#why isn’t there more fics of this im starving

[luneariann]

Ok so maybe stormbringer hit harder than I realized

[tremendum]

Mr. Miller’s House 

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)    

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)      

word count: 7.6k  requested: yes  summary: “Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months.” warnings: mentions of food/eating, drinking alcohol, age gap (unspecified), Jackson era, Ellie gets a splinter, Joel is honestly rude to Ellie in this and reader is judgy about Joel’s parenting practices lol. but really,  this is just filthy smut (PiV, unprotected), dirty talk, sir kink, use of the word slut a LOT, one use of the word bitch, humiliation/degradation, hints of masochism, choking, exhibitionism, public smut, rough sex, dom!Joel, mean joel, lots of fighting/anger, cumplay, dirty talk, ass spanking, pussy spanking, mentions of blood (reader gets scraped knees), throat/facefucking, rough oral (m!receiving), overstimulation, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms. lmk if i missed any please lmfao

notes: okay jesus fucking christ!!! i wrote this so fasst lol but it was fun and highly requested. hope yall like it.  as always reblogs/asks/comments are always great motivations :’) this is not reread because as i have said before im lazy and INSANE! 

[this is a sequel to Mr Miller.    part three   other Joel fics:     fever       landmines  ]

★  

this was a mistake. you shouldn't have done this....this was a terrible idea. 

fuck. 

the chair is stiff beneath you. there's a hard coolness about it that is welcomed on the skin of your bare legs, the shorts you wear helpful in the heat of summer but futile against the slick of sweat that sheens your skin. the chair is hard, but yet still strong, sturdy.

 you swallow dryly, heart beating fast. it's the same chair you sat at just a few weeks ago, signing the log with Joel leaning over your shoulder, before he-

you look away, around, anywhere in order to avoid the memories, hot and boiling and clawing at your mind and suffocating you until you stop breathing- and then your eyes settle, they glue themselves across the kitchen table. 

they glue themselves to him. 

fuck. 

Joel's already staring at you; his lips are downturned in that permanent grimace he always sports, the muscles of his torso rigid with immobility - perhaps he thinks if he's still enough, the ground will just swallow him whole and he won't have to do this. 

you yearn for that escape as much as he does. 

then, out of the silence; "see, this isn't so bad." 

speak for yourself, Ellie. 

both heads in the room turn to the speaker slowly, the girl watching between the two of you, more than willing to ignore the obvious disdain in the air. she's grinning like a damn devil. 

this girl's going to kill you. 

it is that bad, contrary to Ellie's statement. 

it'd been days of her begging you, with a tug on the hand, a punch to the shoulder, and countless pleads and threats until you finally caved in and accepted her proposal to have her and Joel over for dinner. 

no matter how much you detest her guardian, you just can't resist those big puppy-dog eyes, or that gigantic, youthful smile. 

for the last few months, Ellie has grown to be quite the little farmhand for you; though you like to keep to yourself on your days in the gardens, it was nice to have the girl buzzing around you and the other gardeners, pollinating each person she sees with questions like what really happens in germination and is this ripe? can I pull it? 

it's cute, how excited she is to show Joel all of the crops you've grown with her in the last few months. but what isn't cute, is that it's him that has to be here. of all people, why did Joel have to be the one Ellie chose as her father? 

because.... things weren't okay between you and Joel. 

you're not sure if you were childish for expecting for him to warm up to you after - well, after the time he bent you on this table and fucked you stupid - but you hadn't been prepared for the coldest shoulder you've ever gotten in your measly life for the last few weeks. 

it didn't help that the summer was kicking up and you needed more crops than ever for the commune; your patrolling had dwindled into maybe one or two every week or so, usually with Maria - so you didn't have to face Joel, really, at all. 

but he avoided you like the plague when in town or on your street (though, he did that with everyone) and even at the Tipsy Bison, where your presence would clean him from the room before a drop of condensation could even slide down his glass of whiskey. 

hell, maybe he even put a word in with Maria and Tommy that the last patrol together didn't go as planned; you'd even considered doing it at one point. you're not sure, but it just made you all the more irritated when you'd catch glimpses of their porch in the afternoons, Joel holding a guitar around Ellie's chest, chuckling as she strummed horribly. as if everything was okay. like you didn’t exist. 

the anger and hatred grew awful. 

it festered, grew when Maria mentioned off-handedly to Tommy that some woman, Dahlia, had taken a liking to Joel. you'd nearly shattered the glass you were holding in your fist at that; Joel, with Dahlia? that grumpy piece of shit, taking a liking to someone sweet and kind like her? 

you ought to punch his fucking face. 

you're zoned out when Ellie suddenly comes into your line of sight; reaching over your chest to grab a slice of the fresh bread you'd picked up earlier that day. you blink back into reality as Joel grunts, "E-Ellie, hey." he's shaking his head as he gestures to her arm, "use your manners." 

he sounds almost embarrassed; annoyed. your mind betrays you as it whirls back; when Joel had you pinned down on this very table, commanding you in a different way, his eyes dark with delight as you cried and writhed for him. 

but at his chastising, you send Ellie a sneaky look, rolling your eyes when Joel's looking down. the girl chuckles at that and an untrusting Joel stares daggers between the two of you. Ellie clears her throat with a smirk,  "sorry. can you please pass me the bread?" 

you grin, "why, yes, ma'am." you hand her the basket, "thank you for asking." you add to the girl on your right, your eyes on Joel's. he stares back harshly, hand grabbing for the glass of wine that sits in front of him. 

another few moments of tension before Elie decided to take it upon herself to introduce as much of the food that sits on the table in front of you as she can remember. 

peas, spinach, lentil and cabbage stew, beet salad, goat cheese and roasted carrots, cauliflower mash. fresh bread.

proteins from animals are scarce and are typically served in only the dining hall, so you decided to skip the meat and serve roasted artichoke instead. Joel doesn't look too thrilled about that as Ellie explains. you hide your scoff behind a sip of your dark wine. 

"-and, look, I planted these beets." Ellie points to the bowl on the table which houses arugula and beet salad; you smirk down at the plate as Joel hums as if interested. his eyes flicker to yours from across the table as Ellie delves in on a tangent about how bloody beets look, those dark pupils flickering over your face before flitting back to the young girl. his eyes were swimming with something else, something.... seductive. 

a shiver runs down your spine.

does he ever think about it? 

you do. you think about it every night - how his hands felt, rough, unforgiving; the look on his face, that dark smirk when he'd made you beg for him to ruin you... the frenzy in his eyes when he'd ‘taught you some goddamn manners,’ when he'd taken you apart brutally and quick. Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months. 

your name calls you back to Ellie, whose eyes are wide and tracing over a rough, splintered notch in your table, "the hell is this from, is it-" her fingers jolt away at the rugged piece that slides into her skin, "shit!" she yelps, shaking her hand. 

your brows furrow, rising to help her as Joel pulls her hand towards him.  "I have tweezers." you mutter, disappearing into your bathroom to pull out your tweezers, returning to see Ellie smiling in embarrassment and Joel sitting with his arms crossed, amused irritation lacing his face. his beard is growing in more recently - you can hear the noise of the short bristles scratching his hand as he rubs his knuckles over his jawline. 

nodding, pleased that Ellie's discomfort has subsided, you set your tweezers on your right, spearing some salad on your fork as silence cradles you three yet again. 

it’s only tense and silent for a moment. then Ellie speaks, and it’s just tense.

"why is there a notch like that in your table?" she finally wheezes, as if she'd been summoned to be silent until she couldn't handle her curiosity anymore. 

you don't have to look up to know that a pair of dark eyes pin you to your chair, daring you to say something about it. 

your throat dries as you swallow your mouthful of salad, coughing a bit. 

a rip in your flannel, the grazing of your soft skin with the blade. a hand pulling hard to dislodge the knife from its home against you; the thick slide of Joel as he drags his length through your destroyed, spent core. 

"um- I-I" perhaps it's your panic, of the knowledge that his eyes are glued to you, but soon your eyes meet his; unwavering. "well. someone likes to threaten people when they can't find patrol logs." 

"Joel!" Ellie hisses, smacking his arm, "you fucking stabbed her table and didn’t do anything about it?” she’s grinning. 

"yeah, Joel," you smirk, swirling with desire as his hawkish gaze pins you to your chair, "you really should use your manners. you've ruined my table." 

"shut the hell up right now." he snaps at you, hand slamming his fork down harshly onto the plate. you and Ellie both jump at the sternness in his voice. 

you listen, for once. 

and honestly, ten minutes ago feels like heaven compared to the tenseness of this silence. 

several minutes go by, the sounds of scraping forks and knives and the meager attempts by you and Ellie to salvage a decent dinner conversation ringing soft in your kitchen. 

at least you and her are trying. 

you ignore the notch from the knife like a wildfire and pretend Joel isn't even with you; Ellie is more than enough life and laughter for you, and your playful disposition matches hers perfectly despite the joy-damper of a man sat across from you. 

he's stewing. arms crossed, chewing on food here and then, mostly listening and sighing, brushing off Ellie's jabs or playful questions or stories. he won't do anything except eat and glare at you. 

the wine bottle is nearly gone and you're not sure if it's his fault or yours. probably both. 

you snap when he just outright ignores Ellie, shaking his head with a sigh and taking another bite. the audacity. 

"-she asked you a question, Miller." you snap, fed up with his dissociative disposition. you don't even intend to say it; even Ellie looks up at your words, surprised. 

his head turns to face you too slow to be safe. his eyes are fucking furious as he mutters, "excuse me?" 

"hey, guys-" Ellie's hands are out in front of her, but you can't take your eyes off him. 

"I'm just saying, you could at least try to pay attention." you spit, crossing your arms defensively, "we made this dinner, we're just trying to have a conversation, the least you could do-" 

"you don't tell me what to do." he states, calm and cool, pointing at you. his nose flares as he breaths heavy, your own breath quickening. arousal rushes to your center and you shift on your seat. 

"-listen, maybe this was a bad idea. I knew you weren't the best of friends, but this is-" Ellie starts again, eyes flickering between you both. "this is too awkward." 

"no, Ellie, I'm sorry-" you start to say, breaking. 

you don't want her to be caught in the cross-fire of your problems with Joel; it's unfair. the further this goes, the more she'll be put in a position of mediator, so you figure it should just end now. 

"Ellie, go home." 

Joel growls the demand, eyes looking to her, his hand falling gently to her shoulder. her eyes widen, as if asking him if he's serious. 

"what?" she asks, "no! you'll-you’ll fucking stab each other or something." 

yeah, you think. you might. 

Joel's shaken off her shoulder but he's resilient, "go on, go see the kids for the movie. I'll come later. we just need to sort something out." he mutters, eyes falling to you at the tail end of his sentence. 

shivers roll down your spine; fuck, fuck - a flood of arousal hits you again, and you swallow, willing the feelings to go the fuck away. 

Ellie's scowling, but still has the decency to thank you for dinner before slamming the door hard on her way out of the threshold. 

Joel's eyes stay locked with yours until her footsteps are gone. 

it’s silent for a moment before he speaks. 

"do not fuckin' disrespect me like that in front of her again." he snaps. 

you narrow your eyes, "you're concerned that I- what, I undermined you in front of your girl?" you hiss incredulously. "come on, that's pathetic." 

"I don't like you." he snaps, shoving his plate away from him in an almost childish act of defiance. it’s shocking, the immaturity of his words so sudden. barely prompted. 

it's clear he intends to continue this little confessional of his, but you have no intention of allowing that. 

you roll your eyes, "big fucking deal. what do you want me to say?" you hiss, "sorry that I was rude, Mr. Miller! let me just cook you fucking dinner and invite you over to make up for it." 

his nostrils flare, "never wanted to do this in the first place." he mutters. 

you nearly rip out your hair in frustration. "obviously you didn't! christ, why do you always act like everything you do is a goddamn chore?" you snap, "Ellie wanted to have a nice night and show you what we've been doing- what she's been doing for this community. and all you can do is sit here and act like a fucking asshole because you don't know how to enjoy anything. it's a miracle she's still around with you, when you treat her like that." 

his jaw clicks in anger, "you have no fuckin' clue what we've been through together." his voice is close to a yell, "you don't know how much that girl means to me." 

"then why won't you show her!?" you yell. 

it quiets the room for a moment and a fleeting feeling of pride is squashed when he speaks again. 

his brows raise, a look of realization creeping onto his face. he nods his head, "I see what this is," he lets out a bitter, mocking laugh. "you want me to tell you how much I love your food? y'trying to prove to me that you're not a bad influence on her, after all?" 

you stare at him, anger clouding your sight; are there tears of frustration rimming your eyes? you hope he doesn't notice. 

"-newsflash, darlin', I don't fucking care about you." he finishes, scowl dark. "you're a nuisance. don' know why Tommy took you in, anyways. you're a foul-mouthed, untrustworthy, pathetic little slut- and jus' because you can't stop thinking about my cock doesn't mean I owe anything to you. no dinner, no fuckin- cordial neighborly attitude, nothing." 

thinking about- what?

oh, fuck him. your face burns; your jaw unhinges. of course he thinks this is about you and him. your eyes spare a quick, fleeting glance to the notch in the table before you glare, "well I don't fucking care about you either, Miller. don't be so fucking conceited." 

he laughs, shaking his head as he downs the remainder of his wine before slamming the glass down, but you're not finished. you can't let him think he's won. 

"you’re delusional. I haven't thought of it once." you spit, aflame at his accusation. you feel flustered, still caught off-guard. if anything, it was him who was obsessed with it - you see the way his eyes can't leave you; the way he adjusted his jeans earlier when you leaned over to pull a bowl from your cabinet. 

"really?" he spits, brows raised. his chest moves with the exertion of your yelling and you resist the urge to hit him or stomp your foot or anything. "yes, really." you defend, face heating up under the scrutiny of his knowing gaze. 

"anyone ever tell you you're an awful liar, sweetheart?" he drawls, raising his brows at you. 

you fume, standing up, pointing to the door, "get the fuck out, Joel." 

his eyes light ablaze with the same anger that rages in your heart as he stands, throwing his napkin on his plate, "gladly. food was great." he spits, storming out of the house with no other words. 

-- 

your scowl doesn't leave your face for the entire rest of the night. what- what the fuck was that? how dare Joel assume so much about you- he doesn't know you, at all. 

your eyes fall to the bottle in your hands.

ellie left her water canteen at your place. you were so angry, so mad earlier, that you hadn’t realized she’d left it until a few minutes ago. 

she doesn't need it, right? she could get it next time she comes round. yeah. she'll get it next time, you don't have to go over. right?

no. 

you have to go over. 

the anger within you festers just as much as the slick that plagues the apex of your thighs in the aftermath of your spat with Joel; it's a vicious cycle where you think about his tone, how condescending it was and then you get mad - but some sick part of you wants it to consume you; wants him to consume you. 

you’re fucking obsessed with him. you hate him. 

you need to hear him yell at you again- if-if anything, to get your ten cents in on the argument, and also maybe to get some good content for your wet dreams tonight. jesus christ. 

god, you're so fucked up. 

christ. 

so once you finish cleaning from the remnants of the meal, your legs are carrying you over to his house with Ellie's canteen in your hand before you can second-guess it. 

what the fuck are you doing? 

you're standing on their porch in mere seconds, your breath heavy with wrath. what if Ellie opens the door? well- you suppose, if she does, you'll give her the canteen and talk to her. probably apologize for acting the way you did. no business with Joel, then. yeah.  that’s... that’s fine. 

fuck. why do you want Joel to answer so terribly? 

you know where the answer lies - a coiling beast of arousal, consuming and muddling your mind, just at the apex of your thighs. 

Joel is a fucking asshole. you need him. now. 

your knuckles slam so hard and unforgiving against their door that there is no possibility of them assuming it's anybody else but you at their porch. their light is flickering and dim above you as you stand, canteen in hand, eyes trained forward in determination.  

the door swings open in an air of irritation. 

your face jerks back as Joel Miller stands, staring at you with the disdain of a thousand lifetimes swirling around his eyes. 

"y'here for more?" he snarks. 

your momentary hesitation melts away when his words drip from his lips. a glare pierces him through the eyes when you shove the canteen into his hands, "I'm here for Ellie. she left this." you spit. 

he lets out a chuckle, humor absent from the ring as he scratches his nose, "right." he mutters. "well she ain't home. went to the movie in town." he clips, setting the canteen on the table just inside the house. "y'need me to pass any more of your words of wisdom on to her?" he asks, voice clipped and prickled with sarcasm. 

you glare. "yeah. just do me a favor, tell her I'm sorry her dad is being a hypocritical, neglecting asshole." you snark, sending a false smile up at him as he leans with his arms crossed at the doorway.

you don't miss how he leans into it, how he's not slamming the door on your face. he wants to argue, too. "-and you can suck a dick, Mr. Miller." you add, intending to whirl away on your heel. 

he scoffs, a deep and condescending noise. "thanks for comin' all the way over to return a little canteen. g'night, darlin', hope you don't make too much'a mess when you cum all over that table again tonight thinkin' of how much I hate you. glad y'got your ten cents in." 

your face burns hot in embarrassment, and at the irony of him using the same phrase you’d thought. 

the door moves quick to shut, but your arm moves quicker. 

your hand wedges is just before it shuts, leaving you far too close to Joel than you'd like - gunpowder, pine, and dark amber whiskey surround your senses. again. 

so you shoot another fist forward, aiming for his left jaw; aiming for it to hurt.

he’s going to fucking hurt.  

it doesn't make contact with the warm skin, though: no, his hand has caught your wrist in an iron-tight grip, wrenching your arm down hard. 

you let out a gasp of surprise as he shoves you off of the door and away from him before you can blink. 

but instead of the door slamming in your face, his rough hands are pushing you hard up against the side of his garage. the door behind him remains ajar as he pushes himself into your space, growling at you as your mouth falls open in shock. 

"did you just try to hit me, girl?" he whispers, voice deadly serious. you swallow, arousal rushing down to your heat; you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy as he stares hard at you, but your eyes trail down to his jeans.

you hide your smirk as you take in the stretch of the rough denim, the outline of his own arousal evident even in the dim light. he’s hard because you were going to hit him. 

your body aches as you remember the stretch of him inside you, splitting you open. your eyes flicker back up to his where he breathes heavily, expecting a response. 

you give him one. 

"yes, but you already knew that." you smirk, cocking your head as you boldly gyrate your hips forward slightly, your clothed cunt clenching in desire as you graze his hard-on. "or are you not hard right now, Mr. Miller?" you purr, your voice laced with seduction. 

his rough hand shoves your hips hard back against the wall, a growl slipping his throat. "y'got a dirty fuckin' mouth on you." his breath hits your cheeks in a warm reminder of the wine you'd both had for dinner. 

"so it wasn't because of that?" you ask, blinking in a false sense of innocence, watching as his eyes swim with an animalistic hunger. you've got him right where you want him. "was it from thinking about me touching myself? or, from remembering the last time we were together in my house?" 

his momentary lapse in recovery allows for you to go in for the final kill, "Mr. Miller,” you coo, “do you think of my pussy when you fuck Dahlia? d'you wish it was me?" you spit, smirking up at him as red splatters his furious features, "you can talk all you want, Mr. Miller, but I know you're just a greedy, desperate man who loves to pretend you have any power over me." you whisper into the shell of his ear, palm roughly grabbing the outline of his cock boldly. 

his next movements take your breath away: the shock of his fists slamming hard against the wall on either side of your head makes you jump, and his hawkish, angry eyes bore into yours. 

"get your fuckin' hands off of me. now." 

his voice is... scary. 

the blood leaves your head as your damp spot of your pants floods with desire, the fear spiking a real excitement in you. you are smart enough to follow his orders; the look in his eyes suggests you do so. 

your hands shakily fly back from his crotch to hang by your sides as you stare up at him - nervous. excited, ready. 

his eyes are narrowed, stern as his brows are furrowed low. the permanent scowl on his lips is intimidating as he holds your gaze with fierce intent. "you're gonna be real fuckin' honest with me, now. okay?" 

you swallow dryly, staring up at his face, how he's boxed you in with arms on either side of your head. you feel cornered, small; prey, hunted by predator. 

you nod smally, startled into silence, unable to speak as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable. your legs clench, searching for relief only to be disappointed at the dull sensation. 

he stares at you for a few moments, unmoving except for the flaring of his nostrils and the rising of his chest as he breathes just as heavy as you. 

"are you wet?" 

your face flushes with heat. christ, Joel is going to kill you. (if you don't kill him first). your legs feel weak, desire driving your heart rate up as you nod meekly, voice cracking out. "y-yes." 

he nods, seemingly pleased with your honesty. 

"how long have you been walkin' round with ruined panties?" his head tilts down slightly, angled down at you as if chastising you. you flush in shame, genuinely taking a moment to remember the exact moment you first noticed your underwear dampen. 

you can't admit to him that you woke up this morning with his name on your lips and a wet patch on the seat of your sleep shorts, can you? (and certainly not that it happens every day.) 

"s-since-" you take a sharp inhale, glaring at him for humiliating you like this - outside, no less. anybody could walk past or look out their window and see Joel and you like this. "dinner." 

his brows raise, the look darkening on his face. you can tell, he loves the beginning - the teasing, the arguing, the embarrassment - just as much as the end. "dinner? s'like, two hours." his frown immodest, tempting. judging. 

you nod, biting back a snide comment about Joel being an excellent time-teller, your face burning in embarrassment as you break eye contact, staring at your feet. 

"d’you like being a slut?" he asks, then. you nearly whimper at his words, the aching in your cunt burning, pulsing and clenching around nothing as you stare at him in desire. fuck Joel Miller. 

"'m not a slut." you say, but the defiant words come out more as a whine than a sharp argument. one hand falls from the wall on your left to grip onto your jaw, holding your cheeks hard as he forces your eyes back up to him. 

his nails dig into the soft flesh of your cheeks as you gasp, your own hands in fists as you resist pulling him into you. 

"that's not what I fuckin' asked, now, is it?" he sneers. you blink up at him, shaking your head after a moment of contemplation. "no, sir." you whisper meekly. you don't miss the tightening of his grip at the honorific as it falls sultry from your lips. he hums. 

"do you want me to touch you?" he asks next. you can't even have the decency to stop your whine as you nod, "yes, please." 

his other hand falls from the wall, eyes just as angry and unforgiving as he undoes the button on your shorts single-handedly. "good. don't you fuckin' look away from my eyes, y'hear me? hands down, eyes up." 

this is twice now that he hasn't let you touch him - your brows furrow, but just as he snaps in front of your face, you let the thought melt away. 

"y-yes, sir." you nod, your palms sweaty, heart thundering as he shoves his hand down the front of your shorts, breaching your underwear easily as fingers slide through the deft curls that lie just above your heat. 

"gotta warm y'up for me this time," he mutters, eyes sharp as he watches yours, ensuring they don't do as much as blink. 

it's delicious, almost too much as two of his thick fingers part the seam of your lips, your wetness spilling and coating his fingers immediately. you burn in shame, thighs starting to close over his hand. 

one ruddy, thick thigh slides to kick your leg to the side, widening your stance as he shoves you harder up against the side of the house. the tip of his finger prods at your aching hole, leaking with desperation for him. 

there are crickets outside, a steady but low staccato of music filling the summer Jackson air as one finger slowly slides into you, curling unforgivingly as you gasp, rising on your toes as he stretches you. "fuck," you whimper, throwing your head back against the wall behind you. 

the thud is dull, but it echoes around the street and it calls your attention to the very public space you're in. 

"hey." Joel snaps, one hand swatting your cheek lightly as your eyes close, "don't look away." 

you blink back at him as he pumps lazily for a few moments, watching your every micro-expression, the way your chest stutters with his motions. the noise of your arousal is humiliating against the pleasant summer breeze. 

you can't help the low moan of his name when he adds a second finger. the stretch is nothing like when it's his cock inside of you, but the strokes, the curl of his fingers start to coax a simmering coil in you that you know will explode soon. 

your eyes are still on his obediently when you nearly whisper it. 

he hears it, though, and smirks, "what was that, darlin’?" 

you groan in irritation but it splinters into a sharp moan when his fingers pick up their pace, fucking into you as you lie slack against the wall, legs trembling. 

"just- fuck me. fuck me now." you wheeze, the desire a burning snake that coils around your chest and squeezes at your heart. 

"no." he decides, eyes glaring, "can't have y'whining like a bitch again, darlin'. gotta open you up on my fingers first." the sting of his words are cushioned by the lust that swirls around his voice, the languid was his thick fingers pump up into you, holding you up against the frame of the house with a dark smirk. 

you nod, hissing in stimulation when one finger slides to start rubbing your neglected clit with just enough pressure to curl your toes; your chest is slick with sweat, fingernails digging painfully into the meat of your palm as you hum, lips sealed tight to avoid yelping out. 

your eyes flicker from his once more, scanning the street just feet away from you, paranoid of the possibility of a neighbor seeing you. 

Joel notices, of course. "what, baby, don' want the neighbors to see?" he hums, eyes cutting into you as your face flushes with heat, "y'seemed to want everybody to hear me fucking you stupid last time, didn't 'ya?" 

you groan, "fuck you, Joel." 

his hand stops its ministrations just as cold ice pours down your spine. oh, shit. 

his hand slides out of your pants, face furious. 

you shake your head, eyes welling with tears; you hadn't meant for it to slip out like that. "n-no, wait, 'm sorry, didn't mean it." you whimper, voice choked with the loss of his hand. 

he just huffs a cold chuckle, wiping his hand over his face, the other one glistening with your juices under the light of the porch. 

your panicked, desperate babble of apologies is stopped with one look from him. 

"get on your goddamn knees now." 

you shiver with excitement, tears drying slightly as you swallow, complying quickly. the cement is rough and cold under your bare knees, your hands held still together on your thighs as you stare up at him in wait. he stands tall before you; the shroud of the flickering porch light emboldening him, making him look like a god - an unforgiving one, at that - as he pulls his thick, pulsing cock from his jeans. 

your mouth waters as he starts to pump it languidly, the tip a red color from arousal, leaking precum. 

he doesn’t have to ask you to open your mouth for him, your own desire to taste him spurring you to stick your tongue out flat in wait for his dick. 

"I'm going to ask you again." he says, tapping your tongue with the weight of his length, the slapping noise flooding your underwear as you ache to feel him again. "do you like being a slut?" 

you swallow, tongue sliding along the bottom of his head as you do, muttering a slight, "yes, sir." 

"'s right. you love being my slut." he nods, your mouth open and ready for him as he thrusts his whole length into your wet, warm mouth; you gag almost immediately, his hips unforgiving as he immediately starts to fuck into your throat. you try your best to breathe through your nose, gagging as his tip pokes the back of your throat - you know there'll be a bruise that will make it painful to eat, drink, speak - you fucking love it. 

he lets out a grunt of arousal, nodding as his hands gather your hair from your face, gripping your cheeks and pushing your head back against the side of the house. 

two thrusts, a few tears from your eyes as you choke, your lungs burning for air. 

he pulls away, you suck in air with a strangled gasp. your saliva links you to his heavy cock, a chain that holds you in his grasp. "tell me you love being my slut." 

you burn at his words and in your brief hesitation, his cock is slapping at your mouth, his impatience bleeding through his actions. 

"I-" your voice is wrecked after only a few seconds of him in your mouth, but you swallow as you gasp for air, "I l-love being your slut." 

he slides himself through your slick lips again, hips a punishing pace as he fills up your mouth, your throat tight and wet. his groan echoes through the street; in the corner of your eye, you swear you see a light turn on in a bedroom window. shivers of desire run through you as you resist the urge to touch yourself. 

you can't breathe; your nose brushes against the course hair at the base of his shaft, the scent of him surrounding you as his hips try to smash you against the side of the house. 

he holds you there, hands rough on your cheeks, slapping your right cheek as it bulges with his length. you choke, gagging as you try your hardest to keep eye contact. his face is harsh, his sneer cold as he stares at you, "'s right, choke on your fuckin' words, darlin'." his hips press forward slightly and you cough around him, it's too much - tears slide down your cheeks as you try not to gag more. 

"you gonna disrespect me again?" he asks, tilting his head as spit trails down your chin, tears meeting the trail of saliva as it drips down onto your chest. 

you can only hum a nuh-uh around his cock, hoping it's enough to satisfy him. you feel yourself throb and fucking burn with need, your knees sore from the cement under you. 

you cough and sputter when he pulls himself away from you, mouth sore, jaw aching and throat wrecked. his eyes flicker over to the house across the street before he grips your shoulder, tugging you in your aroused, dazed state up to your legs. 

"oh, darlin', you're bleedin'." he coos at you, thumb swiping your cheek as you stand up. he's right: your knees are just scratched enough to speckle the skin with dark splotches of blood. you feel a tingling sensation of arousal as he hums, "let's get you inside, hm?" 

you stumble to keep up as he storms through the threshold of the house, the door swinging shut after your shaking frame falls inside. it's dark; there is only one lamp turned on in the other room. 

Joel is almost a shadow as he surrounds you, your hands falling onto his large, stiff shoulders as he pushes you against the door frame. 

your legs give out from desire soon and the two of you tumble to the ground, a mess of grunts and shoves, tearing at clothes as you whimper in desire, his own lustful groans echoing the empty house. as his pants are shucked off and your shorts are thrown across the room, your hips are shoved and flipped over until you're ass-up for him, one of his large hands moving roughly to grab a handful of your plush behind. 

your hands and knees ache, but you wiggle your ass slightly in need, not daring to speak to him. the anger that radiates from the two of you is a grenade; you can feel the tension bubbling behind your desire and so you just move back until you brush against his hard length, the fabric of your panties completely soaked as you grind against him. 

his moan echoes as a hand falls hard to slap against the skin of your ass. you let out a strangled yell, the pain stinging through you as you keen forward. you know there will be a handprint branded into you, you know it'll be sore to sit and you'll have to think of him each time. he'll consume you for days. 

you love it. 

his fingers tease the wet material that's glued to your pussy with desire, tracing over your lips lightly over the fabric. "pretty cunt, just for me." he mutters; you shake with desire when you realize it was more a mutter for him than an intentional phrase for you to hear.

"think you're ready for me, baby?" he grunts, his fingers pulling your underwear to the side, exposing your puffy, glistening cunt to him. 

"I'm so re-ready sir, please, fuck me." you beg, reduced yet again to nothing but a writhing mess for the worst man you know. 

he gives no warning, no teasing - he breaches you swiftly and rough. you scream. 

it cracks, it echoes, it's painful as you yell out, his cock heavy and huge and aching as he slides into you, sheathing you fully within a few seconds. Joel's moan reverberates on your skin as his hands grip so hard at your ass you think his fingers will remain there for days. 

he immediately sets a pace that has you squirming under him, breath choking up in your chest as you slide against the hardwood. the smell of the house is Joel - sandalwood, whiskey, pine. sex. 

your arms are tugged roughly. 

panic rises in you when you think you're about to slam your face against the floor, but as Joel pounds hard into you, he pulls your hands tight to your back, holding you up to you're suspended with just his cock working you open can keep you from falling. 

it's bliss. it's sharp, this angle; he hits into that spongy spot inside you as his cock drags against your pulsing walls, your hands clenching as your breath leaves you. 

one hand sneaks over your front, grasping at your tits as he reaches up into you deeply. then it snakes lower, rocking you forward as he swats at your clit, the sharp smack of his palm causing you to squeeeeeze around him, trapping him in your aching desire. he lets out a grunt, "fuckin'- jesus christ, girl, you're s-so tight."

the noises of your arousal swallowing his dick echo around the room in a sickening chorus. 

"dumb girl, lovin' it when I yell at her," he mutters to himself, chasing your high as he feels it spasming close around him. "gonna be o-obedient and thank me for each orgasm, 'kay?" his accent is thick in the throes of passion, you notice. 

you nod, unable to speak, unable to think as you feel the crest of something incredibly blissful; you let out a wheeze of ecstasy. "y-yes, s-sir," you choke, your voice croaking from the remnants of his dick wrecking you. 

you barely realize you're cumming until you’re screaming, a white-hot, searing arousal streaking your vision. tears are resurfacing on your eyes as he hums, "say it." 

you swallow, shakily squirming as he pounds into you, unforgiving in tone and pace. "than-thank you." 

it only takes a few more minutes and his thick hand squeezing your throat before you cum for a second time, your hands pulling at his hips, trying to escape the overstimulation of his long, dragging thrusts. the floor is slick with your juices, and so is his pubic bone. 

"thank you, s-sir." you slur out, his hand holding you by the throat against his chest, his heartbeat slamming just as fast as yours. 

soon he drops your arms, their shaky muscles barely stopping you as you fall to the floor. his chest follows you until he's smothering you, thrusts becoming weak with his own nearing orgasm. you cry, the overstimulation causing you to shake. "'s too much, too much." 

he hums, "you want me to stop?" 

"no!" you scream it, wail it; no, christ, don't stop. never stop. 

he chuckles; a dark, brooding noise. "an' you wonder why I think you're such a bad influence." he mutters into the shell of your ear as he pushes further, deeper into you; "lettin' an old man fuck you into the floor. lovin' it." 

he chuckles as you let out a whine, eyes screwing shut at the bursts of pleasure coursing through you. your knees ache.

"'s dirty, isn't it? and you love it, pretty girl." 

you let your cheek drop onto the hardwood at his ministrations, spent from your previous orgasms; the pet name makes you flush, arching your hips back. he's so deep, you feel him in your throat. each thrust pushes his tip into your cervix, a dull ache with a swirl of pleasure and ecstasy. you let out a groan, "love it, love it s'much. love it, sir, thank you." you whimper, your brain empty except for Joel Joel JoelJoel-

"good m-manners, sweet girl." he hums, pressing a hot kiss to your spine. goosebumps form in his wake, his words echoing in your brain. sweet girl. 

"you're gonna cum one more time." he orders, the thrusts of his hips grinding you down, melting you, tearing you. you nod, "yes, yes-yes, fuck, gonna-gonna cum again." you whimper, the painful overstimulation of his cock drilling through your spent, swollen folds. 

your third orgasm has you wailing, shaking your head as you convulse in pleasure, his strong grip holding your hips down as he hits your spot repeatedly, the noise of him fucking into you echoing through the foyer. 

there's tears on the floor as you shake, colors exploding behind your eyes as he whispers things you cannot hear into your ear. 

when you come to, he's still ravaging your body. 

you're limp, ecstasy flowing through your very being as his cock spears through you, hands smacking you, gripping you, grunts leaving his mouth as he nears his own orgasm, having pulled three from you. 

"where are your manners?" he whispers into your ear. you let out a broken half-laugh, half-gasp. "fuck- thank you, Joel, thank you." 

he hums in satisfaction and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside you as you utter his first name. 

he's back in your ear in seconds, surrounding you, swallowing you whole. you love it. 

"this is my pussy. mine." he grunts, "never think 'bout any other pussy. jus' this one. always." his voice is laced with desperation as he swats your ass, thrusting into you a few more times as you squirm, sobbing, throat raw. 

yours, you whimper in a chorus, body limp as he uses you; his thrusts are sloppy. he's so close- 

and he cums just as he's pulling out of you; you gasp at the loss but also as his cum shoots hot spurts across the plush curve of your ass, a bit onto your spine - most of it over your ruined pussy, streaking you in white. 

you pulse around nothing, shaking as your legs give out. he groans a deep thing, fingers falling to spread you open, the lewd noise soft and slick.

you jolt and he shushes you with a soft caress of your back. "jus' wanna see it, baby. wanna see how I ruined you." 

you swallow dryly at that, nodding as you tilt your hips, eager to feel his eyes over you, over all of you; eager for him. 

a finger smears his spend over your juices, pressing lightly at your puckered hole, pushing some of his cum back into you. "fuckin' christ, girl." 

you set out a laugh that turns into a cough of pain at the ragged state of your throat. 

he stands and leaves you on the cold floor, covered in sweat. you try not to let your heart deflate when he’s gone. 

but he returns with a rag and hands it to you before shucking his jeans on; you pull your underwear back on with shaky hands once you’ve wiped yourself clean, your body exhausted. 

you sigh. even the thought of making the trek just a few houses down to your own place is daunting as your eyes flutter. something in his eyes glint in understanding when your gazes meet each other, and he seems to get it. 

so if Joel gathers you in his arms with a grunt and a short complaint, you don't think too much about it. 

(you hate him. he hates you.)

and if he holds your head to his chest as he starts the walk back to your house, it’s not a big deal to you. 

when brings you up into your bedroom instead of leaving you at your front door as he finally carries you to your house, you chalk it up to you being nearly asleep. you must be delirious when he tucks you into your mattress and pulls your blankets up. you swear he mutters something about dinner and nice and good job. 

(what a cocky asshole.) 

it's probably a dream, when a hand caresses the sweaty skin of your forehead, brushing hair away gently before footsteps disappear through the doorway. 

. part three .

requests open

. 

[sanjisblackasswife]

Aftercare with Luffy (Post Aphrodisiac Sex) (FLUFF)

Sanji Aftercare

Zoro Aftercare

WC: 1.7k

This is a continuation of THIS FIC please read this first before continuing here !:)

CW: Learning about Aftercare, Luffy Learns How to be a Better Boyfriend, Kisses, Soft!Luffy

Enjoy!

-

It has been about an hour and a half since the effects of the aphrodisiac wore off of Luffy. He managed to actually fuck you until you both passed out leaving a sweaty cum filled mess on top of your bed.

You were the first to wake up seeing his stretchy limbs wrapped around your sticky body, his face was drenched in sweat drooling on your neck not wanting to let go. You tried sitting up but it deemed difficult seeing how tangled your body was with his.

“Luffy..” Your Voice was groggy and a little swelled. You managed to free one of your arms out of his grasp to grip his hair firmly and lift his head, he had that same blissful smile he usually has when he is sleeping with a few hickies on his neck. “Luffy…get off of me.”

The sounds of him groaning mixing with whining not wanting to budge from his grip, so you sigh trying to adjust yourself but you moan out feeling his cock still partially inside you.

“Luffy! Luffy! Luffy!” You slapped his shoulder repeatedly.

“‘M tireedddddd.” He pinched your sides making your shriek.

“Get upppppp!!!”

“Mmm…Y/N! Oooh you look a mess are you okay? What happened?!”

“I’m—ow!” You slapped his rough hands rubbing your sides harshly away from you as he was seated in between your legs. “I’m fine just get up!”

“Oh okay!…can you walk?” He asked noticing your struggling to get up, he immediately aids you from the bed and now holding your waist from behind, but he notices the marks and bruises on your back, “Y/N what the hell happened to you?! Who hurt you like this??”

Your eyebrows furrow cocking your head at him and turn to his face, “Uh..you did.”

This was probably one of the first times you seen Luffy’s smiles slowly fade into worry, “Nuh uh. I—-oh wait! “ He laughs holding his head now recalling past events, “I did! Sorry about that! You felt really good though, but I’m STARVING now.”

He places you back down to sit on to walk over to your shared drawers, squatting grabbing something to shove his face with.

He always did this.

After sex it’s either Luffy gets up and goes to eat or falls asleep immediately. You grown to not mind it, but right now you kinda felt a bit….

Sad, almost.

It was weird you felt like your mood just shifted from okay to sorrow and you don’t understand why. You grab each of you some clean clothing and place it on your bed. Luffy turns and watches you while still eating studying your saddened gaze.

“You okay? Does your butt hurt ?” He asks noticing the slap marks on it, you look back to see and shake your head, you felt so weighed down for some reason and you couldn’t figure out why. You have no complaints about the sex that isn’t the issue but after such an intense session.

You just

Wanted to be held right now.

“Let’s take another bath. I’m sticky.”

“Ughhhh whyyyyyy just throw on a dress! You’ll be okay.”

“Can you at least come to bed I’m tired.”

“Just a second Y/N im hungrrryyyy…” He scrambled in the drawers for more food contemplating to quickly get dressed and head to the kitchen.

For some reason Luffy’s defiance made your chest hurt, he’s always like this, but right now him not wanting to do anything made your lips quiver. You looked glossy in the eyes holding his clothing. It wasn’t until your did a soft sniff he turned his head back at you.

“Y/N…” He seen your head down, thumb caressing his shirt, still in the nude and fighting back your will to cry for something you don’t understand why. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You handed him his shirt to grab your robe hanging off your door, “‘M ganna take a shower.”

You left Luffy alone to start up some water, the bathhouse was cleaned top to bottom from when you and Luffy left it with a note on the mirror.

“To Y/N & Luffy: At Least clean the bathhouse before leaving to have sex! Perverts! -Nami”

Now not only are you sad, but embarrassed now.

“Ugh.” You groaned tossing the note to start some water to hop in the shower, but right before you stepped in here comes a naked Luffy causing your eyes to widen

“LU!” You pulled him in shutting the door behind you wondering what the hell was going on, “You can���t keep walking around—“

“Its fine nobody is awake.” He didnt break contact of your eyes. Luffy felt a bit worried seeing your storm off, and he could have sworn you—

“Did i make you cry?”

“What?” You snap your face at him, subconsciously touching your warm cheeks, “no you didn’t.”

“Then why are you—“

“Nothing Luffy.”

“Tell me.” He grabbed your arm before you could walk inside the steaming water, you kinda hoped he would come to join you, but you also had a bit of you wanting to just be alone to rid of the pains you felt.

Both physically and emotionally.

Luffy didn’t quite understand why your mood changed, youre usually as happy as he is after sex,

“Was i bad?” He finally broke the quiet tension between you both.

“Hm?”

“Was i bad? Did I not make you feel good?”

“No Luffy it’s just…” you sigh rubbing your forehead, before pulling him inside the shower with you, he waiting patiently as you began to clean his back, maybe not looking into his eyes will ease some of your nerves. “It’s just…after we have sex…sometimes I just…wanna be held by you. I know it sounds stupid, but i like a little comfort after we finish…being told I did really good, ….maybe even a kiss, but—-“

In an instant your lips were pressed against his, they were always smaller than yours, lower lip just a tad plumper than his top, his cold wet hands cupped your warmed cheeks, you felt his thumb rub against your temple gently as if he wanted you to know he heard you.

“Like that?” Still holding your face, he looked into your eyes filled with some hope he did it right to make you happy. You lean into his touch and smile.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Your face finally cracked into a smile, which in turn made him as well.

“Oh thank God!” Luffy exhales making you both laugh, “All you had to do was ask Y/N I’ll do whatever you want.”

You almost felt stupid not asking him sooner, your communication with Luffy wasn’t far from bad. He spoke to you about things he wanted and needed out of you so what makes you think you couldn’t?

“Here. Turn around.” Your raven haired boyfriend moved you and you heard what you assumed to be the body wash tab open and his hands rubbing roughly against each other, but by the smell you knew—

“Wait wait! Lu!” You reached over in front of you to grab the soap to hand him, “that’s shampoo not soap!”

“…aint it the same thing?”

-

It was such a comforting silence for a moment as Luffy washed you, he was delicate with his touches after a while, cracking jokes per usual to hear you laugh again. Once you both rinse each other off you were ready to get out, but Luffy didn’t seem ready to do so yet.

“Wait!” He pulled you closer to him, your breast now smushed against his, his stare was almost intimidating right now, “um…”

Your boyfriend grabbed your cheeks again to kiss you, this time small pecks not giving you anytime to return the favor which made you giggle, “h-hey-“

“I do lo…um…I do…love you…y/n. You know that right?”

His stutter made your eyes widen. Why was he so nervous to say that? You wonder, but instead of questioning it you nod, “mmhm. I love you too Luffy.”

Hearing that made his heart feel funny, he masked his worry with that pretty big smile you loved so much.

Once you both get out and head to your room in your towel and robe you felt him hold your pinky in with his, when you felt the tightness against it you looked and then seen him look the opposite way, possibly hiding the small blush on his face as you walked to your room. You smile at the sentiment.

-

“Let’s get something to eat.” You suggest brushing Luffy’s hair as he sits in between your legs, “I know You’re still hungry.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, arms wrapped around your waist and face in your cleavage, “‘want meat.”

You both sneak your way into the kitchen praying Sanji’s 6th sense doesn’t get him to wake up and catch you both. There was a note on the fridge.

“To my dearest Y/N: I made a plate specifically for you, whenever you come to eat. It’s your favorite! -Love, Sanji”

There was tears on the note.

Sanji also left a note for Luffy too:

“I hate you. Don’t eat Y/N’s food. - Sanji”

There were two plates for you both, you grabbed them and Luffy grabbed some more for the road and you head back to your room to eat.

“Y’know i still don’t know why I did that.” Luffy muffled, face stuffed as he was eating across from you on the bed crisscross shirtless, “You think it was something i ate?”

“Ion know.” You shrugged eating with a little more decorum than your boyfriend, he shrugs as well. Best not to think about what the possibilities were, not like you remembered much hours prior.

“You did do good by the way.” He spoke again, this time his voice more clear and soft, “You always feel really good. I don’t think you understand that, but I can tell you that more.”

“…thank you, Lu.”

“Hahaha, i like when you call me that too. It sounds so hot when you moan it—“

“Okay, Luffy!” You groaned, you knew sweet moments with him never last, he laughs holding his stomach at your embarrassment.

Once you both ate Luffy stretched out his body for you to lay on, your weight felt so good against him. He could get used to moments like this, moments where it’s just you and him. Relaxing.

You adjusted on top, arms and blankets around you both, he was so comfortable to lay on, his heart beat still relatively fast, but soothing none the less.

“I love you, Y/N.” Was the last thing you heard and a peck on the forehead before dozing off again.

It felt good to you both to learn how to properly take care of each other.

[littledollll]

Well hello lovely, I adore your writing so much so I was wondering if I could request a Comfort fic of Mortica(from Wednesday) x ShyFemReader where she’s so known for pda and a lot of physical affection and reader isn’t against it loves it actually but it usually super touch starved so doesn’t know how to react sometimes in public?

Also I know she isn’t on your character list so if she’s not someone you want to write for your welcome to switch it to Larissa instead!

Much love ❤️

Fireworks

Morticia x shy!reader

A/n: thank you and thanks to my friend @v3nusxsky for helping me with brain storming on this. I love Morticia so I hope i did her justice!

Warnings: nothing, just fluff

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Morticias hand reached out to yours the second you were out of the house. Bringing your hand up, she placed a kiss on the back of your hand and one on your cheek once you started walking. Just a normal stroll around the town, you’re doing very normal domestic stuff with your partner so why is your heart beating out of your chest!

Everyone knew how touchy Morticia could be. It’s common knowledge that she seems to lean towards showering her affections with physical touch. This has never been an issue with you, infact it’s one of the things that made you fall in love with her, even then it’s not something you get used to quickly.

You don’t dislike it, completely opposite of that. It flusters you, and you don’t know how to react to all the affection, much less in public or when Morticia could take it a little far. She never failed to make your face go red and your heart stop for just a second before it started beating wildly.

“You do that a lot, darling.” Came Morticias soothing voice, she stated a fact but made it seem more like a question. “I- Do what a lot?” you breathed out and looked at her for clarification. “You pause. Whenever I touch you, I’ve come to notice you seem to pause, get in your head for at least a second.”

You didn’t know it was actually noticiable when you did. You looked at her with a shy expression which made her chuckle and lean her head on your shoulder as you walked. “I think It’s adorable, don’t get it confused. I just.. wonder why. Would you tell me, darling?”

“I’m not sure, maybe because I’m not really used to all the affection. It’s- it’s really nice though, I have no complaints really. Sometimes it feels a little overwhelming-“ you stopped to think about how that really sounded and immediately felt the need to clear it up, “In a good way of course! Um, like fireworks.”

She stopped on her tracks and pulled away to look at you, a sly smile adorning her face. “Like fireworks you say?” You wished the ground would open and swallow you whole, blush creeping up to your face even more than before at her amused and slightly seductive tone. “Stop it-“

“Stop what! Im not doing anything” oh but her smile was knowing. “You’re teasing.” you brought your hands up to hide your face but she didn’t allow it. Instead using her won to cup your face and bringing you in to a surprisingly soft kiss that made you catch your breath all over again. “You did it again.” You rolled your eyes and linked your arm with hers, encouraging her to keep walking. “Come on, I want coffee”

“I just think it’s adorable how you’d describe my affection as fireworks” she really intended to keep pushing about this, like she was clearly proud of herself for making you feel such a way.

[m4nd0l0r]

Five Hargreeves Headcanons (That Have Consumed Every Single Space in my Mind-)

Description: “Live.. Laugh… Love the insanity the apocalypse brings me.” -Five Hargreeves, tired after a caffeine rush and/or from a drunken high. 2019. (this is canon.. HE TOLD ME HIMSELF)

Author’s Note: this is just how I’m dealing with writer’s block— i swear i’m still working on my upcoming Five fics- 😭😭 so uh have this for now i guess 🥲 no warnings btw!! its just me writing in lowercase a lot- a shit ton of crack and swearing- (five’s body is aged up- and his consciousness ranges from 30 to 50 in my works— however you decided which age you want for your experience :)))

Five Taglist (i forgot to tag im so sorry 😭): @ells-graveyard @noahspector @aelinismyqueen @sunweee @reinaeru @ne0boss @twauna00 @placidpluto @eichenhouseproperty @heartsforsuyin @ghostlywavelengths @technicallydifferenttraveler @seconds-not-decades @magical-girl-on-fire @emotionally-unstabel @peachy-wolfhard @its-loki-bitch @raven-fandomtrash @theilliterateskankula @magicstrange @ne0boss @venusrambles @whereintheworldisspencerreid @honeycombdumbass @mivzai @oscarisaacsleftballsack @zenithinthebin @peachteeaaa @rchaoz @wickedmystery @wordsandnerds @umbrellatte @666abby6666 @iameddiemunsonshair @starlightinhumanform @vennythearsonist @trashmouthsahra (if you want to be removed/added, pls tell me via pm!!)

he likes bitter coffee candy (if the mf cant get coffee he’d raid a candy shop rather than logically coming after a cafe-)

likes slasher films for how creative the deaths look (esp if its practical effects, he’s a sucker for those) (he likes nightmare on elm street, he gives me that impression for WHAT)

^ cos of this- i basically headcanon that in his commission days- he’d kill creatively- as if it were his canvas, my guy is an artist with blood 💪

idk why but he’d be an avid “gelato is NOT ice cream you idiot” typa guy (fucker knows italian and my ass RAN W IT)

he watches julia roberts romance movies (cos i like her rom films so im projecting-) (he def likes the maturity of the ending of my best friend’s wedding)

for some reason he considers mocha as chocolate rather than coffee (like the old man he is)

actually likes caramel, never tells anyone for no reason (fucking punk ass smh)

he’d say he hates animals but he’d give a pat to a dog/cat if he’d see one (but he’ll glare at the poor thing if it scratches him-)

from ptsd from the apocalypse- he tries to never indulge w small things like getting large amounts of food- cos he has the mindset that he “might need extra in case something bad happens”

he’d hate physical touch at first- flinching like a surprised cat on steroids— but he gets used to it slowly- and one person at a time

also i dont give a shit on what anyone thinks- FIVE IS A LITTLE SPOON IN HUGS— why you may ask? fucker is a touch starved ptsd filled mf- he needs those hugs ASAP- he would hold your hand 25/8 to reduce his paranoia i just know it (i PROPHESIZEEEE)

the first beer he drunk was a bottle he found in a post apocalypse alcohol store and the liquid was full w small grime and dirt- but he wanted to try some to “check off a bucket list”

LOVES dark comedies, he just does, he CACKLES when he watches one (but he only shows amusement when he’s alone, never w his siblings)

^ he’d also slap his thigh if he finds something soooo funny (old man behaviour smh)

has a personal vendetta against ppl who WOULDN’T put pineapple on pizza (klaus converted the grandpa and at first he felt gross eating it but as he continues he thought: “ok. this isn’t that bad.” the next thing you know, you see him on the phone calling the pizza place for 2 more boxes of hawaiian pizza—)

listens to edith pliaf RELIGIOUSLY (you would gift him a vinyl of hers and his eyes would SHINE) (the only time you saw his eyes the brightest-)

with modern music— he’d prolly like radio music (until you berate him and convert him to alt & indie rock)

has an odd fixation with guns and knives (like the papa he is) (would explain EVERYTHING ABOUT A SPECIFIC WEAPON) (he’s a nerd) (he’ll never admit it) (ever)

has a switchblade on his dominant arm pocket (he could use anything as a weapon, but he likes to be “prepared”)

like on s1, he’d pretend to be a kid and all innocent & shit to get free shit from strangers (you’d hop on the bandwagon and **nicely** ask him to get you stuff too.. he complains and says no but you’d see him on the next day with the shit you requested on his hands)

^ continuation with this— fucker prolly got a coffee machine cos he went up to some lady- went on, put a sad act, and went “oh no.. i dont got a gift to give to my dad.. he always wanted a coffee machine after ours broke” and the lady would have pitied his ass and bought a cheap but durable one for him— this would lead to a situation where the rest of the umbrellas try to take away the coffee machine away from his addicted ass-

viktor: should we?? do something??? diego: we’ve took THREE of those damn machines- what else can we do??? klaus: it’s like… he pulls it out of his ass.. you think he shits out coffee beans?? or is it just liquidated coffee at this point? you: i should call the ambulance before he falls off the window from the coffee… can’t deal with a cranky five.. luther: (is tired of it all and just wants to enjoy his married life) .. yes. please do.

in conclusion? never take away five’s coffee- he will drive you mad—

whenever he’s drunk- he acts like a goddamn sloth (esp if he’s comfortable with you- mf will CLING ON YOU LIKE SOME PARASITE—) (i wouldn’t mind tho 😏- i mean what?)

though as much as he likes bitter coffee- i see him DESPISE BITTER BEER, he would spit that stuff out of with the most offended face ever (all scrunched up like crumpled paper)

for my fellow filipino readers- he unfortunately SUCKS ASSSS when speaking in tagalog… you either tease the living fuck out of him about him or smile through your ear pain going “wow! galing! (amazing!)” (no he was not amazing he sounded like a screeching tire or smth- /lh)

[janetbrown711]

Best Worst Mistake

Tang comes back from a college trip to discover his partner adopted a kid in his absence and also needs him to care for the kid the next day.

Only problem is that Tang has no idea what to do with him.

Psst-- this fic was inspired by @ChopshopT 's fan art on Twitter, so go give that some love <3

If you like this you may enjoy my Dadsy of Two au!

Ao3 Link

“Oh my great sage– you did not–”

“I-i didn’t mean to-! H-he just kinda– you know– showed up!”

“You don’t accidentally adopt a kid Pigsy!”

“It was late at night! Practically closing hours! I had to make sure no creep ran off with ‘im.”

“Okay, but keeping him?! This is– this is crazy! You said you never wanted kids!”

“I know, I know– not exactly like it was an option before– but–” Pigsy sighed.

“Look… I know it’s sudden– I know we’ve talked about it– but… you know I can’t turn him into the police– it’ll ruin us both,” Pigsy looked his shaggy haired partner in the eyes.

Tang sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses as he did.

“How old is he?” He asked.

Pigsy sighed. “I don’t know– I just know that he was practically starving when I found him– not to mention naked and caked in dirt.”

If it weren’t for the sleeping child in the booth, Tang would’ve exclaimed, “he was naked???? Why didn’t you call the authorities???? What about his parents??? Did you even look around???” but he refrained.

“Does he have a name? Parents? Anything???” Tang asked instead.

Pigsy shook his head. “I stayed open a whole two hours more seeing if any’d walk by, but it’s been a week now, and I’ve had to basically close the restaurant to make sure he doesn’t get into anything– which you already know we can’t really afford– but I did– and nobody walked by.”

“A guy leaves for one week for a campus excursion to Shaolin Temple, and everything changes,” Tang laughed in an attempt to release his nerves.

“Y-yeah, I know this ain’t exactly ideal– I just–” Pigsy looked at the kid. “I didn’t know what to do without you here,” The chef confessed, and Tang kissed his cheek, but Pigsy turned and held his hands.

“So… whatever you thinks right– we’ll do it. Anything– leaving him on a doorstep, turning him into the police– anything. It’s your call,” Pigsy looked the scholar straight in the eyes.

“Woah– I-i don’t know– I-i just– I mean I know what’s legal and this– uh– isn’t– but–” Tang looked again at the kid snoozing away, and for the first time Tang noticed he was using Pigsy’s chef’s shirt as a blanket and stars above if it wasn’t the cutest fucking thing Tang had ever seen ever–

“Does he… like you?” Tang asked.

“Well– I uh– I think so..? I dunno, he doesn’t talk much, though he draws things sometimes– and he’s actually kinda good for a kid his age– and he listens to me when I explain things and he seems to really like living in our place– though I guess he’ll need a bed of his own with you back– I just– I don’t know,” Pigsy blushed and looked away. “I’m asking you though because I know you said you didn’t want kids ever either, so…”

Right.

“I…” Tang pulled on his scarf. “I kinda lied– I’m sorry– I know I shouldn’t have, but when you were talking about your dad and stuff and how you thought you’d make a bad father I was just like ‘oh yeah totally I get that, no kids, I’d never want any either, haha’ and you know– being gay doesn’t help, and if that wasn’t enough, being a human/demon couple means adoption would be off the table even if we weren’t gay and so i just kinda accepted it because I knew it just wouldn’t be possible– but as a kid I thought it’d be nice to have kids because I do like them– but also as I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten like– really bad with them, and I like– don’t know how to interact with them or do with them but i mean–” Tang took a deep breath.

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

“Wow– that’s… a lot to process, but… if you’re sure..?” Pigsy still looked at him for confirmation.

Tang nodded. “I am.”

A smile slowly grew on the chef’s face. “O-okay then! W-we– we have a kid then!”

“We have a kid then,” Tang laughed. Upon realizing how crazy he sounded, he started to ramble.

“We have a kid, Pigsy-! Oh stars above, what do you even do with those little things??? you feed them, teach them– Maybe I can pick up some books from the library– what about vaccines? We have no way of knowing his records– we don’t even know his birthday!” He shook Pigsy’s shoulders.

“Hm…” Pigsy tapped his chin, then shrugged. “Maybe we can just say it was a week ago when I found him– and he looks about two, don’t he?”

“I know nothing about kids, Pigsy– and neither do you but–” Tang sighed. “If we don’t want him nabbed overseas, this is probably what's best– and who knows, maybe he can find his real parents one day.”

“Yeah, that– uh– makes sense,” Pigsy nodded with slight hesitation.

“So… where’s he gonna sleep?” Tang then asked.

Pigsy thought for a moment. “Well I don’t think we can afford a bed for him yet– or even a mattress- and he is kind of accustomed to our bed so..?”

“...You like cuddling with him, don’t you?”

“Our heating sucks! I couldn’t leave ‘im on the couch– that’s not safe– and yeah, maybe missed cuddlin’ with you– it was a whole week Tang! A week!” Pigsy defended his honor.

Tang burst into laughter. “You looooove me.”

“Shut up,” Pigsy’s face was a deep shade of red as he playfully pushed his partner away.

“Aw, it’s okay Piggy, I missed you too,” Tang kissed his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pigsy waved him off, his face still red as he went and scooped up the kid, who wasn’t disturbed the slightest by the transfer.

He looked so little and scrawny in Pigsy’s arms– fragile too.

How on earth a kid that small could just wander around Megapolis all covered in dirt and mud– it didn’t make even the slightest bit of sense to Tang. He especially wondered how anyone would let him– whoever this kid’s parents were, he wasn’t sure the kid should ever meet them, even if the opportunity arises.

As he looked at him more, the more Tang realized Pigsy was a total natural– swaying ever so slightly and supporting all the right things to keep him comfortable and upright. Tang watched for a moment, just kind of smiling like an idiot before Pigsy realized he was staring and his face flushed.

“W-what?” He asked, shifting the kid.

“Oh, nothing,” Tang waved him off, grabbing his suitcase while being unable to stop smiling. “Does the kid have a name?”

Pigsy shrugged. “When I gave him crayons, he wrote ‘MK’ so–? I dunno, we’ll have to figure that out later.”

“I don’t know– I kinda like MK– I think it suits him,” Tang looked at the kid.

“I kinda think so too– it’s just that that’s not long enough to legally count, so… I’ll work something out– I know a guy in fake IDs, we’ll see,” Pigsy shrugged. “Could you get the alarm?”

Tang obliged, doing the closing duties for Pigsy when MK suddenly started to stir in Pigsy’s arms.

“Hey there sleepyhead,” Pigsy chuckled softly. “How’re you?”

The kid blinked and rubbed his eyes, before noticing Tang and gasping, quickly burying his head into Pigsy’s chest.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. That’s just Tang, remember? I talked about him a lot. He’s my partner, he’s gonna be living with us,” Pigsy rubbed the kids back.

Slowly but surely the kid turned his head back towards Tang, looking at him with big, dark brown eyes.

“Um… Hi, MK,” Tang waved awkwardly.

After a moment of intense study, the kid let one of his hands release Pigsy’s shirt and he waved to Tang with a smile.

Tang let out a surprised laugh and waved right back again.

“Looks like he likes you already,” Pigsy chuckled. “Usually he doesn’t even look at strangers.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Tang said. “Let’s get going to bed though– I’m exhausted from all the train rides.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Pigsy agreed, and after Tang turned off all the lights, the three of them headed up the stairs and into their apartment above the restaurant in all its one-bedroom glory.

Once upstairs, Tang got changed into his usual robe and silk pajamas, and Pigsy into his usual tank top and pajama bottoms– though Tang nearly lost it when he saw how Pigsy dressed MK for bed– literally just one of his old tank tops and wearing his socks– which were easily about three times too big.

“One of these days we’re gonna need actual money,” Tang joked as Pigsy put MK down on the bed. “He probably should have some real pajamas.”

“What? You don’t think it’s cute?” Pigsy half-joked.

“I never said that,” Tang rolled his eyes, taking off his glasses and setting them on his nightstand.

Just as he was going to turn his lamp off, MK started making noises, and pulling on Tang’s sleeve urgently.

“Yes, MK?” Tang asked.

“Oh– he– umm– is thinking you’ll sing to him,” Pigsy explained.

Tang gasped. “You sing to him?”

Pigsy blushed even deeper than before. “I– um– just a little– lullabies and all that when he wakes.”

“That’s the cutest thing I have ever heard,” Tang fawned at the blurry blob that was Pigsy. He then looked at MK– who was a little bit clearer. “I’m– uh– sorry, I can’t sing like Pigsy can. Go ask him.” He didn’t know if that was enough and so patted the kids head lightly twice before wanting to die of embarrassment.

The kid didn’t seem to care, as he just turned to look at Pigsy, who looked at Tang, his face still red as ever.

“You can’t laugh at me Tang.”

Tang let out an offended gasp. “Why would I ever laugh at you?”

“Because it feels stupid– I–” Pigsy sighed. “Just– pretend to sleep.”

“Alright, if it helps,” Tang teased him a little before turning the light off and laying down to ‘sleep’.

He was turned away on his side when Pigsy began humming a little tune for MK– the Eastern Cradle Song, if Tang remembered. It was incredibly soothing, and the kid was knocked out like a light in a matter of moments.

It reminded him how much he missed Pigsy’s singing– he hadn’t sang since– forever.

When it was finished, Pigsy layed down, cuddling with MK on the outside, so Tang rolled over and wrapped his arms around Pigsy.

“You sing like an angel,” He mumbled, pressing a tired kiss against his shoulders.

Pigsy laughed a little and cozied to his partner’s embrace, and the new family of three fell asleep.

.o0o.

Pigsy’s alarm had a terrible, terrible habit of going off when Tang didn’t want it to. Every morning, Pigsy blindly fumbled for the button, disturbing his most peaceful of slumber, until his precious, precious warmth was stolen from Tang.

“Pigggyyyyyy,” Tang pleaded with his lover when he could already shift to get up, even though he only hit the alarm five seconds ago.

“Tang, I gotta open shop– you know this. I know this,” Pigsy kissed his head.

“But it's so coooold without youuuuu,” Tang begged some more. If Tang was bothering to open his eyes (and also wasn’t blind as a bat without his glasses), he bet he’d be seeing Pigsy rolling his eyes.

“Pigsy sighed and hugged Tang, which the scholar mistook as a sign he had won and snuggled right back to him.

However this was not the case, as Pigsy kissed his head again and said, “Look, it’s gonna be my first time opening in a week– we need the money and you gotta study for finals so– can you watch the kid for me?”

Kid? What kid?

Tang opened his eyes, blinking at the sunlight before recognizing the blob on the other side of Pigsy and instantly recalling the previous day’s ventures.

“I-i– yeah, I guess that can be done,” Tang forced himself to sit up and stretch before he put on his glasses so he could finally see how relieved and thankful Pigsy looked.

“Great– so I’ll make a quick breakfast for you two, and then I’ll head on down to open,” Pigsy ruffled MK’s hair before getting up and getting dressed.

“Wait– you’re gonna head down? You’re–” Tang gasped dramatically– “You’re banishing me to this apartment?!”

“Tang– he’s just– This is a contained space. The public ain’t. And we need money, and besides, whenever you ‘study’ down there, all you do is give me googly eyes,” Pigsy pointed out, buttoning his chef’s shirt.

“Bah, you love my googly eyes,” Tang stated.

“Kid needs to be watched either way, Tang,” Pigsy snarked.

Tang looked at the kid, who to his surprise was looking right at him.

Tang gave a small wave and the kid waved back.

“Does he even talk?” Tang asked.

“Not much– yet,” Pigsy said, locating his socks and shoes and getting on the bed to put them on, to which MK got up and wrapped his arms around Pigsy’s neck, which made the demon laugh.

“He is a clinger though– hence why I don’t think it’s best to have him downstairs,” Pigsy patted MK’s arm with an affectionate smile.

“‘I don’t want kids’ my ass,” Tang thought with a tsk.

“Alright, alright, I hear you,” Tang said aloud before he cracked his back and started getting dressed while Pigsy went to make the three of them breakfast, MK still attached.

Once dressed and his hair thoroughly brushed and combed, Tang emerged from the bedroom to the wondrous sight of Pigsy’s rice noodles. If there was one thing Tang missed on his little excursion, it was his beloved Piggy’s cooking– not to mention free food.

Of course, Tang wasn’t “allowed” free food during business hours, but Tang “somehow” managed most days– and maybe he’d stop by for lunch or dinner because if there was one other thing Tang missed, it was his teasing.

Tang picked up his chopsticks and the moment noodles hit his tongue, he practically melted into goo.

“Pigsy, your food is soooooooo good,” He exalted.

“Wow, you really think so? Maybe I should be a chef,” Pigsy grinned, but Tang was too in heaven to give any kind of retort.

“Alright, well it’s roughly–” Pigsy looked at the clock and jumped, “ – 8:15, so I gotta get going.”

The chef then tried to get MK off of him, but once the small child realized what he was doing, he seemed to gain a death grip that Pigsy attempted and failed to loosen until Tang got involved and practically peeled him off of Pigsy’s back.

Naturally, this made MK start crying.

“Hey, hey, hey– I’ll be back I promise, I just gotta work and make money so we can get you real clothes more than the two outfits I found in a donation bin, alright?” Pigsy tried to assure MK in Tang’s arms, but from a distance so the kid didn’t try to latch on again. It didn’t really work, and Pigsy chewed his lip frantically as he tried to think.

Eventually he came up with an idea and hung his head a little.

“What? What’s the matter?” Tang asked, attempting to bounce MK but failing pretty miserably.

“Pretend you’re not listening,” Pigsy ordered, and Tang realized he was going to sing again.

“Do my sleepy words mean nothing to you?” Tang sighed dramatically before Pigsy gave him a look and so Tang obeyed, looking away (because his hands were full– what exactly Pigsy expected, Tang didn’t know but he was fine with it so whatever).

He then started singing the Song of the Sunshine, which he’d clearly sung with MK before because of just how strong and positive his reaction was. Most importantly, it got him to stop crying, and after a brief hug and a passing of tissue, the tears stopped entirely.

Pigsy was about to head out, though right as he touched the doorknob, he snapped and turned back to Tang.

“I have a library book on the coffee table about kids his age you can read when he’s napping and/or you finish studying– oh by the way, he naps around one and usually sleeps for an hour but after that he’s hungry but lunch is before nap time at noon, so just give him some of the peach snacks I have in the cupboard– he really likes those– and if there’s an emergency you can just call– oh and also I’ll make lunch and dinner downstairs too, so don’t forget,” Pigsy listed off.

“Wow, you’re really treating us,” Tang smiled smugly.

“Consider it wages for babysitting or whatever,” Pigsy pushed him jokingly, before looking at MK who was looking at him with big puppy dog eyes.

With a sigh, Pigsy hugged both Tang and MK, giving the former a kiss on the cheek, and MK a ruffling of his hair.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” He looked at MK. MK looked up at Tang, then at Pigsy, then at Tang again before nodding.

“Alright. See you soon,” Pigsy patted the kids back before he really had to go, and so scrambled down the stairs.

And then it was just the two of them.

Tang’s first move was setting the kid down– since his pathetic nerdy noodle arms were not meant for carrying a (maybe???) two-year-old for long lengths. When he did the kid looked up at him vacantly, making Tang wonder if there was even a thought behind those eyes.

“So…” Tang looked around the apartment, bouncing on his heels and snapping while he tried to think of something to do. The kid certainly wasn’t any help, as he just continued to stare.

“Guess we should get you dressed then, no?” Tang decided, going into their bedroom and finding the two outfits Pigsy mentioned. MK was the one clearly calling the shots there though, selecting the blue shirt and overalls with a monkey on the pocket. Tang was glad it didn’t turn into a whole thing like he knew kids could do. Though there was a bit where it seemed like MK was going to bite his hand off when Tang tried to take his bandana, so he steered very clear of that.

After that though another big question mark hung in the air. Objectively, Tang knew he had to study, but also it didn’t seem like there was much to do with the kid in the meantime.

“Well… um… soooo… do you… like..?” Tang looked around for something– anything a kid would like, but their TV was basically useless, the books were a billion years more advanced than MK could possibly hope to understand, the boxes were too small, and they didn’t have toys– not by a long shot.

MK did seem to have a thought though, as he walked out of the bedroom and towards a countertop where a stack of legal papers were and–

Oh! Pigsy had a box of crayons.

“You want to color?” Tang asked. MK nodded and reached up enthusiastically. Tang grabbed a solid stack of the legal documents, grabbed the crayons and set them on the coffee table so the kid could actually draw on a hard surface.

To his surprise, the kid got to work straight away, and while Tang had literally no point of comparison, he seemed to be pretty good for a kid his age– whatever that was.

Tang left briefly to grab his laptop and books he needed, and when he returned the kid ran up and showed him his work. From what Tang could tell it looked like some trees, though they could’ve been giraffes, the sun in the corner, and right in the middle was a big brown swirl and a waterfall? Unless that was supposed to be the sky, and that swirl was a snake?

“Nice, MK,” Tang would’ve given a thumbs up but his arms were full. He carried his things past the toddler, who kept trying to show him the art.

“Yes, yes, MK it’s very nice, I love the trees– er– sky? –er– the sun especially,” Tang wasn’t sure what the right answer was, especially as MK had a little frown with each attempt, though seemed satisfied at the “sun” compliment and went back to his crayons.

…Tang didn’t understand kids.

But it was fine, this was fine. He had… time. Forced time, but this was just day one– he was crazy– was he seriously thinking a toddler was judging him??? Maybe Tang ought to see a therapist.

Tang took a deep breath to force himself to relax before he cracked open his book and laptop and started “studying” for his economics final.

Pigsy had always believed in Tang and his ability to be smart and know things, but really, Tang was a fraud who was just trying to delay the inevitable that when he finally got his PHD he wouldn’t find a job and would remain a financial burden to Pigsy– and now MK– till the end of his days, and he’d just be a burden like his parents always believed.

With a grumble, he started reading.

“The price, or market, system is the predominant allocation mechanism in most industrial societies today because–”

A piece of paper was slapped atop Tang’s book, making him jump.

“You– um– draw fast, don’t you MK?” Tang immediately set the paper aside, but MK huffed and put it back over his book.

“Look, how’s about you draw five drawings while I study and then you can show me then, hm?” Tang proposed, but the boy just stared vacantly.

“Right. You don’t know numbers,” Tang rubbed his forehead, before looking at the drawing.

This one was slightly more decipherable than the previous, as there was a bunch of pink scribbles roughly in the shape of Pigsy, and— what appeared to be a monkey on his shoulders? It was hard to tell, since it was red and also very crude. There was also another figure, bright yellow but it was hard to tell if that was supposed to be a sunbeam or tree or heck– even Tang. Again there was a waterfall (?) and some maybe-rocks maybe-hedgehogs???

“Is this supposed to be Pigsy?” Tang asked, pointing to the pink scribes. MK nodded.

“Aw, that’s sweet; I’m sure he’ll love it,” Tang smiled and set it down, though that made MK upset, as he picked it up and put it over his book again.

Tang groaned. “Kid, you’re really cute and all, but I need to study otherwise I will be failing everyone I know. Please just– go back to drawing?” Tang pleaded but the kid didn’t budge.

“Look– I–” Tang rolled his head back. “I don’t know what this drawing’s of. I’m sorry.”

MK took his paper back before going to the table and drawing more.

Tang sighed a breath of relief before going back to his textbook.

“–it is generally the most efficient. Yet not all exchanges take place in a market system. Many medical services–”

Tang was going to gouge his eyes out if he had to read any more of that money mumbo jumbo and so put it back in his back and swapped it out for his Taosim and Buddhism: Face to Face textbook and tried reading that for all of five seconds, before MK slapped the paper down.

The only thing that changed really was that the yellow figure was very clearly not Tang anymore and seemed to have some kind of flowers around him? Her? Them? and also adding a mountain in the background. The creature on Pigsy’s shoulder also had added detail– most importantly what looked like a bandana.

“And is that supposed to be you?” Tang pointed to the red– um… monkey? Spider? Cat?

MK nodded and smiled, jumping on the couch and pointing to the mountains and the yellow figure.

“Yes, yes, you’ve certainly improved your background work here,” Tang remarked. “But who is this person? Is that your mother or father?”

MK shook his head.

Somehow the figure not being one of his parents made it stranger– especially because MK deemed them so important he added more detail.

“Well they’re very lovely either way,” Tang patted his head and MK gave him a big toothy grin– which surprised the scholar.

“Yes, yes– well then, I’ll give this back to you so you can give it to Pigsy at lunch–” He said, handing him back the drawing– “and then I will get back to studying.”

MK was about to get off the couch when he suddenly gasped and pointed urgently to a picture in his textbook.

Tang stared at it and blinked. “That’s the Queen Mother of the West– she’s the wife to the jade emperor.”

At that MK nodded and started trying to turn pages in the book, which Tang tried to stop, but soon realized all that would do was rip the 5541.52 yuan book and so let him have his way. The kid flipped through page after page, until another picture showed up and he pointed to it eagerly.

“Oh, that’s the Bodhisattva Guanyin– she’s a figure of mercy and forgiveness and second beginnings,” Tang explained. Again MK flipped until another photo showed up and Tang realized he was curious about who all the people were.

“That’s Prince Nezha– he killed a dragon when he was young, and because of that his own father disowned him and he died–” Tang told and MK gasped.

“I-it’s okay though! He came back and got his revenge, though remains permanently twelve– I think,” Tang tried to recall before MK flipped pages again, and this time tapped it repeatedly to show his overwhelming excitement.

“Ahhh, I see you’ve taken an interest in Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, hm?” Tang chuckled and MK nodded excitedly.

“I see you have good taste, because he’s probably the most interesting figure in this whole book,” Tang joked. “He’s from a story called Journey to the West where he helps guide a monk to deliver scriptures to the Buddha and goes through personal trials until he reaches enlightenment– though not before causing some serious havoc in heaven.”

MK laughed– he laughed– and Tang felt his heart melt a little before MK started trying to get his head under his arm. Tang was confused, until he realized he wanted to sit in his lap to see the pictures better, and so Tang let him.

“See this one?” Tang pointed to a picture on the top left. “That depicts when he fought off the entire heavenly army after he was kicked out for stealing their wine, pills, and peaches.”

“And this one here–” he pointed below– “that’s when he got trapped under the Mountain of Phases after Buddha successfully tricked him.”

MK tilted his head curiously, tracing it with his finger before looking back up at Tang.

“Yes, yes, a little harsh, but he goes through worse punishments later, as before he was ready to go on the journey with the monk Tang Sanzang, he was given a circlet that would hurt him if he disobeyed,” Tang expanded, turning the page to reveal such an image, which made MK gasp and whimper.

“Yeah, it looks like it hurts a lot, doesn't it?” Tang said, examining the picture closer. It was weird– he hadn’t ever thought about the thing that closely before, but looking back, it was pretty torturous.

“It’s okay though– Monkey King always got back on his feet and got enlightenment like he always wanted, isn’t that nice?” Tang asked, and MK slowly nodded, though his lower lip trembled a bit.

“Aww, it’s okay MK,” Tang patted his shoulder, which MK took as an invitation to hug the scholar, which while it surprised him, he wasn’t against it.

“Here– how’s about I teach you about some of the happier parts of Sun Wukong’s life, hm? Like when he fought the permanent twelve-year-old Prince Nezha? Or when he had a cool shapeshifter duel with Er Lang Shen and his dog? Or– oh! What about when he fought off the Monstrous King of Havoc and freed all of the other monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain from being eaten or enslaved?” Tang proposed, which instantly put MK in better spirits.

And so Tang started telling him tales, and MK slowly got off and started drawing the scenes Tang described, which was pretty impressive since sometimes Tang could actually see what was going on, which was nice. Plus, it was fun to see him so engaged in his stories.

It was… strange, watching this boy who had been nothing but a confusing vessel become so passionate and alive and giggly as Tang talked. Sometimes Tang actually thought he’d respond with words, but his laughs and nods were good enough for him.

Tang talked and MK colored for hours and hours and hours on end, until the landline rang to life, and Tang left MK to draw Er Lang Shen and his dog while he answered.

“Zhu residence, this is Tang.”

“TANG! Have you looked at the time??? The kid’s s’posed to be havin’ lunch by now!” Pigsy scolded on the other side.

“Oh wow– has it really been that long?” Tang laughed, seeing the clock said 12:15.

“Uh– yeah! Geez– does the kid’s schedule not even matter to you?” Pigsy griped.

“O-of course! It’s just– we were getting so caught up in drawing and The Monkey King– it really is something–”

“I thought you were supposed to be studying,” Pigsy pointed out.

“Yeaaahhh, well a little break never hurt anyone,” Tang totally glossed over the fact he never really started in the first place. There was a bit of pause before Pigsy spoke again.

“So uh– you and the kid been bonding?” Pigsy asked, his tone far less harsh now.

“I– um–” Tang looked over his shoulder at MK, who gave him a big flashy grin. “We have.”

“That’s– That’s really good, Tang, I’m glad,” His partner praised. “I thought’d take the kid weeks to warm up to you based on how he is with other strangers– this is good though.”

“And you left me up here with him alone anyways?” Tang pointed out jovially.

“I am literally just two stories down, Tang.”

“Yeah, yeah– let me do the teasing sometimes.”

Pigsy laughed on the other side. “Alright, alright– just get you and MK down here or else I’ll still charge you for your lo mein,”

“Alright, alright, I’ll get him there,” Tang rolled his eyes. “Love you, Piggy.”

“Love you too, Tangy. But seriously– get your ass down here.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

And with that, Pigsy hung up.

“Alright MK, are you ready to see Pigsy again?” Tang hung up the phone too.

“Dadsy!” MK cheered, drawing in hand that he quickly showed Tang.

“Woah– Dad-sy?” Tang fawned over that so much did didn’t notice MK holding out the picture for him to take.

“Mhm!” MK nodded, shoving the picture in Tang’s face since he clearly wasn’t looking down enough.

The drawing wasn’t the one from earlier– no, this one was probably the clearest of any. On the right was clearly Pigsy, looking much better than his scribbled counterpart, and also very clearly holding MK, who was drawn with proper yellow and brown, with red saved for the bandana. And to the left was–

Him.

He could tell too, because the stick figure was wearing his robe and had huge messy circles around the eyes to be glasses, plus he was wearing a biiiiiiiiig old scarf. He was smiling, Pigsy was smiling, and MK was smiling too. There was also a rainbow, and a bowl of what Tang hoped were noodles and not worms, as well as MK written in the corner in big shaky letters.

“Oh MK– is this us?” Tang took it from his hands and felt himself start to tear up a little.

MK nodded excitedly.

“Dadsy an’ Tang!” He bounced on heels and flapped his hands.

Okay now Tang was definitely crying, and he quickly knelt and gave MK a hug.

“You know, I don’t meet a lot of kids, but you’re easily the coolest one out there, MK,” Tang complimented, giving him a good squeeze.

MK laughed and hugged him too.

“Now c’mon– I bet you’re starving, and I know I could certainly go for some noodles right about now,” Tang booped his nose before standing, at which MK did grabby hands upward. Tang chuckled and handed him back his drawing before picking him up.

“Alright, let’s go give your Dadsy a visit,” Tang was loving the nickname already and was more than certain Pigsy would just about die of cuteness when he heard it too– especially with how happy it made MK to hear it repeated back.

It was strange how much Tang felt he’d changed in a day, but hey, maybe that was just how parenting was–

God– it felt weird, to say it, but Tang was a parent now– Pigsy too. Of course, Tang still had a PhD to obtain, and Pigsy a restaurant to run, but together they were a team and with MK, they might even be a family.

Wow that was a lot to think.

But still, it brought as much of a smile to his face as it did anxiety, and if that wasn’t parenting, Tang didn’t know what was.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Try Something New

Prompt: eee i know it JUST came out so don’t feel pressured but i looooved that new dad-janus, remus and prinxiety fic and was wondering if you would be up to writing some of the good ol “awkward dinner with boyfriends family”? make it as angsty or fluffy as you’d like, we’ll love it regardless and i love the dynamic of these boys so seeing more of it would be a dream come true - melonn-yy

hey idk if ur taking prompts but if u sre, could i pls request maybe like a fic about the hs! prinxiety from ‘try your best (that’s all we can do)’ like maybe how they got together or their first date? idk im reslly starved for some good highschool prinxiety rn adodwjed - cryingrainbowsandrocksongs

Read on Ao3

Warnings: past bullying

Pairings: prinxiety

Word Count: 3660

Virgil walks into the living room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and Janus immediately puts down his book. 

“Virgil? Is everything alright?”

Remus glances up from his phone and pulls out an earbud. “Bro? What happened?”

“I don’t know if it’s better or worse that you guys know my anxiety tells or not.”

“It’s better, trust me.”

Janus puts a hand on Remus’s shoulder. “Virgil, did you want to tell us something?”

“Uh, kind of? I, um, I wanted to ask something. But if you guys are busy—“

“Nope.” Remus sits up straighter and shoves his phone into his pocket. “I’m free.”

“Go ahead, Virgil, we’re listening.”

“Okay, ‘cause it’s…” He fidgets. “It’s about Roman.”

The hand on Remus’s shoulder strokes the material of his hoodie as he tenses, slowly relaxing again when Janus doesn’t let go. “Okay, what about Roman?”

“He, um...he wants to come over for dinner.”

“Tonight?” Remus bolts away from Janus’s hand. “Like, right now?”

“What? No, god no.”

“Good.”

“When,” Janus asks, trying to steer the conversation toward its actual ending, “when does he want to come over?”

“He said that, uh, up to us.”

Remus snorts, sinking into the couch. “Can it be never?”

He mumbles an apology when Virgil flinches and Janus says his name in a low voice. 

“…but why?”

Virgil lets out a deep breath. “He wants…he wants to try and make things easier.”

“Easier? Since when has that asshole ever tried to make shit easier?”

“Remus, he’s trying.”

“Well, maybe I don’t fucking want him to try,” Remus growls, shrinking in on himself and huffing into his knees, “maybe I just want to hate him for the rest of my life.”

Janus raises a hand at Virgil and shakes his head. Virgil closes his mouth as Janus reaches out to rub Remus’s shoulder again. Remus continues to glare for a few seconds before looking up at him. 

“I don’t like him,” he mumbles, sounding several years younger, “I don’t like him, Dad.”

“I know, little anomaly,” Janus murmurs, “I know you don’t. But Virgil’s right, he’s trying. And you remember the conversations we’ve had, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It takes a lot of energy to hate someone, you know that. I’m not saying you have to forgive him. I’m not saying you have to like him. I’m not sure I like him—“

“Hey,” Virgil protests. 

“—but we’re just going to try, okay?” He tilts Remus’s chin up when he looks away. “Can we try, little anomaly?”

Remus’s lower lip quivers for a moment, then he looks at Virgil. “So when is he coming over?”

Virgil winces. “Well, actually…”

“Virgil, if you made evening plans again,” Janus starts. 

“…he wants to talk to Remus at school first.”

Both of them pause. Remus snarls, “he wants to what?”

“He wants to apologize to you.” Virgil toys with the string on his hoodie. “Before he comes over, he wants to talk to you first.”

“And why isn’t he telling me this himself?”

“Because he didn’t think you’d be able to get past saying hello to each other without one of you screaming something at the other one.”

Remus’s silence tells Janus all he needs to know about how accurate that statement is. “Alright, then. You two will talk at school and decide how comfortable you are with the idea of Roman coming over for dinner, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Works for me.”

“Remus?”

Remus picks at the frayed hole in his pants, pulling a thread loose until Janus prompts him again. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Virgil mumbles, “it, um, it really means a lot to me that you’re willing to try.”

“I’m not doing this for him,” Remus growls, “I’m going this ‘cause you’re my baby brother and I still technically owe you from Saturday.”

“Wait, what happened Saturday?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad.”

——————

Janus gets a text from Virgil that just says it’s happening. Will text when we’re on the way home. 

Ah. So. The fated apology conversation. 

Janus sits at the counter and makes sure the kettle is set to boil, absentmindedly picking at the tablecloth. There’s a bit of wax that dripped onto it from when he and the boys were trying that new candle-making thing that Remus suggested and he’s never quite figured out how to clean it. The internet claimed boiling water was a fix for any wax malfunctions but he stopped trusting that after the washing machine decided it had enough of Remus’s internet solutions. 

Where are they talking? In the schoolyard? He hopes not, security has a prejudice against arguments happening between certain students in the schoolyard, that’s the last thing his boys need right now. Maybe it’s in a classroom, some teacher kind enough to lend them the space. 

He really should just buy a new tablecloth, shouldn’t he? This one still has paint and crayon stains from when the boys were little little. 

He hopes they are actually talking. Remus has every right to be upset and it is not his responsibility to accept Roman’s apology. Hell, he’s not sure he would accept an apology even now as an adult, let alone if he were still in high school. 

But poor Virgil, who just looked so confused about everything…he doesn’t deserve that either. 

And he truly does want to give Roman the benefit of the doubt—children are so moldable when they’re young and the last thing he wants to do is discourage personal growth, especially when it’s had—apparently—such a positive turn. 

He stands abruptly when he realizes he’s more likely to pick a hole through the tablecloth than he is to get the wax out of it. He has to do something with his hands. Something that isn’t just letting them wander. 

Dishes. There are dishes to clean, aren’t there?

He heads to the sink, reaching for the thick rubber gloves on instinct, pausing when he sees a completely empty sink. 

Oh, boys, why is it the one time that you can do your chores when I ask you to is when I secretly needed you not to?

No matter. He’s sure he can find something else. But nothing too obvious, he can’t be seen stress-cleaning, that’s just the worst. 

Alright. No, this is fine. He can find something else to do. Dinner, he can get started on dinner. Yes, Remus had asked for a pasta bake, that will take a while to make. He can do that. He goes to the fridge and gets out the cheese. 

He really hopes they aren’t fighting. 

High schoolers are not the most emotionally competent of humans by a long shot. And all the emotions that must be running around the three of them are making him winded just by thinking about it. Maybe Virgil’s trying to make sure they have the conversation somewhere they can all leave afterwards, instead of having it at one of their houses or in a car. That way when it’s over everyone can come home and just…not have to deal with it. 

Oh, he hopes his boys remember that high school partners are not the be-all, end-all of relationships. 

They should, they spent about half an hour last night absolutely tearing The Notebook to shreds after being forced to watch it at a friend’s house.

Janus smiles into the sink as he sets the water to boil. It had been oddly refreshing, coming into the room worried at the raised voices only for his boys to turn to him and say dad, isn’t this movie really stupid, this is not how healthy relationships work, why is this supposed to be the pinnacle of romance?

Oh, yes, that had been very satisfying. 

Now, if only they can apply the same sort of observation to their own relationships…

He really hopes they don’t get into a fight. He can’t decide which is worse; Roman saying or doing something that hurts Remus and Virgil trying to defend him, or Roman hurting the both of them by bullying Remus and breaking Virgil’s heart. 

Of course, he can’t pretend he’s being unbiased here, those are his boys that are with Roman right now, of course he’s going to prioritize them. 

A movie night, maybe? Something else for them to make fun of? Or a game night, spend time with each other and remind them that romantic relationships aren’t the only meaningful ones. Or maybe it’ll be spent in his bed again, his boys cuddled safely to his sides as he reads them a story they all pretend they’re too old for. 

He strains the pasta with a little too much vigor. 

God, he hopes his boys are okay. 

When the pasta bake is in the oven and he’s just on the verge of checking his phone again, he hears steps at the front door and muffled voices. 

He looks up as the door opens and tries not to smile too obviously in relief when both of them step through, their faces not tear-stained or red with anger. Virgil looks up and sees him first. 

“Hey.”

“Hi, boys.”

Remus kicks off his shoes and dumps his bag on the chair, striding over and flinging his arms around Janus’s waist. Janus hugs him back immediately, hands doing the checks of his breathing, where his hands are, and anything else that might present the signs of an attack. When he finds none, he gently squeezes Remus’s shoulder. 

“Little anomaly,” he murmurs, “you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired.”

“You tired? Okay, that’s okay, honey.” He glances up at Virgil. “How’d it go?”

Virgil shrugs. “I think it went good but I, uh, did not get very emotionally invested.”

“Bullshit,” Remus says, muffled from where his face is buried in Janus’s chest, “you walked into that room like you were gonna have to stake your life on agreeing with one of us.”

Virgil shuffles guiltily. “But like…I did.”

“Virgil.”

“Okay, okay, fine, I was worried, okay?”

“As is your right,” Janus says, opening his arm to gather his other grumbly boy to his chest, “but you don’t have to pretend like you’re okay if you’re not, sweetie.”

“And no Pain Olympics,” Remus says, poking Virgil in the side to make him squeak, “you were upset, I was upset, we’re good.”

Janus savors the extra moment of having both his boys home safe, not crying, in his arms, before he pats their shoulders and they move away. He turns to pull on the oven mitts. “So, how’d it go?”

Virgil glances at Remus. Remus shrugs. “Fine.”

“I’m gonna need a little more than that.”

“I mean, you kinda called it. He apologized for being the world’s biggest dick, said he was working on himself to try and be better, and that I didn’t owe him anything, including my forgiveness.”

Janus blinks. This is…well, he’d hoped that’s what this would be, but it is surprisingly mature for the bully he remembers. 

“And he, uh…” Remus tugs on his collar. “He said you didn’t have to forgive him either.”

“He did?” 

“Yep. That was, uh, one of the things he led with.”

“Hm.”

“He also said that he wanted to start over,” Virgil adds when Remus seems to be finished, “that he really, um…that he really like being with—with me and he knows how much you both mean to me and so he, uh, wanted to get it right.”

Smiling fondly at how flustered Virgil got from just saying that, Janus turns and ruffles his hair. “Sounds like you might be a positive influence on him, hm?”

“I can’t take credit for—“

“Oh, I know, sweetie, I’m just teasing.” The timer beeps and he pulls out the dish. “Get your plates, boys.”

They obediently fetch their dishes and make their way to the table, conversation steering to more pleasant topics as they polish off their pasta. The evening passes with full bellies and happy faces until it’s time to turn in for the night. 

Janus catches Virgil as he disappears into his room. 

“Hey, sweetie,” he says, pulling him into a hug, “I’m really proud of you, you know that?”

“You—you are?”

“Yeah, sweetie. You’re doing really good at navigating something that’s difficult for most adults to do. You’ve been very mature about it and I hope you know that I’m here to support you whenever you need it.”

“Jeez, dad…”

He presses a quick kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah, same to you.” Virgil squeezes him back before vanishing, muttering about sappy shit and just want this to be over. 

Janus shakes his head and goes to find Remus. 

“Hey,” he murmurs when he knocks on Remus’s door and gets greeted with a quiet grunt, “you doing okay, little anomaly?”

Remus looks up from where he’s curled into a ball near his headboard. He holds his arms out wordlessly and Janus sits on the edge of the bed, letting the little limpet attach himself to his side. 

“What’s going on, honey,” he asks, rubbing his back, “you wanna tell me?”

“That stuff…all that stuff with Roman, in middle school,” Remus mumbles, “that…that happened, right? You remember it too?”

“Yes, honey, I do. I remember him bullying you.” When Remus sags in relief, he pulls back to cup his face. “Are you worried that you’re gonna feel weird about it if Roman keeps changing?”

Remus nods shamefully. “He—he really feels different. L-like he’s someone brand new that just remembers what he did, not like he—he did it. An’ I’m scared that if he—if he—what if I just forget?”

“You can’t forget being hurt like that, Remus, nor can you just magically stop hurting now that the person isn’t hurting you anymore.” Janus runs a hand through his hair. “You’re allowed to feel hurt, to be hurt, it’s okay.”

“But if he’s changed—“

“No buts, honey. He doesn’t get to decide you aren’t hurt anymore because of what he did and neither do you. Those things were real, they happened, and just because Roman’s changed doesn’t mean they didn’t. You are still allowed to feel hurt and upset about it, okay?”

Remus’s lip wobbles. “I almost wish he was still being mean.”

Janus takes a deep breath and pulls him in for a proper hug. “Oh, honey, don’t you say that. Don’t say that, honey.”

“But it’s true, if—if he were still being mean then it wouldn’t be messy and Virgil wouldn’t be dating him and I—and I wouldn’t—“

“Shh, shh, honey, it’s okay. I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He closes his eyes as his little anomaly sobs into his chest. “Hey, honey, I’m right here. Shh, I’ve got you.”

He rubs Remus’s back as he cries, pressing kisses to the top of his head. As they slow, he pulls back just enough to wipe Remus’s cheeks. 

“Have you talked to Virgil about this?” Remus nods. “What did he say?”

“S-said if it ever got real bad that he’d—he’d choose me. B-but I don’t want him to have to choose, I just—jus’ wish it wasn’t Roman.”

“I know, honey, I know.” 

“…I don’t actually wish he was still being mean.” He sniffles as Janus ruffles his hair. “I just…why is this so hard?”

“Because life is hard,” Janus says, not unkindly, “life is hard and people are complicated and every single relationship you have with anyone that matters to you, no matter what it is, is work.”

“That’s stupid.”

Janus huffs. “Yeah, honey, I think so too.”

“…will you stay for a bit?”

“As long as you need, honey.”

——————

So. Tonight’s the big night. Tonight, Roman Prince comes over for dinner. 

Apparently, Roman wants to help make dinner. Well. Fine by him. He can loom menacingly in the corner while Roman cooks. 

Alright, what he’s going to do is let Roman help and insinuate that if Roman dares hurt one of his boys again he won’t like the consequences. 

Roman’s driving the three of them home from school today, which means they should arrive right about…

Muffled voices outside and a key in the lock. 

“Dad? We’re home!”

“Do you need help?”

“No, thanks, I got it.”

Janus turns to see Remus shrugging off his bag, Virgil hanging his coat on a hook, and Roman carrying a large covered dish. He makes his way out from the kitchen, gathering Remus in for a quick emotional support hug as Roman looks up. 

“Sir,” he says, holding out his hand, “thank you for letting me come over.”

Firm handshake, good eye contact. He nods to the dish. “And what do you have there?”

“Virgil and Remus said you were planning on lasagna for dinner, so—“ he holds up the dish— “I made garlic bread.”

He can feel Remus perk up behind him. Garlic bread, hm? “Does it need to be heated?”

“Maybe a bit? I picked it up right before we came here and it’s been in the oven for a while…it should be fine, we might want to heat it before we eat if…if you want.”

He hums and takes the dish, setting it on the counter. “And you’re helping me with the main course as well?”

“Yes, sir, if you need an extra pair of hands.”

“That would do nicely, yes.”

Remus fake gags as Roman kisses Virgil’s cheek before following Janus to the kitchen. He washes his hands quickly in the sink and looks up.

“You can wash the lettuce for the salad.”

“This one?”

“That’s right.”

He keeps an eye on his boys as they finish tidying away their school things, noticing how Remus disappears to his room almost immediately and Virgil hovers in the living room. Close enough to see, not quite close enough to hear. 

“That’s good. Chop the others while you’re over there.”

“Chunks or slices? Size preference?”

“…slice the peppers, chunks for the cucumber.”

“Can do.”

He glances over to see an almost restaurant-quality salad taking shape in the bowl next to Roman. Good on you, Virgil, finding a boy that can cook. 

After a few more minutes, Virgil gets up to use the bathroom and Roman pauses, glancing over until he hears the door shut before wiping his hands nervously on his jeans and turning to face Janus. 

“Sir,” he starts, “I…I’m not sure what your sons have told you of our conversation a few days ago, but I wanted to apologize to you as well.”

Janus stays quiet, only raising an eyebrow. 

“I was…truly terrible to Remus when we were younger and I will not use my age as an excuse. I’ve told your son that he is not obligated to forgive me and neither are you. I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused your family and I hope I can convince you I mean neither of them any harm.”

Janus stares at him for a long moment. “Something happened to you.”

“S-sir?”

“Something happened to you,” he repeats, not unkindly, “to make you go from the reason one of my sons came home crying to the reason the other comes home smiling.”

“…do you want me to tell you, sir?”

He tilts his head, looking at the boy in front of him. Because despite how he holds himself, how much he’s clearly practiced what he’s saying, how much he’s trying to show that he’s grown and matured, Janus is standing in front of a child who is clearly unsure about what he’s doing and freaking out. 

He reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Do you intend to hurt Remus?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you intend to hurt Virgil?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I don’t need you to tell me. As long as you understand that if you do—“

“They’ll never find my body, sir, I understand. Might I suggest burying a dead dog on top of me, so the cadaver dogs will be convinced that’s what they’ve found?”

Janus smiles grimly. “Good boy.”

“Is there anything else that goes into the salad?”

“What are your thoughts on dressing?”

“Most people prefer it when outside the comfort of their own private bedrooms, sir.”

When Virgil walks back in to see Janus laughing at something Roman said, he glances between them until Remus comes downstairs. 

“What?”

“Roman made Dad laugh,” Virgil hisses like Janus can’t hear him, “like—actually laugh.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I swear to God!”

“Since when are you religious?”

“Boys,” Janus calls, “why don’t you set the table?”

They grumble amongst themselves as they do as they’re told, carefully making sure all the dishes can fit as Roman helps carry over everything. Virgil tugs his sleeve until he sits next to him, lacing their fingers together and squeezing once before letting go. 

“It smells really good, guys.”

Remus eyes Roman carefully. “So you made the garlic bread, huh?”

“Mhm. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

Remus takes a piece and bites into it, chewing thoughtfully. He isn’t quick enough to hide the way his eyes widen as he looks away. 

“…I think to spare everyone else from having to eat it you should give it all to me.”

“Whoa, hey,” Virgil says, “don’t you dare!”

Janus chuckles as his boys squabble playfully over the garlic bread, sneaking a piece when they’re distracted. Roman watches, bewildered relief written all over his face. 

Oh, yes, this might work out just fine. 

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[groenendaelfic]

i love APoT!!! the fandom def needs more abo fics but you've raised the bar so high lol

im so interested in an alt universe where wille presents as an alpha before meeting simon and that timeline i think itd be hilarious as well (wille's pov in APoT has me rolling)

the bar doesn't exist. there is no bar. it's an illusion.

there need to be so many more abo fics in yr*. Just think about all the possibilities! If anyone needs a cheerleader to write one, I am happily offering my services. *\o/*

ngl I have THOUGHT about this. Like capital letters and all, and it would be a very different fic (though tbf the same is true for APoT from any other pov), because Alpha Wille without Simon? In a universe like A Pack of Two? That Wille fucks. A lot.

You’d have pre-Hillerska Wille, probably at a party or in a club, with loud music and people grinding against him and pheromones and all, and well, if Wille presents there, with people actively wanting to get with the prince?

He’ll take what’s on offer, because our boy is horny, touch starved and does not know how to deal with his new instincts and feelings.

Combine that with it suddenly being expected and encouraged that he forms a pack and takes a bunch of mates to see to his needs, well, why wouldn’t he enjoy taking comfort in a pile of willing bodies?

Physical touch and intimacy is both nice and comforting, and it’s not like anyone except Erik ever hugs him, and Erik’s been away so much, first at Hillerska and now with the military and Crown Prince duties, and also orgasms are great, as is feeling wanted (even if it’s only for his cock).

Also for the first time in Wille's life his parents are proud. Of HIM!

Now while Wille presenting is still seen as great for Sweden, him having done so in the middle of Stockholm was also a tiny bit disruptive, and he’s too young to be shipped off to a large rural estate to only be brought out when foreign dignitaries etc need to be intimidated, and so boarding school it is.

Wille does not sleep in the dorms, but gets his own house etc on the grounds and there is a lot of paperwork (and birth control) involved, but becoming the mate of a royal Alpha is a huge honor, so everyone at Hillerska is very excited. (except Simon)

Wille is offered to bring some of his friends from Stockholm and maybe he will because they are familiar and maybe he won’t because for some reason they don’t really feel like real pack, or at least not how he thinks/is told that pack should feel, but anyway, he is sent to Hillerska but this time Erik probably isn’t there to see him off.

(Wille wants Erik to be HIS in a non-sexual way, but things are tricky right now because while they might love each other dearly, Erik likes being Crown Prince and Wille likes not being Crown Prince and while having Erik kneel to him and swear his undying allegiance would be weirdly nice—and Erik would, were they not who they are—it’s also something neither of them can have right now. People are already having thoughts about what his presentation means for the line of succession, openly)

Simon still sings in the choir and calls Wille and his family the biggest welfare receivers, and Wille takes one look at him and WANTS him, because Simon is smart and talented and beautiful, and he speaks his mind and is absolutely perfect, but Simon of course doesn’t.

Sure the Alpha prince is hot and makes him feel weak in the knees, but he also stands for everything Simon hates, and he’s seen the ecstatic news reports about the younger prince presenting and all the documentaries about Alphas which aired after, one more disturbing than the other, and Simon is not going to bow to anyone and he is most certainly not going to become part of some over-privileged, spoilt brat’s harem, no matter how big the doe eyes he makes at him are or how awkward his flirting, because that only makes Simon more furious.

The guy doesn’t even need to be smooth for everyone to want to get on his knot and to join his pack!

(no one officially has yet, but that doesn’t mean having slept with the first Swedish Alpha in 300 years isn’t still something to brag about and elevate one's standing)

And also he will never forgive the Alpha prince for making him drop to his knees along with everyone else that one time he lost his temper with August, because that felt right in the worst way, and just no.

Meanwhile Wille is very confused as to what he’s doing wrong (Erik is being no help, not that he wants Erik to help, but also he's getting desperate), because he really wants to woo Simon, but it seems he can do nothing right and Simon hates him.

There is naturally also that one time when Wille sees Simon being bullied for not making a secret out of his dislike and he snaps, because how dare they, and somehow that only makes Simon angry, and Wille doesn’t understand.

All he wants to do is make Simon happy and to suck his cock (he’s never felt the urge before, but he thinks it might be nice, it certainly feels nice when others suck his).

And then Simon makes one snappy comment too many, maybe ending in something along the lines of I'll never let you fuck me or make me your bitch, fuck you and Wille says yes, yes please and Simon is baffled and thinks that's a joke, but he's also horny and so they fuck and it's the best angry sex ever.

It's also Simon's first time and now he hates himself because he liked it and came so hard, and now the prince is smiling at him and telling him how good he was and that he finally understands why anyone would ever want to bottom, because giving himself to Simon is the best and he's so happy that Simon is finally his.

It takes Simon another 30k to be fully happy as well but once he is he's very happy.

The End.

*I checked. Currently there’re only six fics total, including mine, two of them in Chinese and only one ONE feat. Alpha!Simon (which I need to read asap along with the other four because decrying the lack of abo fic without having read what already exists is shameful).

Also now I’m thinking about my abo verse but with Simon as the Alpha and that … well that would definitely be a most interesting way to explore class differences and power dynamics … Simon would be so appalled with how differently he’s suddenly being treated.

Also also what about a more traditional abo verse where you don’t know your secondary gender until you present during puberty. Everyone expects Wille to be an Alpha and Simon a twinky socialist Omega, but actually Wille turns out to be an Omega (bonus points if he presents while topping) and Wille has ideas (and inclinations?) as to what it means to be a proper Omega (he likes kneeling for Simon and resting his head against his inner thigh) and Simon hates it because he believes in equality (and it's not like following societal norms can be treated like a kink, right?). And in the most fucked up twist everyone now wants Simon to knock up Wille asap because there is no such thing as absolute primogeniture or secondary gender equality in this 'verse and that makes Simon even more furious and then over the next 100k he burns down the entire system or maybe not.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Can you do a story where toshinori is out with his friends but sees a civilian needs help carrying foods and decides to help but accidentally ends up scaring the person (he came up behind the civilian) and the civilian ends up hitting toshinori with his/ her age quirk toshi is about 3 - 4 years old. So his firends the next day end up going to UA early (like around the time the teachers have there staff meetings) or around lunch break and give him to Gran Torino or any teacher that they could find at the time they end up explaining the situation saying that the civilian couldn’t control his quirk so toshi would be stuck like that for around 3 days which wasn’t bad - compared to the other times it accidentally happend Obviously nana ends up finding out from recovery girl his firends take him there first to make sure he’s not stuck like that and to make sure he will be ok and that there isn’t anything else wrong with him. Recovery girl calls Torino and nana and they end up explaining the situation again. Dad Torino and mom shimura moments🤩 / nanahiko sorry I’m getting used to writing like this also if you see the other one I made I thought that one disappeared so I made this one! In more detail so in a way im glad I started over 😅 if you see this THANK YOU for reading my long paragraph 😭💖

Anon, I’m gonna give you a ficlet, but I’m also prefacing it with a disclaimer: you have the fic. You’ve given me an outline from start to finish, which means that this could have been a reverse situation where I as a reader, starved of Mom Shimura and Dad Torino Co-Parent Their Summer Child fics, would get to go ‘YEAHHHH’.

I won’t go so far as asking prompters to follow a format, ‘cause that seems deeply limiting to the imagination, but… I was this 👌 close to not manifesting your fic. wc: 1.2k

//

Nana’s cellphone rang in the middle of the day, right as she was doing a grocery run. Only a few people had her number, and at least three of those people should be occupied at U.A. right now.

She checked the contact name and immediately accepted the call.

“Is this a personal or a business call?” she said, sandwiching the phone between her ear and shoulder. Her hand--the one not occupied with holding the red plastic basket--grabbed for several frozen microwaveable meals.

“It can’t be both?” Chiyo asked dryly. “It’s about your boy.”

Her hand nearly crushed a box. “Toshinori? What happened? Where’s Torino?”

“He’s here, just occupied.” A strange wailing sound came through from Recovery Girl’s side, and Nana cringed instinctively, out of sympathy for the--parent. Because that was the cry of a child, a child much younger than the teenagers that filled U.A.’s halls.

“Give me the phone!” barked Torino.

“Don’t shout, you’re just scaring him more!”

“What on earth,” Nana said, rapidly recalculating how urgent it was to restock her freezer. She replaced the meals and debated on leaving the basket to a store employee altogether. She hadn’t picked up that many items. “Chiyo-chan? Are you still there? I need a report!”

“Relax,” said Chiyo. “Yagi-kun had an incident with some civilian and their Quirk, and now he’s the size of a preschooler, with the memories and mindset of one too.”

“Torino has experience with preschoolers, though, so why is Toshinori crying? Wait. Actually, get me this answer first--why did Gran Torino just find out?”

For Toshinori’s third year, Nana asked Sorahiko if he could clean out the spare bedroom in his apartment and give it to her successor. His apartment was more spacious, and more importantly, wasn’t housing the memory of a small boy running around its walls.

She supposed that would no longer be true.

“When did Toshinori get hit? How long will it last? Why did Gran Torino just find out, Chiyo-chan?” Nana double-checked her basket and found it missing any frozen or refrigerated foods; she set it on a stack of soda cases, made an apologetic face at the nearest employee, and fled the premises to go rescue her partner.

“Torino just found out because the boy’s friends just hauled him to my office, and I called him. There was an early staff meeting, so they didn’t walk to school together. The Quirk is temporary. Depends on his emotional balance, so for the love of God, Torino, stop scowling!”

“I’m heading over,” said Nana. “You can give him the phone and save Toshinori, please.”

“No,” Chiyo responded sourly. “If he’s going to be living with the kid for the next few days, Torino had better learn how to deal with a five year old now.”

“Doesn’t he have classes to teach?”

There was a miffed silence, and then Chiyo heaved a sigh. “You’re only the voice of reason at the worst possible times, Seventh Wonder.”

“You should see my comedy routine with Gran Torino,” she joked.

“I know his sense of humor too well to be tricked into that. Torino, here’s the phone.”

“Shuuzenji, you--!” Sorahiko bit off a curse, probably to spare Toshinori’s ears. Maybe he remembered how Kotarou had a habit of picking up swear words. “Nana, are you there?”

Her eyebrows jumped at the slip in professionalism, and the desperate edge to Sorahiko’s tone, unhidden and panicky. “Go for Nana,” she said.

“Oh, good.” Sorahiko took a deep breath, then expelled it in a huge rush. “He’s tiny. He doesn’t know our names, and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t know about your, uh, gift.”

“I KNOW I’M QUIRKLESS,” a young voice bawled. “I’M SORRY!”

Nana winced as Sorahiko’s first response was to say, “Kid, it’s fine, I told you it doesn’t matter! Nobody is asking you to have one!”

“Torino,” said Nana chidingly. “I’m on my way, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Put your gear on, or he’ll clock you for a social worker.” This last instruction was muttered under his breath, like he was wary of Toshinori being triggered into another sobbing breakdown. She hummed in acknowledgment, said a quick goodbye, and hung up. Shimura Nana would have been stalled at every public transport point; Seventh Wonder had no such boundaries.

//

Sorahiko let Toshinori sob into his cape’s collar because there was really nothing else to do. His student had gone from a tall, bulky (if airheaded) tank of a teenager to a short, scrawny kid of indeterminate age. He looked younger than Kotarou.

“Everything’s fine,” he soothed, rubbing the space between Toshinori’s shoulder blades. His gloved hand was large enough to cover the whole area. The thick padding blocked Sorahiko’s hand from sensing how hard Toshinori trembled, but he didn’t need the feeling to confirm his very clear view of a crying kid.

“Where am I?” the kid hiccupped. “I thought--I thought Shinra-san liked me--”

He knew neither of Toshinori’s foster parents had the name ‘Shinra’, so clearly, Toshinori’s childhood had him bouncing between more than one home. Sorahiko held his tongue and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Chiyo, gratifyingly, was taking one for the team and talking to Principal Shi about the unexpected leave of absence.

It would only last for the day--substitute teachers, surprise, surprise, weren’t easy to come by for a high school pro-hero program.

“I was being good…”

“Yeah,” said Sorahiko, “I know. You’re a good kid.”

Footsteps. Rubber soles slapping down on linoleum, spaced out to the point where Sorahiko could recognize a subtle use of Float--the nurse’s office door flew open to admit one Seventh Wonder, beaming brightly, as if there was no problem in the world that she couldn’t fix.

The tightness in his spine eased with her appearance.

“Seventh Wonder,” he said.

“Gran Torino!” she answered cheerfully. “I hear we have a new sidekick!” Nana crossed the floor in one, two bounds, before coming to a stop beside Sorahiko. “Hello, Toshinori-shonen, has Gran Torino told you anything about me yet?”

Toshinori’s sniffles came to a bewildered stop. He pulled his face from Sorahiko’s collar (aw, gross, he needed to throw this cape into the wash) and stared at Nana, blinking wet blue eyes. “Who…?”

Nana hesitated, then just--went for it. “I’m Seventh Wonder, Gran Torino’s partner at Sky High Agency. You can call me Shimura-san, though. Pleased to meet you!”

“Pleased to meet you,” the kid echoed, fumbling with his words. “Wh-What’s going to happen to me? I don’t… I don’t have a Quirk, so I can’t be a hero.”

“Not yet,” she corrected. “You’re not big enough to be in the skies with us just yet, but as long you stick with us, Toshinori-shonen, you’ll be the best hero there ever was.”

Sorahiko pulled a face at her. What was the point of promising a temporarily-deaged Toshinori all that? There wasn’t a guarantee that Toshinori’s younger self had been pulled forward, and would retain all this. He rearranged his expression into something neutral when Toshinori whipped back around and chattered, “Torino-san, Torino-san, is that true? Am I really your sidekick?”

From behind Toshinori, Nana narrowed her eyes into a stern glare. Play along, she ordered.

“Yeah,” said Sorahiko. “We’re in charge of you for a long time, kid. You’re staying with us.”

“Oh,” Toshinori uttered, and started weeping again.

[tadpolesonalgae]

After reading Please... part 4, is it weird that i want to see more interaction between Mor and reader? like even more than i want to see interaction between Az and reader??? i think it's just such an interesting dynamic,, their situation lowkey resembles one of siblings that grew up in an abusive household but the older sibling went to college/moved out first and the younger sibling feels abandoned. like, no one is really in the wrong because the older one is just as much of a victim as the younger one, but feelings and emotions don't necessarily work as strict and logically as you'd like them to. plus in the case of the fic, reader wasn't even born when the whole ordeal of Mor being traded off to the Autumn Court and eventually saved by Rhys, but there's still the underlying current of "i know what you're probably going through bc i've gone through it too but i also barely saved myself from it so i don't know how to save you"....... even if Keir & his wife's abuse is not Mor's fault nor responsibility.

and with the unbothered demeanor that reader seems to have, she probably doesn't hold too strong of a resentment towards Mor (tbh reader seems like she doesn't hold Any type of strong feelings towards anyone or anything both negative and positive.. other than like being touch starved and the occasional fear of pain which only further solidifies my theory that she's probably physically abused in some capacity to the point that she has an insane disinterest in her own safety and it made her numb to most emotions as a defense mechanism but i feel like now this is just me projecting 💀💀) but there's got to be Something.... right..?????? like, the part where reader mentions Velaris and asks about how the world is like outside of hewn city to keep egging Mor, i wonder if Mor's agitation was purely because she felt her safe haven being threatened or if it's also because she somewhat feels,, guilt that she got to escape from her parents and hewn city but reader didn't. and i wonder if reader chose that particular topic because she's subconsciously aware of that. or at least she can tell it makes Mor uncomfortable even if she can pinpoint exactly why.

anyways, im just happy and thriving that this series is back on the roll 🎉 it's honestly been my roman empire ever since i first read it lol

I’d say she’s probably just focusing on surviving in her court and keeping herself as far away from her parents as she can without bringing attention to her deliberate absence? And while it’s definitely been awful for her growing up with them, she has managed to find an escape of sorts—that being her interest in ancient artefacts and the Things Kier keeps locked away which is how she’s kept herself together.

In terms of reader’s relationship with Mor, and being interested in some more details, given what can occur in the next couple of parts, that might happen? I only say might because please… isn’t planned out or anything, so while I know where the story can go, there aren’t any set Moments that are going to be written :)

It would be nice to write some things with them though, as well as with Az :)

‘anyways, im just happy and thriving that this series is back on the roll 🎉 it's honestly been my roman empire ever since i first read it lol’

Thank you so much 🧡💛 I’m honestly really happy to be writing it again (as well as the other fics I’d maybe forgotten about) so it’s lovely to hear that you’re enjoying it 🧡💛🫂

[nightglider124]

titans fans think they own the dickkory tag but seem to forget that in no way did they invent it. Dickkory has been the ship name for decades for the two characters for the comics. It so happens that other versions of the ship (like titans) have tacked onto dickkory tag to make it easier to enjoy content. Robstar is used solely for the 03 cartoon. I don’t mean to hate, i like titans as well but it comes off as belittling other media forms to prop up others. Ie putting down the cartoon for the show even though they are completely different but still star our favourite dc characters and the reverse as well. I dont get why fans fee the need to be negative like cartoon fans hating on titans - they are completely different but they are both still valid. Just cos you don’t like one of the versions, doesn’t mean they need to be dicks about it. Sorry to vent, night but I see the bullshit on twitter and now here too. Its so stupid.

Sigh. In a way, I feel this, anon. I get what you mean with the end part of that - it is stupid. Titans, 03 show, ttg, dcau, comics… at the end of the day, i stay out of that bs drama with what is better or whatever cos that is childish af.

I very clearly have a favourite version which has always been the cartoon. Its what got me into DC and i grew up with it when fics and fanart were going strong and it was back in the early 2000’s, you know. The good ol’ days. 😂 But, despite that being my favourite, I also really enjoy Titans cos its a gritty version that is aimed at an older audience. I think that is what a lot of fans who prefer comics or the cartoon etc struggle with. I think they lean towards flat out disliking it bc it isn’t what they know and it’s different. There’s nothing wrong with not liking Titans. It isn’t everyone’s cup of tea; hell, i dropped it for s3 bc i was so uninterested in what they were doing by the end of s2. I also did not care for all the side characters taking spotlight over the main ones but I digress. But, keep it out of the fan’s faces, you know?

Its rude and really annoying when you have fans shitting on your good time. Titans has had a good time so far with dickkory and so fans are allowed to enjoy that. The fact that other dickkory fans who dont like Titans are being dicks about it is weird, in my opinion.

Same as, i think fans who try and shit on fans who love the cartoon are lame af. Like so what if its old? So what if it was aimed at younger audiences? So what if you dont like it? Point is, other people do so leave them to enjoy it. My biggest gripe with the cartoon is people saying it was childish considering it actually tackled some deeper topics, despite being a kids show.

Main point here is, people who gatekeep tags and shit are losers. Like, no one owns anything and anyone acting like that is sus, imo.

I get so sick of seeing people fight over different versions of a ship considering at the end of the day, its all the same?? Like dickkory for example. You may not like them in one format but you do in another. Personally, i am so fucking starved for dickkory content, i will take it from anything. Any version is allowed to be in the tag, old or new like jeez.

They are all valid formats if it means i get to see my two idiots in love.

A lot of people hate the DCAU but i really enjoyed those animated movies cos of, you guessed it, dickkory. They showed their relationship so nicely in that. It was wholesome as fuck but was also a little flirty so it was aimed at the adults more so. I think some people see animated stuff and immediately think its shit and childish which literally isn’t the case at all.

The comics are the og sources for these characters and I’ve seen a lot of ‘comic gatekeepers’ moan about other forms of the characters as well through the years. Now, i’ve got knowledge of the comics but im not some purist who has read every single one, more so bc fuck, I can’t keep up and comics contradict all the time cos of dumbass writers (looking at you T*m T*aylor 👀) but, i still appreciate the comics being the thing that started it all off. Without the comics, I wouldn’t have my baby Koriand’r 🥰 so anytime something remotely to do with dickkory comes out in comics, im rooting for it, purely cos i like seeing some form of life for my ship.

TTG is also valid; its silly and fun and that’s okay too. The titans are like a chiller version of the justice league and they are a team that notoriously is a bit less serious in all formats; they still have very serious storylines but they are the younger team ya know? Again, i think thats why a lot of people don’t like TTG either which is FINE but dont be going into ttg tags and mouthing off about how shit you think it is. Like its bad fandom decorum. Personally, I don’t care much for ttg; i did at first. I liked it and watched it regularly but now i just dont. But again, im not out here bitching about how it isnt the og cartoon so its crap or it isnt titans so its stupid.

I didn’t mean to rant like this but I just find it so fucking ridiculous that we’re still at this point in fandom where people can’t just let others enjoy shit. It is pathetic especially when shit like this comes from people who are literally adults like come on ffs. Get a grip.

I will continue to stay in my dickkory bubble, enjoying it in all forms which I advise fans to do lmao, it’s much less annoying and bitter when you just let yourself enjoy your ship In whatever formats there are.

Need I remind people that dickkory, despite being hella popular and loved, hasn’t had anything substantially canon in a long time so if shows like Titans are feeding fans, don’t be a dick and rain on parades. It’s not fair when people just wanna enjoy it and it just makes you an ass.

Sorry, this got hella long lmao. Also, anon, i would avoid twitter. It’s too toxic there, i have found in the past. Though Tumblr has had its moments too and by the sounds of it, people be just as bad here. 🙄

I could literally write a book on this, that’s how many thoughts I have. I’ve been around the DC fandom and dickkory tags for a long time and I can’t believe people still can’t help themselves. Just let people enjoy things all round, ugh! 🤦🏻‍♀️

[seriouslysam8]

Hi I’m new here. I finished Brontide, Kalopsia, entombed, and Im currently reading Legerdemain. I’ve been told those are your big fics. All very well written stories by the way. But can I ask why your favorite ship is Hinny? There seems to be a lot of, how can I it, issues in their relationship. Especially ones that involve Harry not communicating with Ginny and them having a lot of disagreements over problems that are usually caused by the same thing every time: Harry being the way he is and it causing problems with him and Ginny. It seems like Harry can’t even function without Ginny and needs her to live, whereas Ginny seems to have trouble being married to him and having to mother him a lot. I’m not saying their a bad couple! I really love the ship in itself. It’s just that they seem to struggle a lot in your stories so I’m just wondering why/how they’re your favorite. You also seem to like Ron more than Harry so I’m curious as to why you prefer Harry and Ginny fics over Ron fics?

I’m just curious. Anyway, I really love your fics and I find them super interesting to read. Your angst is very well done and I’m excited to read the rest of your stories :-)

Harry and Ginny are my favorite ship because they’re perfect for one another. They have the same sense of humor, the same urge to protect their friends and loved ones, the same sense of bravery, and they understand some of each other’s trauma.

I write Hinny as a realistic couple. I’m not here to write them lovey dovey and have no issues. Everyone has baggage. Everyone has their issues. Every couple has their issues. You want to find someone who loves you despite your baggage. You want to find someone who loves you in the bad times AND the good times. That’s Hinny.

Harry was abused and neglected by the people who were supposed to love him the most. He was beaten and starved. All this happened at a very critical age. That kind of trauma and abuse stays with a person. They can have issues as an adult. They need that reassurance. They analyze things people say looking for the next blow to happen because that’s how they were raised. Harry’s made leaps and bounds in his life to overcome that abuse and the effects it’s had on him, but it rears it’s ugly head when things are bad.

Ginny never had that trauma. She never was abused. She came from a big and wonderful family. She was loved unconditionally. It breaks her heart when Harry is doubting himself because she loves him and wants him to see himself the way she sees him. But Ginny did have trauma with the diary. Sure, Ginny was popular but I headcanon she was never really close with any of her friends. She didn’t spill her biggest secrets to just anyone. She never felt safe with anyone. Harry makes her feel safe.

Harry would burn down a fucking village to save Ginny and the kids. He’s kind and funny and gentle and brave and he loves so fiercely. Ginny loves Harry for all those qualities. When things are good, things are really fucking good. But when things are bad, Harry can have some issues from his past trauma. Ginny loves him enough to help him work out those issues and reassure him.

I don’t see Ginny as mothering him. I see her as supporting her husband and loved one. Life isn’t roses and daisies. We all have issues we deal with and trauma always crops up when you don’t need it to. Helping each other through the bad times is a sign of a good fucking couple. It’s the kind of relationship everyone should want and strive for. They love each other so fucking much that it hurts.

I love Ron. He’s funny and engaging and a good fucking friend. But, like Ginny, he came from a loving and wonderful family. While he’s seen some stuff, he doesn’t have as much traumas as Hinny. So while I love Ron, he’s not interesting enough to write an entire story about. There’s not enough internal conflict with him to satisfy my angst-craving heart.

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

ooh a life update *stares*/mild vent oopsie

sometimes (my every waking moment) I’m like “wow college should not cost this much money” and it really fr fr doesn’t feel worth it because why the fuck do I have to pay to apply to have a place to stay on campus

like I wish my 3.6 GPA got me a full ride or smth but nooo my academics have to be perfect or I have to play a sport and my leggies are not built for any of that

My pipeline was “does homework at the end of the day in class to watch animal shows at home” to “comes home and watches sillies then sleeps”, none of that is related to Kicking A Ball or Throwing Something.

sometimes I wish I contributed more to that type of thing but like……I don’t know if I’d still be the same person or if I just…..it’s odd. I want to feel appreciated by my school but I don’t want them to take credit for something I did myself.

My HS isn’t responsible for showing me how to write well, the internet and writing shitty smut since 2017 did that. I did that myself by building my skills. But they don’t care unless you win stuff for it. They don’t care about your passions for creating change and not liking authority because of how hypocritical it is. You want me to throw a fucking ball, or have other people be impressed by my art, or never have failed a class (sorry, I can’t control when my depression and OCD flare up).

and then the ever looming “getting a job in my field” and paying off student loans after I’m paying thousands each month to stay in fucking school so I maybe have a career in the field im studying for

like make some noise yall (lower tuition permanently or it’s you and the woodchipper)

also another thing that sucks is knowing there’s things wrong in the world and in your government and not being able to do shit about it but call your senators and wish you could vote it away and wish you could give starved kids your meals and your water and your bed and home.

and nobody your age cares either. They’re so unaware of everything going on, or on the most surface level it makes you want to pull your hair out. And you get weird looks for being upset that things are shitty?? Like you don’t get how this is bad and why I’m mad?? How? What does it feel like to not care about anything that’s not an arms length in front of you?

anyway um. Thanks for reading. I hope I actually write that archivist fic. AND ANOTHER THING WAIT

sometimes I feel illegitimate for saying I’m a writer but I don’t write unique characters that I made or stories I created. And I almost want to invalidate it but then I remember how much depth I’ve added to characters and situations and what they’re like, and just sprinkling a bit of ✨spice ✨ into their design. Idk. It’s weird. Like I get what writers mean when they’re talking about writing but I don’t feel special because I feel like what I’ve written in terms of fanfiction isn’t impressive enough. (I fucking forgot I wrote a 10 page research paper in a night, and got to the state level of the social studies fair for one I did last year) anyway

words of advice are very welcome

have a silly for listening to me yap

[stayatiny]

Little Dolly Chapter 1 ~ Yandere Seonghwa

(Gif made by me)

Pairing(s) – Killer/Yandere Seonghwa x Virgin! Reader

Series warnings – Violence, mentions of murder, swearing, blood, smut and lose of virginity (later on), yandere behaviors, Stockholm syndrome. (seriously this is going to be darker than some of my other fics. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.)

Chapter Warning(s) Mentions of murder, guns, someone getting shot, just the overall violence, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N - Hi everyone ^^ Im back at it again. I decided to make a little mini series still deciding on who and what to do the next series on. Enjoy.

Why did I wander home alone? I knew that this wasn’t a good idea. Now I’m here stuck in a cage in the basement of a killer. I’ll never do it again if I get out alive…

“Aw. Aren’t you a cute in that dress I picked out for you? I think I’ll just keep you,” he said, shutting the door of the cage. That was a couple of days ago…I think. The man was dressed nicely in a button up and slacks like a businessman and absolutely gorgeous. If he wasn’t a killer, I would swoon over him so fast. He opened the cage door and placed a sandwich and some water in front of me. Is this how I die? A poisoned BLT…what a way to go out. I looked at the man and then back at the plate of food.

“Why aren’t you eating?” I didn’t say anything. He leaned forward into the cage grabbing the plate. I whined as he pulled back. He took a bite of the sandwich and then put it back.

“When I ask you something I expect an answer,” he growled. I nodded and started to eat and drink the water he left me. His frown soon became a smile. He wasn’t going to kill me yet or he wouldn’t bother with wanting to feed me. Once he placed the plate back down, I snatched the plate up and started to scarf down the sandwich and water. I was so hungry almost starving. He had been giving me water but no food till today.

“Good girl,” he purred still sitting in front of the cage. He even leaned forward again and patted my head like I was a child. I finished eating and drinking the water. He took the plate placing it on a table. He leaned down and gently grabbed my arm.

“Come here. I don’t want you in this cage anymore.” The man leads me down the hall of the basement, away from the dungeon, to a small apartment like area. There was a mini fridge, a microwave, bed, and a bathroom off to the right of some stairs. I figured they led to the upper part of the house. I let out a small sigh being able to stretch my legs from being in a cage.

“You will be staying here from now on,” he said, holding my hands. I looked up at him. What was he talking about?

“What do you mean? I thought you were going to kill me,” I say. His smile is sinister.

“Aw darling. I’m not ever going to kill you…unless you make me.” I swallow hard. I didn’t want to end up like the other men and women that’s he’s killed.

“Why me?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking like an idiot. He frowned slightly then pulled me close to his chest. He was really warm but there again I blame the cold weather and damp basement dungeon for lack of warmth.

“I’ve been watching you for a while thinking that would just be another victim of mine, but you are too pretty, sweet, and so innocent. I have to protect you from the world. So I’ll be keeping you here with me,” he says, patting my head. My heart jumps into my throat. I need to get out of here…

“You don’t even know me,” I say trying to pull away from him. He grabbed my arms pulling me close to him once again.

“I don’t know a lot about you, but I know that I need you to stay here with me.” He sounded like he was almost begging me to stay here. I don’t think I have a choice. I’ll stay here until I can find a way out.

“What is your name,” I asked. I needed to play into this to stay alive. I couldn’t act so scared cause then he’ll know that he’ll have a hold over me. The man smiled.

“I’m Seonghwa, but you can call me Hwa if you want,” he said, smiling. I nodded and looked around the room. I was too afraid to walk away from him.

“I’m sure that you are tired. I want you to get cleaned up and head to sleep,” Hwa said, handing me some clothes. I nodded and did as he was told. Once I was done, he was gone and back upstairs. I laid down on the bed after turning off the lights.

Th next morning, I feel the bed dip down on my side. I open my eyes to see Seonghwa looking down at me. I jumped a little.

“Good morning little one,” he said petting my hair. He smiled. I sat up slowly.

“Come upstairs with me. I want to eat breakfast with you,” he said grabbing my hand. I follow willingly or else. I didn’t want to know what he would do to me.

“How did you sleep last night? I know that isn’t very comfortable but it’s all I have but it’ll do until I trust you enough to stay in a bed with me,” he said then opening the door. I wanted nothing more than to bolt out the front door, and I thought about it until I saw the gun sitting on the dining room table. I would definitely get killed if I ran. I didn’t answer him except for stare at the gun. Hwa grabbed then hugged me tight.

“Don’t worry about that. I won’t hurt you unless you make me use it,” he whispered, right into my neck. I shivered scrunching myself even closer to him, unintentionally. Hwa kissed my head then pulled me to the kitchen island. I looked through the window to see that we are outside the city literally in the middle of nowhere. My heart started to pound. Hwa put up the gun back in a lock box and put it up in the living room. He came back to the kitchen with a smile.

“Here I made some scrambled eggs and bacon for you. I didn’t know what you liked so I guess. Maybe later you can tell me what foods you like,” he said, smiling. His smile would have been comforting if this had been a different situation. I didn’t want to answer him, but the image of the gun flashed back into mind.

“It’s okay. I like bacon and scrambled eggs,” I say quietly but a little louder than a whisper. He frowned slightly.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. Like I said I won’t hurt you unless you deserve it.” I nod then taking the plate from him. I started to eat while he sat next to me with his plate. Hwa also put some fresh fruit on my plate. I scarfed down the food again.

“Slow down sweetie,” he said, then kissing my head. I stared at him. He wiped my face from the little bit of egg that was on my lips. I went back to eating while he cleaned up. When I was done, he grabbed my plate and cleaned it. Once he was done, he escorted me back into the basement. He turned to leave when I started to whine.

“Sweetie, I have to get some work done. I’ll be back down at lunch time.”

“Please don’t leave me down here, Hwa,” I beg. He kissed my head. I took the chance. I punched him as hard as I could causing him to fall to the ground holding his face. I didn’t waste the time before running for the door. Once in the kitchen I slammed the basement door shut then putting a chair under the handle.

“Sweetie, let me out,” he said from behind the door. His voice unnaturally calm for someone who is locked into the basement. I ran to the front door even taking a pair of his shoes. I quickly slip them on still hearing Hwa banging on the door and slamming against it. I jerked the door open and ran out trying to get to the road. Hoping I meet someone who could help me. I reach the gate at the end of his driveway only for me to realize that I have up to get to the other side. I started to climb up when I feel a searing pain in the back of my thigh. I scream only for me to see Hwa standing a yard or two behind me with his gun. Fuck me…

“Baby, come back. I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, sing song like. I jumped over the fence and ran. The adrenaline keeping me going and from feeling the pain in my leg. I cover the wound with a scrap of my dress to keep from Hwa following the blood trail. I hide behind a big oak tree away from the road I just ran down. Somebody help me…

[blacktofade]

pls oh god of fics pls grant thee touch starved Shane and oblivious Ryan in shyan ship *bows down* (i sent one before and donno if u actually got it cuz it showed error so im sending in another try)

I didn’t get your other ask unfortunately, but this is an idea I’ve been wanting to write like 10k for, but I know I’ll never have the energy. So it’s a little ficlet instead.

CW: Includes post-kidnapping, malnutrition, and an embarrassing lack of touching for a touch-starved prompt.

*

Shane disappears on September 17th. Ryan only remembers because they’d been scheduled to shoot an episode of Weird and/or Wonderful World and he’d had to eventually make the uncomfortable call to the Los Angeles County Arboretum and Botanic Garden to cancel their tour and interview.

It had been funny at first with Shane’s habitual lateness. They’d all assumed he’d slept late, forgot what day it was, and completely blanked on the filming schedule.

It’s less funny a week later when a missing person’s report is filed and Shane’s parents fly out to stay with Scott while they wait for any kind of news.

Detective Flores finds him two states over, a month and a half later. There are six hostages in total, as part of some elaborate heist that’s foiled before it comes to fruition. Shane’s kept in hospital for almost a full week, treated for malnutrition and a few general injuries, the news passed to Ryan through Scott via a DM on Instagram.

For the first time since Shane’s disappearance, Ryan sleeps through the whole night.

On the Saturday following Shane’s return, Ryan wakes to a phone call at eight in the morning.

“Hello?” he answers, voice rough from sleep, brain barely online.

“I’m sorry,” Shane apologizes, but his voice alone is enough to wake up Ryan the rest of the way. It’s the first he’s heard from him. He’d been trying to give the family space and knew Shane would find him once he was ready. Apparently, now is that time. “Can you come pick me up?”

“Sure,” Ryan agrees instantly, shoving back the covers and getting out of bed. “Where are you?”

“My apartment,” Shane admits and Ryan pauses from where he’s trying to dig out a pair of clean pants. “I just need a break.”

“Sure,” Ryan repeats. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

It’s quiet on the other end of the line before, quietly, Shane says, “Thanks, Ryan.”

*

Shane’s waiting at the curb when Ryan pulls up.

Ryan unlocks the door and watches Shane fold himself into his seat, waiting a moment for Shane to settle before reaching over to set a hand on his knee, squeezing gently.

“Hey man,” he says gently. “Long time no see.”

Shane startles at the touch, but glances over, offering a small smile in return.

He looks different. His face is thinner, his cheekbones a little more prominent, and there’s a new scar on the right side of his forehead that disappears into his hairline.

“Hey,” Shane replies, buckling his seatbelt and giving Ryan a view of his right hand, which has two fingers splinted together. “Thanks for coming.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

Ryan stares at him incredulously and eventually Shane looks away, out the passenger side window.

“It’s just hard being surrounded by everyone right now,” he says, clearly talking about his family. “I need a break.”

Ryan checks over his shoulder and pulls back onto the road.

“Is my apartment okay? Or did you want to go somewhere else?”

“Your place is fine,” Shane tells him, and from the corner of his eye, Ryan sees him turn his head, staring as though Ryan won’t notice.

At the next red light, Ryan glances over. “How are you doing?”

Shane looks away, clearly caught. “Getting tired of people asking me that. It’s all anyone asks these days.”

“Guess they just want to know you’re okay.”

Shane glances back towards him. “Could be better,” he says bluntly and Ryan can’t help but let out a quiet huff of laughter.

“Yeah, no shit. But the hospital cleared you?”

“Yeah,” Shane sighs. “Apart from a few broken fingers and some weight loss, I’m okay.”

“I missed you,” Ryan admits. “It’s probably the longest I’ve gone without seeing you since we started at BuzzFeed.”

Shane frowns like he’s thinking and then the frown deepens. “Jesus, you might be right.”

Ryan laughs again. “Horrifying thought, huh?”

“Puts things in perspective.”

“Didn’t you miss me?” Ryan asks jokingly, but Shane doesn’t answer, just laughs quietly.

“It’s weird,” Shane says. “I was never alone, but it feels like I have to relearn how to be around people now.”

Ryan had read the news after Shane’s rescue. There had been five others saved alongside Shane, so he suspects they might be the reason Shane wasn’t alone.

Ryan shrugs gently. “Adjusting is hard, and I’m sure it’s even harder with your family refusing to let you out of their sights.”

Shane shakes his head. “You have no idea. I was in the shower for twenty minutes this morning and they started knocking on the door to see if I was still alive.”

“Rough,” Ryan laments. “Well, you’re welcome to chill at my place for as long as you need.”

“Can I move in?” Shane jokes, but Ryan just shrugs.

“If that’s what you want.”

It’s silent for a moment before Shane says, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Ryan offers him a smile. “Of course, dude. It’s what I’m here for.”

It’s quiet for the rest of the drive until Ryan pulls into his usual parking spot and glances over. “You good?

Shane nods and carefully unbuckles his seatbelt. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

Ryan’s chest tightens watching Shane limp his way towards the front door, but he knows the last thing Shane needs is more helicoptering.

“Can I get you anything?” Ryan asks as he shuts the door behind them, watching Shane glance around as though he expects Ryan to have redecorated during his disappearance, but ultimately Shane shakes his head. “Okay, well, make yourself at home. You know the drill. I’m gonna go grab a drink.”

He knows Shane can find his own way to the living room, so he moves around him, heading in the direction of the kitchen instead.

“Ryan?” Shane questions and Ryan pauses, turning back.

“Yeah?”

Shane hesitates like he doesn’t know how to get the words out, but after a moment, he takes two steps closer and draws Ryan into a hug instead.

Ryan isn’t entirely expecting it. Shane’s not a touchy-feely guy, which means Ryan can probably count on one hand the amount of times they’ve hugged. But Shane folds around him so tightly that it startles the breath right out of him.

“I did miss you,” Shane mutters and Ryan lifts his hands to reciprocate, holding Shane as hard as he dares when everything feels so fragile.

“I was really worried,” Ryan admits. “I thought you’d been killed.”

He finds himself rubbing one hand along Shane’s spine, trying to soothe him as Shane tucks his face against his shoulder.

“You were gone for a long time,” Ryan continues.

He can feel the warmth of Shane’s breath through his shirt as he exhales shakily. “They broke my fingers when I tried to escape.”

Ryan holds him tighter, needing them both to understand that Shane’s safe again. Having the weight of Shane leaning against him is grounding in a way he never knew it could be. About a month into Shane’s disappearance, Ryan had gone through a mourning period, assuming he’d never see Shane again. He finds tears prickling his eyes as the relief hits him solidly in the chest.

“God, Shane,” he murmurs and he’s not sure who’s comforting who.

The warmth of Shane spreads through him, all the way down to his toes, like a cup of hot soup on a cold day. Except that Ryan never realized he was too cold until this moment. He feels alive and whole again, and he knows he can’t even begin to understand what Shane experienced. The fact that he can feel every ridge of Shane’s spine as his hand passes along it says enough.

When he finally starts feeling like Shane’s probably ready to let go, he loosens his arms and shifts, one foot lifting to take a step backwards.

“Just a little longer,” Shane requests and Ryan’s more than happy to comply, a noise of agreement escaping as he nods.

“I’ll stay here as long as you need,” Ryan tells him. “It’s just good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Shane replies and tightens his grip again like he might never let go.

To be honest, Ryan’s okay with that. He holds on just as tightly and settles against Shane, finally feeling happy again for the first time in months.

[kieraelieson]

Logic Still Needs Comfort

A fic for @im-a-creepy-cookie as a part of @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I did your touch-starved Logan prompt!

Warnings: detailed sensory issues, joking mention of death

Logan disliked being touched.

It had been known for years. They all knew it. Surprise hugs or claps on the shoulder startled him unpleasantly and even made him upset sometimes. Touching his hand to get his attention made him jump and frown. He himself had compared the experience to having a bug or an animal suddenly landing on him.

And so Roman and Patton learned not to touch him aside from the occasional celebratory high-five. Which was fine. Everyone was fine, and happy.

And then came Virgil. And accepting anxiety as a valuable part of Thomas. Which changed things.

••^*^••

“Hey, um… L?”

Logan turned to see Virgil fidgeting but staring at him with an intent look. “Yes?”

“So, um, well you know I told you how Remus is practically a leech, and there wasn’t any getting away from it, but I’m not saying Patton isn’t great! But just Roman is… Roman, and just, but Patton really is great but I kinda don’t want to get turned into a teddy bear, and you’re all calm, and I’m, well, I’m sort of missing the calm and….” Virgil looked down and huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Oh, this is gonna come out awkward any way I say it. Can I sit next to you? I just wanna play on my phone and maybe stick my legs over your lap or something.”

Logan cocked his head to the side just slightly. “You wish to stick your legs over my lap while sitting next to me? That seems like it would involve terrible posture.”

Virgil gave a little breath of a laugh. “Any way I sit involves bad posture.”

“Actually, occasionally when you sit you replicate what is sometimes called the ‘primal squat’ which is reported to be excellent for your posture.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin. “Ok, you got me there. Maybe. But anyway, would you mind? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I’ll head back to my room.”

Logan considered it carefully. It was true that he did not enjoy touch. But this seemed as if it would be relatively calm, and would not require much, if any, reciprocation on his part. “I do not ‘mind’,” he said, utilizing Virgil’s turn of phrase.

He was currently standing, reading a book he had taken from the bookshelf he was standing in front of, and had not yet decided whether to stay with this book or choose another. He quickly pulled out the other two he’d been considering, and tucked all three books under his arm before seating himself on a couch.

It was a pleasant place, the memory library. Calm and quiet, with almost a heaviness to the air that Logan found enjoyable in a way. It was also rather dim, however, at least in this area, where the memories were older, and Logan found it necessary to summon a side table with a lamp on it so that he would have suitable light for reading.

He’d momentarily forgotten about Virgil until the couch cushion dipped beside him. Virgil pulled off his shoes and glanced at Logan.

“You really don’t mind? I mean, I know it’s kind of invasive to your space. You don’t have to say yes.”

Logan nodded. “I am not opposed.”

Virgil very tentatively put one foot up on Logan’s lap, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Logan felt again that sudden unpleasant ‘something touching me’ feeling, but it passed surprisingly quickly, and by the time Virgil had fully settled himself, laying on his back with his knees up over Logan’s lap and his feet on the other side of Logan, the feeling was gone entirely.

Logan propped his book against Virgil’s knees and began to read.

He was a little surprised, when Patton called for dinner, to find that they had been there for close to two hours, and that the unpleasant feeling had never returned. Instead he was feeling warm, and comfortable, more than he had in quite a while. He attributed this to the couch. And perhaps the warmth was a slight raising of Thomas’s core temperature, due to stress at having Anxiety so close to the old memories. Perhaps they ought to have sat down somewhere a little further away.

Regardless, he was about to comment, as they got up, at how pleasant the experience had been. Except that as soon as they both stood up, he found he was suddenly and extremely unpleasantly cold. This alarmed him, and he left without discussing anything with Virgil, concerned that the warmth and sudden cold was a sign of sickness, perhaps only his own but perhaps a symptom that Thomas was sick as well.

He went straight to the miniature control center he’d set up in one corner of his room, pulling up all of Thomas’s vital signs as well as a recording of where he’d gone that day. But everything was normal.

The cold seemed to be fading somewhat, though it was leaving a concerning ache behind. And it seemed to be concentrated on his thighs and forearms, of all places.

Logan looked through his list of sicknesses, sensible and nonsensical, that he had somehow contracted over his life, and found nothing similar. Still, this must be a sickness of some kind. Most likely a nonsensical one, as he hadn’t noted similar symptoms before. Perhaps he would discover some absurd idiom Thomas had latched onto that was causing him to experience physical repercussions. Something similar to ‘brain freeze’ perhaps.

A soft knock at his door caught Logan’s attention.

“Yes?”

“Logan?” Patton’s voice asked. “Are you alright? Virgil told me what happened. He didn’t realize how much you don’t like being touched, and I think he’d like to apologize, but he’s really worried that you’re upset with him.”

“What—“ Logan had left rather abruptly, and without expressing to Virgil that he’d enjoyed their encounter. It was very possible, with Virgil’s anxiety, that he had misinterpreted Logan’s abrupt departure. “Ah. I see.” He waved a hand to open his door. “I am not in the least upset at Virgil. There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, good.” Patton said, concern all over his face. “But you should probably tell Virgil that, and there’s some dinner saved for you yet.”

Logan nodded, the ache in his forearms and thighs rather distracting. “Thank you, Patton.” And then it hit him. If it really were an odd turn of phrase Thomas had attached to, Patton would certainly know it. “Have you happened to notice any interesting phrases recently?”

Patton frowned in confusion, indicating that Logan had changed the subject too rapidly for Patton to keep up. But then he grinned a little. “So today, I saw a baguette in a cage at the zoo!”

And then it was Logan’s turn to be confused for a moment, before he realized. “Ah, I didn’t mean a joke-“

“It was bread in captivity!” Patton smiled brightly, nearly laughing at his own joke.

“Yes, thank you, Patton,” Logan said, allowing the tiniest bit of an amused smile to show.

Even that slight encouragement made Patton beam. “Well, I told Roman that I would watch Disney with him tonight, so I’ll have to go, but don’t forget to talk with Virgil before you eat, and don’t forget to eat either!”

“I won’t forget,” Logan promised, a softer smile showing.

But as soon as Patton left he clapped a hand over his mouth. Why was he so… easily swayed? He prided himself on keeping a straight face, and yet now he’d smiled at Patton’s pun! What was wrong with him?

And now, with Patton leaving the room, it was as if the heat had been sapped. He was again very uncomfortable, aching and cold and he didn’t understand why. Was he perhaps experiencing some strange and extreme form of separation anxiety? It had set in both times as another side had left, though in different ways. But he didn’t feel anxious.

It was all incredibly strange.

But it seemed that Virgil was under a rather upsetting misconception. It could wait. He would speak with Virgil first and then look into this strange sickness further.

Logan crossed the hallway to knock on Virgil’s door.

The door opened almost immediately, Virgil looking as though he’d been waiting on someone to knock, and that Logan had not been the one he’d been expecting, based on the wide eyes and generally startled appearance.

“L, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known, I wouldn’t have wanted to make you uncomfortable—“

“Virgil, I assure you, I was perfectly comfortable. I would have expressed discomfort if I needed to.”

Virgil blinked, and the deep black of his eyeshadow faded somewhat. “You aren’t mad?”

“Not at all. I enjoyed the calm company you provided. I left abruptly upon discovering symptoms that indicate possible sickness.”

“Oh.” Virgil was silent a moment, gaze flickering away from Logan as he processed. “Wait, sick? Who’s sick?”

“I may be, though it is odd, and perhaps not a sickness at all.”

“Well, what is it? What’s going on? Are you ok? Is it contagious?”

“I do not know. I am experiencing a strange cold, and aching.”

Virgil’s eyebrows creased in concern. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Logan nodded seriously. “That is why I left, trying to discover what it could be.”

Virgil nodded in an encouraging, ‘go on’ kind of way.

“I haven’t found anything yet, but Patton informed me of the misunderstanding between us and reminded me to eat dinner. I intend to do more research afterwards.”

Virgil nodded. “I could rubber duck for you, if you want. Maybe I could help a bit.”

Logan stared, trying to remember what the phrase was meant to convey before revealing his confusion. He was certain he had it on a flash card somewhere, but he’d left them in his room.

Virgil rather obviously quashed an amused smile. “You tell me what happened, and then we see if we can figure it out together. Repeating the details can help you connect them better sometimes.”

“Ah. Yes. That does seem useful. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin, pulling up his hood and closing his door behind himself. “So when did you first notice the symptoms?”

Logan explained his symptoms and research to Virgil as they went downstairs and sat down at the table.

“And I still have very little of an idea of why,” Logan admitted. “I believe it possible that it’s another of those idioms that we sometimes experience physically.”

Virgil nodded very slowly. “I actually… might have an idea. I have an experiment I’d like to try, but if I explain it fully it’ll bias you and it probably won’t work.”

“Go ahead,” Logan said, opening the Tupperware container of spaghetti. “What is your experiment?”

Virgil reached one hand across the table. “While you’re eating, give me one hand.”

Logan considered, reaching out to hold Virgil’s hand. “Does this have something to do with checking pulse? You would be able to do that more easily with my wrist than my hand.”

Virgil shook his head. “Just eat, and when you’re done we’ll see how it goes.”

Logan frowned slightly. “Do you believe this has something to do with how recently I’ve eaten? Or that it could be influenced by the focus needed to do something with only one hand?”

Virgil chuckled. “I’ll explain once you’ve eaten.”

Logan was far too curious to wait patiently, and ate quickly, pushing away a not-quite empty container. “What is it?”

“Are you feeling warm again?”

Logan took a moment to assess, and realized that yes. He was feeling warmer. The ache as well was completely gone. “I am. Is it the food?”

Virgil offered a rather sad smile. “Alright, now let go of my hand and tell me what you feel then.”

Logan let go, and almost immediately the cold rushed back. He frowned. “But why? Why do I suddenly seem to have my physical temperature tied to the proximity of you and the other sides?”

His hand ached, and he held Virgil’s again, relieved, but utterly confused when the unpleasant feelings faded.

“I’ve had something like this,” Virgil said. “But not quite the same as yours, based on what Patton was saying. I think you’re probably touch starved.”

Logan considered this silently.

“But I don’t like being touched.”

Virgil gave his hand a slight squeeze. “You don’t seem to mind this.”

Logan nodded, very slowly. “You’re right. I… I don’t mind this at all.”

“I think we should talk to the others,” Virgil suggested.

Logan nodded slowly. “I suppose so.”

••^*^••

“You’re what?!” Patton practically wailed, throwing himself at Logan in a hug.

Immediately Logan felt like he wanted to crawl out his skin. This was miserable. In no way what he wanted. It didn’t feel right at all. It was like a whole hive of insects were buzzing just below his skin.

He pushed Patton off of him, more roughly than he would have intended. “Get off!”

Patton stopped immediately, staring in confusion and hurt.

Logan couldn’t handle it. He was freezing, and his skin was crawling, and his mind seemed filled with static. It was terrible. He just couldn’t.

He barely understood the words directed at him from the other sides as he sank out.

He locked his door and shuddered, hands repeatedly making and releasing fists. He shuddered again, trying to dislodge the crawling feeling. It didn’t leave.

He’d been right, he didn’t like touch. Not at all.

He got into the shower, running the water hot and scrubbing the disgusting feeling away. It helped warm him up as well, which felt way better. He bundled into his bed, pulling the weighted blanket that had been a gift from Virgil over himself.

A while later, finally calm and comfortable, he conjured a note to stick on the door.

I am not upset, but please leave me alone.

••^*^••

Logan spent the next several days figuratively buried in research. He investigated touch starvation as well as touch aversion, and a host of other possible clues to his situation.

He also gradually became more uncomfortable, holed up in his room.

He came to the conclusion that he did, in fact, have a kind of touch starvation, awakened to a roaring hunger by that pleasant afternoon sitting with Virgil.

But he also certainly had an aversion to being touched in certain ways. And he suspected, looking into it more, that surprise was a large factor, as well as the amount of him that was being touched, and perhaps the way in which he was touched.

He was basing this largely on his own reactions to Virgil’s method of touching, as compared to Patton’s or Roman’s, since he highly doubted that it was something inherent in them that he was averse to.

Finally his findings were all put together into one detailed, though as of yet hypothetical, presentation. Armed with this, and a determination not to touch anyone until he’d presented his findings, he opened the door to his room.

As he’d suspected, there was something attached to his door that made a noise as it was opened, and he was soon nearly mobbed with the other sides. They didn’t touch, or come too near, or say anything, but all came very quickly to stare at him, worry in every gaze.

He raised his folder. “I have a presentation. Please gather in the living room.”

It didn’t take long. Not at all.

Logan opened the folder and set it on top of the tv, so that the images could be seen.

“I believe Virgil was correct in suggesting that I have a degree of touch starvation.” He flipped through a few pages, supporting this statement with both facts and personal experiences.

He paused. This was the part that was likely to hurt feelings. Even he knew it, and he wasn’t usually adept at understanding feelings. But it was necessary.

“However, in satisfying this hunger, I will need to be ‘picky’. I have boundaries outlined in this section, and I need to keep them rigidly. This will mean that I will not be open to surprise touch, and likely not to hugs either. I would like to have support from each of you, support in accordance with what I’m capable of handling.”

“Absolutely, Logan,” Patton said. “I’d really like to be able to help you in the right way.”

Both Roman and Virgil nodded very solemnly and enthusiastically.

Logan smiled, more moved by this expression of support than he’d expected to be. “Thank you, Patton. And thank you two as well. I will be very much in need of your assistance.”

He cleared his throat, more in an attempt to gather himself together than any really obstruction. “I’ve laid out a number of methods of touch that I believe would be helpful to me, and arranged them by likelihood of success, and also divided by which I believe each of you would be more inclined to enjoy yourselves.”

••^*^••

Logan was seated on his bed, organizing and updating his flashcards, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” Roman said, peeking in rather shyly. “Um, can we try one of those things now? I brought something to do.”

Logan considered, a slight curl of worry in his stomach. “Yes. I believe now would be a good time.”

Roman fully entered the room. “So I can sit behind you, and do my thing, and I won’t bother you while you do yours.”

Logan smiled slightly. “That sounds pleasant.”

Roman grinned, a bit of pride evident in his expression. He sat behind Logan on the bed, facing away from him, and leaned back slightly, so that they were each leaning against the other.

For about thirty seconds, Logan was uncomfortable, but gradually, warmth spread out through his body, and his mind was able to return its focus to his flashcards, and soon he found he was quite comfortable.

“Hey, specs, what do you call a little tiny shovel? Like the ones for kids. Or I guess not for kids, or not all the time.”

“That would be called a trowel, though perhaps a more recognizable, less correct term would be a spade.”

“Thanks!”

Logan could hear the smile in Roman’s voice, and smiled himself. This was genuinely pleasant.

Even after he had finished with his flashcards, Logan didn’t move. He just soaked in the wonderful warmth, answering whatever questions Roman had, and occasionally listening as Roman gushed about a particular sentence or paragraph he was especially proud of writing.

••^*^••

Logan walked beside Patton, enjoying the false nature of the imagination. He was familiar with much of the flora and fauna, even a decent portion of those entirely invented within Thomas’s mind. And Patton seemed to enjoy Logan’s rambling as much as Logan enjoyed the rambling.

A hand bumped gently against his, and Logan hesitated a moment, before linking his pinky finger with Patton’s.

Patton’s smile grew even brighter. “And you were saying the seeds of that tree are special? What kind of special are they?”

Logan smiled proudly, launching into an explanation. Patton swung their hands back and forth gently as they walked, and Logan felt something within him fill up. He felt pleasantly full, as if there was a cup inside him that had been long empty, and was now trickling over the rim, full enough to even spill.

••^*^••

Logan and Virgil laid out on the roof, looking up at the night sky. They were side by side, with Logan’s left leg tangled up with Virgil’s right.

It was calm. And warm. And peaceful.

In a reverse of the usual pattern, Virgil was the one telling the myth, this time of people who had lifted up the sky.

Logan felt himself drifting off, more comfortable than he could remember being in a very long time. He was figuratively floating on soft, warm clouds. Drifting into a summer night. He was safe, and content. Comfortable.

••^*^••

“Patton,” Logan said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“I would like to attempt a hug.”

Patton turned all his attention to Logan. “You sure?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. Just— slowly. And gently.”

Patton nodded solemnly, reaching his arms out.

Logan slowly leaned into the embrace, and Patton gently wrapped his arms around him.

And it wasn’t bad.

Logan hugged Patton, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Thank you.”

Patton’s eyes were all shimmery, and his smile wobbled. “You’re welcome, Logan!”

••^*^••

The door burst open dramatically and Roman ran in, flopping over the arm of the couch and letting out an even more dramatic groan. Then he peeked his eyes open, and moved to just as dramatically flop onto Logan’s lap.

“I fought dragons.” He announced, his voice a whisper as if he were inches away from death.

Logan, for once, was hit with a burst of mischievousness, and patted Roman’s face in an intentionally awkward way. “I will be sure to mention it at your funeral. I’m sure you’ve written an extensive ballad, and I’ll force Virgil to sing it in your honor.”

Roman had a sudden grin before resuming his ‘dying of exhaustion and probably wounds’ act. “Make sure you do,” he croaked out. “And have Patton put flowers in my casket.”

“Of course.”

Roman went limp, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

“Patton!” Logan called. “We’re going to have to put on a funeral.”

“A what?!”

••^*^••

Logan leaned against Virgil’s side, his empty cup of coffee set beside him, as the second movie began to wrap up.

“If they start another movie, you can lay in my lap and go to sleep,” Virgil offered quietly.

Logan, who despite the coffee was beginning to nod, hummed an affirmative.

He was woken up a good deal later by a lack of sound, and found that they’d just finished what might have been the third, but could’ve been the fourth or fifth movie of the night. He was laying on a pillow in Virgil’s lap, and his legs were up in Roman’s lap. And judging by Patton’s smile, pictures had been taken.

“We’re finishing up now,” Patton whispered. “And setting up to sleep out here. Do you want to stay in here or go to your own room?”

Logan yawned. “It will be far better for my posture to go to my own room… but if you were to turn on a sound machine… I would not be opposed to remaining here.”

Soon, something between white noise and rain lulled him back to sleep.

••^*^••

They all found a marked improvement, both in Logan’s mood and even in Thomas’s clarity of mind, as they continued experimenting with touch.

It was discovered that Roman, while not starved, was also touch-hungry, and was practically a giant dog in that he would accept any and all kinds of petting.

And as Logan regulated, he found he was even more ready to give touch than to receive it. Roman flopping onto him after ‘terrible and glorious battles’ became a regular occurrence, often ending with Roman falling asleep, Logan gently scritching at his scalp.

Walks with Patton became something they both greatly enjoyed and looked forward to. Sometimes they could only link pinkies, sometimes holding hands, sometimes even walking arm in arm.

And Virgil was always ready to do something of his own near Logan, a limb draped over him or pressed up against him.

Logan found himself repeatedly thinking back to that one afternoon in the memory library, incredibly grateful that Virgil had asked, and that he had said yes. He could see so much in his life that was better now.

And he was really, truly happy.