s going to turn and give him his thanks, Freakazoid open his mouth and yet again ruins the moment—

“It’s diabolical, but stupid.”

Winwin mutters angrily under his breath, every fiber of his being urging him to reach for that knock-out gas he’d been working on for the past few days—or, perhaps, that disintegrating rifle that has been gathering dust for God knows how long—yet relents when he sees the look of concentration in Freakazoid’s face. The hero looks like he’s seriously considering why he feels Winwin’s plan was, in his words, diabolical but stupid.

And the villain, overwhelmed with both anger and vile curiosity, crosses his arms, taps his foot, and grits his teeth.

“Go on . . .”

“It’s—how to put this lightly?—immensely stupid yet awesomely evil in that you didn’t think it through but it has potential to really ruin my day if done correctly.” Freakazoid throws his arm around Winwin’s shoulder, pulling him close. “See what I mean, old chump?”

“You and I are not chumps.”

Freakazoid gasps and pouts, dramatically putting a hand on his chest. “And here I was thinking you were my nemesis,” he whispers in a low, wheezing voice. “I thought we were soul-nemeses.”

“I mean—” Winwin blushes again and his eyes widen the second he realizes Freakazoid notices his blushing. “We are nemeses, yes, but we are definitely not chumps.”

“Could we ever be chumps?”

Winwin sighs, rolling his eyes. “I believe so.”

“Ah, big brain, I knew you cared!”

“Yes, yes, caring.” The villain nods and pushes his nemesis off himself, “You’ve apologized, insulted me yet again, and tried to be my, as you say, chump. I believe that’s enough banter for a day.”

“Touché.” Freakazoid smiles. “I’ve made plenty of shameless jokes at your expense today.”

“And I’m certain they won’t be the last.”

“You know me,” the hero blinks, pointing a thumb at himself. He glances at the contraption built on the roof of the modified golf-cart and a glint of curiosity and mischief appears in his eyes. Despite wearing a domino mask, Freakazoid could be inexplicably expressive. “Whatcha up to?”

“Dismantling this heap of scrap metal.” Winwin turns so fast that it’s impossible for Freakazoid not to notice the frustration apparent in his face. He smacks the wrench against the roof of the cart and winces when it slips out of his hand. “Damn it.”

“Here, let me help,” Freakazoid offers, guiding Winwin away from the cart. “I need some space.”

Before Winwin can protest, a gust of wind pushes him back. He blinks to see nothing but a blur of motion and a shower of white sparks moving around the golf cart. It’s so fast that he glimpses at Freakazoid’s silhouette twice before the hero stands next to him, wiping his hands with a dirty rag. It reminds Winwin of a mechanic finishing up a check-up on a car in desperate need of maintenance.

“There.” The hero throws the rag over his shoulder. “Doneso.”

“How did you—” Winwin blabbers, flabbergasted at how thorough Freakazoid had been. Every piece is laid on a table that hadn’t previously been there, each component perfectly classified, and all the parts that were supposed to be tossed away neatly put on a trash bag. “How’s that possible?”

“Come on, brainy,” Freakzaoid scoffs, clapping Winwin in the back and making him yelp and glare at him. “We’ve been at this for a while now. If I can think of it, I can do it.”

“That’s not a very reassuring thought.”

For a second, Freakazoid’s smile disappears and a haunted look passes through his eyes. “I know,” he whispers ominously. Then he’s flashing that bright and infuriating smile of his as nothing has happened. “Anyways, I gots to get going.”

That stops Winwin dead on his tracks. Usually, after some crime-spree or being foiled and getting away, Freakazoid would burst in wherever Winwin was currently laying low on, say his cheesy heroic lines, and promptly deliver him to the authorities—which was always, without fail, to Sgt. Qian—and they would call it a night.

Here he is, apologizing, acting like Winwin hadn’t enacted yet another brilliant and evil plan—even though he had deemed it dumb—and being overall far more obnoxious than usual. Yeah, something’s definitely off tonight.

“Whoa, whoa, aren’t you going to take me in?” Winwin protests and instantly groans when he notices his hand on Freakazoid’s forearm, like a lover begging their other half not to leave. He lets go and sheepishly clears his throat. “You might have thwarted me today but I still turned a couple of people into clown zombies. That has to be a crime somewhere.”

“Definitely a crime somewhere, but they’re all good now. All they needed was some fresh-air. No harm, no foul.” Freakazoid shrugs then grimaces. “Although, no, not really. A couple of people were traumatized so there was some harm involved.”

“You see?” Winwin cackles and offers his hand, waiting to be handcuffed. “Take me in!”

“Not tonight, brainy. I’m all tuckered out and Kun invented me out for ice-cream. We can do that tomorrow, though.”

Winwin opens his mouth then closes it, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. “That seems awfully irresponsible.”

“Oh, it is.” Freakazoid snorts, turning to leave. “But I’m getting some ice-cream and Kun’s paying.”

“If you don’t take me in now, Freakazoid, I’ll come up with a worse plan tomorrow and enact it without mercy.” Winwin poses, raising his hands above to display his collection of inventions and devices solely designed for destruction and chaos. “For I live to oppose you. So it is written. So it shall be done.”

The hero blinks, holds his chin, looking pensive for a second, hums, then shrugs with an impassive expression. “I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it.”

“I—” Winwin raises and lowers a finger, deflated.

He could reschedule, postpone some things, advance others before he unleashed absolute chaos on the city. He knows can make it work. It would be business as usual.

With a mental note to not start his rampage before dinner time, he slowly and painfully rolls his eyes and huffs, “Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow then.”

“Goodie!” Freakazoid claps, pulling Winwin close for a hug. “Ice cream today. Possible disaster tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Winwin replies through gritted teeth.

“Okey-doke, brainy. See you tomorrow.”

One second, Freakazoid is there. The other, he’s gone in a blinding flash of light and a gust of wind that vaguely smells of chocolate. Winwin is left alone, despondent, and secretly impressed. He sighs and rubs the back of his head, feeling the area bruised and sensitive to touch.

Giving his lair the once-over, he slumps on a chair and pops his lips.

“This is my most humiliating defeat,” he grumbles.

A minute later, he decides to call it a night.

And, for the first time this week, all remains well in Way City.

itspapisongo | © 2020-2021 | All Rights Reserved

Freakazoid! is a Warner Bros. property, all rights reserved to them and the show's creators (Paul Dini & Bruce Timm).

[babysizedfics]

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 8: Sink and Float

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary: Roman is anxious, Virgil has some compelling things to say, Logan deduces Virgil’s true regression age, Patton gets emotional, and we say good-bye.

Chapter word count: 11,750

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Content warning: Light angst, but cuteness galore to make up for it.

oOo

‘All right, little prince. What should I write here?’

‘His coolness rating,’ Roman replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His tongue stuck out slightly as he concentrated on his drawing; a picture of Kanga on the top half of a small piece of paper. Underneath the character were five rectangles, all coloured to varying levels of completion.

‘Of course,’ Patton said, nodding solemnly as he wrote “coolness” underneath the fifth rectangle on his own piece of paper. ‘And I’m guessing Tigger’s coolness rating is -’

‘Ten.’

‘Ten. Obviously,’ Patton giggled. He picked up the red crayon from the dining room table and coloured the final rectangle to completion. Just like the four rectangles above it. They signified Tigger’s bounciness, funniness, orangeness, and Roman’s seal of approval ratings, all maxed out. ‘I’m starting to think this card might be rigged.’

‘Nu-uh!’ Roman cried, finally looking up from his drawing with a pout. ‘Not rigged if it’s true. Tigger is the funniest, bounciest, orangest, coolest character, and he’s my favourite. He just has to win all of the rounds!’

Despite the frankly questionable logic, Patton was simply glad that Roman was back to his cheeky self.

While they baked, Roman had been strangely well-behaved. The way he had obediently mixed the batter, rolled the dough, and shaped the cookies without so much as a whinge was highly unusual. Patton was glad he didn’t have to tell the boy off for anything, of course, but there was nothing relieving in seeing Roman stand patiently at the side of the room while Patton washed up. There was no singing, no dancing, no bouncing, not so much as a peep from the little prince. It just wasn’t right.

Roman was boisterous, whether he was little or not; he was excitable and hyperactive and loud. Usually, he would have baulked at the mere suggestion of standing in silence awaiting instructions. Though that was precisely what he had done in the kitchen by his own volition, staring at his feet in quite a pensive manner.

By the time he had set the gingerbread haycorns and hunnypots on the counter to cool down, Patton had made the decision to extend their father-son bonding time. He knew Roman’s strange mood would persist if Patton didn’t get to the bottom of it.

‘Where are you going, sweetheart?’ Patton had asked when Roman had started walking towards the living room once Patton had finished the dishes.

‘Back with Vee and Mom,’ Roman had replied. ‘We can’t decorate them yet.’

‘It’s still father-son bonding time though! Why don’t we find something fun to do while we wait?’

He wasn’t quite as bouncy as Patton had hoped he would be, but Roman at least smiled at the suggestion.

Now, after almost an hour of crafting Pooh Cards (all design credit owing to Roman, of course), the creative side had finally been coaxed out of his sombre, contemplative mood. Patton himself had even perked up from the reassurance that he still knew what was best for his little prince.

‘What if another player that isn’t you gets Tigger’s card?’ Patton asked, neatening the edges of the coloured rectangle. He was careful not to budge Roman with his elbow as did so. ‘Won’t you be sad to lose?’

The scritch of Roman’s crayon paused for a moment, then continued. ‘It will be a worthy loss.’

What a funny little boy, Patton thought with a chuckle. Having finished with Tigger’s statistics, he put the crayon back in Roman’s Lion King pencil case. ‘Okay, last one!’ He slid the card across the table to Roman’s spot. ‘Do you need your dad’s help to draw Tigger?’ Patton asked. (Not so much because he was expecting a positive response, but because he knew the question reinforced both of their respective headspaces.)

‘I got it!’ An orange crayon was snatched from the table.

Patton sat back and watched as Roman drew his favourite character with a bright smile. It was impossible not to mirror it. ‘Once you’ve finished drawing Tigger we can decorate our cookies!’

‘Dad,’ Roman whined without looking up from his drawing, ‘they’re not cookies. They’re haycorns and hunnypots.’

‘Right, haycorns and hunnypots,’ Patton quickly corrected himself. ‘I keep making that mistake, don’t I?’

There was no response from Roman, who was clearly concentrating on getting Tigger’s tail just so.

‘Cutie pie,’ Patton couldn’t help but coo. When he pinched Roman’s cheek the younger side laughed so sincerely that Paton was hit by a wave of equal parts joy and guilt.

Joy because Roman was happy and so utterly adorable. Guilt because Patton clearly didn’t spend enough time with his little prince if this was such a rare sound to him.

‘I’ll get the icing ready,’ Patton whispered, leaving the room quickly.

By the time he had moved the cookies and the icing bowls into the dining room, Roman’s drawing was complete. Patton praised him heartily for his work (to which Roman blushed and giggled) as he arranged their workspace with the three different bowls of glace icing - yellow, pink, and mint green - and the cookies, plus a tube of white writing icing for the hunnypot labels.

Excited to be in charge of yet another creative project, Roman instantly took on a leading role. ‘Dad, you’ve gotta do the writing on the hunnypots and fen - and f-th-then I’m gonna do all the pretty colours!’

‘Right-o, kiddo!’ Patton saluted him, then got right to work. ‘You always have such wonderful ideas, don’t you, little prince?’ The lid to the writing icing tube put up a slight resistance as Patton unscrewed it.

‘Mhm… I’m clever,’ Roman mumbled slowly, concentrating as he spread some green icing onto one of the haycorn cookies.

‘Just like your mom. I’m sure him and Vee agree too.’

‘Vee thinks I’m clever?’ Roman asked, his voice a pitch higher from excitement.

‘Of course, sweetie. He looks up to you a lot.’ The tail of the “Y” that Patton piped accidentally curled off of the hunnypot in his hand. Patton placed the cookie back on the cooling rack and licked the sugary blob off from his fingertip. ‘You two are such lovely brothers - you’re practically inseparable.’

There was a gentle snap. Both Patton and Roman looked down to see that the haycorn in Roman’s hands had snapped in half.

‘Oh…’ Roman breathed as he looked down at the broken cookie. The pout on his face was so intense that Patton was almost worried he would start crying.

‘No, it’s okay. Here,’ Patton gently took the gingerbread pieces from his fingers. ‘Your dad can work his magic and glue it back together with icing. You just keep making them look pretty, sweetheart.’

They resumed decorating in silence, with something indescribable hanging heavily in the air between them. Patton kept quiet, allowing Roman space to speak if he wanted to say anything. Then, after a couple of minutes:

‘Dad?’

It sounded shy, so instead of looking at Roman and possibly making him more nervous, Patton’s eyes remained on the haycorn halves that he held together. White icing oozed from the crack as he waited for it to set. ‘Yes, my bright ray of sunshine?’

The nickname pulled a little giggle from Roman, brightening the atmosphere infinitely. He sounded a bit more confident when he asked, ‘Is, um… is Vee wearing a diaper?’

Patton’s gaze snapped onto Roman’s face in faint shock.

‘There was a weird sound when Mom moved him earlier,’ Roman explained. ‘And you said he feels littler ‘cause you tried something new.’

There was no variation of upset or amusement on Roman’s face, so Patton was not concerned when he confirmed, ‘Yes, he is wearing a diaper, you’re right.’ Though he still felt it important to add, ‘Does that make you feel okay?’

Roman quickly nodded, clearly desperate to show that he was not in opposition. ‘No, it’s fine. W-wait, I mean yeah! Yeah, it’s okay.’ His eyes fell down to the cookie in his hands as he continued decorating. ‘It makes sense. Babies need diapers, right?’

‘Right.’

The way Roman gazed at his cookie reminded Patton of how he had appeared in the kitchen; contemplative. It was clear that Roman had more to say, going by the way his toes tapped at the foot of Patton’s chair rapidly. Patton waited.

‘Okay, wait, so,’ Roman eventually said, sounding as if he were a student troubling himself over a difficult math problem and Patton was the teacher who could shed some light on its solution. ‘Virgil really can’t go to the toilet?’

Patton readjusted himself to lean his elbows on the table, settling in to patiently help Roman through his confusion. ‘Not when he’s regressed, no.’ The cookie halves wobbled a little in his hold.

‘And can he really not speak properly?’

This time Patton had to take a moment to think over his answer. He hadn’t actually considered questioning whether Virgil’s hindered speech was genuine. Now that he thought about it, Virgil did appear to try hard when he spoke while regressed. Although the babbles were quiet and seemed to meld into each other, they were notably forced. As if he was putting a lot of effort into getting them out. And yet they were only ever half-coherent at the best of times.

‘No,’ Patton said, smiling to himself at the realisation. ‘I don’t think he can.’ The reminder that Virgil’s regression was all-encompassing sent a rush of excitement racing through Patton’s veins. He truly was responsible for an incredibly vulnerable baby. While that thought might have been intimidating to some, Patton was filled with pure comfort at the mere thought. It was like he was finally fulfilling his purpose. It was like coming home.

‘So… Vee is really, actually a baby.’ Roman’s eyes were wide and his voice laced with astonishment.

‘Yes,’ Patton confirmed with a giggle. It sounded like this was a new revelation to Roman. ‘Your baby brother is really, actually a baby.’

Roman’s brow pulled into a light frown as his spoon swiped over his cookie one last time before dropping into the icing bowl with a clatter.

It was clear Roman wanted to ponder over the answer, for whatever reason, so Patton turned his attention to testing the cookie in his hands. At the slightest pressure, the two halves broke free from each other, and he tutted. Replenishing the icing more liberally this time, he held the jagged edges together firmly again.

‘I like that,’ Roman muttered.

‘What’s that, sweetie?’

‘I like having a baby brother.’ Patton saw Roman nodding as if assuring himself of his decision. ‘I don’t want Vee to be like me, I like that we’re different.’

The last part seemingly came from nowhere, and the whole discussion seemed oddly disjointed, though Patton didn’t show his confusion. Instead, he opted for his standard smile of loving support, which would always be appropriate in any situation as far as Patton was concerned.

‘Well, I’m glad you like it!’ His tone bounced cheerfully. ‘And I know that Vee really loves having a big brother.’

‘Hm,’ Roman hummed and picked up a hunnypot cookie to decorate. Something in the slow movements of his fingers as he iced the treat felt off.

Patton nudged him gently, jostling his elbow. A sympathetic smile wormed its way onto his lips when he saw distant eyes snap onto him. Roman’s throat rolled with a gulp.

‘What’s the matter, little prince?‘ Patton murmured sweetly. It never took Roman long to blurt any troubling thoughts that hurtled through his mind when Patton asked about them with such softness.

Right on cue, Roman sighed explosively. Then he began: ‘Now that I’m part of the family -’

(Patton’s heart twisted. Now that Roman was part of the family. As if he hadn’t been before.)

‘- I’m kind of…’ Roman paused, nibbling his lip. His eyes fell to the table as he whispered, ‘I’m scared.’

Patton instantly dropped his cookie to the table. He didn’t care that it split apart once more, leaving a thin line of white, sugary goop on the wooden surface - his only priority at that moment was Roman. His little prince always placed so much importance on being fiercely brave and strong. Patton knew this must have been an exceptional circumstance for him to actually admit to feeling afraid.

‘What are you scared of, honey?’ he asked, his tone as steady and firm as the arm he placed around Roman’s shoulders. It was of utmost importance that Roman saw him as a supportive, strong father figure during that moment of rare vulnerability. It had to be known that Patton would protect him from anything that was causing him distress.

‘I’m scared it’ll end.’ Thankfully, Roman clearly found Patton supportive enough to lean against him as he spoke. ‘You know, us being a family.’

It was difficult to contain the urge to shrug off the mere idea. Though Patton knew better than to dismiss his loved ones’ worries, no matter how seemingly unlikely. ‘Why do you think it will end?’ he asked instead.

A sharp shrug jostled both of their bodies. ‘I don’t know… What if Vee stops regressing?’

‘I don’t think that will happen,’ Patton said gently as he swayed them to and fro. The weight against his side got heavier as Roman leaned into his one-armed embrace. ‘Your mom thinks the regression is written right into Virgil’s brain since he’s done it for so many years. It’s a part of him.’

‘Okay…’ Roman sounded uncertain still, reaching forward to fidget with the hem of Patton’s cardigan. ‘What if me and him start arguing all the time again?’

Taking the long fingers in his own, Patton whispered, ‘You won’t,’ with absolute confidence. ‘I don’t think you could go back to how you used to be after everything you boys have shared with each other.’

When Patton pressed a soft kiss to Roman’s cheek, he honestly expected to feel the tension leave Roman’s body.

Instead, the grip around Patton’s fingers tightened painfully. ‘What if he says he doesn’t wanna be brothers anymore?’ Roman’s words were frantic, panicked. ‘I don’t wanna lose him, he’s the best brother I…’

Silence reigned.

Patton’s gaze sunk to the tabletop where the two halves of the haycorn cookie lay torn apart, joined only by a thin trail of icing.

‘I just don’t want us to be split up,’ Roman whispered brokenly.

Memories flooded Patton’s mind. Of two boisterous children, identical twins, perpetually by each other’s sides despite their constant arguing. Of fearsome fights; scratching and biting and screaming. And of a thought, just a thought, that had passed through Patton’s mind one sunny day like an innocent floating cloud. The thought that one of the twins had potential and that the other was… wrong.

Memories of the following day and only seeing one child come out from their room. Of little snippets of conversation between Janus and Logan. Of realising that the other twin had not ceased to exist, but had been moved to the lower parts of the mind. (No one understood how. It was the only time a side had been moved between the conscious and the subconscious.) (That would change over a decade later when Virgil timidly knocked on their door.)

Memories of the “good” twin - Roman - seeming unaffected by the loss of his brother. Happier, even, that his ideas had no contenders. That there was no longer a double of him suggesting all manner of disturbing things that Patton simply could not stand to hear.

Warm fingers tightened further around his.

As Patton’s awareness was reeled against that cold, crashing wave of regret, his mind spluttered. Unaffected? Patton realised now the ridiculousness of the mere notion that Roman would have been unchanged by the split. By the fleeting thought from Patton - he himself still being a child at the time - that had acted as the catalyst for such an irrevocable shift in the twins’ lives. In everyone’s lives.

‘Dad?’ Roman’s gentle voice broke the surface of Patton’s turbulent reverie.

With a steadying breath, Patton forced himself back to the present and clasped both hands around Roman’s. He prayed that the tightness of his grip would dispel the trembling of his fingers.

‘You and Virgil love each other very much,’ he said, ‘and you’ve both become a lot better at showing it; when you’re little and when you’re big. Even if you did argue, you could never stop being brothers. Not now. I promise, nothing will -’ Patton’s voice was suddenly strangled by an involuntary gulp. He felt his cheeks burn as he swallowed past the knot of nerves in his throat. ‘Nothing will tear you apart,’ he finished quietly.

‘What if you and Logan break up?’

It was easy to forget how different Roman’s voice was when he was little. Him being such a master at adapting his voice for different roles, the shift in tone was subtle, though effective. The slightest bit higher in pitch, though not unnaturally so. Much bouncier in intonation, but not inappropriately so. Changed, but not overexaggerated. (Perhaps Roman was accustomed to minimising the impact of changes, Patton realised.)

Though now it was clear. This question was deeper, louder, bigger than the previous ones. It was a question from adult Roman.

Patton sighed and met Roman’s eyes equally. At that moment he was no longer a father speaking to his son, but rather a friend reassuring a friend.

‘If, for whatever reason, Logan and I stop dating…’ Patton paused. That was the first time he had verbally acknowledged that they were an item. It truly felt amazing to admit to someone besides Logan himself. Though it was a melancholy experience, to be announcing their relationship while simultaneously theorising its demise. ‘If that ever happens then we’ll still be very good friends. And we will all still be a family, I promise.’

The reluctance faded from Roman’s expression and he wriggled his hand free from Patton’s hold. A finger raised between their faces. ‘Pinky promise?’ Roman asked in childlike hopefulness.

Patton curled his little finger around Roman’s. ‘Pinky promise,’ he said earnestly.

Taking advantage of the fact that Roman’s hand was apprehended - and desperate to distract from the loaded atmosphere - Patton swiped some icing onto Roman’s face.

‘Hey!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Patton asked in mock-confusion.

Roman glared at him past a smile. ‘There’s icing on my cheek!’

‘Oh, let me get that for you!’ Patton pressed a long, wet kiss to Roman’s cheek, the icing spreading between his lips.

‘Da-ha-d,’ Roman giggled, trying to squirm away.

With a loud smack of his lips, Patton pulled away laughing. As he licked his lips clean, he took a moment to appreciate the pure joy on Roman’s face. ‘I love you, little prince. And I love Virgil and I love Logan. And I know for a fact that you all love each other too. That will never, ever end. No matter what.’

There was a loud screech of chair legs against the floorboards then Roman was on his feet, hunching over to hold Patton in a deadly-tight hug. Patton returned it with a strained wheeze.

‘I don’t want it to end,’ Roman mumbled into his shoulder. ‘I don’t want anything to change.’

That was a loaded statement if Patton had ever heard one. The sentiment behind it was clear and admirable, of course. Like Roman, Patton too loved how their family was faring and wouldn’t change it for the world. Though he was hit by the reality of just how much had changed in the past few weeks, the past few days, even the past few hours!

Regardless, he knew what Roman meant, and he wasn’t one to magnify the ambiguity of language choices. That was Logan’s job.

So - despite his uncertainty in the generalisation of the statement - Patton held Roman closer and said, ‘Nothing will change, sweetheart.’

oOo

As much as he had enjoyed his and Roman’s Father-Son bonding time (which they agreed would become a weekly ritual from then on), Patton was more than eager to return to the living room and be the happy pappy again.  It was hard to shake the melancholy from the earlier conversation, after all.

Once the hunnypots and haycorns were decorated and left to set in the kitchen, the two traipsed back down the hallway. Patton stopped just short of opening the living room door when he heard a muffled, unintelligible conversation coming from the other side of it.

He looked behind him to Roman, who mirrored his confusion. The distant voices sounded as if they were holding a full-fledged discussion. Could Virgil have been grown-up again?

Patton pushed the door open with a deep disappointment that he didn’t quite want to acknowledge. Though on poking his head into the room, it didn’t take long to see that Virgil was still regressed and in Logan’s lap. He sighed in relief.

‘Mamanaba,’ Virgil muttered, rattling Meeko with fervour. The inflection of his voice was similar to that of normal speech, even if the actual content was gibberish and his tone was still decidedly babyish.

Logan’s hands readjusted on Virgil to hold him steady as the boy kept bouncing in his lap. ‘My goodness, I never considered such a thing! Though I don’t believe that is quantifiable.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Roman laughed from behind Patton, then stepped around him in the direction of the couch.

There was nothing but pure paternal instinct that made Patton hurriedly reach out and pull Roman backwards against his chest and into his arms. He just could not bear to see the others being so sweet while his own arms were empty of one of his babies. Thankfully, Roman just settled against him and didn’t comment on it.

‘This is an academic debate, little prince,’ Logan explained very seriously, offering one of his false-stern looks. His lips twitched. ‘No interruptions, please.’

‘W-waba, mamama,’ Virgil babbled, his voice now squeaky with excitement.

Logan gasped loudly and looked at Virgil in amazement, to which the regressor giggled. ‘What a fascinating hypothesis! But have you considered the subjectivity of such a theory?’

There was a moment of quiet while Virgil looked over at the doorway to Patton and Roman. It seemed he had only just noticed their appearance. Meeko was raised to hide Virgil’s face as he collapsed against Logan’s chest. ‘Baba,’ Virgil whined, muffled by the toy at his chin.

A loud chuckle rang out. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about,’ Logan said, cupping the back of Virgil’s head protectively.

‘Mom, can you speak baby?’ Roman asked, sounding thoroughly impressed. As he spoke, he launched himself away from Patton’s chest and skipped over to stand in front of the couch.

‘It certainly sounds like it,’ Patton murmured, watching Roman go. The sudden emptiness in his arms couldn’t hold a candle to the emptiness in his chest. Why was he so sensitive all of a sudden? Why did his chest physically ache when he wasn’t holding his boys?

Then his thoughts came to a crashing stop. No. This wasn’t about him and what he wanted. Roman obviously didn’t want a hug so he was perfectly within his right to wriggle out of it. Patton had been keeping him from his brother, after all. The memories of his and Roman’s previous conversation rose in tides, threatening to spill over. Patton had been keeping Roman from his brother again.

‘What did you two get up to, little prince?’ Logan asked. ‘Did you have fun with your dad?’

As Roman launched into an impassioned regaling of the creation of Pooh Cards and his expert cookie decorating skills, Patton floated over to the couch - specifically towards the baby in Logan’s lap. His knuckle ghosted over Virgil’s smooth cheek and elicited a small coo from him. The contact and the sweet sound filled Patton with a sudden motivation that he hadn’t realised he had been lacking.

Then Virgil pulled himself to sit up from Logan’s chest and shook his rattle right by Patton’s ear with a bright smile that threatened to dislodge his pacifier. ‘Babababa.’

‘What a fun sound!’ Patton gushed, only faintly acknowledging that Roman’s monologue had just drawn to a close. ‘I see someone’s woken up a bit since we left.’

‘He is rather enraptured by the rattling sound,’ Logan said, shuffling Virgil in his lap so that he could more directly face the others. (It was true, the way Virgil stared at his toy looked as if we were both confused and amazed by the sounds coming from it; almost spellbound.) ‘I think it’s safe to say that it is a “good stim”.’ He directed his gaze to Roman and said, ‘Virgil appreciates his present from you Roman, even if he is not able to tell you as much at the moment. Thank you for making your little brother happy.’

Roman flopped down to sit on the couch a couple of feet away from Logan with pink cheeks. ‘S’okay,’ he muttered with a nonchalant shrug that was betrayed by his wide smile.

Quite unexpectedly, Virgil whined loudly and dropped Meeko to the couch. Then he wriggled and reached his arms out towards his brother so insistently that he slid right off of Logan’s lap.

‘Vee!’ Logan yelped.

Patton acted lightning fast, dropping to his knees and catching Vee in one fell swoop. A fraction of a second later and Virgil would have hit the ground.

‘Woah, there we go.’ Patton hoisted Virgil onto his hip and stood upright again, keeping a firm arm under Virgil’s diaper to support him. ‘Are you okay, angel?’ he asked breathlessly, residual adrenaline surging through his veins.

The shock didn’t fade from Virgil’s expression for several seconds. Then, at last, his eyes swam with thick tears and he broke into a constant stream of whimpers.

‘Aww, my little baby,’ Patton cooed. He started bouncing him lightly as parents often did with wailing infants. ‘You’re all right, sweetie. Shh-shh-shh.’ Virgil’s whimpers quickly quieted at the bouncing so Patton kept it up, warm adoration swelling in his chest at just how alike a real baby Virgil was.

With a wet sniffle, Virgil buried his face against Patton’s shoulder.

‘That’s it,’ Patton murmured. ‘Papa has you, you’re safe.’ He felt a pinch at his side and looked down to see that Virgil was gripping his cardigan and tugging on the material harshly. Without looking away from his baby, Patton held his free hand out to the couch. ‘Can someone please pass me Meeko?’

A few seconds passed without any softness being pressed into his hands. Patton looked over to find Logan and Roman sat staring at him in stunned silence.

It felt as though he had unknowingly done something horribly wrong. Heat flooded his cheeks. ‘What’s wrong, what did I do?’ Was he being a bad Dad? Would they take his baby away? His grip on Virgil tightened.

‘N-nothing,’ Logan stammered.

A loud snort sounded from Roman. ‘Wow, Dad’s pretty strong, isn’t he, Mom?’

‘Oh,’ Patton breathed with a nervous chuckle, trying to hide how utterly relieved he was. The look of betrayal Logan was directing towards Roman inspired enough amusement for it to be passable. ‘You carried him earlier too, Lo.’

‘I know that,’ Logan defended, his cheeks dusting pink as he looked back at Patton. ‘Just… not with one arm.’

Patton’s eyes trailed down to realise that he was indeed bouncing Virgil easily with only one arm. 

Logan cleared his throat then muttered, ‘It is rather impressive.’

‘Well, I’m a dad,’ Patton giggled lightly. He would never have imagined Logan would be flustered by such a thing. ‘Dads need to be strong for Dad Stuff!’

‘Like catching Moms when they swoon.’

At Roman’s cheeky remark, Logan’s mouth dropped open. The creative side quickly descended into giggles.

Patton witnessed the shock on Logan’s face be wiped away by an evil grin. ‘Oh, I’ll give you something to laugh about.’ Then Roman was being tugged towards Logan’s chest, Logan’s fingers wriggling in his underarms.

‘W-wait! Wait!’ Roman’s legs kicked against the couch as he was dragged into Logan’s lap. ‘Mom, ple-he-he-ase!’ he pleaded through already hysterical laughter.

Patton giggled and shook his head. It wasn’t often Logan tickled their little prince, but when he did he was merciless. Roman’s begging would not help him.

Amongst the raucous laughter and tumbling on the couch, Patton managed to swipe Meeko from the cushion before Roman’s ankles thrust into it with a squeal.

‘Here you are, honey bunny,’ Patton said, worming the toy between his cardigan and Virgil’s fingers.

The weight on his shoulder lifted as Virgil looked up with a curious hum. On seeing that he had been reunited with his raccoon, his eyes sparkled with joy rather than tears. And, as expected, he rattled the toy for what must have been the hundredth time.

‘Why did you jump off of Mama’s lap, Vee?’ Patton asked, fully aware that Virgil might not have been old enough to even understand the question. It was worth a try at least.

The question seemed to break Virgil from the trance the rattle had him under and he started whining and wriggling violently.

‘Baby, baby, it’s okay,’ Patton tried to soothe him. It was only met with louder whines and harder kicks. ‘All right, down we go,’ he sang, doing his best to make the words bounce with joy. It was difficult considering the immense sinking sensation in his stomach as he carefully lowered Virgil to the floor.

‘Is everything all right?’

Patton looked up at Logan’s breathless question, pleasantly surprised to see Roman still in Logan’s lap, finally free of the tickle attack.

‘I just asked him why he jumped off your lap.’

At the reminder, Virgil thrust his arms out towards Roman again and pleaded, ‘Wo… Wo-Wo!’

‘I didn’t do anything!’ Roman’s shoulders raised defensively as he looked to Patton. ‘It wasn’t my fault he fell!’

‘We know that, little prince. It’s all right,’ Logan assured him, embracing him to his chest.

With a gentle smile, Patton realised that Virgil was not blaming Roman for the fall whatsoever. ‘Sweetheart, I think Vee just wants to play with you.’

Virgil’s arms stretched even further into the empty space between himself and the couch. ‘Pway!’

‘Oh, um,’ Roman hesitated, looking at the ground and running his fingers over Logan’s arms, which were fastened around his waist.

‘I would like to stretch my legs anyway,’ Logan said, carefully sliding Roman off of his lap.

There was a short moment of thick quiet. It was over in an instant as Logan quickly rose to his feet, announcing that he would fetch some more toys for them before promptly leaving the room.

Before long, Logan had returned with supplies and the caregivers had set up a baby-safe play area for the boys. A large fluffy blanket lay across half of the living room floor and more than two dozen soft toys sat around the edges of the blanket, cordoning off the area. Around the room, cushions and pillows padded the harsh corners of the coffee table, TV unit, and radiator to avoid any painful bumps.

Roman was as bubbly as ever, overspilling with exuberant playfulness as he finally had his little brother’s full attention.

‘And what doth the King Meeko have to say to this usurper?’ Roman cried regally, bouncing his stuffed dog Bumpkin in his hands to indicate that he was speaking.

Virgil giggled and bounced in place where he sat against the foot of the armchair, carefully propped up by two pillows. His laughter mixed with the rattles coming from Meeko as he shook him.

‘Vee, what do you want Bumpkin to say?’ Logan mumbled from where he sat beside Patton on the couch.

A happy hum rolled from Patton’s chest. It was rare that they got a chance to sit together while both boys were little, but Virgil had gotten surprisingly fussy when Logan tried to sit with him on the blanket. It seemed the excitement of being with Roman had chased away his languid energy and he wanted to sit alone with his brother while they played.

Despite Patton’s increasing panic at seeing his little baby sitting all on his own, not in his arms, Patton felt comforted by Logan’s closeness. It meant he could run his fingers idly over Logan’s thigh as Logan’s arm draped heavily across his shoulders. He took the rare moment of casual intimacy in stride. Usually, they had to sneak around while the boys were asleep to cuddle and kiss. Though since he had spoken so openly about their relationship with Roman in the dining room, and seeing as Virgil was either unbothered by or unaware of their displays of affection, they allowed themselves this intimate moment.

‘A-ababa,’ Virgil babbled, pointing to the soft toy in Roman’s hands.

Roman sucked in a pained breath through his teeth. ‘Oof. That’s brutal, Vee.’ It earned him a bright symphony of babyish giggles.

Over the next few minutes, Patton brought his cellphone out to take pictures of the littles. Then when Logan pointed out that he had taken more than twenty almost identical photographs, Patton rolled his eyes with a playful nudge to his partner. He would have easily taken a thousand pictures if it meant he could remember this day by the adorable scene in front of him, rather than the blunt, heavy regret hammering away within him. 

‘How old is Vee right now?’ Patton wondered aloud, partly because he was watching Virgil through his phone screen. Partly because he just needed Logan’s voice to drown out Roman’s sorrowful words from earlier that kept replaying in his head.

‘Going by his babbling and playfulness,’ Logan replied, ‘I would place him around eight or nine months.’

All of the breath wrung from Patton’s lungs as he snapped his gaze onto Logan. ‘Months?’

Not seeming to notice Patton’s shock, Logan continued watching the boys with a gentle smile and nodded.

‘That’s way younger than he usually is…’ Patton placed his phone down on the couch, feeling shaky all of a sudden.

‘I am not so certain.’ A thumb started circling softly over Patton’s knuckles as Logan explained in a low murmur, ‘At first he told us he regressed from two to five years old. Though I have been observing his behaviour over the past few weeks, and I believe he has been greatly mistaken in this estimation.’

The soft material of Logan’s slacks bunched between Patton’s fingers. ‘What, do you think he’s not that old?’ The new information bombarded him with the horrible thought that he hadn’t been doing his job as a father if he hadn’t even noticed how old Virgil was when he regressed.

Gaze fixed on their boys, lips fixed in an oblivious smile, Logan went on: ‘Nothing I have seen of his regression has suggested he is ever older than two and a half years - though even then, being that old is rare for him.’ He tilted his head in thought, which would have been adorable had Patton’s vision not been pulsating with his frantic heartbeat. ‘I wonder whether he misunderstands developmental stages, or whether it is simply a case of him being unaware of his own behaviour patterns.’

‘What ages does he actually regress to?’ Patton whispered. He stared intently at Logan, desperate for the answer that he had apparently been too incompetent to see for himself.

With utmost confidence, Logan said, ‘Three to twenty-four months.’

Hot tears sprang to Patton’s eyes. ‘Three months…’ he echoed under his breath. Practically a newborn. With a gulp, Patton’s watery eyes settled on Virgil. A newborn who had been alone for so many years.

His wet eyes being glued on Virgil’s steadily blurrier form, Patton was startled when he felt Logan’s arm pushing insistently at his shoulders. Within seconds Patton was on his feet and being swiftly ushered into the hallway. His heart lurched when the blue and purple blob fell out of sight as he was guided past the corner of the doorway and the tears finally fell to his cheeks.

‘Your dad and I are right outside if you need us. Keep playing with your little brother,’ Logan’s voice said, then the door was pulled mostly shut and Patton was surrounded by long, warm arms. ‘What’s wrong, Patton?’

It all happened so quickly that he had no hope of burying his emotions, so Patton didn’t speak. He just clung to Logan and sniffled into his shoulder, thinking about what he had learned. About Virgil being so young and consequently about everything he had ever had to deal with on his own. The loneliness, the accidents, the bullies.

Patton bit his tongue through a wave of overwhelming anger. Over the course of the next minute, he simply took in deep, shaky breaths, glad that Logan did nothing but tap out one-second intervals on his back to aid his breathing.

Then, just as he thought he had overcome the worst of it, a babyish giggle rang from behind the living room door.

A sob wrenched its way from Patton’s throat.

‘My love, please tell me what’s wrong,’ Logan pleaded, his voice gentle though pained.

‘Sorry,’ Patton choked, pulling his face back from Logan’s shoulder to scrub his sleeve over his eyes. When he opened them and caught the utter sincerity in Logan’s concerned expression, the tears started anew. What exactly had Patton done to deserve such a wonderful man?

Patton couldn’t bear to hold back his lament any longer, keeping quiet so as not to upset the boys in the next room. ‘He’s just so - he’s literally just a baby. He’s innocent and - and vulnerable and -’ his voice wobbled and broke off with a shuddered breath. As he recollected all Virgil had told them of the hate he received on his blog, that same boiling rage oozed through Patton’s entire being. It stung and made him tremble. Like poison. ‘I can’t believe those horrible people would bully him for it!’

At the hissed tone, Logan’s face crumpled with a wince. Patton was ready to vehemently apologise for himself - about to claim he had no idea where that came from, it wasn’t him at all - until Logan said, ‘I know. I am angry too.’

There was no way Patton could have predicted how comforting those four words were. They doused the fire in his chest and left him dumbstruck. The raging indignance that had been snapping and flaring within him all afternoon suddenly disappeared and all that was left was a smouldering, pathetic sorrow.

Patton slumped back into Logan’s arms in defeat.

‘He was on his own for so many years, Lo. It’s bad enough he couldn’t look after himself,’ Patton whispered and shook his head, Logan’s shirt rustling faintly with the movement, ‘but on top of that some strangers attacked him just for - for -’

‘For trying to feel safe,’ Logan finished, twining his fingers gently in Patton’s thick hair.

Delighted, squeaky laughter echoed from the living room.

‘Not everyone is accepting.’ The deep voice vibrated in Logan’s chest. Patton held onto him tighter. ‘It is an unfortunate reality in both Thomas’ world and ours, and I understand it is upsetting. As much as we would like to, we simply cannot protect our boys from every possible threat.’

The icy pang of dread in Patton’s gut was twice as toxic as the scalding anger from before. What was Patton’s whole purpose if not to look after his family?

‘Virgil was not completely helpless to it, though,’ Logan continued. ‘He disabled anonymous asks without being prompted to do so. That shows he had the foresight to prevent it from happening again. He was protecting himself.’

Gentle shivers radiated over Patton’s scalp as Logan’s fingernails combed through his hair. ‘That’s meant to be our job,’ he argued weakly, ‘and he didn’t even tell us about it.’

‘Not at first,’ Logan conceded. ‘Still, that does not mean he did not trust us.’ Then Logan pulled back from the hug, leaving Patton cold. ‘You know how reluctant he is to share things that he perceives as embarrassing. Your conversation with him yesterday proves as much,’ he said, turning and walking down the hallway.

‘Where are you going?’ Patton shrieked, his hands curling into tight fists by his sides.

Logan looked back in shock. Then he carefully reached out to pick up the tissue box that sat on the cabinet by the staircase. The movement was slow, and Logan watched Patton all the while as if he were a startled animal that had to be monitored.

Shame flooded Patton. ‘Oh. Sorry, just… not done cuddling you yet.’

A soft smile replaced Logan’s frown and he brought a couple of tissues back to Patton, holding him again and dabbing at his itchy eyes. ‘I didn’t realise you would be competing with a box of tissues for my attention,’ Logan chuckled.

Patton knew it was a joke, of course he did. He loved jokes and he loved that Logan was finally comfortable enough in himself to make them without fearing people's opinions of him. But suddenly the heat in his chest was reignited.

‘Why didn’t you just summon them?’ Patton asked flatly.

The tissue that Logan stroked over his cheekbone faltered.

‘You always say how important it is that we don’t challenge the mindscape,’ Patton went on, glad that this topic had distracted Logan enough from his sudden clinginess. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you summon since you realised the whole - what’s it called?’

‘Equivalent exchange,’ Logan supplied, blushing. It was he who realised that the programming he had set up for their mindscape to follow real world laws of physics glitched whenever the sides took advantage of their powers; summoning an object would make another of similar mass and/or sentimental worth disappear, and breaking the laws of physics would train the mindscape to disparage Logan’s carefully crafted code. For the sake of stability in their environment, they had long since all agreed to sacrifice the convenience of summoning unless in emergencies. Logan most of all, which is why Patton was so shocked when he saw he had summoned a baby book earlier. ‘I understand it was hypocritical of me to break my own rule. I apologise, it won’t be happening again.’

Patton nodded. He didn’t want Logan to think he was upset with him, though he was satisfied that he had redirected the conversation effectively. ‘What was so urgent about a baby book anyway?’

‘I could not think of anything to calm Vee down,’ Logan explained, pocketing the crumpled tissue as Patton’s face was perfectly dry by then. ‘Regretfully, I acted quite impulsively in response to his crying.’

‘Oh no, was the poor thing upset?’ Patton asked, all harsh emotion replaced by softness and concern for his little one.

With a soft sigh, Logan leaned forward to press a kiss to Patton’s forehead. ‘You know how his separation anxiety is,’ he murmured against his skin, lingering there.

Patton frowned at Logan’s chest. ‘He still has separation anxiety?’

‘Of course,’ Logan said, putting some distance between them to look down at him.

‘But,’ Patton blinked rapidly, ‘earlier he was okay with me leaving and he - he hid from me, I thought -’

‘Patton, it doesn’t disappear from one positive experience,’ Logan explained, his arms still wrapped around Patton’s shoulders. ‘It may have been dimmed momentarily though it is still very much present. I believe it may be a permanent fixture of his headspace, simply due to the ages he regresses to and his anxious nature.’

‘Oh… okay.’ It was hard to know what else to say. Earlier Patton had thought he was proud of Virgil for overcoming his separation anxiety. But hearing that Virgil would perhaps never get over it sent a wave of warm comfort over Patton. He wanted to smile, but the fluffy feeling was sullied by something. Something distant that he couldn’t identify. Something unpleasant.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ Logan asked softly, spoken as if it were a love confession.

Patton instinctively reached into his pocket, only to come out empty-handed. ‘Sorry, I must have left my phone in -’

A featherlight touch at his lips made Patton fall silent: Logan’s fingertips. He could feel Logan’s pulse thrumming through them.

‘It’s later,’ Logan whispered, his eyes swimming with utter adoration. Then the soft fingertips were replaced by softer lips and Patton fell into a dream.

They floated together for a while, suspended in the short space between their hearts. After a few gentle pecks and a quick swipe of tongues, Logan pulled away.

‘That was sweet,’ Patton whispered airily, letting his eyes flutter open. Then he saw that Logan was frowning deeply at him.

‘Patton…’ Logan licked his lips and grimaced a little. He started chuckling, ‘Just how much lemon did you put in your tea?’

It wrenched Patton from his dreamy state.

Guilt. The unpleasant feeling that was sullying his emotions was guilt. Guilt because how could he think himself supportive of his family if in the face of their developments his response had been extreme jealousy? So extreme that he had had to literally suck on a lemon to pull himself out of it.

As if that weren’t awful enough, Patton had actually felt happy when he learned Virgil would continue to be distressed by his separation anxiety.  He had failed his baby, just like he had failed his little prince by neglecting him and not recognising his insecurities. He had failed at being a dad; the one thing he thought he knew. Why was he even trying to be a caregiver when he kept accidentally hurting his family?

Roman called loudly from the living room, ‘Dad?’

A switch flipped in Patton’s brain. No, he wouldn’t give up. His boys needed their dad and that had to be him. No matter how many mistakes he made, how wrong he was, Patton would never let go of the only thing in the world he could do. He would never let go of his purpose. The one thing he lived for.

He was nothing if he couldn’t be Papa Patton.

He slipped right past Logan, not caring to check his reaction to Patton’s avoidance. With a huge smile, Patton bounced into the living room. ‘What’s up, my majestic little songbird?’

It was immediately clear why Roman had called.

Where Virgil had been sitting on the blanket before they left the room, giggling and rattling Meeko excitedly, both boys now sat. Roman’s arm was thrown over Virgil’s shoulders protectively, supporting the younger boy as he swayed and blinked slowly. His eyes were decidedly teary and he was tugging at his pacifier again.

‘Oh, my sweet little baby,’ Patton cooed, rushing over to them. The storm of guilt and jealousy cleared from his mind in an instant, leaving him a little light-headed. It was replaced by a muffled determination and affection that made everything seem softer around the edges.

Dropping to his knees, Patton pulled Virgil into a hug. There was a little whimper, and then his shoulder was immediately used as a hiding spot for Virgil’s face. ‘What happened, Roman?’ Patton asked, leaning back against the foot of the armchair. He rested his hand atop Virgil’s head and felt as though his heart had started beating for the first time in hours.

‘He just froze and went super quiet all of a sudden,’ Roman explained, letting go of his brother and collapsing back onto the blanket with a pout. ‘Then he didn’t wanna play anymore.’

‘It’s all right, Roman,’ Logan said, settling onto the floor beside Roman with a reassuring pat on his knee. ‘Virgil can play with you again another time.’ He began clearing the mess of various toys on the blanket, assembling them into an ordered line.

‘Are you upset, baby?’ Patton whispered, rocking Virgil slightly in his hold.

As was to be expected, there was no answer. Virgil only hid his face against Patton more fiercely.

‘Perhaps it was the separation anxiety.’

Patton nodded faintly at Logan’s suggestion, but internally he knew that wasn’t it. In the past, if Virgil was anxious about being separated from Patton he was much more vocal in his upset; sobbing and whining loudly. Plus he certainly hadn’t heard Virgil calling out for him before Roman beckoned him in, so Patton remained doubtful that that was the issue.

Another difference became obvious as Virgil hugged Patton tighter, forcing Patton to hunch down a little to accommodate it. Where Virgil would always scramble into Patton’s lap at being reunited with him, this time he had remained on the floor with his legs pulled tightly to his chest. Patton experimentally nudged Virgil’s knees to convince him to lower them but was met with a whine and Virgil’s whole body tensed up.

As Patton shushed his baby and swayed him back and forth, he just knew. There was no solid thought process he could attribute to his realisation. He thought it must have been his paternal instincts (which sent a rush of pride through him). Though regardless of how he knew it, Patton was quite certain that Virgil’s diaper was wet.

Then Logan spoke. ‘I think I would like to -’

‘I’m handling it,’ Patton assured firmly without looking up from his baby.

There was a short while of silence before Logan spoke again. ‘I was going to say I would like to play Pooh Cards with Roman.’

Shame flooded Patton’s mind. He chased it away by rubbing soothing circles on Virgil’s back.

‘Oh yeah!’ Roman cried, jumping up from the blanket so fast Patton was surprised he didn’t fall face-first to the floor with the momentum of it. As he bounced in place he grabbed and tugged on Logan’s hands. ‘Mom, Mom, Mom, quick, come see!’

There was a slight reluctance as Logan raised to his feet. ‘I said I would play with you Roman. Please do not pull me.’

Patton rolled his eyes. Roman was merely excited, and he knew his own strength. It wasn’t like it hurt Logan. There was no reason for him to be so strict with their little prince.

‘Are you sure you two will be all right?’ Logan asked, and his voice actually wobbled.

Logan - who always kept a steady, calm voice even in moments of distress - was presumably so worried about leaving Virgil with Patton that his voice had actually wavered.

Patton had to unclench his jaw to reply, ‘Of course we will, I’m his papa.’ It came out far more snappish than he had intended. He ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, using the soft tendrils to distract himself from the sinking feeling in his chest. ‘I mean - he’s okay. I know what this is.’ Finally meeting Logan’s gaze, Patton offered a small smile that he knew didn’t meet his eyes.

‘Okay, love,’ Logan said softly, lovingly, and Patton knew he didn’t deserve it.

Then Logan led Roman out of the room to fetch the card game and the papa and his baby were left alone.

For a minute they simply sat, Patton still swaying them gently. Going by the fact that Virgil was no longer whimpering, it was clear the cuddle was soothing him. Patton too felt himself relaxing as their bodies moved as one and their breaths synchronised.

Over the course of those few quiet moments, Patton’s worries all seemed to float away. As if Virgil were a calm breeze, clearing the muggy clouds of guilt and bitterness from Patton’s mind and replacing them with crystal clear skies. Patton nuzzled his nose into Virgil’s hair and breathed deeply, feeling as though he hadn’t tasted oxygen until that very second. There was no other feeling in the world that could compare.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s have a proper cuddle.’

There was no protest as Patton shuffled both of them up into the seat of the armchair. Virgil kept a tight hold on Meeko all the while, clearly afraid of dropping the toy. Admittedly, Patton had hoped he would have an opportunity to check Virgil’s diaper during the movement, but their positions simply didn’t allow for it. As soon as they were seated with Virgil on Patton’s lap, the regressor whined and hurriedly wriggled off of his legs to squeeze into the small space between Patton and the armrest.

‘It’s okay, honey,’ Patton murmured, letting Virgil curl up to his side instead. His knees were flush with his chest once more; hiding his lap on instinct, Patton realised.

‘Dad!’ Roman yelled, skipping back into the living room with a bright smile. ‘Mom really likes my game and says I’m really clever!’

Feeling Virgil jolt at the sudden noise, Patton carded his fingers through his hair softly. ‘That’s wonderful, sweetie,’ he said, trying not to feel disheartened by the interruption to his and Virgil’s time together. ‘I think you’re very clever too.’

Roman appeared to vibrate. ‘And - and n-now Mom is gonna play with me!’

‘Well, I hope you win, little prince,’ Patton chuckled, enamoured by Roman’s sweet enthusiasm. Then he put on a loud stage-whisper, ‘Try to get the Tigger card!’

A deep gasp sounded from the doorway. ‘I heard that, Patton!’ Logan entered the room with a look of mock-offence. He held a red sippy cup in one hand and the stack of Pooh Cards in his other. ‘I cannot believe you’re conspiring against me.’

Patton giggled, twirling a lock of Virgil’s hair around his pinky. ‘I’m a supportive dad, I have to be on Roman’s side!’

‘Hm, I suppose I can concede that,’ Logan grumbled, throwing a quick smile Patton’s way. He handed Roman his sippy cup, praising him when he said, ‘Thank you’.

There was a quiet whine from Virgil and Patton rocked him a little. He was probably upset by the others being so close given his shy headspace at that moment.

‘Come here, little one,’ Logan called, moving to sit by the coffee table at the other side of the room. ‘I need you to teach me how to play.’

Roman did not react.

‘Sweetie, that’s you,’ Patton whispered, reaching out to squeeze Roman’s hand.

A blush overtook Roman as he looked over at his mom, a smile forming on his lips. ‘Me?’

‘Of course,’ Logan nodded. By the casual shuffling of the Pooh Cards in his hands, it almost appeared as if Logan didn’t recognise the gravity of calling Roman ‘little one’, though Patton knew his partner better than that. He knew that Logan must have noticed Roman’s need for coddling in the face of Virgil’s younger headspace.

Patton grinned as he watched Roman rush over, sitting as close to Logan as was physically possible.

Then he felt Virgil trying to burrow into his shoulder further and looked down. The boy’s neck was noticeably strained by the action since he had to stretch awkwardly seeing as he wasn’t in Patton’s lap like he usually was.

‘Do you wanna sit in Papa’s lap?’

A slight nod came in reply.

‘All right, on three. Ready?’ Patton secured his arms around Virgil’s back and under his diaper. ‘One, two… three!’ As he easily lifted Virgil onto his lap, he took the opportunity to subtly pat and pinch the diaper through the fabric of his onesie. Definitely wet. With a swell of satisfaction at being correct in his assumption, Patton lowered Virgil to his lap and kissed his head.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed though. Once he was sitting on Patton’s thighs, Virgil immediately whimpered and hid his face behind Meeko.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ Patton reassured, rocking him again. ‘Papa was just checking if you’re still dry.’

The explanation was met with a tiny squeak. Virgil lowered Meeko, revealing his pink cheeks and rattling the toy once more. Though he did not shake it with the same vigour he had earlier; this time Meeko was gently waved to and fro quite lazily. ‘Bababa,’ Virgil mumbled.

Apparently, the diaper check had comforted Virgil and reinforced his younger headspace. Patton sighed and held his baby closer. That was just utterly adorable.

Logan cleared his throat quite pointedly from the other side of the room, and when Patton met his eyes he mouthed silently: Is he dry?

Patton responded with a slight shake of his head. Then, strangely, he felt his lips curl into a smile. Even stranger, Logan mirrored it, and Patton was quite sure they must have been thinking the same thing:

That Virgil had had an accident again, but this time there was no sobbing. There was no hyperventilating. There was no panic attack. In fact, the only indication he had wet himself at all was the fact that he had been pushed back into his sleepy baby state, and that wasn’t a bad thing whatsoever!

Looking down at him now, it was clear to Patton that the diapers were a hugely positive change for Virgil. Despite his lethargic energy, his dimples were showing at the sides of his pacifier which bobbed lazily in his mouth. As he rattled Meeko softly, his eyes sparkled with babyish curiosity. He was calm and happy. It soothed Patton immensely.

oOo

As their time together went on, Patton and Virgil cuddled and played so much that it was impossible for Patton to wipe the cheesy grin from his face. He had rocked Virgil gently, tickled his cheek softly to watch him blush and giggle, dutifully kissed Meeko whenever Virgil held the toy up to Patton with a smile, and now…

‘Are you ready?’ Patton asked in his most exaggerated baby-talk voice. ‘Is my baby ready for more bounces?’

Virgil giggled and kicked his feet a little by Patton’s hips, facing him in his lap. Meeko was hugged tightly to his chest as he nodded.

‘Ahhhh…’ Patton started, securing his grip on Virgil’s shoulders. ‘Bouncy, bouncy baby!’ He bounced his legs on each syllable, making Virgil bob up and down in his lap with little squeals of happiness. ‘What a cute little stormcloud!’

Sweet laughter continued to tumble from behind Virgil’s pacifier. ‘Baba, g-gen!’

‘Again?’ Patton repeated, chuckling. They had been doing this for several minutes by that point, and his legs ached from the constant lifting. But who was he to deny his baby when his eyes glittered with such joy? ‘Okay. Last one, sweetie.’

There was no protest, only a squeak of anticipation. Virgil really was a sweet baby.

‘Ahhhhh… bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy baby!’

Delighted laughter escaped the pair and danced in the air surrounding both of them. Then Virgil smushed his face into Meeko and made a strangled, high-pitched sound. It was a common verbal stim when he was overwhelmed by happiness.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Patton gushed heartily, huddling Virgil closer in his lap and wrapping him in a tight hug. ‘You are the sweetest, squeakiest, most adorable little baby in the whole world.’ He emphasised his point by pressing a great number of kisses to Virgil’s cheek in quick succession.

Virgil suddenly whined quite desperately and pushed at Patton’s chest to be released from his hold. Feeling a rush of concern, Patton held Virgil at arm’s length, still supporting him but trying not to crowd him. ‘I’m sorry, was it a yucky feeling, honey?’ he asked, fearing he had set off Virgil’s sensory sensitivities.

Though Virgil still smiled and promptly held Meeko up in front of Patton’s face. 

Patton bit his tongue through a wide smile. ‘Why hello again, Meeko! Would you like some kissies too?’

‘Mnh,’ Virgil hummed insistently, rattling the toy a little.

Chuckling, Patton leaned forward and pressed a loud, ‘Mwah!’ right on Meeko’s button nose. When he pulled back, Virgil dropped Meeko to his lap and held Patton’s cheeks softly between his hands.

Patton was frozen in place. His brain simply couldn’t handle the adorableness.

‘Dad, Dad, look!’

Patton held Virgil’s hands softly to stop him from squishing his cheeks for a moment. Looking over to the coffee table, he saw that Roman was holding a full deck of Pooh Cards up to him with a triumphant smile.

‘Yay, you won again!’ Patton cheered, laughing when Virgil giggled and poked his cheeks again. ‘Well done, my clever little prince!

‘He’s a complete expert at this game,’ Logan said, stretching his back with a click. It must have been an awkward position to be sat on the floor hunched over the coffee table for so long (though exactly how long Patton wasn’t sure, he didn’t care to check the time.) ‘I don’t think I will ever be able to outsmart you at Pooh Cards, Roman.’

It was clear that Logan had purposefully let Roman win every game from the snippets of laughter and dramatic sighs Patton had heard as they played. Though Roman either hadn’t clocked it or didn’t care about it going by his extreme happiness.

‘How about we have some hunnypots and haycorns to celebrate?’ Patton suggested, knowing the cookies would have been set by then.

‘Why don’t you and Virgil go and pick them for us - only one each,’ Logan hastily added with his eyebrows raised at Patton. It was a fair point to make; as much as he and Logan didn’t care much for sweets and would be happy enough to share one cookie between them, Patton probably would have let the boys have several if that’s what they so wished. He was grateful Logan was there to be a sort of filter for his blind generosity sometimes. ‘Meanwhile, I think Roman and I may need to expel a bit of excess energy.’

By him and Roman, Logan obviously only meant the creative side, who was currently shaking and fidgeting quite energetically in his place on the carpet. It was true that a quiet card game was quite a rare activity for the hyperactive boy, as was obvious by the energy overspilling from him.

Patton nodded, holding Virgil closely against his side as he stood from the armchair. ‘Okay, let’s go pick some yummy cookies for everyone, baby!’

As Patton carried Virgil to the kitchen, he heard Logan set up the soundtrack to The Tigger Movie on the speakers. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of Roman launching to his feet and starting to jump and dance around.

‘All right, can you look up for me, Vee?’ They were stood in front of the rack of multicoloured cookies now. Virgil lifted his head from Patton’s shoulder and made a hum of interest when he saw the treats. ‘Good boy. Now you’ve got a really important job: I need you to pick some pretty cookies for everyone!’

Virgil pointed at himself with a surprise in his eyes.

‘Uh-huh,’ Patton nodded, jostling Virgil further onto his hip with one arm as he picked up a plate from the drying rack.

‘Baba,’ Virgil mumbled, and Patton looked down to see he was pointing at a cookie that had gone slightly wrong. It was originally a haycorn but as the cookies all spread in the oven it had been crowded against the corner of the baking tray, becoming misshapen and wonky. It was coated in pink icing.

‘This one?’ Patton lay the plate on the counter and picked up the cookie to hold it in front of Virgil.

‘Wub!’

‘You love it?’ Patton asked.

Virgil shook his head and pointed at it again. ‘Harp!’

‘Oh, you’re right,’ Patton smiled, looking at the cookie in a new light. ‘It does look like a heart! That means it’s a special love cookie.’

‘Beshul?’

‘Very special.’ He pressed a kiss to Virgil’s head. ‘Just like my special little baby. Do you want this one, honey?’

In response, Virgil suddenly pushed at Patton’s hand and the cookie got lodged between Patton’s teeth. He giggled in surprise, pulling the cookie back out of his mouth. ‘You want this to be Papa’s one?’

‘Wub Papa!’

Just as Patton thought there were no more harsh, icy emotions in him to thaw, he positively melted at Virgil’s innocent love confession. He smiled and placed the cookie on the plate. ‘I love you too, baby. I think me and Mama can share that one. Now do you wanna pick one for your brother?’

After some quite serious deliberation, Virgil had decided on a green haycorn for his brother and a yellow hunnypot for himself. Patton carried both his baby and the plate of haycorn cookies back to the living room. The hunnypot cookie was held in Virgil’s fingers as he suckled on the edge of it (Patton had stored his pacifier in the pocket of his cardigan, making a mental note to invest in a pacifier clip for the future). It seemed their bouncing game had tired him out once more, as Virgil’s head promptly dropped back to Patton’s shoulder once his task was complete.

‘I’m putting your cookies on the table, you two,’ Patton announced over the sound of Tigger’s theme song once they had returned to the living room. He swerved himself and Virgil around Roman as he bounced (and Logan who bounced only when Roman looked at him, then stopped once Roman looked away), careful not to bump anyone as he lay the plate on the coffee table.

Patton then settled into the middle of the couch with a sigh, letting Virgil drop to his lap again. Thankfully the music was not overly loud and Virgil seemed unbothered by it as he sucked quite lazily on his cookie.

‘Is that yummy, sweetheart?’

The soggy cookie left Virgil’s lips and was held up to Patton’s. He humoured his baby by pretending to nibble it and humming in enthusiastic approval. ‘Ooh, that’s lovely! Mm-mm, very yummy. Thank you, Vee.’

It satisfied Virgil as he smiled and continued sucking on it himself, nuzzling further into Patton’s hold.

Soon Roman had gotten tired of bouncing and Logan switched the music to set up the next chapter of their Winnie-the-Pooh audiobook, claiming that it was quiet time now.

While Logan was preoccupied, Roman had finished his cookie deftly in three bites (making Patton giggle) then he approached the couch quite shyly. ‘Dad, can I…’

‘You wanna cuddle too?’ Patton asked softly, smiling in encouragement.

The acknowledgement of Roman’s unspoken request was apparently enough permission for him and he practically jumped into the spot beside Patton.

‘Excuse me, I believe you are in my spot,’ Logan announced on his way back to the couch. As Roman made a noise of offence, Logan pulled him up from the seat to collapse into it himself.

‘Hey, I was -’ Roman started whining, but cut himself off with a yelp when Logan swiftly tugged him back down into his own lap. Roman’s cheeks flushed pink and he clammed up.

‘You were saying?’ Logan asked in a lightly teasing tone.

Patton shook his head at their silliness. It was strange that whenever the two showed affection to each other they seemed to want to set it off with jokes and teasing. Though as Patton rocked Virgil in his lap delicately, he realised it wasn’t really for him to judge how they showed affection. As long as his family was happy, he was happy. And it was clear from Virgil’s sleepy hums and Roman’s blushing cheeks bunched in a smile and Logan’s soft chuckles that his family were all perfectly happy.

His gaze dawdled a little on his partner until Logan’s eyes met his and softened, crinkling with a smile. Patton bit his lip and looked down, feeling bizarrely like a shy, lovestruck teenager.

‘Dad, can I have a kiss?’

The question threw Patton a little, not ever having heard such a blunt request for affection from Roman. It was unexpected but made Patton extremely proud of his son for being brave enough to ask.

‘Of course, little prince!’ He leaned up slightly to press a firm kiss to Roman’s cheek, noting a very light stubble there.

‘And now Vee!’ Roman immediately cried once Patton had sunk back to his seat.

Patton chuckled at Roman’s strange antics, but complied, pressing a softer kiss to Virgil’s head. The baby squeaked and buried his cheek further into Patton’s shoulder. Some gingerbread crumbs littered Patton’s cardigan, but he hardly cared.

Then Roman spoke again, ‘Now Mom!’ His voice was all childish innocence, whereas his eyes screamed pure scheming adult.

A short, surprised huff escaped Patton as he looked over to Logan. His cheeks felt warm.

‘Well,’ Logan hummed, his lips pulling into a shy, crooked smile, ‘I suppose you have kissed everyone else.’ He looked down at Patton expectedly. ‘It’s only fair, right?’

Patton thought his face would split in two with how he beamed with a smile. No more hiding, no more sneaking around. Not needing to be told twice, he pushed forward, thankful that Logan leaned down to meet him in a quick kiss. It was entirely chaste, lasting a fraction of the time all of their previous kisses had done, but it lingered in Logan’s blush and Patton’s smile as they pulled back from each other.

The look of absolute calm in Logan’s eyes instilled such an overwhelming feeling of content in him that Patton had to take a slow, measured breath. Everything is going to be all right, Logan’s eyes seemed to whisper. I love you and I believe in you, I believe in us, and I believe in our family. We’re all going to be all right.

And Patton believed that. He knew things weren’t perfect, that they might never be. That Roman would not overcome his insecurities overnight, that Logan was still struggling to balance sternness and playfulness, that Virgil still struggled with asking for help and that they would have to deal with the repercussions of Virgil coming out of this new headspace likely confused. Reluctantly, Paton also acknowledged that there might have been something to his own caregiver headspace that was less than ideal if his jealousy and clinginess earlier were anything to go by.

Still, in that exact moment, everything was fine. They weren’t going anywhere. They would continue to be a family no matter what. They had plenty of time to address these difficult things. Presently, Patton just wanted to appreciate the rest of the evening in peace.

‘Is everyone ready?’ Logan asked, holding his phone up to show that the audiobook was ready to play.

Virgil breathed deeply, still sucking his cookie. Roman nodded and scurried back in Logan’s lap to lean back against him.

When Logan’s questioning gaze turned to him, Patton simply nodded and shuffled on the couch to rest his head on Logan’s shoulder. ‘Ready.’

A gentle kiss from Logan pressed to his head and Patton held Virgil closer with one arm while reaching to hold Roman’s hand with the other. He knew now that the perfect family wasn’t possible. Though being surrounded by the three people he held dear in his heart, Patton also knew that this was the closest anyone could get.

‘Chapter Ten, in which Christopher Robin gives a Pooh Party, and we say good-bye…’ 

⤛ The End ⤜

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Bonus chapter

[incoherentbabblings]

What’s the difference between writing pre new 52 TimSteph and Rebirth TimSteph?

Ooh! Thank you for such a wonderful question! I'm going to wax on romantically and embarrassingly here. This is again largely headcanon using canon to prop up with rickety sticks, but hey. We do what we do. This is how I differentiate when writing or reading. If I had the pOwER....

To clarify, the biggest difference between the two is this, I think: Pre!Flashpoint will not quit being superheroes even if their life depends on it, and neither are tempted by the thought of quitting. Rebirth are actively looking for opportunities to step away, and are often tempted by the chance of vigilantes being made redundant. Pre New 52 are tired, Rebirth are arrogant. Having said that, here's how I like to imagine it...

Pre New 52 everything is heavier, almost like there's a actual physical weight these two have been carrying for five years and if (when) they get back together it's akin to a drowning man seeing and reaching the shore and solid land. A sort of sharp almost painful relief that is mixed in with genuine grief and trauma. They've both hurt each other a lot. They scarred physically and emotionally both each other and the world. Tim is a little misguided by the end of RR. He's practically drowning but refusing to admit it. Steph is managing to keep her head above water, though sometimes something grabs her ankle and pulls her under, though she always manages to kick free.

There's just a history there that makes every conversation a call back, every action a reference to something else. It's really fun to write because it is super rare for either of them to be in a good headspace at the same time. Tim will drag Steph forward until life knocks them both down, at which point Steph will get her second steam and drag Tim on. I guess in that way I view pre New 52 Tim Steph as inherently sadder. They're both very tired, they both very much deserve a rest. They will never take that chance if offered to them, as it will mean abandoning those who need them. Steph will succeed with or without Tim. I don't know if the same can be said for him. Tim certainly doesn't believe himself to have a bright future. So yeah. When I write Pre New 52 TimSteph, I like to write things a little sad, a little lonely, but warm, gentle. They are very good at hurting the other, and yet their relationship is a small place the keep them anchored and warm and dry, a little island. Just for a short while before life gets in the way again. But that island is always there, they just have to make the effort to swim out to it.

Rebirth TimSteph I like to imagine is just feral. Not nearly as much brooding. They want to do something and they do it, end of discussion. Consequences will be dealt with later.

I write it as if you see this person and something clicks in your head like a goddamn sight viewer on a sniper and it's like oh. It's you. For Tim it's having a proper reason to return to Gotham when he beforehand had no desire to work there at all by the start of the New 52. Steph is a way to drag him down to the same level as the people on the ground that New 52 Tim held himself so loftily above. She's a personification of his interests and dreams and a focus point for what he wants to achieve. He'll pin it all on her because she genuinely believes in him. She encouraged him to make his own choices for his own future, destiny of Gotham City and the Batman cowl be damned. For Steph it's stability and the unconditionality of Tim's infatuation. No one has stuck with her, not even her parents. This boy does. This boy is apparently willing to build a new world for her. And that's kinda heady right? To be that wanted. To be the centre of someone's world like that... I wouldn't give that up either. And then there's that instinctive pull, where you feel you don't need to run through the basics. You feel like you already know them? Don't you? So they fall in love and move in together (and yeah have sex) in like a month. They make plans to completely overhaul the social structure of Gotham then look at options to bugger off and go to college and have that white picket life that Bruce so often decries.

They're both idealistic and arrogant. And it gets used against them again and again by them trusting and listening to the wrong people but their trust and love for the other is pretty insanely consistent and constant and course corrects the pair as they move forward. There's no history of betrayal or lies (until there is) it's just two people who are enamoured with the other and do not give a hoot who knows it. They're 17 years old and live together. They joke about making out in front of Batman. They explicitly go on date nights which include investigating murder. They maybe eloped and no one questioned it depending on how you read them running away from home. Like they're the kind of couple who you'd go aww they're cute but then the more you look at it the more you're like these two are kind of feral and impulsive and bonkers. There's no baggage. They're running on instinct. They're running on a lot of easily breakable promises and corruptable dreams and ambitions. Because the batfam don't do mild mannered level headed. It's all or nothing. So it has the potential to go south or completely off the rails as it threatened to do in that last arc of Tec. But again, when one stumbles, the other drags them forward and up until they can stand on their own once more. They both feel like they're owed too much. That white picket fence belongs to them. Even if they have to burn a few bridges to get the wood.

Not to say they also aren't soft as heck. I talk enough about Steph being Tim's home and Tim flipping loves being home... He takes good care of it. That home is still shiny and new and Steph is out back painting that darn fence.

Pre New 52 the house is cracked and tired but it's warm and lived in and smells like comfort. It's just that half the flipping time they've lost the key and are locked out 😂. Those two're a bit more lost, until they come back together again perhaps. In a way they're more selfless, more measured than their Rebirth selves, but that's because their world has knocked them back a lot. Rebirth haven't had to endure that yet.

Gulp, this was a purple prose ramble eh? Tldr long drawn out history and narrow options for the future make the quiet times all the more sweeter versus this is first love and it is the greatest love in the world it's so great it can (figuratively) conquer the world it feels so good.

[chuuyaaf]

C-can I request a high school au?, what if dazai convinced fem!reader to pretend to be his gf so that the girls he was hitting on would go away because they wanted to get serious with him, Scenario with lots of angst and a fluff ending please!

This turned into a full-on fic.... I just really love this idea. And highschool AUs?? Love it (there’s also underage drinking, so be warned) Also, a freshman is a first-year high school student, in case anyone was confused. -Zi

“Be my girlfriend!” 

You were sure the shock was written all over your face. You had a crush on Osamu since the eighth grade and now he was really asking you to date him?

“Not really, of course, I just need people to leave me alone.”

Oh.

Oh.

Of course. Why would he date you? He’d probably flirted with half the school by now and had girls practically chasing him. I’m so deep in the friendzone he trusts me to be his fake date...

Despite the aching in your chest as his request, for some reason, you agreed. So, now you sat at your friend group’s lunch table, fake flirting with a guy you were hopelessly in love with.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Atsushi asked as Dazai wrapped his arm around your shoulder. The freshman looked somewhat uncomfortable and a bit concerned that this would all go wrong.

“Of course! I don’t have to get into a real relationship and everyone leaves me alone! It’s perfect!” Dazai said. “Besides, Y/n agreed!” He gave Atsushi the full, gleaming smile you adored and you nodded slowly. It physically hurt to be in his arms and still only be a friend.

The only people aware of your crush were Kunikida, a close friend, and Chuuya a friend of both you and Dazai. They had advised you to say no, but you didn’t know what was worse. Pretending to be his fake girlfriend or watching every girl in school try to get him to date them.

Chuuya tried reassuring you that he really didn’t want to date them, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Who’s to say he won’t ask one of them instead? Or maybe he’ll actually fall in love and leave you behind? No. This was the much better option.

So, you slowly suffered in silence.

It got worse as time went on. Most girls respected that he had a girlfriend and moved on, but there were a few who seemed relentless. They’d come up to you, insisting you dump him or try to sabotage you in some way.

Of course, it never worked since you weren’t dating in the first place. He only laughs off each attempt. Sometimes he’d say that he didn’t even know why they believed you were dating. You’d laugh along with him. If Kunikida was there, he’d shake his head slowly and scold Dazai for being an idiot (of course, Dazai had no idea what he did).

Most times you’d rant to Kunikida or Chuuya and they’d patiently listen, much like you would do for them. They’d lend you what support they could in their own unique ways.

If you wanted to feel better, you’d call Kunikida. He’d come over and make tea and the two of you could talk and watch TV together until late at night.

But if you felt like wallowing in your own misery, you’d call Chuuya. He was the type to indulge your more self-destructive tendencies.

“You should tell him,” Chuuya said, late one night. The both of you were on his bedroom floor, drinking from a stolen bottles of his parent’s wine. You weren't quite drunk, but you definitely weren’t thinking straight.

“No way. I’d have to plan something, I’d be putting our whole friendship on the line when he clearly doesn’t like me. I can’t lose him. You stared at his bedroom ceiling, the dark colors making the room look smaller in the dim light of his bedside lamp. “Besides, I don’t I’d ever do that sober.” You giggled, realizing that you’d probably drank more than you thought.

“Then do it now.” He said, reaching over to grab your phone from your pocket and waving it in your face. He took another swig. It was becoming clear that the two of you should probably put the alcohol down.

“Are you kidding?” You said, questioning his sanity.

“No!” He shoved the bottle of red in your face. “Chug this and do it.” You hesitated before grabbing the bottle, taking a few large sips before finding Dazai’s contact.

You have no idea what time it was. You hadn’t bothered to look at the clock so you were shocked when he actually picked up.

“Y/n? Everything alright?” He asked. You had clearly woken him up, his voice deeper and groggy. Honestly, it sounded amazing.

“F-fine.” You couldn’t tell if the stuttering was from nerves or wayyyy too much wine, but you took another swig. Chuuya took the bottle out of your hand setting it aside. He whispered that you’d probably had too much. You let him take it. If Chuuya was telling you to stop drinking, you’d really gone overboard.

“You don’t sound fine? Is someone else there?” He sounded a bit more awake now. With your thinking impaired, you didn’t bother lying.

“Just Chuuya.” You heard a sigh on the other end. He never liked it when the two of you hung out alone. It usually meant you were talking about him (which was correct about 99% of the time). “I have something to tell you.”

Chuuya was beside you giving a lopsided smirk. “Alright then. Afterward, get some rest though, it’s almost 4am.” That late already?

“I’ve been in love with you since middle school. And I know we’re only fake dating now, but I really want to go out with you.” There was a pause. “Like for real. Not fake dating.” You added, hoping you were making sense.

Then, the line went dead.

Dead.

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

Maybe laughing? Him asking why you ever thought you’d be good enough for him, or maybe even anger. Him yelling about you ruining a good friendship or messing up his little fake-dating plan.

You were expecting him to hang up.

“No fuckin way,” Chuuya said, looking over at you as you stared down at the screen. “That bastard.” His voice had more malice in it that his usual insults toward Dazai. You only laid back on the floor, letting Chuuya comfort you as tears silently poured down your cheeks.

At school, lunch was like your safe-haven. Your group would all eat together, though Chuuya sat at a different table, you had a nice group of people to socialize with. It was a short time where you could ignore the pile of work you had due and focus on being with your friends. Friends that usually, that included Dazai. So today, you sat in an empty hallway, hoping none of the teachers would walk past and see you sulking against a wall.

You stared at the ceiling, slowly eating the food you had brought as you thought about the call with Dazai. You shut your eyes tight.

How stupid do you get? Calling him?? Never take Chuuya’s advice. Next time, I’m asking Kunikida. Hell! Ranpo would’ve had better advice than Chuuya.

You didn’t bother opening them, even when you could feel someone’s presence in front of you. If it was a teacher, they would’ve yelled at you already. It was probably a worried friend or something.

“Y/n?” You knew that voice. You recognize it anywhere. You cracked open your eyes, recognizing the boy’s tan jacket. “You alright?” Dazai asked, taking a seat next to you. You only stared down at your legs, hoping your silence would answer his question.

“I’m sorry for hanging up.” His voice didn’t waver at all. You nodded, not trusting your voice to give him a real answer. “You didn’t sound exactly sober and with Chuuya around I knew you probably weren’t in the best headspace and hanging up was a stupid response, but...” He trailed off.

His fingers touched your chin, tilting your head toward him. You focused all your energy on not tearing up. “Now that you aren’t drunk with whatever Chuuya had, did you mean that?” Yet again, you didn’ trust your voice. You knew there was no point in denying it though. You’d go back to the depressing cycle of loving him and watching him chase someone else. So, you nodded.

A small smile spread on his face. It wasn’t one you recognized from all the times he’d flirt with your classmates. It was more genuine. His lips met yours as his fingers pulled your head closer. You kissed back desperately, hoping you didn’t just make this all up.

“I love you too. I... always thought you loved Chuuya. I didn't want to chase you... so I figured fake dating was about as close as I’d get.” He pulled you closer, letting you drop your head on his shoulder. Though the action was calm, the way his hands clung to yours showed how desperate he had been for any sort of real affection.

Affection you’d gladly give him.

[reagansubs]

WHO: Switch!Reagan Sylvester & Sugar Motta @the-sugar-motta

WHEN: 20th of February 

WHERE: Reagans old old Room 

WHAT: Sugar and Reagan do a very light dollifcation scene

WARNINGS: none really

Sugar was extremely grateful for Reagan. The other blonde had been nothing but a consistent friend to her, always in her corner to support her. She had been the only one outside of her parents to fully confide in the truth behind her and Felix’s breakup, and to Reagan’s credit, didn’t judge her or make her feel bad for searching for something she felt like she deserved. If anything, she had encouraged Sugar to go for it, to find her happiness, and had even agreed to scene with her if only for the monthly quota. They were sitting on Reagan’s bed, and she was curiously watching her getting everything together. “Do you like Miss as a title, or like, something different?” She asked her, feeling like her friend felt more deserving of a more fun title.

Reagan didn’t usually enjoy domming, she didn’t think that she was consistent or responsible enough to deal with the commitment that come with being in control of a submissive. Sugar however was a different story, the other girl was genuinely like a sister to her and so she wanted to make sure that she took good care of her. Especially when she was trusting her while she was so vulnerable. “Oh actually I go by Babydoll! I know it’s not like a regular title but I think that it’s cute and I have a lot of respect for people who can pull off a Babydoll nightgown.” The blonde explained, as she found the set of curlers that she was looking for.

Sugar's face lit up at the title. "Babydoll is such a cute title, it like suits you perfectly!" Sugar agreed, feeling comfortable with Reagan. It wasn't like a real scene, though it could count towards their monthly quota, and Sugar felt more like herself than some perfect submissive with Reagan, "I think anyone can pull of a Babydoll nightgown, because they just need to believe they can." Sugar explained, watching the curlers curiously, "Are those for me, Babydoll?" She asked, smiling at her first use of the title.

Reagan smiled too when Sugar agreed with her about the title, she always felt a little insecure that it wasn’t big and bad and dominant enough. So she enjoyed the reassurance from her friend. “Hmm I think that like that’s probably true but it’s not like everyone’s vibe you know?” Reagan explained, pushing her hair out of her face. She nodded when Sugar asked about the curlers. “Good guess Sugar Plum. They absolutely are, we’re going to put your hair in these heated rollers so it can get all pretty while I’m doing your make up.” She explained.

Sugar sat up a little taller when she got the guess right. She wasn’t used to being right about things, her guesses usually hit or miss. But Reagan had a way of making her feel smart. “I’m super excited,” She told her, honestly, “I can’t remember the last time I used rollers! And you’re like super good at makeup, Babydoll, so I’m like, looking forward to that too!” It wasn’t hard for Sugar to be enthusiastic when it came to scenes or hanging out, but with her friend it came more natural.

Reagan carefully picked up a brush so that she could comb through Sugars hair before the rollers went in. "I think that rollers give hair like a lot more bounce than when you use a normal curling iron and plus they have like that retro feel to them. It's totally like doll cliche." The older blonde explained. "Thanks Sugar Plum, I'm going to do like a pink sixties look on you so you'll be my very own little Sugar Plum Barbie."

The blonde submissive let out a sigh of content as Reagan began brushing through her hair, as it was one of her favourite things in her whole world. "I do feel like an old-time movie star when I have rollers in, Babydoll," Sugar agreed, thinking back to her youth when she would sit in the parlour of the Motta home, old movies on the big screen, staring entranced at the timeless, beautiful looks of the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Greta Garbo, and Rita Hayworth, knowing one day she'd be just like them.  "I love the idea of being Barbie, especially a 60's one!"

Reagan took great care with the other girls hair as they sat in front of the mirror, she knew it was the duty of the Dominant in a scene to be the caretaker and even though this was more casual than some scenes she wanted Sugar to feel safe and cared for. "I feel a little bit like the scenes in sixties movies right before they would go out for the prom or the dance, when they were still getting ready." The blonde agreed as she put the first roller in, rolling it all the way up to the girls scalp. "You'd be a very pretty Barbie."

It was easy to relax when her hair was being played with, Sugar had noticed. Not that she felt tense with Reagan, ever, but it was different because this was a scene and not a regular hang-out. She had to extra careful to be respectful, because Dominants deserved respect. Obviously, Reagan deserved respect too just for being Reagan, Sugar found herself thinking, trying to focus on the feeling of the rollers being placed in her hir instead of going off on a random train of thought. "I have a custom Barbie doll," Sugar was suddenly saying, "I got one for my birthday once. She has to stay in the box though, she's not to be played with."

Reagan continued to quietly roll up the hair, it wasn't as important to talk during a scene as it was when you were just hanging out in her opinion. Because making sure that you could both stay in the correct headspace was an important part of what they were doing. "That's a totally cool thing to have, I once dated a guy who was super into collectors dolls. Though I kinda found it a bummer that he wouldn't even let me hold them." Reagan chattered momentarily. "Do you think Dollification is a kink for you?"

Sugar frowned as Reagan spoke about the guy with the dolls, but she understood that some things weren't allowed to be played with, even though it seemed like their purpose. "My mom always says she wished she got two, like one to keep on the shelf, and one for me to play with. But like, I think she'd put both on the shelf," She admitted. At Reagan's question, she hummed a bit. "I don't know, I like the idea of like playing dress up and stuff. But I don't know how deep into it I want to get."

Reagan wanted to make sure that Sugar kept the focus on herself for now, knowing that the submissive could get caught up in talking about her family. The switch guessed that it was somewhat of a defense mechanism, because she knew that Sugar was new to a lot of elements of D/s. “So what things do you think you might like to try?” She asked as she finished the last of the rollers and reached for her make up bag.

It took a minute for Sugar to think of an answer, and although she knew that Reagan wouldn't necessarily judge her for anything she said, she still felt worried that she wasn't enough for the other marks of this school. "Um, I wouldn't mind like, having my hands tied, or like in fluffy pink handcuffs," The fellow blonde admitted, smiling when she remembered seeing such items for the first time, "I never really think about it. Is that weird?"

Reagan knew that Sugar was sort of nervous about these kinds of things, certainly more nervous than anyone else in their school. So she figured it would be a good time to get her to think about it, while she was in a more submissive space. “Bondage is fun.” The switch confirmed with a smile, as she began to start on Sugars foundation. “It’s not weird.. you’re allowed to think about whatever you want. And you only have to do things that you want to..” Reagan reminded the other girl. “But you know... thinking about it.. it’s natural, and like.. if you think about what you might like then it will be easier to find scene partners to match.”

Sugar let out a hum as Reagan started applying the foundation. The other blonde had a knack of making her feel better about almost everything, especially with her lack of experience in the D/s world. “There’s a lot of stuff that seem fun, it just seems like super scary.” She admitted with a sigh, trying not to move too much for Reagan’s sake, and not wanting her makeup to be uneven. “But it would be nice to explore it more with people who like, get it. And are like patient and stuff. But everyone else here just seems super experienced and I think they won’t want to scene with me because of that.”

Reagan nodded along with what Sugar was saying, she couldn’t really relate to it since she’d been the experienced person that people experimented with for a long time. But she could see where the other blonde was coming from. “Hey.. you don’t have to do everything all at once.. and like as a totally experienced person I can tell you that I wouldn’t be put off sceneing with people because they didn’t have a lot of experience. When I was first with Robbie... he.. he didn’t really know what he was doing. But that was okay because like.. someone is always going to know more than the other. And like the most important thing in D/s is communication.” Reagan explained.

Sugar noted the mention of Robbie; Reagan wasn't one to mention him a lot, but she didn't want to push. The thing she hated the most was people pushing her to talk about things that she didn't want to, and she wouldn't do the same to her friend. "Yeah, I get that, I just...I don't think I'm used to like, communicating," She murmured, thinking back to Felix and how they barely talked about anything, never mind important aspects of their relationship such as D/s. "I am really glad I met you here, Babydoll. You're like the best sister anyone could have asked for."

Reagan nodded she knew what it was like to not really know how to express what you wanted, even if she’d never had that sexually there had been plenty of times with Shay where she hadn’t known how to ask for things. “That’s okay.. we’re all like learning and stuff. But that is defo something you should focus on because it’s like mega important for your safety.” The switch explained and then smiled brightly. “Thank you Sugar you’re like the best sister I could have asked for.”

Sugar nodded, keeping it in mind. The whole point of school was to learn, and she would, happily, as nervous as she was to get to that point, of asking teachers and more seasoned students. "I will, Babydoll." She promised her, "I would like to feel safe, like I do with you, but with like, a forever Dominant." She explained, her grin matching the fellow blonde's. "Really? That's a huge honour and stuff because you have so many sisters!"

“Like really! I wouldn’t say something if it wasn’t true to you.. because it would be like a waste of your time.” The blonde responded decisively. Reagan finished up Sugars make up, and then took hairspray to the rollers before she began to unwind and then brush them out a little. “You make a super pretty doll Sug.” She told her honestly, wanting to take sure Sugar felt really good at the end of the scene.

The silence that felt upon them was comfortable, and Sugar just let herself relax and enjoy the feeling of Reagan pampering her. When her hair was done, the submissive grinned widely at the compliment. "Really, Babydoll?" She asked, "Thank you so much! I feel super pretty too!"

Reagan nodded and then leaned in and kissed the submissive on the forehead. “I’m glad you do Sugar, you’ve been a super good girl for me and I’m very proud of you.” The blonde told the other girl with a nod. “Now would you like to watch a movie? I’ve totally got tonnes to choose from!”

It was always nice to hear she was a good girl, especially for someone she loved as much as Reagan. “Thank you Babydoll!” At the mention of the movie, her already big grin widened more. “I’d love to! Thank you!” She exclaimed, glad to spend the rest of the day with her bestie.

[lihikainanea]

What happens if tiger accidentally breaks something of bill's (something important ot sentimental). Would he get mad but give in to her pout or give her a punishment and then make it clear he wasnt mad after the punishment is over? Inquiring minds need to know (le babie)

Oh man, I think it would really depend on the circumstances. Like if it was a genuine accident? Bill has a shit ton of younger siblings and knows better than anyone that accidents can happen even if someone is taking great care, so no matter how sentimental or important the thing was...he can’t be mad. He’d likely be upset, sad, and tiger would feel fucking terrible, but I don’t think he would ever punish her for something like that--partly because it’s not her fault, and partly because she’s likely already in such a bad headspace over it, feeling so guilty, that he could never.

I do imagine though that if it’s done on accident, it’s one of those times where tiger seeks out punishment, as penance. To feel pain because she thinks she deserves it--which is one of Bill’s biggest hard limits, it’s an absolute no for him all the time, every time. Punishment to correct or to provide absolution, forgiveness, is much different--but he doesn’t ever want to lay a hand on her because she thinks she deserves pain (god, I really need to write out how she dupes him into spanking her because she wants the pain, and she keeps losing count on purpose). But that being said, he definitely would have to find some common ground--because tiger isn’t going to snap out of her bad headspace until he provides some proof of that forgiveness, for her. It just has to be in a different form.

Now, if tiger was being a bit of a brat, being a bit careless on purpose to try and get a rise out of him, and her clumsy ass breaks something? Oh, oh would there be hell to pay. But this is a tricky one for Bill to navigate, because tiger can so easily go from being in a good headspace to being in a very, very bad one because of her own carelessness, and the pain she caused him. I think Bill would actually still have to be really soft here, maybe ask her if she wants to be punished (OH GOD WHAT A DELICIOUS THOUGHT.) And she might nod meekly, apologize over and over again, and Bill would have to be so clear with her--tell her that he knows breaking it was an accident, but her goofing off and being a brat beforehand wasn’t an accident, and that she was being punished for that, specifically, and nothing else. He’d tell her how many strikes she was going to get, but god there would be so many check ins, and he wouldn’t be hitting nearly as hard as usual.

Or she might shake her head no, and Bill would gather her immediately in his arms, reward her for her honesty and courage in telling him what she needed and what she couldn’t handle. He’d maybe propose a deferment to the punishment because he knows she’ll need it eventually, to feel better--and tiger likes that idea. Likes that she will be forgiven and she’ll get that absolve that she craves, but when she’s in a far better headspace to be able to handle it.

Delicious, nani. Just magnificent.

[harrieatthemet]

Tomorrow, Promise II

it’s long but so..... fLuFfYYYYY 

It really wasn’t a big deal.

Not to him, anyways. Not at first. He knows you, sometimes more so than you’d like to admit. Knows you like the back of his hand, which is why he was quick to sum up your sudden outburst to nothing more than maybe a little sleep deprivation. 

The time zones are wonky, probably doing you in pretty well. All the flights at weird hours, uncomfortable mattresses in different hotels, switching from time zone to time zone, it’s new to you and he knows that you just needed a scapegoat, something of that sort, to channel all your stress into. 

“No (Y/N) today?” Mitch inquires, eye row quirked because really, your absence is weird and maybe even a little unfamiliar.

“She’s in a mood,” Harry gestures, his response dismissive as he shrugs his shoulders, “probably be back in a bit, hopefully after a nap.”

It’s what assumes your doing, what he’s hoping your doing. He had no problem letting you storm off, in a huff, eyebrows knitted in a furious manner and lips tightly pursed. An hour of sleep, maybe even two, might do you some good. There wasn’t much for you to do here, anyways, aside from lounging around with nothing to do while Harry and the band tuned up the instruments and horsed around on the venue lot. 

But his nonchalant state of mind dissipates the closer show time starts to creep up, with only a little over an hour or two left until the opening act starts. And usually, if you had wandered off from the concert venue, you’d have definitely been back by now. 

It’s a ritual, one he’d grown accustomed to now. You’re always here, in his dressing room, sprawled out on whatever piece of furniture that provided enough space for you to prop your legs up, keeping his pre show jitters at bay with pointless conversation or tacky jokes. And it was always followed by a kiss, one on his temple and a quick one at his lips, in that exact order. Every time. And if he was being honest, he was starting to fidget the longer you remained MIA. Each knock on the door practically made him lurch, though his relieved expression would immediately be replaced with a disappointed pout when it wasn’t your face behind the door. 

It’s just another stage hand, with a clipboard glued to their palm, a headpiece perched on their ear as they bombard Harry with a few last minute questions. Really, he’s trying his best to be patient, and kind of course. But his mind is elsewhere, his thoughts fleeting, and the longer he stands here the more he feels compelled to book it for the door and check in on you at the hotel.

“Can y’excuse me?” He breathes, hurrying past the stagehand and jogging down the hall, “be right back, promise. Just need a half hour, tha’s it!”

It’s on the ride back to the hotel that he’s letting his thoughts settle themselves in a timely manner, his knee jumping and fingers drumming his kneecap while his eyes train on his shoes. 

The thought doesn’t quite cross his mind until he’s halfway to the elevator, slithering his body through the half closed doors before awkwardly standing amongst a few people waiting to get to their floors.

Leaving meant leaving, as in going home, taking the next flight out without even giving him the courtesy of announcing your departure. Except, you did tell him, and hell, he practically encouraged it. That’s what prompts him to press the 10th floor button like a vigilante, excessively jamming his finger on the glowing dot as he finds himself on the receiving end of unbecoming stares from the elderly woman standing beside him.

“Pressing the button won’t make it go any faster, young man.” She lectures, and he lets out one of those nasally, uncomfortable laughs.

“M’sorry,” he smiles awkwardly, “know tha’, sorry.” 

He’s forced to ride the elevator for 8 floors, huffing at the hands of impatience each time the doors open to a new floor, all but the one he needed to actually get off on. But best believe when the doors open to the tenth floor, he practically hurls himself from the elevator before he’s speed walking down the hallway.

“(Y/N)?” He calls out into the room, pointlessly though, because he knows you’re most likely going to grace him with the silent treatment, “y’in here?” 

Initially, he thinks he’s come a bit too late. There’s an uncomfortable, dealing silence in the hotel room, not even a lull from the mini fridge or a hum from the TV. There’s nothing, and in response, he lets out a frustrated groan because truly, he’s really fucking done it this time. 

But a brief flicker of hope is instilled in him when he tries walking further into the room, his boot catching the strap of an already packed bag, nearly taking him to ground. And soon, it’s followed by the sound of a drawer being shut, and a faucet turning on. 

“There’s a packed bag by th’door,” he laments, “why is there a packed bag by th’door?”

His question played more along the lines of rhetorical, because unfortunately, he’s painfully aware why there’s not one, but two packed duffle bags sitting by the hotel room door. 

He frowns briefly, before sucking in a deep breath, when he catches a few clothing articles of yours tossed messily on the bed, your hand outstretched to a few shirts before you snatch them up and shove them into another one of your bags. 

“Why’re yeh packing?” He sighs, standing at the foot of the hotel bed.

“Do you have selective memory or are you forgetting that a few hours ago you were shouting at me to leave?” You grumble, denying him the social grace of eye contact.

“Thought yeh meant leave t’go to th’hotel,” he rebuttals, “not back home to another bloody country!” 

“Potatoe tomato.” You hiss, stuffing a pair of pajamas in to the bag on the bed.

“Think y’used th’phrase wrong,” he grimaces, “potato, yeh mean.”

“Oh fuck off, Harry.” 

He’s gotta swallow his laugh, because clearly you’re not in the mood for his harmless teasing and you’re genuinely upset. Rightfully so, because honestly, he’d been a dick earlier and it was rude of him to snap at you the way he had. And really, he wants to apologize, but he’s not sure how much it’ll mean to you right now. He’s familiar with the kind of headspace you’re in, knows that this argument will have to be sorted out for more than the time he’s allotted for himself. But he wants you to stay, needs you to, he wouldn’t have asked you to join if he really didn’t mean it. And he did mean it, even if he had a shitty way of making sure you knew that. 

“Just-” he sighs, “don’t have a lot o’ time t’talk right now, gotta head back in a minute.”

“Nothing’s keeping you here.” You shrug, zipping your bag shut. 

“Not true,” he corrects, “really don’t want yeh t’go, lovie. Sorry I said what I did, wasn’t true, don’t want yeh t’leave.”

“And you want me to stay?” 

“Yes!” He exclaims, and finally, you decide to look at him.

“So I can keep doing this? I feel like a groupie, some kind of fan or something I don’t know. Really, what am I staying for?”

“Fo’ me.” His voice is strained, smaller.

For a moment, and even though it’s incredibly brief, you can’t help but let yourself feel just a little bit bad. But your mind backtracks to earlier, and you find yourself getting annoyed all over again. You’re sympathetic to his workload, to the stress and the pressure. And you know the traveling is hard, and if it’s wearing you out like this than really, you can’t even imagine just how worn out he’s gotta be by now. But it isn’t an excuse, it isn’t a get out of jail free card, and it isn’t enough to let go how neglected and overlooked you feel right now. 

“Just- don’t go,” he begs, looking down at his phone after it buzzes for the fifth time, “not yet, at least, yeah? Don’t have t’come to th’show, can just stay here. Maybe think about leaving before y’actually book a flight and all tha’. Okay? I gotta go, but wait fo’ me ‘nd we can talk about this after, please.” 

He doesn’t leave you a lot of time to agree, before he practically spins on his heels and leaves in a spur. The door slams behind you, leaving you with a bit of an ultimatum and three already packed bags. 

And on his jog back down to the lobby, fast pacing towards the car he had politely asked to wait for him, he’s hoping you actually do show up tonight. He knows he didn’t make it obvious that you were wanted there, didn’t beg and plea for you to come, mostly because he didn’t wanna muddy the waters or manage to fuck up even more than he already had, but it’s a pressing thought in his mind. He wants you to show up, for him, so badly. 

So imagine the look on his face after he’s already scanned the sea of faces about a dozen times, coming up empty handed each time because you hadn’t come. You didn’t show up, and if he knows you as well as he thinks he does, you’ve probably already bored a plane and put your phone on silent.

So when the show comes to a close, and his shoulders are hanging solemnly and he’s not coming off the stage with that post-show high, and that adrenaline rush, all he wants to do is head back to his lumpy hotel bed and hide under the covers for a little while. Crew members are applauding him, team members already chatting with him about tomorrows show. And if he’s anything, he’s polite. Always polite. He doesn’t have it in him to tell everyone to just fuck off right now, he’s upset and annoyed and really, the last thing he’s interested in discussing is what color lights he wants for left stage tomorrow night. 

He just slips into his dressing room, without more than a few words being muttered under his breath, letting out an exasperated groan once he manages to close the door behind him. The light switches on, and his sour mood subsides when he sees a familiar figure sat on the couch off in the corner, tucking away his clothes into his bag. 

A relieved sigh comes tumbling from his lips, his muscles getting less tense and his mood start to lilt. Relief, he feels relief, in every sense of the word.

“Thought I’d be sleepin’ alone tonight.” He exhaled, a breathy laugh followed by a sheepish smile.

“You almost did,” you patronize, thought your bitter tone from earlier has been abandoned, “but I wanted the opportunity to yell at you a little, can’t do that if m’on a plane.”

He chuckles because, even though he knows you’re serious, he’s grateful for the fact that you’re here. And that you’re calmer now, in a good enough spot to be able to make a bit of a lighthearted joke, even if it is just to execute any remaining tension that still lingered between the two of you. 

“Know I was a proper dick earlier,” he frowns, settling in the spot next to you on the dressing room sofa, “yeh not pestering me, never could. M’just a bit stressed, s’all. Wrong o’ me t’take it out on yeh, m’sorry.” 

“You really were being a dick,” you patronize, teasingly of course, and he frowns, “but I didn’t mean to add to your stress, know you’re busy. And I knew you would be when I agreed to come.” 

It’s then that a light goes off, almost instantaneously in the moment, his eyes lighting up as an idea begins to sprout. You can tell somethings stirring in his head, his eyes lighting up and the corners of his mouth tugging his lips into one of his infamous devilish smiles.

“Got time now,” he suggests, “m’free as a bird.”

“Do you know what time it is?” you laugh, and he shrugs.

“Can go to tha’ little bistro, over by my old flat. Know yeh like tha’ one.”

“No way it’s still open,” you insist, “we can just go tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow, now!” He chants, digging for his phone out of his packed duffle bag.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, “it’s too late! It’s definitely closed!”

“Button,” he coos, “do y’know who I am? M’Harry bloody Styles, s’gotta mean somethin’ around here.”

[merryfortune]

Day 3 – Fire / Happiness

Ship: Flame/Takeru

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags:  Fluff, Interspecies Relationship, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash

  Life was all about the little pleasures. That was Takeru’s more optimistic philosophy. He had some other ones, but they tended to be dour and pessimistic but when he could bring himself out of that gloomy headspace, he had to agree. Life was all about the little pleasures.

  He was pretty sure that Flame agreed.

  Observing Flame was fun, Takeru decided. He had never interacted so closely with the human world before so it was, and Takeru wants to be forgiven for this since he has no doubt in his mind that Flame would get very indignant and huffy over this comparison, but it was like watching a kitten interact with its new home for the first time. He was full of life, no matter what airs of sophistication that he put on. He was quick on the uptake but strangely clumsy about it; nearly tripping over himself as he investigated what little technology that Takeru kept around and trying to stay out of sight from Takeru’s grandparents. Takeru was certain that if his Oba-chan or Oji-chan saw Flame, they would have a heart attack and then another one after it was explained what Flame was.

  Takeru couldn’t really wrap his mind around it. Sci-fi had never been his genre and it seemed that old adage that reality was stranger than fiction really did ring true. He would never have envisioned in a million years that artificial intelligence with free will would ever come to exist. He certainly didn’t think that he would have had a hand in helping it as Flame was one such impossibility and he was based off how Takeru had duelled in those six months in captivity.

  It made him shiver. And shiver again but for a different reason. Flame made a good case for himself. Flame might have been created from the worst torture imaginable but his relationship, one on one, with Takeru didn’t have to be contingent on that. They could find a new way. That’s what Flame wanted with bright and sparkling eyes. And now, that’s what Takeru wanted. He wanted a new future and he was more than willing to let Flame spur him onto such a wild ride. It was better than wasting away in his room with nothing but his thoughts and anger.

  “I’m gonna miss this place but I think this is a good time to reinvent myself.” Takeru said as he filled out the application for Den City High School’s entrance exam.

  Flame nodded. “Good, I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Like, Kiku’s always bugging me that I’m gonna get into trouble one day and that business with that Ryu fella and his gang is a pretty close shave for it, all things considered.” Takeru said and then laughed embarrassedly.

  Not really, he thought. After all, he had been scrapes physically far worse: him against tens of other blokes of varying ages and physiques. But, emotionally, that had been something else. It had been beyond terrifying. So, Takeru was glad that Flame had been there.

  He put his pen down and stretched out his back. Flame looked up at him and there was a glow of pride emanating off him. Takeru returned it with a smile.

  “When I finish this part of my essay,” Takeru began, “let’s go get ice-cream. I know a nice little place down by my favourite pier. Lemme take you there.”

  Flame’s whole body perked up at the mere suggestion of ice-cream. Ice-cream was not something that they had in the Cyberse World. After all, they didn’t need to consume food like humans did. They could subsist purely off light and off the data of the world. Eating was an option which was, admittedly, seen as hedonistic as only the Dark Ignis really talked about human food outside of its cultural context. So, admittedly, Flame was curious to taste it since ice-cream in particular had caught his attention as he was a creature which burned hot rather than blistered freezingly cold. He found the invention of ice-cream novel and charming.

  “Yes, that sounds good.” Flame replied.

  “Excellent. Well, just a few more sentences…” Takeru said.

  Flame’s supervision turned eager as he sank into Takeru’s Duel Disc, not wanting him to feel pressured. So far, Flame thought he had done remarkably well for himself. From the parts that Takeru had read aloud to him or asked for advice over, Flame thought everything was quite deft but well written. Of course, it helped that Flame was here, and Flame thought he had plenty of good ideas for Takeru to utilise.

  Half an hour or so passed and Takeru then exclaimed, brightly, that he was finished. Editing be damned, that could be done later. They were burning sunlight at this point so Takeru got up and grabbed his wallet. He strapped his Duel Disc to his wrist and Flame’s eyeball appeared on the surface, more ecstatic than he wanted to make out.

  Takeru bade his grandparents farewell and was out the door before either of them could protest his mid-afternoon snack of choice; something he neglected to mention in his haste. He hit the streets as swiftly as he could, revelling in how his blood was pumping as he did so. He ran past a line of trees and followed the road into town. From there, he slowed down a little bit, but he liked how sweaty and hot that he was. Holing up in his room writing an essay wasn’t his style.

  He and Flame passed a few shops as they made their way to the pier which was basically on the other side of town from Takeru’s grandparents’ house. He didn’t mind though. It was a small town and he was plenty fit. He just hoped that he didn’t run into Kiku or any of his classmates. He wasn’t ready to break the news to them just yet; he wanted to get accepted into Den City High School first. He was worried that Kiku would, with good intentions in her heart, try to convince him to stay and he was worried that the others, without such good intentions, would make him feel bad for leaving; implying he was too stupid or rash to live by himself in the big smoke.

  Takeru hadn’t told Flame that yet. He didn’t want Flame to worry about him and the rough relations that he had with too many of the kids in this town.

  “What flavour of ice-cream do you want?” Takeru asked; he was squinting off into the distance and was pretty sure he could see the pink roof of the place that he wanted to take Flame to.

  Flame hummed to himself; his eyeball squishing in on itself in great thought. Takeru could have laughed. He could easily imagine Flame’s little habit of putting his hands on his face when he was in deep thinking because of that little bit of movement atop his wrist.

  “I hear good things about chocolate.” Flame said. “But I am familiar with fruit so there is a comfort in familiarity as well.”

  Takeru laughed.

  “Pardon?” Flame said.

  “Who says “I am familiar with fruit”? It’s just weird.” Takeru explained. “Never mind, I’ll pick for us.”

  “I trust your choice then.” Flame said.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll pick a good one.” Takeru snickered.

  He drew in closer to the building and came inside. The air conditioner over the door blasted them but only Takeru bore brunt of it. He smiled at the cashier and as he was the only one inside, standing, there was a family of four in a booth and a young couple at a table, he was allowed to order.

  “Can I get one waffle cone with vanilla soft serve with strawberries on top and can I get one waffle cone with two scoops; one chocolate and the other honeycomb, please?” he asked.

  Flame smiled to himself, risking being seen but as Takeru paid the cashier, he doubted that he was. Still, it smelt nice to be up close with all the different ice-cream flavours. Flame was certain that he could identify the different flavours despite never having smelt them before. Though, it didn’t really matter, they all smelt delicious to him.

  “Thank you muchly.” Takeru said as he took the two cones that he had ordered.

  He nodded and was then off. With one step outside, he was blasted with the smell of the sea breeze. He smiled to himself and wandered closer to the edge. He drifted along past and found a spot in which he and Flame could interact freely. He rested, partially, atop a wooden barrier which was clustered with barnacles.

  “Flame?” he prompted.

  “Thank you for the treat.” Flame said.

  “I hope you like them. That two-scoop cone was a little pricier than I thought it would be.” Takeru pouted.

  “I appreciate it.” Flame said.

  Takeru held up the cones a little higher. “Well?”

  “I would like to try vanilla first; it is the staple flavour, correct?” Flame said.

  “Yep.” Takeru said.

  He blinked. He was interested in seeing how Flame was going to eat the ice-cream. He assumed that he was going to smear it on his face and then be done with it, not unlike a toddler but Takeru was very quickly proven wrong. His tiny companion transformed into a much larger – and scarier – companion with tentacles and a bulbous head and teeth.

  Takeru screamed, genuinely, as Flame licked at the ice-cream. He reared back and his sole eye blinked. He stared, dumbfounded, at Takeru.

  “Is something the matter, Takeru?” Flame asked, running his tongue over his lips. “I did inform you that I, as an Ignis, have other forms. This is one of them; I would show you the other one, but it is too blinding for the human eye to withstand. But, don’t worry, there are no humans around to witness this. We are completely alone.”

  “R-Right.” Takeru stuttered.

  Flame leaned in and had a taste test of the other ice-cream that Takeru was very stiffly holding onto.

  “Hm, I think I like this honeycomb flavour best, but I can understand the appeal of vanilla and chocolate, too.” Flame said.

  “G-Glad to hear it.” Takeru murmured as Flame reverted to his normal self.

  Takeru stared down at his companion once more. He could feel prickles on his skin in response to that. Flame stared up at him with a friendly demeanour.

  “Thank you for the ice-cream, Takeru. I enjoyed it. I recommend you finish them both up, though. You wouldn’t want them to melt.” Flame advised him.

  “No problem.” Takeru said. “But, at the very least, eat the strawberry slices off the vanilla cone.” He flushed and averted his gaze from Flame. “I think strawberries suit you…”

  “How so?” Flame asked, making a face.

  Takeru hummed. He thought of the cute little crest upon Flame’s head. The plume reminded him of the leafage a strawberry possessed. He shrugged.

  “It just does.” he said, fondly.

  “I shall take your word on it then.” Flame said and he slipped into his more monstrous form again and his tongue raked up the strawberries.

  This time, Takeru wasn’t scared. In fact, he was endeared to it. Noting that made Flame happy but noticing the flavour of the strawberries made him happier. They were sweet. He thought strawberries suited Takeru, too.

[calebswitching]

Lunch break - Caleb/Eric

When: Wednesday, July 31

Tagging: @ericxanders

Summary: Eric pulls Caleb aside at lunch for some mid-week discipline, to Caleb’s delight.

Caleb was grinning after the texts he’d gotten from Eric, who knew him so well.  A surprise impromptu spanking to reinforce his weekly Sunday discipline spankings?  Yes, please, Caleb was delighted.  He thought he might have to wait outside his classroom for Eric, but somehow the Dom was already there.  Caleb smiled at him and walked over, looking down like he felt a little shy, but very clearly excited.

Immediately, he brought his hand to Caleb’s cheek and leaned in for a soft, lingering kiss. There were a few wolf-whistles as he deepened the kiss but Eric paid them no mind. He allowed his hand down to rest on Caleb’s ass, and slipped his hand into his back pocket. ‘C’mon beautiful.’ He instructed, ‘I know just the playroom for us.’ He winked. He started to lead him through the corridor, whispering his musings about what shade of red his ass would end up.

By the time the kiss ended, Caleb was bright red, and his eyes went down to the floor to avoid seeing people grinning at them.  He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, though.  He loved Eric, and he loved belonging to Eric, and he wasn’t ashamed to let people see that.  Of course, he also knew that Eric loved the way he blushed, and that was patently obvious from the whispers in his ear as they walked to the play room.  “Sir,” he protested, but it was half-hearted at best.  By the time they got to the playroom, Caleb had blushed all the way up to his ears.  “That was part of the torture, wasn’t it?”

‘Torture?’ He shook his head and laughed as they slipped inside the playroom. ‘I have no idea what you could possibly mean beautiful.’ He kissed him again and then stepped back. ‘Clothes off submissive.’ His tone has quite obviously shifted. ‘You can start by putting your forehead to the floor and kissing my shoes to thank me for spanking your sweet behind to remind you of your place.’ He instructed firmly.

Caleb shot Eric a playful glare in response to his teasing.  Still, his blush was already fading and he was already starting to feel safe and comfortable now that he was alone with Eric.  He reacted instantly to the change in tone.  His playful sass disappeared and his posture straightened and his head lowered submissively.  “Yes, Master,” he whispered as he hurried to obey.  He folded his clothes quickly and set them on the floor by his backpack, then walked over to Eric.  He lowered himself to the floor a few feet away, onto his knees, and folded down over them to press his forehead to the floor.  “Thank you for putting me where I belong, Master,” he said in a reverent murmur.  He took a slow breath, letting himself just be for a moment, feeling the cold floor against his skin, letting the position and sensations humble him, helping him slip into the headspace where he desired nothing more than to serve Eric and bow at his feet.  After a moment, he crawled forward, keeping himself low to the ground, and settled again right in front of Eric.  He leaned forward and started to press slow, soft kisses along his shoes.  “Thank you for reminding me of my place, Master,” he said between kisses.  “Thank you for allowing me to worship your feet.”

He was always caught off guard by just how beautiful Caleb’s submission was. He was in awe of just how his submission was so complete, so genuine. This kind of play was only something he’d become interested in the more time he spent with Maverick and Caleb — it was a level of devotion he thrilled at. He let him continue for a few lingering moments before he leaned down to touch his hair. ‘Good boy.’ He said gently. ‘I want you to put yourself over the spanking bench. This one is just like the one we have at home; it’s why I picked this room.’ He grinned. ‘Let me see that pretty ass of yours; even if it isn’t nearly bruised enough.’

Caleb was content just to kiss Eric’s feet, but he looked up the moment Eric touched his hair.  He smiled up at him, the kind of happy, uncomplicated little smile that he only ever had when he was slipping into subspace, or already there.  “Yes, Master,” he answered happily, and got up to go climb onto the spanking bench.  He got quickly settled and turned his head to watch Eric, and he wiggled his ass in anticipation.  “Please will you fix it for me, Master?  Will you bruise it how you like it?”

‘Always such a needy little thing aren’t you submissive?’ He teased playfully. No sooner had the words left his mouth was his hand landing with a hard smack on Caleb’s behind. The warm-up was always his favourite part; it was that initial jerk, the growing hint, the initial sharp intake of breath that went straight to his cock. He didn’t warm him up as much as he usually did; this time he wanted him to bruise more. He made a point of making noise as he took off his belt. ‘I want to hear you thank me submissive.’ He demanded, before he landed the thick leather across both cheeks. ‘Show me why you deserve this.’

“Yes, Master,” Caleb gasped as Eric’s hand hit his ass.  It felt so good, that first sharp pain, drawing his attention to his ass and Eric’s hand.  “Always, always need you.”  He breathed the words as a sigh, sinking into the spanking bench and relaxing.  He didn’t have to think or be careful right now.  Master had him, Master was disciplining him so he remembered his place, and he didn’t have to be anything but obedient right now.  It wasn’t long before he heard Master unbuckling his belt, and Caleb’s stomach clenched in anticipation and need.  “Yes, Master,” he breathed, and then gasped when the leather cracked across his skin.  Eric clearly wasn’t holding back.  “Thank you!  Thank you, Master.... Please, please discipline your boy, Master, please, I need to remember who owns me, please.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what was compelling him to remind Caleb of his place, to remind him of who he belonged to but he was pleased by his response. Perhaps this was something Caleb needed on a deeper level as much as he did. The sound was almost comforting now; and he remembered how conflicted he’d been when he first realised how much hurting someone he cared about like this turned him on. It made complete sense now, with Caleb sounding the way he did, his ass colouring the way it did -- ‘You’re fucking gorgeous submissive.’ he praised, as he landed a tenth swat with the belt. ‘Tell me who owns you.’ he requested. ‘No -- tell me who you willingly give yourself over to.’ he corrected.

“Thank you, thank you,” he whispered, barely audible, as the belt laid into him again and again.  The wonderful sense of humiliation of lowering himself to the floor and kissing Eric’s feet had dropped him into a soft, safe headspace where nothing but his master mattered, and now the pain was turning him on and making him feel so grateful to Eric with every strike.  It might be strange to think, but this deep in subspace, being beaten with Eric’s belt made Caleb feel important and loved.  Eric cared enough about him to be his master, to  discipline him, to spend time making sure that Caleb knew his place and felt safe there.  Because that was what this was about, he knew, deep in his core.  The reminder and the discipline wasn’t to keep Caleb from being bad.  It was to remind him that Eric was in control and that he was safe in Eric’s power, that Eric would not let him struggle with uncertainty.  He was safe here, and every sharp, stinging swat to his ass reminded him to trust Eric.  “You,” he gasped when prompted.  He was breathing hard, his whole ass stung like mad, and a deep ache was just starting to make itself known.  “You’re my Master,” he panted as the sting already started to fade into heat.  “Master owns me.  I- I’m yours, I’m so grateful to be yours, Master.  Thank you, Master, thank you so much.”

Swat after swat landed firmly and exactly where he wanted it to land. He counted to thirty in his head before he decided it was time to stop. He knew this meant he’d likely have to take it easier on Thursday but it was worth it. The way his boy spoke about him, the way he so freely declared that he belonged to him was a high better than any drug. It set a weight on his shoulders, realising how much Caleb wanted him, needed him but it wasn’t something he struggled with. ‘You know submissive, this is a perfect position for me to fuck you.’ he mused as he rubbed his hands over his senstive flesh. He stepped just far enough to grab some lube and immediately set about spreading it liberally over his hole, before he slid a single digit past the tight ring of muscle. ‘I want to fill you.’ he confessed, eyes dark with lust. ‘And I want to plug you up afterwards. I don’t want to use a condom sweet boy. Is that okay?’

By the time Eric finished, Caleb had been rocking with each spank and his whimpers had turned to sharp cries of pain which faded into labored breaths and soft, pitiful noises.  His ass felt like it was on fire.  The pain clouded his senses, blocking out any thoughts aside from the physical sensations of his body and the sounds of Eric moving behind him.  His voice soothed Caleb, as did the feeling of his hands on Caleb’s ass, and the switch was able to get his breathing even again.  He didn’t say anything at first, just whimpered when Eric’s finger entered him. “Please,” he begged, his voice rough and quiet and needy.  “Please, Master, please use me….”  He was vaguely aware that he needed to respond about the condom, but this deep in subspace it was hard to care about something like that.  He just wanted Eric.  “Y-yes.  It’s- I just want you, Master.  Please?”

Caleb seemed too far gone to make a conscious decision and this felt important. He’d been a little caught up in the moment otherwise he wouldn’t have asked for something when Caleb couldn’t really consent to that kind of change. ‘Something to look forward to perhaps. I want to watch your face the first time that happens.’ he teased, adding a second digit. He scissored his fingers, driving them deeper and working to open Caleb up to him completely. He barely used a third finger, fully aware now of what his boy needed and how he liked to feel some sort of stretch. He didn’t even take his pants down completely; just enough to free his cock, roll on a condom and slide inside his submissive completely. A low grunt escaped his lips as he bottomed out. ‘Sweet, needy boy.’ he groaned, letting his hand slap against his already injured ass.

Caleb frowned for a second, confused.  “Master?”  Was Eric holding back?  Was this about the condom?  Everything was fuzzy and safe down here in subspace, but suddenly he was frustrated at his lack of focus that came with it.  Had he said something wrong?  “...Master, please,” he said softly, feeling helpless.  He whimpered softly as Eric’s fingers stretched him in just the right way, and when Eric entered him properly, he sucked in a shuddering breath.  “Oh… oh god…”  He gasped when his bruised, aching ass was slapped, and the pain ignited more need in him.  “Please, Master,” he begged, pushing his ass back against him.  “Please, please… I- I need you, I can’t…  Please use me.”  He couldn’t think about anything but Eric.  He kept trying to focus, trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong, if Eric was displeased, but he couldn’t figure out what he’d said that was wrong.  He bit his lip hard and rolled his hips, trying to entice Eric, trying desperately to be good for him.

‘Good boy. My boy’ he groaned, stroking back and forth over his red skin. ‘You’re doing so well for me. Just relax.’ he encouraged softly. He squeezed his hips tightly and used that as leverage as he built up his pace. He was entirely chasing his own pleasure and he fucked his boy hard, fast; quickly becoming relentless in his assault. He loved this because even in his lust he felt completely connected to Caleb; it meant so much more than just sex. ‘Your ass was made for this. Made for me beautiful.’ he moaned. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the playroom and his chest heaved with heavy breath as he pressed forward.

Eric’s voice was soothing, and the instruction to relax was easy to obey, in this headspace.  Eric didn’t need him to do anything.  If Eric said to relax, then nothing was all that wrong, and he didn’t need to try to figure it out.  Caleb let out a breath and nodded.  And of course, within moments, Eric’s cock was thrusting into him far too hard for him to think about anything else.  He whimpered loudly every time it stretched his hole til it hurt or rubbed against his prostate, sending pleasure zinging through him.  “Yours,” he moaned in response.  “Yours, Master, it’s yours.”

There was something of a time crunch, and he had every intention of using every second they had available to them for his own pleasure. He fucked Caleb hard; mercilessly and satisfied himself with the knowledge it would be very obvious what his boy had been up to during his lunch break to anyone who saw him in his afternoon classes. His orgasm hit him hard and he rode it out; groaning Caleb’s name low in his chest and squeezing his reddened ass. He had a plug ready and once he’d caught his breath, he pulled out to place his length with a thick plug. ‘My beautiful, good boy.’ he whispered his praise, kissing over the bruising skin then along his back until he was standing in front of him. He moved his fingers through his hair. ‘You make me so happy. Thank you for being such a beautiful submissive for me.’ he murmured before he kissed his lips. ‘How do you feel?’

Caleb could just drift like this, down in subspace, with nothing he needed to do, nothing expected of him except to take what Eric gave him.  He had no idea how long it lasted, he couldn’t keep track of time in this state, he only knew that by the time Eric came, Caleb was a whimpering mess, and his cock was achingly hard, and his ass was throbbing where he’d been spanked.  When Eric pulled out of him, Caleb whimpered just a little, but then a plug was pushed into him, and he clenched down around it, smiling to himself at the thought of keeping his Master’s cum in him all afternoon.  He still wasn’t focusing on much of anything, just enjoying the feeling of Eric touching him, when suddenly Eric was in front of him, and Caleb looked up at the Dom and smiled.  “Really good, Master,” he murmured, nuzzling into Eric’s hand.  “Feels so special, bein’ yours like this.  Feels like being your good boy.”  

‘Yeah babe?’ he hummed. He loved the note Caleb’s voice took on like this; soft and dreamy. A quick glance at his watch told him they had enough left in their lunch break to allow Caleb to enjoy his subspace and be brought up gently. ‘You are so special.’ he promised him and kissed his hair. ‘Special, beautiful and mine.’ he spoke with complete conviction and confidence. He felt it so strongly. Caleb fit him perfectly. ‘I want you to come sit with me when you’re ready.’ He gestured towards the small couch set-up. ‘In my lap with your back against my chest beautiful and I’m going to keep you close.’ 

Caleb beamed up at Eric, soaking in the praise like sunshine.  He loved that Eric would do this sort of thing, surprise him with a scene so that Caleb could feel like he was really owned, available to Eric at any time.  He knew that Eric did this because he knew how much Caleb liked feeling properly submissive, and he was grateful that Eric would give him this sort of thing without ever even being asked.  When he told Caleb to move when he was read, Caleb of course started to get up right away, but winced in pain and had to stop for a second.  He really wanted Eric to hold him, though, so he moved slowly, trying to ignore how much his cock wanted attention.  Moving made his ass ache, but he was steady on his feet, and he went straight to Eric to let the Dominant guide him to sit however Eric wanted.

He wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him back against his chest. ‘Good boy.’ He hummed, kissing along his shoulder. His hand moved round to his front and squeezed his balls lightly. ‘Look at your cock beautiful. Do you feel needy for me?’ He teased as he ignored it completely.

Caleb relaxed against Eric, and he was already thinking about asking if he might be allowed to come when Eric cupped his balls, and Caleb tensed and sucked in a breath.  “Please,” he whispered, trying very hard not to move.  “Master, please can I come?”

‘Shh sweet boy. Breathe easy.’ he encouraged quietly, leaning down to kiss his shoulder. ‘Take deep breaths and bring yourself under control.’ he instructed. He closed his fingers around his length, and squeezed. ‘I’m going to let you cum, but not just yet -- Wait for it. Wait until your heartbeat has evened out a little, until your breathing is under control.’ he encouraged. He started to stroke him slowly. ‘Close your eyes my beautiful boy. Trust that I’m going to take the very best care of you.’

Caleb nodded, closing his eyes and trying to do as he was told.  Of course, it was hard to breathe evenly when Eric squeezed his cock, making him gasp and then whimper and turn to the side to try to hide his face in Eric’s neck.  “Please, Master,” he whined quietly as his hands tried to find somewhere to hold onto the Dominant.  But he did calm down as Eric made him wait.  His body relaxed against Eric’s, and he wanted to curl into him, but he could only move so much with Eric holding his dick.

‘Good boy.’ The praise was continuous; he whispered it in some form until Caleb felt completely relaxed against him. ‘Hold onto me however you want beautiful.’ he allowed, and drew him closer. ‘Cum for me Caleb.’ he instructed firmly, clearly. He wanted to feel the exact second his boy fell apart, and the knowledge he held such control over him thrilled him to no end. 

The praise warmed Caleb like a stone in the sun, and he nuzzled into Eric’s throat and jaw, enjoying the rasp of his beard against Caleb’s skin.  When he was finally breathing evenly, Eric told him he could cum, and just the words send shivers over his skin.  He tensed and let out a soft, plaintive whine, trying to thrust his hips into Eric’s hand.

He stroked him through his orgasm, encouraging him all the way through it. His boy spilled over his hand and he continued to work his length over with determination, milking every second of pleasure he could give him. He loosed his hold just slight; enough to allow Caleb to rock his hips to his heart’s content.

Caleb whimpered as Eric’s hand started to stroke him, and his breath stuttered.  It didn’t take more than a minute of this for him to cum, worked up as he was.  He came with a soft cry, arching up a little, and then collapsing back against Eric, limp as a cooked noodle.  “Thank you, Master,” he murmured into Eric’s neck as he curled up against him.  “Love you so much.”

[xephinatheeleven]

Sleep-Walking: 6 of 8

Word Count: 3,692

Summary: Part 6

Warnings: Fear, Painc

Pairings: Platonic Only!

———

Taking a deep breath to clear his mind, it was time to go see which of the other two he would be working with next. When he made his way into the commons, he couldn’t help but notice that Princey was the only one present.

The one in question glanced up as he entered the room, “hey Virge, did things go well with Logan?”

“It went better than I thought it would…granted, it was Logan, so there weren’t too many things that could have gone wrong,” he leaned against the stair-rail as he said the words.

The fanciful facet gave him a disapproving look, “don’t discredit yourself, Hot Topic. I’m sure you put in a lot of hard work to find different ways to help all of us with our fears.”

The gloomier figment shrugged, “I guess, but it wasn’t that hard, I just happen to be knowledgeable on the subject.” He glanced around the room, “I’m guessing that you're going next since I don’t see Patton anywhere nearby.”

The Prince seemed apprehensive but spoke as clearly as ever, “I suppose so; I think Patton is doing laundry right now.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “between you and me, I think he is more nervous about talking with you than either Logan or I were.”

Virgil was a more than a bit taken aback by the claim and softened his voice to the same level as Roman’s, “Really? He is usually so open to us helping one another; I wouldn’t have expected him to be so freaked out about it.”

“I would have thought so too, but he has been elusive today, anytime I see him, he claims he’s too busy with chores to stop and talk. I think he’s using them as an excuse to keep himself occupied.” The creative persona had no reason to lie, but why would the father figure be so worried?

Anxiety brushed it off for the time being, he would work with Morality soon enough, but right now his focus needed to be on Princey. “I’ll talk to him later, as for you, let me go grab my notes and then I’ll meet you in the screening room.”

Thankfully the negative character didn’t have as much trouble finding the screening room as he had to the library’s seating-area. This time however, the side he was supposed to be helping was more than likely fashionably late. Knowing that Roman was going to be harder to get through to than Logan, the darker trait pulled his phone from his pocket and connected it wirelessly to the speakers. With a few taps on the screen, he pulled up a playlist he had created of softer show-tune waltzes, and more mellow Disney songs, playing them at an almost inaudible volume.

Just as he put the device back in his pocket, the Prince rushed in, “sorry I’m late!”

“Sit down, Sir Sing-a-Lot,” both of them chuckled at the name, clearing some of the tension from the air.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but his more-energetic counterpart beat him to it, “before you start on whatever speech you have planned, I have a few things I want to say.” Anxiety stayed silent and gestured for him to go on, “firstly, we haven’t spoken, just the two of us, since I fell down the stairs. That being said, without the pressure or influence of the others, I wanted to apologize to you again for the way I lashed out on you, no matter the circumstances, my actions were entirely unacceptable.”

“I told you before, that I don’t hold that against you, and I stand by that.” His words were true, though he couldn’t help but notice that the Prince had just addressed both his fears of imperfection and opinions without Virgil having to lead into the conversation. Aware that fears often required reassurance, he spoke again, “if it will make you feel better, I accept your apology.”

He sighed in relief, “thanks Virge…next, I want to thank you…I know that we haven’t been on the best of terms with each other in the past, but you're still willing to help me…and I appreciate that.”

The comment took the younger of the two by surprise, he hadn’t expected praise from the imaginative aspect, especially not before he had even started. “Y-You're welcome I guess…but I haven’t actually done anything yet.”

“I know, but you still agreed to help me, even when you didn’t have to…so thanks for that.” He was sheepish, but the fight-or-flight reflex suddenly realized that it was his third fear talking, being forgotten or ignored.

“Roman I’m going to knock out two birds with one stone here, you may not even know it, but you are thanking me for the same reason that you just apologized. If I’m right, because you lashed out on me, you expected me not to help you. Now be honest not just with me, but yourself as well, am I right?”

The fanciful manifestation looked at him with wide eyes, “how did you figure all of that out from two entirely unrelated statements?”

He actually gave Princey a genuine smile, a rare gesture to him, for fear of his picture being taken if he did so, “because you just did half of my job for me. In apologizing, you faced your fears of imperfection and opinions. Then by thanking me you brought up your fear, specifically of being ignored, but also forgotten.”

He stared at the observant facet, “I- I did- I mean- wh- how?”

“I’m going to act like I just understood anything you just said and continue.” He paused briefly, opening the binder, “like I said; you might not even realize you did this. By apologizing, again after I had already accepted your previous apology, you proved to me that you were afraid of the opinion I may have still held against you. You also addressed your fear of being imperfect by apologizing for an action of yours that you saw as wrong or unjust. Then you got to the fear that I thought I was going to have the hardest time bringing up by thanking me. You were scared that I wouldn’t help you because of the ordeal from the other night, so you were afraid that I was going to ignore you.” It wasn’t lost on Anxiety, that these were issues that were similar to the ones he had gone over with Thomas the night before.

The whimsical emotion blinked at him, momentarily silenced by awe. “When did you become a psychic?”

“When you guys started sleep-talking, you seem to forget that I have extensive notes on how you spoke and acted during those episodes.” He gave the older a knowing yet saddened look.

“Touché, Logan,” they both allowed themselves to lapse into laughter for a bit at the light-hearted insult.

When they regained their bearings, the negative embodiment went back to the reason they were there, ���seriously though, through those two comments, you not only accepted but began to face your fears. In terms of the help you need with them, you're already miles ahead of the others. Flipping pages in the binder, he began crossing out topics and techniques that had already been proved unnecessary, eventually he pulled out a sheet and handed it to Roman. “You enjoy singing and acting, so I tried to incorporate that into some of the techniques and coping mechanisms for you to work on. For example, and I’ll tell you from experience, don’t use this one if you're already panicking, but if you're not sure of an opinion or reaction one of us has, act like us for a bit. Momentarily put yourself into our headspace and try to think like us, you know us well enough that you should be able to draw the correct conclusion from your interpretation of our personalities. If that doesn’t work or you find yourself too worked up to safely believe that you are right, do what you did when we started talking. Pull us to the side in a one-on-one environment and ask us about whatever it is that’s worrying you. I know that I wouldn’t be offended if you did, and I’m pretty sure the others wouldn’t be either. As for imperfections, one of the key things to keep in mind is that no one is perfect, trust me I know that sounds cliché, but it does help. You can also think of it this way, sure you made a mistake, but now you can say you learned from it, and you won't make the same one again, or you could think of a mistake that one of us has made in the past.”

The Prince had an aura of confusion about him, almost as if he were hesitant, “could you give me an example?”

If it weren’t for the sincerity in his tone, Virgil would have thought Roman was messing with him, but he seemed genuine. “An example of a mistake I’ve made is obvious…me trying to leave and quit my job as Anxiety.”

The visionary side caught on quickly to what he had just made the anxious trait say, “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to bring that up again, I know you regret that- I mean- I- I’m just going to stop talking now.”

“Don’t worry about it, I know now that I’m needed, and that’s all that matters; I’m not going anywhere. It’s an extreme example, but it just goes to show that I learned from my mistake, so you can learn from yours as well.”

Princey was clearly calmed by the gentle yet confident way in which he said the words, but there were things he still didn’t understand, and his next question proved Anxiety’s suspicions correct. “Okay, so I get how I need to work on my fears and everything, but there is one thing I don’t get. How is this supposed to help the sleep-walking?”

The darker aspect was wondering which of the others was going to ask him that, “the somnambulism-” He changed course at the confused look in his friend’s eyes, “the sleep-walking isn’t going to go away overnight, but as you work through the fears, the nightmares won't plague you as much. That will make it so that you aren’t as restless and are less likely to get up and move around while you sleep. Until then however, I will be keeping watch over you guys to make sure that there are no more injuries.”

He seemed satisfied with the response, “good, because I do not want to fall down the stairs again.”

The negative facet smiled, “trust me I’m not going to let you or anyone else fall down the stairs again.”

There was a lull in the conversation, and the Prince looked at him astounded, “how long have there been show-tunes playing in the background?”

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh, “since before you ran into the room. Just like how I met with Logan in the library, so that he would feel more comfortable with the situation,” he pulled his phone from the pocket that held it. “I put on a playlist of show-tune waltzes and quieter Disney songs to make you feel more at ease.”

Touched by the small gesture he came to an apparent revelation, “that’s why I felt less nervous after I walked in.” He fell silent for a moment, listening to the music, so the fight-or-flight reflex turned up the volume slightly. “This…this is The Carousel Waltz by…by…I am ashamed that I can't think of the composers’ names.”

He answered before he knew what he was even doing, “it’s Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein II; they also did compositions for Flower Drum Song, The King and I, South Pacific, and a range of others.”

“That’s it!” Roman took on an incredulous inflection, “since when do you know so much about musicals and Broadway?”

The observant persona listened to the piece for a while longer before replying, “just like with Disney, I too am a Broadway fan.”

“You?” The Prince sounded pleased as opposed to the mocking tone he’d had in the Dark Side of Disney video. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, what is your favorite musical? What’s your favorite song?”

He was taken aback not only by the barrage of questions, but also from the positive nature of the conversation that differed so much from the similar one they had had previously. He was actually quite pleased that they had both grown up to the point that he could have such a discussion with someone, who at one time had been his enemy. “Well, my favorite musical is The Sound of Music. I didn’t say it then, but I actually caught on to the name you called me at breakfast yesterday, it was pretty clever…‘Captain Von Snapp’ was it?”

Princey turned bright red, “y-you knew what that was from?” The embarrassment he felt was thankfully quickly replaced by excitement, “never mind, that is a brilliant movie, why is it your favorite though?”

He gave the other a playful grin, and impersonated his over the top reaction from the Disney video, “because Julie Andrews is a beautiful goddess and because I can…o-okay!” They were laughing so hard that Virgil barely managed to choke out the last word. When they finally recovered from the near hysteria, he gave his more honest answer, “while Julie Andrews is amazing in the role, I’ve always liked the movie. I guess if I had to come up with a reason, other than the music, it would have to be how the children bond with Maria, even though they were against her in the beginning.” The fanciful character caught on to the deeper meaning in the words, but stayed silent on the matter as he continued, “as for my favorite song? I know it’s unexpected, but ‘Edelweiss’ is a really good one. From other movies, I also enjoy ‘Wouldn’t It Be Loverly’ from ‘My Fair Lady’, ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ from ‘Carousel’.” He stopped, debating whether or not the next counted, but decided it did, “as for my real favorite it’s actually Disney…‘Feed the Birds’ from ‘Mary Poppins’.”

“I never would have guessed that you liked those songs, they’re mostly waltzes…I’ve never heard you listening to them before.” He came across as inquisitive as if genuinely curious as to why he had never heard the songs coming from Anxiety’s room.

“They aren’t exactly loud in comparison to some of the rock music I listen to…and to be honest, I knew if anyone heard me listening to them, it would draw attention.” He knew the reason was stupid, but it was the truth.

Roman smiled understandingly, “wouldn’t want that would we? Anyway, you must join me one evening to watch some of these movies! I’ll make up an excuse for the others as to what you're doing.”

The darker side didn’t notice until the offer was made, that he did in fact like the idea of having movie nights. He was tired of listening to the beautiful musicals at such low volume so as not to alert the others to what he was watching. It would also give him something to do, and he would finally have something, other than fears in common with his imaginative counterpart. “I might just take you up on that offer,” he pulled a small case from his binder, “and we can start with this one.”

Princey took the object that was offered to him, a dopy grin playing on his face, “this is ‘West Side Story’…one of my favorites.” He looked up at the negative trait with tears in his eyes, “I broke my DVD about a month ago, and I was so disappointed that I didn’t have this movie anymore…how did you know?”

“You said you can hear music coming from my room, well I can hear music coming for yours too. You would watch that movie every few nights, and suddenly I stopped hearing it all together…I’ll admit I was a bit disappointed by that myself, and then, a few days later, I saw the case and the shattered disk in the trash. I was going to wait to give this to you until your birthday, but I know that a musical can help my mental state, so I figured it would more than likely do the same for you.”

The whimsical aspect pulled him into a hug, something he hadn’t expected, “thank you so much, Virgil.” He released the younger facet, who promptly straightened his hoodie around his shoulders. “It means a lot that you noticed and did this for me. We must watch it together one night this week, no excuses!”

“No problem buddy, and I’m looking forward to it, just tell me when; I’ll bring the popcorn.” He suspected that the Prince would have been clapping in excitement if it weren’t for his sprained wrist. The gloomier embodiment allowed himself, for just a moment, to indulge in the sense of joy he so rarely felt, but both of them were caught off guard by the familiar tugging sensation that meant Thomas was summoning them.

He immediately began to worry, their host knew that they were going to be working on the nightmares today, and had promised not to disturb them. What could be so important, that he would go back on his word, and call them to the real-world anyway? What was wrong? The two shared a brief, but concerned glance before syncing out of the mind-palace.

When they appeared, Logic was already there, but what shocked them all was the presence of Joan and Talyn. They were almost never called upon when Thomas’s friends were around, but both wore expressions reflecting worry and pain. They almost looked relieved when the sides showed up.

Before they could say anything, it was Thomas who spoke in a mocking tone, “well if it isn’t Over-Reaction and Disillusion coming to join Mr. Cold-Hearted over there.” They were all left speechless from the insults the online personality spat at them so easily.

“Thomas!” Talyn looked horrified as they expressed what the others were unable to, “what has gotten into you?”

As the two continued to bicker, Joan moved to address the traits, “he’s been acting like this since we got here, and we don’t know what’s wrong with him. We thought you guys might know, or be able to figure something out.”

The intellectual glanced from Joan to Thomas and back again, “so you and Talyn summoned us? I didn’t even know that was possible, how did you manage it?”

Roman’s voice was the next to rise into the air, it had lost any sense of laughter it had had only moments ago, “I think we've got more important things to worry about right now.”

“Yes we summoned you, but we were trying to call all of you…where’s Patton?” When Joan said the name, all of them looked to where the moral aspect usually stood, and dread fell across Anxiety as if someone had draped a cold washcloth on the back of his neck. His mind began racing a mile-a-minute, where was he? If they had all been summoned, then why wasn’t he here with them? He would be the one capable of reprimanding their host for his actions and helping him to see a better path.

His thoughts were cut short at the sound of Talyn yelling, “fine then!” They walked over to Joan, who pulled them into an embrace, and that’s when he noticed the tears in their eyes. Talyn had always been the sweetest and most understanding of Thomas’s friends; and for him to say something that brought them to tears like this was going too far.

Seeing the different looks that their host, his friends, and his colleagues had was enough to bring Virgil to a heart-stopping realization. “No, no, no!”

The others turned to him, each with varying levels of confusion, but it was Roman who took up the voice of what they collectively felt, “Virgil, what’s wrong? Do you know what’s going on?”

He sighed, running his hands though his hair, “I might…Roman, you said you didn’t see Patton much while I was working with Logan, right?” The visionary facet nodded, “Logan did you see him at all while I was working with Roman?”

The rational personification straightened his glasses, “not that I can recall. Now that you mention it, I did find it odd that all of the chores had been done, and yet Patton was nowhere to be found.”

The observant attribute put his head in his hands, he could feel the panic clawing at his chest, but he pushed it away. He was the only one that had any clue as to what was going on, and the capability to mend the situation; he just hoped he was wrong. Looking up, he faced Joan and Talyn, “can you deal with him for a bit longer? Make sure he doesn’t get on social media and offend his fans?”

The severity of Anxiety’s tone wasn’t lost on Joan as they glanced over to Thomas, “sure, but what’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath in an attempt to slow his racing thoughts, “we need to go back to the mindscape…I should have noticed this sooner! All of the signs were there!” He growled the second-half of the statement to himself, furious for his own blatancy.

“Noticed what sooner?” Princey seemed ready to draw his sword, but no physical action could fight nightmares.

“I know what’s going on…I didn’t realize his nightmares were that bad though.” He tried to stop himself from shaking, “Patton’s fears consist of being alone, abandoned, isolation, solitude, and loneliness…his most common phrase when sleep-walking was…was ‘please don’t make me leave.’” Joan and Talyn didn’t know what he was talking about, and he didn’t have time to tell them, but both the creative and logical sides had an aura of worry draped over them. “If I’m right, and I hope I’m not…Patton has ducked out the way I did…he left before we…we could make him leave.”

—–

Tag List:

@a-snoway-afternoon

@jay-wants-to-be-a-paladin

@julia6181

@lovelyyoonglebear

@lucifer-in-my-head

@opalwings915

@the-psycho-pie​

@wewillsurvivethistoo

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

—–

Parts:

Part 1:

https://virgil-the-dark-strange-son.tumblr.com/post/173455772949/sleep-walking-part-1-of-8

Part 2:

https://virgil-the-dark-strange-son.tumblr.com/post/173455778169/sleep-walking-2-of-8

Part 3:

https://virgil-the-dark-strange-son.tumblr.com/post/173456061404/sleep-walking-3-of-8

Part 4:

https://virgil-the-dark-strange-son.tumblr.com/post/173519794834/sleep-walking-4-of-8

Part 5:

https://virgil-the-dark-strange-son.tumblr.com/post/173591178399/sleep-walking-5-of-8

[itshummelswitch]

GAVURT | Hush.

WHEN: May 19th, 2020

WHERE: Gavin Sawyer’s house.

WHO: Gavin Sawyer & Kurt Hummel.

EVENT: Kurt is getting punished by traditionalist Gavin Sawyer for talking back. Gavin takes it upon himself to correct the behavior.

TRIGGERS: Manipulation, physical impact, and other NSFW behaviors.

Gavin would be lying if he said he wasn’t genuinely looking forward to this punishment in particular. Over his time here living on the island, he had administered countless punishments and the only ones that tended to stick out were the switches. It was probably because he was extra hard on them given his personal opinion on the matter of made up mark. Kurt had been wrong, normally Gavin wouldn’t give a switch the time of day but as far as punishments go, nothing would please Gavin more than to teach a switch a lesson. That was exactly what Gavin intended on doing once Kurt arrived. He stood in the center of his hall, waiting for Kurt and the guard to arrive. Gavin had his shoulders rolled back, and his strong jaw set, instantly looking intimidating. He wore what he typically did during punishments, a pair of leather pants and leather harness, and an executioners hood to top it off. In his hand held burgundy colored leather riding crop, and beside him was a small table brought to the hall just for this occasion. On top of the table sat a black leather muzzle and a collar, and a leash. This was only the first part of the punishment, and Gavin was excited, aroused even at the idea of what Kurt’s expression would be when he saw what was really in store for him. There came a ring of the bell and Gavin smirked. “Enter.” He called out.

After everything that had gone down throughout the day, Kurt had gone through a good amount of emotions. Ranging from numb, terrified, upset, and now he just felt like he was being dragged to his execution. His stomach had dropped in his body, and he couldn't even find the appetite to eat all day. So of course the shaky feeling in his legs was part adrenaline and part lack of fuel to keep his energy up. He didn't care at this point. Mostly keeping his arms folded as he let Max escort him. The one guard who brought him comfort. Even so much that he had hugged the guard before the doorbell even was rung with a whispered thank you. Being given permission to enter, Max opens the door and Kurt steps inside. Arms still hugging around himself, dressed in nothing fancy as he had no idea what to expect and wasn't going to wear something he cared about in case it ended up torn. The red tank top showed off his toned arms at least, and the black sweats with the red high top shoes still held a look that he was put together. Of course Gavin's mask got a bit of a brow raise, ignoring his blood going cold and his chest hurting forcing him to take a deep breath. Be bold, Kurt. Confident. Don't show him weakness. Chin lifting, he steps in closer then moves automatically to his knees when he was close enough. Still not saying anything, but refusing to break eye contact.

Gavin couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not that the switch was so obedient from the start. He figured he’d come in running his mouth. As it was, the other man was already on his knees without Gavin having to do really anything. He doubted that this silence was going to last, hence the muzzle beside him. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the spot at his feet with his riding crop. “You will crawl on your hands and knees. Kneel here, back straight, hands behind your back.” He put his hands behind his own back a moment as he regarded Kurt and waited for him to comply. Gavin was going to enjoy this evening together with this Hummel. Riley was easy on the eyes but there was something innocent he saw in Kurt that made the man all more attractive to him. What he couldn’t have in Riley, he could have in this one right here. “A few rules before we get started.” He said with a clearing of his throat. “One; you will call me Master for the duration of your stay here. Failure to do so and you’ll receive five lashes. Two; you will follow everything I have to say. Failure to do so will result in five lashes. Three; probably the most important rule of all, safe words and signals. You will use either if you feel the need.” Gavin may have hated switches but it didn’t mean he compromised his integrity of being a Dom. He respected safe words and signals, unlike some he had come to know on the island growing up here. It wasn’t just about hurting Kurt. No, the point of this was to punish him for what he did wrong and correct him, making sure he did not do it again. “Now, tell me your safe word and signal.”

It takes Kurt reigning in his snark, though it doesn't stop him from shooting a pointed glare up at the other man before he leans forward and carefully crawls to the spot that was asked of him. He promised Riley and Skye that he'd be respectful, even if he didn't promise his facial responses to be as easy to control. They should be grateful he was biting his tongue. If he had to draw his own blood, so be it. Anything was better then to get more people mad at him. Not trusting him. Fuck. Straightening his back, he moves his hands directly behind his back, grasping his fingers together to keep them in place without must effort. Though he does press his tongue against the inside of his cheek, still keeping his gaze trained on Gavin, not about to back down yet. He was a Hummel. No one pushed the Hummel's around. Not even strong Dominant's with a terrifying and intimidating presence like Gavin had. Good looks be damned. With a controlled inhale through his nose, withholding an eye roll at the rule about calling him that title. Inwardly he'd have to add the Pokémon part to justify it all. "Safeword is Vogue. Safe signal is three knocks against a surface or dropping an item you provide..." A beat, eyes narrowing. "Master."

Gavin noted the expressions on Kurt’s face, not oblivious to the obvious disdain the other held for him. It was why Kurt was here in the first place. He didn’t do anything in retaliation to the look in Kurt’s eye. There was time for that. Gavin lifted his chin. “Vogue. Three knocks against a surface or dropping of an item I give you.” He repeated out loud, so Kurt knew that Gavin understood. It was time to begin. Gavin placed the riding crop on the table. And first picked up the leather collar. “There are two parts to this punishment.” He said and bent over and fitted the collar around Kurt’s neck making sure it wasn’t too tight or uncomfortable. He reached for the muzzle next but before he put it on Kurt, Gavin pulled back. “Hard limits?”

Kurt nods in confirmation at the safety boundaries being repeated back. "That's correct..." He flexes his jaw. "...Master." Pokémon, Kurt, think of Pokémon. Don't let him win. He rolls his shoulders back, watching the Dominant closely as he steps in with the collar. For whatever reason, he feels some kind of weight fall off his shoulders. Oh. He was getting what he wanted. Something he had wanted during the mockclaim and never got to that point. As it slips around his neck, of course the Switch adjusting his head to make it as easy as possible for it to be buckled and properly strapped in, his eyes close. Oh, that felt nice. Perhaps it was suppose to help put him in the headspace or used as degradation, but if anything that gave him some eased feeling lifting in his chest. After a moment as the hard limits get asked if him next, he blinks his eyes open again, they're a little shiny, though no tears fall. If he was going to do that, he would wait for it be warranted. While eyeing the muzzle, his jaw flexing again. "Fisting, breath play, bathroom play, feet, armpits, extreme body modification, vomit, water boarding...Master."

Gavin felt a small bit of triumph when he took in Kurt’s reaction to the collar. There was clearly a part of him that was ready to submit to Gavin, or maybe just submit in general. Now, if he could just break him enough to keep that boisterous side from coming out. Gavin nodded, making a mental note about the hard limits. None of that was in store for Kurt tonight, Gavin was pleased that he could continue as he planned. “Good boy.” He praised and fit the muzzle around Kurt’s head, being careful and gentle as he could. “Since you like to run your mouth so much. We’re going to keep it shut for a while as I walk my new puppy around the house.” He held up the leash. “Before we go for a walk, I think you better lose the clothes you’re wearing. All of them.”

Allowing his head to bow so the muzzle could be fashioned upon his face and head, he reaches up to adjust a few of the straps that were pinching then returns his hands behind his back. His skin was so sensitive at times, it was ridiculous. He didn't want Riley to pick him up and see any kind of blemishes on his face while thinking he got beaten or something. Even testing the flexibility as he opens his mouth in the muzzle as far as he could then closes it. It wasn't too uncomfortable, just the warm air of his breathing hitting his face reminded him that he would probably break out in the next twelve hours. He could deal with that later. Shifting at the next order, he moves to sit on his ass first so he could get his shoes and socks off, neatly folding the socks to press into the shoes and sets them to the side. Deciding that standing would be more energy he didn't have, he lies down on his back and hooks his thumbs into the waist band of the sweats and the basic boxer briefs, pushing them down and off. His ass feeling the cool floor beneath him, causing a shiver while he sits up to fold them too, setting them atop his shoes. The tank came last until he was completely naked, just as requested. Returning to his knees, he tilts his head back, finding Gavin's masked face.

Gavin watched as Kurt did as he asked and undressed himself. The boy had a near perfect body, finely toned.The things he’d like to do to that body. Gavin took another minute to appreciate Kurt’s physique, noting the bandage around Kurt’s arm. He’d ask about that later on. He just fit the muzzle on Kurt and he wasn’t going to remove it right away to ask a silly question. “Perfect. Good boy.” Gavin said as he ruffled Kurt’s hair. He hooked the leash onto the collar and picked up the riding crop once more. “You’ll keep up with me and if you don’t...you’ll get five lashes with this.” He took the crop and placed it under Kurt’s chin. “Look at you. Maybe you should wear one of these things more often. The silence is nice.” He gave a light tug on the leash and started to walk. “We’ll go once around the house before we go to my favorite room. While we walk, let me remind you as to why a switch is not a legitimate mark.”

As the riding crop is placed under his chin, Kurt feels his body tense as if he was expecting it to hit him already. But it didn't. While he doesn't exactly glare, he definitely gives the Dominant a squint of his eyes as he feels the insult coming. Of course he isn't able to say anything, but he makes a disgruntled noise in his throat while moving forward again on his hands again to begin the actual crawling. It doesn't start uncomfortable, just awkward as he follows behind the Dominant, eyes mostly trained on the ground so he knows where to put his hands next in his movements. Mostly using his weight on his upper body to make sure his knees don't end up too badly bruised. Though he bruised easily, of course he'd still have black and blue knees for a while.

The noise from Kurt wasn’t lost on Gavin. He heard it and it wasn’t too long before Kurt fell behind in his pace to keep up with Gavin. The Dom stopped and tugged lightly on the leash again as they made their way out of the hall. He took the riding crop and swatted Kurt five times on the ass. “I thought I said keep up.” Gavin was pretty sure he had made himself clear. He paused a second and gave one more swat to Kurt’s ass. “That was for the noise earlier. Unless it’s a moan, I don’t want to hear it.” He said flatly. Gavin was still a tiny bit impressed with how little of a fight Kurt put up. “Back there, when I put that collar on you.” Gavin said after a minute or two of silence, rounding the corner into Gavin’s library. “I could tell you enjoyed it. That’s because a sub is the true nature of any so-called ‘switch’. You think you are capable of being a Dominant, but you aren’t. Sure, you’re bolder than most subs, but that’s because you haven’t accepted your true place.” Gavin reached over and ran his fingers through Kurt’s hair. “Switches are just kidding themselves. There is no place in this world for them. You need to realize this, Kurt. You’ll be better off.” There was another pause as they made their way into the study. “You brought this on yourself Kurt. No one to blame but yourself.”

Feeling the riding crop as he tries to speed himself up, though it doesn't mean he doesn't wince at the impact. Of course he had a lot worse than a riding crop in the past. And shit, he felt his cock jump between his legs at the contact against his ass. He would normally love attention to his ass, but not for this. It could get used against him in the worst way possible. Another glare is shot up at Gavin for a moment as he's being tugged along. He doesn't stop, but he feels his teeth clench painfully, only having his tongue to cushion the pressure. He wanted to argue. Make a point on how he tried to tell this guy that in asking for his help to begin with, but he has brushed him off. He knew who he was. He knew he leaned more submissive. But it didn't stop him from being able to dominate if he absolutely needed to. Briefly he thinks of Blaine and he feels sick all over again. He already felt defeated over that, no use in thinking about it again and getting himself feeling worse. He had to get through this first. Crawling into the study, he's at least grateful for the carpet or rug that his bruised knees come into contact with. It's not much of a comfort, as it still hurts his knees, and even the palms of his hands feel tender as it is. Another grunt is given when he's told he only has himself to blame, shooting Gavin another scowl but drops his gaze again, taking an obvious deep inhale and exhale.

“I heard that.” Gavin said, and smacked Kurt on the ass again with his crop. “That didn’t sound like a moan.” He continued to parade Kurt through the large house, and after a couple of minutes came to a door just off of the kitchen. He pulled back on the leash to get Kurt to heel before he turned to the switch, staring down at him and reaching out to pet Kurt on the head. “Such a good puppy. Did you like your walk?” Gavin turned and opened the door, revealing stairs leading down. “Ready for play time?” He asked with a small smirk. “I want you walking down the stairs on all fours. Got it? Any complaining or grunting, as you like to do in that muzzle, will result in another lash.”

Kurt's body jerks as the crop hits him again, and while he does still give Gavin a cold look, he falls silent for the rest of the walk. His knees and palms screaming with pain by the end of it, reminding him of why those into pet play were given pads to cushion this kind of position. But he was surviving. He could do it. This guy wasn't about to win. Though he does inwardly enjoy the petting against his head, his perfectly coiffed hair be damned. He liked the praise, and couldn't help but to lean his head into it while pressing into Gavin's leg for a few short seconds as he eases the weight of his hips down slightly to give himself a break. Stairs though. He can only feel how his arms shake at the sight of them. A breath, and he's lifting back up to the hands and knees position and moving to the edge without further prompting. It doesn't look entirely steep. Not entirely impossible. Assessing the view, he starts down. It's slow. Adjusting his weight until he finds a position that works. One hand moving at a time, carefully having his knees follow in step. He almost loses his footing, which causes a noise lifting his upper body to balance on his knees until he steadies again. A breath. His heart in his throat. He carefully moves his hands back down to continue to descend.

The moment he felt Kurt lean into the touch, Gavin smirked. He would have him broken by the end of the night, he was confident about it. He held the leash and allowed for Kurt to go first down the stairs. He flipped a light on to illuminate the way. Once they were at the bottom, he flipped on another switch, granting some dim light to the basement around them. There was equipment everywhere, as well as racks of toys and harnesses, cuffs, collars, you name it. Gavin leaned down and unhooked the leash giving Kurt another pat on the head. “That’s my good boy.”  He snapped his fingers and pointed to the spot at his feet. “You will kneel here, arms behind your back. I could tell there were parts that you enjoyed up there.” Gavin said walking over to the hand up his riding crop on the wall. He let his fingers run over the various whips that hung next to his crop collection. “It occurred to me that you may not think of this as a punishment. Maybe you’ve had worse.” Gavin picked up the bullwhip for a moment, contemplating if he still wanted to use it as planned. He glanced back at Kurt a moment, holding the whip and showing it off before he turned and put it back. “I’m not here to torture you.” Gavin said, his attention back on his whips and floggers. “I would only do something like that with consent. Not for a punishment. Some Doms who are born here and are traditionalists like myself, may not show that kind of mercy to a switch. Something to keep in mind going forward.” He landed on one of his favorites, an 8 tailed braided flogger. “Let’s get you set up.” Gavin turned on his heels and smirked at Kurt. “Follow me.” He led Kurt to a corner of the basement where a metal device  stood that he had set up to keep the person in it standing spread eagle against the machine. Gavin set the flogger down on a nearby table and bent over to remove the muzzle and then the collar. “Rise. Arms out, feet apart, face down.”

Finally he reached the ground and he can't feel himself relax. That was close. He almost fell and his arms were shaking and he just wanted to collapse there. With how much upper body strength he needed for that, his arms felt like limp noodles. But he still pushes forward to regain what energy he had. His stomach reminding him he should've eaten before this, but again he ignores it as he crawls inside the play room and kneels right where Gavin tells him. He wasn't about to argue that he enjoyed the praise. Proving to himself even that he wasn't awful at being a submissive with the right person who knew what they were doing. Clearly Gavin was an asshole but he knew what he was doing. Finally able to give his hands and knees a bit of a break, he straightens his back and he hears something pop, and he closes his eyes to let the loosening up experience relieve him in the moment while he could. Taking as much of the down time to breathe, channeling his energy back through his body. It's only for a few seconds as he hears Gavin talking and he blinks his eyes back open. The bullwhip would bring him to clench, eyes widening just enough as he could feel the strike of that against his naked body already. Evil bastard. Rubbing his palms together before crawling after Gavin again, and settling back on his haunches as the muzzle and collar get removed. He immediately misses the collar, but covers it up by rubbing over his face and over his neck with a slight groan right before standing. His knees almost give out and he has to grab for Gavin to steady himself with a sucked in breath then let's go again, brushing his knees off and stepping up against the cross to settle into the position asked of him until he feels the position fits the structure.

Gavin sneered as Kurt reached for him to balance, not having given him permission to touch. But as the switch corrected himself Gavin would just add it as an additional flog instead of addressing it now. He calmly locked Kurt into position and picked up the 8 tailed flogger. “Good boy. My puppy knows how to follow instructions.” He took the flogger and let the tails lightly brush over Kurt’s back as he moved it up and down. “Let’s see if he can follow more instructions. Like I said, I am not here to torture you. Believe it or not, I am showing mercy. And for me to do that with a switch, well...it’s basically unheard of.” He walked around to the front of Kurt, running his fingers soothingly through the boy’s hair. “I am going to hit you with this.” He said showing the flogger to Kurt. “With each strike you will repeat after me. Understood? Hesitation or failure to do so will result in five extra lashes. We’ll start with ten and see if we add any from there.” Gavin calmly walked around to stand behind Kurt, examining the red marks on his ass. “Now, be a good puppy and repeat after me. I will not talk back to a Dominant.” He raised his arm and brought the flogger down across Kurt’s back. “I will know my place.” Another lash. “I will speak when spoken to.” And another. “Switch is not a legitimate mark.” Another.

Kurt is just glad that he's able to lean on something. Even if it was uncomfortable, and cold against his skin. His cock was half hard already, and he didn't event care. He really wanted to lie down. Gavin's touch against his hair proves soothing, even if he knows better then to expect it to last. He can only offer the Dominant an exasperated look, but doesn't bother saying anything as he's shown the flogger. He clenches again, his fingers flexing where they're being held prisoner by the wrist. He offers a soft hum at the instruction before Gavin is moving behind him. He lets his eyes close. Not seeing the point of keeping them open. If he was going to cry, he would do it out of spite. Kissing and gritting his teeth as the flogger comes down and lands against his exposed back, he has to take a breath before repeating: "I will it talk back to a Dominant." Even if he opens his eyes, flexing his jaw. His cock twitched. Damnit. "I will know my place." He gets out, squeezing his eyes shut. Another twitch. "I will speak when spoken to." He takes a deep breath, bracing for the next lash. Twitching to a full erection. "Switch....is...." A breath. "Not a legitimate mark."

Gavin noted the hesitation, taking a breath or not. “That’s five extra added to the 10.” He said. He tilted his head a little and noticed Kurt standing fully erect. Gavin stopped what he was doing and moved to see Kurt’s face. “Somebody likes the pain.” He said. “If I catch you cumming all over my machine I move onto the bull whip and really cause some damage.” He sighed and raised his flogger again striking Kurt. “Switches are not a legitimate mark.” “I only have myself to blame for this punishment.” Another lash, this time higher up by Kurt’s shoulders. “I deserve this, my Lord.” Lash. “I have no right to masquerade around as a Dom.” Lash. He stopped and stepped in closer to Kurt’s ear, placing a hand lower on the boy’s ass, slowly sliding around to the front, but not touching his cock in anyway, instead sitting there low on his hip fingertips just inches away. “My little puppy. The sooner you realize that there are no such things as switches, the better.” He whispered.  “Repeat after m, puppy. Switches are nothing which means I am nothing. My place is submitting.”

His face is flushed red when Gavin takes notice of his body responding positively to the impact against his body. Pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, giving Gavin an agitated side eye, but otherwise doesn't comment. He definitely didn't want to come. But he also didn't want to be this weak to show he was hard like this either, and yet. Giving indication of his irritation by flexing his fingers again. When the impact starts again, he whimpers out. The pause between the last strike to this gave his nerves time to become oversensitive again. "Switches are not a legitimate mark." He bites out, turning his head to hide his face against the provided, though small, head rest of only to bite back saying something that would make things worse. He's already slipping, and he's fighting it. "I have only myself to blame for this punishment." A twitch from his cock, tensing against the device he was strapped to. "I deserve this, my Lord." Fuck you. "I have no right to masquerade as a Dom." He breaks. Giving a small sniffle, pressing his face further against the device, hit tears squeezing out and wetting the head rest. When everything stops, he dares to relax from his tense state. He wants to cry. Cry hard. His chest hurts. No. Stop it. The strong hand finding its way to his ass is enough to make him gasp. His skin is hot to the touch after having angry red marks left behind. Another threatening twitch between his legs, balls feeling tight and heavy. Fuck you. Face tucking further away from Gavin, he takes a shaky breath. "Switches are nothing. Which means I am nothing. My place is submitting."

Gavin smiled, a little seeing Kurt in such distress. It seemed to be working. He lashed him again right between the shoulder blades. He moved to the otherside to see Kurt’s face. Gavin studied it a moment. “My sweet puppy looks like he’s in pain.” He said, and reached out to touch Kurt’s cheek before running fingers soothingly through his hair. Gavin finished up that lashes without making Kurt repeat anything else. Back to back lashings and once he finished, Gavin moved around once again to the front side of Kurt. “Open your eyes.” He demanded, his voice low. Gavin reached up and removed his executioner hood, his hair wild and face sweaty from the leather. “Look at me. Break eye contact and I’ll add ten more lashes. Although, I bet you’d like that my good boy. Wouldn’t you.” He smirked and little and reached out, hand grasping around Kurt’s cock. Gavin let out a small moan at the feeling of Kurt in his hand and began to work him slowly. “Mmm, such a good boy. How badly do you want to cum for your Master?”

His face is wet. A mixture of sweat and tears. He hates himself for it, and every swallow he takes feels as if he has something lodged in the back of his throat. And not in a good way. When the lashes stop, and he feels Gavin's body heat coming up beside him, giving the next order, he is slow to lift his head - and really unstick it from the head cushion - to follow through, resting his cheek against the device which is cold against his flushed cheek. He doesn't break eye contact, even it doesn't even appear he's all there anymore. His cock jumping in the Dominant's touch, his hips jerk forward, or really spasm weakly against the metal bar keeping him in place. Whimpering, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. "I only come if Master allows it...but I want to come for you. Please, Master, please."

Gavin felt his own cock twitch with arousal, his leather pants growing tighter as the boy whimpered and begged. He had a very pretty voice to go along with that pretty face and body of his. “Such a good boy. Good puppy.” He purred and continued to stroke Kurt, groaning at how hard the switch was in his hands. “I don’t think you want it enough. I don’t believe you.” He teased, “Make me believe you Kurt. How badly do you want to cum for your Master? If you’re good, I may just let you do it. Maybe I’ll let you suck me off too when I let you go. Would you like that?”

Kurt's hips want to move to get more friction in the Dominant's hand. But he's stuck. With how bad he was aroused at being teased and deep in his submissive headspace, he lets out another needy moan. It was a noise Gavin wanted to hear, right? "Please, Master. Please let your puppy come for you. I'm so close. So close for my Master. I'm hard because of my Master. My Master knows best, and I want it so bad." Another pitiful whimper, biting his lip since everything feels tight. Heavy. He is right on the edge. "I would love if you used my mouth too, Master. Please. Please. Oh, god, please, Master."

Every whimper and 'Master' that fell from Kurt's pretty mouth sent electricity straight through his nerves and had him practically hard just by the noise alone. The Dom smirked again as he stared into Kurt's eyes, also beautiful. Lord, was anything on this boy not beautiful? "A good puppy. Remember that, you're hard because of your Master. Your Master is the one who is going to give you release." Gavin leaned in and as awkward as the position was, he took Kurt's lips with his and kissed the switch deeply before he pulled back again. "You can cum."

He wasn't expecting the kiss. It threw him off. But fuck, if he didn't hungrily kiss back as if it was the oxygen his body needed. It was good, it was hot, and he misses it as soon as Gavin breaks it. Making sure Gavin knows it by whining, almost pouting, but it's only for a split second. Because he's coming. Ropes of his come splattering all over his own stomach, Gavin's hand, the device, and shooting against the opposite wall. His whole body shuddering, mouth hanging open, eyes closed, letting out a pleased and very loud moan until the last bit is squeezed out and dribbles down Gavin's hand until Kurt goes slack and boneless in his bindings. He has to catch his breath first, but he managed a raspy: "Thank you, Master."

Gavin worked Kurt through his orgasm and lifted his hand, covered in Kurt’s cum. “You made such a mess, little puppy.” He said with a tsk tsk of his tongue. “I should have you clean it up. Starting with my hand.” He brushed his thumb along Kurt’s bottom lip. “Go on, clean your Master off.” Gavin hadnt expected himself to enjoy Kurt this much considering he was a switch. No. He wasn’t a switch. He was a submissive who needed to be shown the right way. And with the right training, Gavin was sure he could have fun with Kurt like this again. Restraining the boy, spreading his body like this was a good look on Kurt. He’d have this switch as his slave in no time. He unlocked Kurt from the machine and helped him to stand.

Catching his breath, he felt so spent and weak. He didn't want to move. Though he does open his mouth to lap lazily at Gavin's hand when it's presented to him. His gut flipping at every praise falling from the Dominant's mouth. Any thought of his being an asshole having left his brain for the moment, as all he wanted to do was keep pleasing. He wanted Gavin to be proud of him. He wanted to hear Gavin praise him. He wanted to be the only puppy under Gavin's care. Not caring if he hates him for his assigned mark or not. He was right, after all. Kurt definitely didn't want to parade around like a Dom. He wasn't one. Being so shaky and weak, Kurt let's himself fall into Gavin's hold. Hands lazily gripping at the Dominant as his eyes roll back as his whole world was spinning. He may have gone unconscious for a few moments before coming back to, dazed. "Have I pleased you, Master? Are you proud of me?"

Gavin examines Kurt a moment and the state he was in. He supported the weight of the switch and lifted him fairly easily into his arms. “Yes, Kurt. You’ve pleased me. So much so, that I am going to put the collar back on you for the night? Would you like that?” He’d wait for another time for Kurt to suck him off. It was about Kurt, not him. Gavin carries Kurt carefully upstairs and into his master bedroom with a jacuzzi tub in the corner and a shower next to it. He set Kurt down gently on the bed and stands back for a moment to place a new collar on him. “There.” He said ruffled his hair again. “You’re my good boy, Kurt. I’m proud of you. Do you want to tell me what you learned from all of this?”

"Yes, Master. Please." Arms moving around the Dominant's strong neck, he letting his head rest against the strong shoulder as he's carried through the house. He isn't even aware of when they get to the bedroom until he's set on the bed. It had to be the most comfortable thing he ever experienced. Though he is resistant to let Gavin go at first, he gives up as he's still too out of it to put up a fight. With the collar back around his neck, he gives a satisfied sigh. Rolling over to his side, tucking his hands under his head. "That I like being called puppy..." Comes a soft response, eyes trained on Gavin's face. "I've learned that my mark is insignificant because my Master says so. And I shouldn't question my Master's logic. Nothing better than having Master call me his good boy." He gives a whimper. "And Master gives nice kisses. I would like another, please?"

Gavin fidgeted with the collar for a moment just making sure it wasn’t tight or rubbing against Kurt’s skin in the wrong way. He watched as Kurt settled in on the bed. “Then puppy is what Master will call you.” He gently pushed some of Kurt’s hair out of his face. He feels proud of himself when Kurt expressed the lessons he’s learned. “Very good. That’s right. A switch isn’t a mark.” He said in a quiet matter of fact way. “Look at how well you were at being my puppy. Could someone who Dominants do what you did so easily? No. You’re a good little sub. Master’s own puppy.” He leaned in and kissed Kurt on the top of his head. “I can give you all the kisses you want, you’ve been a good boy but we have to get you cleaned first.” Gavin stood and left the bedside to cross the room and and turn the tub on making sure the temperature was perfect before he let it fill. Gavin went back over to Kurt, he couldn’t have asked for the punishment to have gone any better. “Come on, and let Master take a look at you.” He assisted Kurt in sitting up so he could examine him. He cupped the side of Kurt’s face and leaned in for a soft yet powerful kiss. He pulled back and pressed his forward to Kurt’s . “A very good boy. And that collar suits you. You look better in a collar than those cuffs. Do you want Master to carry you to the bath?”

Every moment of affection granted grounds Kurt further, to the point where he didn't want to move. He just wanted more of those kisses and compliments being whispered to him as it filled his chest with some warmth. A tightness still lingered that he was purposefully ignoring. Just because he had successfully been brought into submissive headspace with a need to serve and please this man, didn't mean he wanted to unleash those floodgates. Trust was only on a certain level before he let that unfold. Watching Gavin leave to the master bath, Kurt shivers as he's reminded he's still naked except for the collar and cuffs. The mess had dried on his stomach that he caused himself and the sweat had given him a sheen over alabaster skin that made him feel sticky. The promise of a warm bath was the only reason he didn't try and burrow under the covers. That and because Gavin hadn't given him permission to mess the bed up. He still didn't want to disappoint. Not when those strong hands are helping him sit up, wincing as he does so as he's reminded just how sore and tired his body is. But he's rewarded with that kiss. Leaning into it, eyes closed, letting it rejuvenate him as much as it could. "Thank you, Master." Kurt sighs out, eyes still closed when the kiss parts again. "Yes, please. I admit I am too weak to walk on my own just yet." He takes the moment to blink his eyes open, a hint of his usual self shining through. "Any excuse for my Master to show off his arms doesn't hurt either." It's weak, giving a half smile before he's dropping his gaze again.

Gavin smirked, knowing how Kurt had been before. He was defiant and outspoken and ready for a fight but now he was the perfect sub. He lifted Kurt into his arms with ease and carried him to the bath. There was steam rising from the tub a tray of different shapes and scented bathbombs resting on the edge. The water was still. “You’re being such a good boy. And for that you can also choose one of these.” He nodded to the tray. “A nice warm and relaxing bath for my puppy.” Gavin set Kurt down on the edge of the tub. He took Kurt’s face in his hands. “Because of your injuries its probably going to sting. But your Master is here, don’t worry it won’t hurt for long. I promise the bath is going to help.” The water was hot without being scalding and at first it might cause a little pain but Gavin knew it would be best for his muscles. Gavin removed his harness and the leather pants he was wearing, stripping down until he was naked in front of Kurt, still half hard. He carefully stepped over the edge of the large tub and sank into the water with a smile and sigh. He extended his hand. “Come on my pet. Let me clean you up and we can go to bed.”

He's eager to cling to Gavin as he's picked up again, tucking his face under his chin and inhaling deeply. A faint smell of leather, sweat, and something that just radiated masculinity that hit different and settled in warm all over like a blanket. Or maybe that was the steam from the bathroom. Hard to decipher. The cool edge of the tub itself stings his ass for a moment, but he settles and steadies himself. The water looked so inviting, but determined to be a good boy still he doesn't make any sudden moves without prompt. Appreciating every small gesture and word. Hanging on everyone. He hadn't expected to feel so safe and dependent on this man, and here he was. And it didn't help when the clothes got shed, revealing that strong, tone, muscular body that had Kurt staring openly. He had come once but the view gave a weak twitch between his legs, and he wills that down. No need to be greedy. Not when he was being invited into the tub at long last, so he could settle down between Gavin's legs as carefully as he could with shaky arms guiding him. As predicted the water was hot, and it stings all over his back, which draws a hiss but nothing more. "Did I make you hard, Master?" He asks though, once settled. The poking at his back hard to miss. "Will you permit your puppy to offer his mouth for you to use when we go to bed?" Kurt can't help but to press a kiss against Gavin's jaw.

Gavin wrapped his arms around Kurt’s waist as the switch sank into the tub. He leaned forward and kissed the top of Kurt’s shoulders. As Kurt kissed along his jaw, Gavin grinned in triumph. “Mmm. I think that would be alright.” He mused. “Your moans were like music.” He grabbed a wash cloth and dipped it into the water, dabbing it ever so lightly on the welts in Kurt’s back. “I’m proud of you. You learned quickly today. I may have to have you backs would you like that pet?”

Preening at the compliments, Kurt leans forward ever so slightly so Gavin could comfortably reach where he would need to clean properly. Every now and then giving a small whine of the particular welt was tender and raw, but otherwise takes the washing against his body without comment. Only when Gavin asked a question did he turn his head to look back at the older man, giving an enthusiastic nod. "I would love that, Master." Pausing, chewing on his bottom lip, weighing his options before speaking again. "I would like weekly training from you, if I may? Routine punishments as it were? If it pleases you, Master."

Gavin smirked a little further and continued to wash Kurt gently, now lifting one of his arms. He paused momentarily when he heard Kurt request for weekly punishments. That was certainly surprising but yet another win for Gavin. He reached around to pull Kurt close to him and wash his chest, placing another kiss on his shoulder and the one of his neck, and another and another until he reached a spot behind Kurt's ear. "You have no idea how much that would please your master." He whispered. "You like being punished by Master then? Mmm, my good little pet. I'll punish you whenever you like."

Safe. That's all Kurt felt as he was encouraged to lean back again. It was doing things in the pit of his stomach. Only hours ago had he called this man an asshole. Worried that his bones were at risk for breaking out of the sheer hatred he had for Switches. The cuffs around his wrists still being an indicator that it was the mark Sylvester gave him. But the collar made him feel protected, as he takes every drop of the other man's softer side. A side he was sure it many got to see. It only made his chest puff up some. "I don't wish to let my Master down. I want to make my Master proud." He shudders, resting his bandaged arm on the side of the tub to avoid getting it wet. "I do like getting punished by my Master's hand. You'll be fair and I'm sorry I doubted you." Kurt softly leans his head back. "Does Master forgive me? Or may I request a spanking while you use your puppy's mouth?"

Gavin smirked down at Kurt as the other laid back against him in the tub. He set the wash cloth aside and picked up one of the bathbombs sitting on a bronze tray beside the tub. “You’ve made me proud today. Proved me wrong even, and I hate being wrong. I figured you wouldn’t be able to handle it or put up more of a fight.” Gavin kissed Kurt on the temple. “But you were a good boy. Trouble is,” he sighed and held the bathbomb out in front of him. It was diamond in shape, white, with iridescent glitter. As he moved it  around, examining it, he let out a sigh and rest his cheek on Kurt’s head. “The trouble is...switches are not a legitimate mark. They are an insult to this island and this lifestyle. A person can be one of two things on this island, a Dominant or a submissive. There is no room for in between or back and forth. It ruins the integrity of it all.” He held the bathbomb close to Kurt to let him smell. It smelled of vanilla and patchouli. “You must have been mismarked. You’re not a Dominant, Kurt. You were sent here to be a sub. Everyone else who says they are a switch are disrespecting the Dominants on this island . You wouldn’t disrespect me...would you, my pet?” Gavin let the bathbomb drop into the water it fizzed and started to release the scent and even bits of the glitter through the water.

Again, Kurt feels himself wanting to shrink. A subtle feeling of guilt starting in his stomach and spreading through his entire body as Gavin goes into his assigned mark being something he hated. Something awful. Something that was so deplorable that he should've felt shame in wearing those cuffs. And part of him did. The helpless part of him that yearned so openly for approval and more words of uplifting encouragement. He wanted to be good. Wanted to prove Gavin right in that he was a submissive, he knew he was. But still, the inkling poked at the back of his mind. While it hurt to think about Blaine and how he had let him down because of this, he had always considered Blaine to be his submissive. Jonah and Jeff depended on him as a Dominant. To guide them just as much as they would over someone who didn't wear a collar or cuffs. He knew better. Even if the guilt was strongly nagging at him. Pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, biting back the usual snark he would spit out at the older man. That wasn't productive. He was a good pet. A good boy. He knew his place, and didn't want to make his Master angry. Taking a moment he presses his face into Gavin's neck again, inhaling the strong scent of vanilla as the water fizzled. "Permission to slap me if I speak out of turn, Master. But doesn't Madame Sylvester get to decide if the mark I was given is disrespectful to you? Are you saying you know better than the Madame. Mayor?" Quickly pressing a kiss to Gavin's jaw. "Is that out of line to ask, Master? I definitely don't want to disrespect you again."

Gavin clenched his jaw at Kurt’s next words. There was still part of that switch in there. He couldn’t have that. He was still for a moment and in the blink of an eye he reached up and grabbed a handful of Kurt’s hair and pulled his head back. “Let us first get one thing straight, I don’t need permission from a lower mark such as yourself to slap you. If I want to slap you I’ll do it.” Gavin kept his voice dangerously calm and even the entire time. “Madame Sylvester has her own ideals about this lifestyle. It doesn’t necessarily match up with the traditionalist views. She is more sympathetic to the idea of switches.” Gavin did his best to tiptoe around saying how he felt Sylvester showed weakness toward switches and blamed her for the encouragement of the mark growing in popularity. Gavin pulled on Kurt’s hair again, his voice soft and gentle. “I’m hurt little one. I can’t believe my own pet,  my good boy would disrespect me. I was going to reward him again when we got out, allowing him to pleasure his Master but...I don’t know if he’s earned it now.” He brought his lips over the shell of Kurt’s ear. “How do you plan to apologize?” He whispered. 

Having the right grip in his hair brought a pained hiss and whimper escaping, eyes squeezing shut. It was a bit unexpected, the strong pull forcing him back in a more uncomfortable position. Having to brace himself by gripping the sides of the tub, remembering not to get his bandaged arm wet. He couldn't get Riley more pissed at him as he already was. Taking a breath, simmering his stomach back down from his throat where it should be, even if his stomach is still tense as it settles. "I do humbly apologize, Master. I didn't mean for it to be disrespectful. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me speaking out of turn." Another calming breath, as he was both fearful while sinking more into the Dominant's body to lean on as he makes some effort to relax. Hating himself how he yearns for this man's approval and wanting to please him, not wanting to lose this physical contact. "I'll do anything to prove how sorry I am. What would my Master suggest I do? I'm just Master's puppy, I shouldn't be making the decisions. I'll do anything."

Gavin smiled and let go of Kurt's hair, smoothing down the spot he had just had a handful of hair. "That's my good boy." He cooed and gently kissed Kurt on the head and then a spot behind his ear. He loved how much Kurt submitted to him and listened to him especially after how outspoken he used to be. And all after one session. Gavin was certain with continued sessions, as Kurt requested, Kurt would lose that outspoken side to him completely and being to submit to him without a second thought. "You are Master's puppy." He said gently rubbing Kurt's shoulders. "Such a good boy too. Come on, we'll go to bed and I'll show you how you can prove you're truly sorry." Gavin slowly got up from the water and stepped out of the tub. He held a hand out for Kurt to assist him with getting out. "Dry me off, and we're go lay down."

Relief blankets back over him as the hold on his hair loosens. Gavin's tone still soothing and calm, making him feel safe once again. It was a wonder how this man spiked fear and aggravation in the beginning, and now he brought in fear and actual yearning. For touches, for kisses, for more encouraging words. Scooting forward some to give Gavin room to get out first, Kurt takes the time to carefully lift out, being mindful of his arm, before accepting the hand and stepping out of the tub. Not needing to be told twice as he finds a towel, and begins to start pat dry around his neck, then rubs it over his chest and abdomen, trying not to be too rough as he goes. "Is this a good pressure, Master?" He asks, moving around Gavin to start on his shoulders, back before dropping to his knees to dry his ass and legs, shuffling around on his sore knees to repeat the action over his pelvis.

Gavin smirked down at Kurt as he got on his knees to dry him. He hummed softly. "It's perfect, my pet." He ran his fingers through Kurt's hair. "You treat your Master so well. I have a treat for you." He took the towel from Kurt and assisted him back to his feet, taking his time drying Kurt off. "Leave your clothes. You're going to go back into the room, and kneel beside the bed, and wait for me." He said as he leaned down and kissed Kurt gently on the lips. "Be a good boy."

Kurt wasn't going to fight this. He was being taken care of so well. And a kiss. He got an actual kiss. Turning Kurt doe-eyed, licking over his lips to taste it. Remember it. Nudging the knowledge of how Gavin's mouth felt against his into the back of his mind. Fuck. He wanted more of those. With a small nod, ducking his head. "Yes, Master." Is all he says, shuffling from the bathroom. Even with being dried off, the air in the bedroom is still cold and covers the porcelain Switch submissive in goosebumps as he finds the bed and eases down to his knees. Wincing some as they pop on the way down, protesting up at him until he finds a pressure he could handle and moves his hands behind his back as Gavin had instructed earlier.

Gavin took a few minutes in the bathroom while he let the water drain. He waited long enough to ensure Kurt was in position and waiting for him. Gavin smirked and came out of the bathroom his eyes locking on Kurt kneeling at his bedside. The boy really was beautiful. He slowly approached Kurt, reaching down to stroke himself a few times, the mere sight of Kurt naked and kneeling turning him on. "Look at my puppy." He said. "So hot and so eager to apologize to their Master. Tell me, Kurt, honestly...you have my permission to answer freely. What is going through your head right now? What would you like to do to apologize to your Master?"

Just kneeling alone in the bedroom gave Kurt time to let himself focus on his breathing. Rolling his shoulders to pop things back into place. Ignoring the shivering that ripples through him as he stares at the floor until Gavin graces him again. He feels eager, not knowing what was coming, but any sight of this man still naked, hard because of him? It still was an ego stroke. Eyeing his Master stroke himself, his mouth instantly waters and he has to swallow. Only when permission is granted does he take a breath. "I am thinking how gorgeous my Master's cock is. If it pleases you, Master, May I apologize with my mouth on you? I may not be worthy of your come down my throat, unless Master allows it, but may I let my mouth be used? I will apologize for disrespecting my Master anytime I come up for air. If Master allows it."

Gavin smirked and ran his fingers through Kurt's hair again before reaching out to lift his chin in order for the two of them to make eye contact. "It's the only apology I will accept. And when I cum, I don't want to see a drop fall on the floor. Understood?" He ran his thumb along Kurt's jaw. This boy sure had beautiful eyes and he loved the way their looked at him eager to please, when just hours ago he was sure they would have shot daggers through him. "And if my pet is good. He will get a little treat before bed." Gavin bent down and placed another soft tender kiss on Kurt's lips. "Until then," he whispered pulling back just enough so their noses touched. "I want to see what that pretty mouth of yours is capable of."

At long last, he was going to be permitted to be used for something useful. To help his Master feel good with his mouth. A body part that could get him in trouble, and yet still offer some pleasure if he was careful and put his skill that he built over these past few months to good use. He did like to think of himself a slut with the right guys anyway, and he could prove himself to be that and more. Just to get a taste. Kissing back with a grin, eyes closing to just linger in it as long as possible, the Switch submissive hums. "Of course, Master. Understood. Thank you." Kurt offers, blinking his eyes back open and scoring a bit closer. As he had permission, he licks the palm of his hand in his signature move to wet his hand and fingers, eyes not leaving Gavin's as he does this. Slender fingers wrap around the hot flesh, stroking it and guiding the head to his lips. Taking his first taste with a small drag of his tongue around the head, then goes right down for the swallow without hesitation. The length stretching his lips as it disappears inside his mouth, the hand still slowly stroking what wasn't breached past his pink lips, tight and insistent. Taste of skin and bath water is the first thing that touched Kurt's tongue as he takes Gavin into his mouth. It's a change from the musk and salt charge, but not unpleasant as he uses the tip of his tongue to flick and slide over the underside of Gavin's cock as if it was some sweet treat he was sucking instead. As he comes up for air with a gasp, saliva thick where it dribbles down his chin. "I apologize for disrespecting my Master." He says, sucking in some air through his teeth then goes back down for the second time, now focusing on the bobbing motion of his head, adding some needed friction with his lips purposefully tightening with every slide until the head hits at his gag reflex point and causes a slight cough, but Kurt pushes through, swallowing him deeper to prove he could handle it.