#wracking my brain trying to think what it could be. because i Doubt it’ll be the same thing again

[seveneyesoup]

no more doctor who for a year. i have time to watch the whole show between now and then

[chrisevansonly]

Miscommunication

Chris Evans x Female Reader

Summary: You rarely argue, hating confrontation you tend to avoid it at all costs, but when a miscommunication happens and you overhear something with no context, tensions bubble over and you’re stuck in your least favourite spot

Warnings: angst, body insecurities, miscommunication, yelling, swearing, slight mention of eating disorder/food insecurity, happy ending<3

A/N: I love a good angst to happy ending, and I decided to give a lil argument a go, I really need to try and get more confident in my writing because I constantly feel like its horrible hahaha, anyway being a mid size gal who has lost a lot of weight, I wanted to write something to include the girls who aren’t thin, and who do have a belly, thicker thighs, because sometimes bigger girls are left out. There is nothing wrong with your bodies, no matter what size you are from a 00-20+ you’re beautiful and you deserve to be loved and accepted for you<3

Word Count: 1,257

 Being a girl who’s a little on the bigger side, well I guess midsize would be the term everyone’s using these days, you’d often have good and bad days, that was just a part of the journey to self-love and to becoming more confident in your own skin. You were a confident woman, owning your body, wearing what you loved to wear, and you also happened to have a boyfriend who loved you unconditionally, and was your biggest hype man. Reminding you every day how much he loved you, from leaving sticky notes on the mirrors in the house with reminders or little quotes of motivation. If you had a bad day with eating, he’d be right beside you, making small snacks and eating with you, to encouraging and celebrating your little accomplishments with every meal. Chris was truly your number one fan, and always made sure he supported you in any way he possible could, so it certainly surprised you when you accidentally overheard a conversation you felt wasn’t meant to be heard 

“there’s no way she’s going to fit into that…are you kidding me?”

“I mean if only there was a way that would even work.”

“No, it’ll look horrible…”

“I don’t even want to picture her wearing that.”

You didn’t listen in much after that because despite not knowing who or what he was talking about, your brain immediately went to flight mode, and you were in your shared bedroom within seconds. You felt disgusted with yourself, to think Chris would be talking about you like that to someone else, it made your stomach churn, the urge to get rid of everything you’d had to eat that day surfacing up. You didn’t even want to look at yourself in the mirror, taking down all those stupid sticky notes he put on them, because as far as you knew, it was all a lie now anyway. You let yourself sulk for some of the afternoon before going down to the kitchen to get a glass of water, your stomach rumbling quietly but your appetite long gone. Chris was looking through the fridge no doubt searching for something to whip together for lunch 

“Hey baby, you getting hungry?”

You shook your head grabbing a glass from the cupboard in front of you 

“No thanks”

He watched you silently for a few moments as you got your water, his eyes trained on you, the feeling of him staring pausing your movements while you looked at him

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just you haven’t eaten since breakfast…are you sure you aren’t hungry?”

So now suddenly he cares if you’re hungry or not?

“Why do you care if I’m hungry or not.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You rolled your eyes not wanting to start a huge fight or argument but before you could leave the kitchen, he grabbed a hold of your elbow gently 

“Honey what the hell is going on?”

“You of all people should know Chris.” 

He furrowed his brows, and you could tell he was wracking his brain trying to figure out what the problem could be 

“Well, I clearly don’t, so If you could enlighten me as to why you’re so angry that would be great.”

“Figure it out.” 

You turned and went towards your bedroom again, Chris hot on your heels

“We aren’t fucking playing this game y/n, I’m not chasing after you trying to figure out why you’re upset, so quit running away and talk to me!”

“I heard you on goddamn phone this morning okay!”

He shook his head his hand coming up to rub his face gently 

“Okay? What’s wrong with me being on the phone…am I not allowed to do that?”

“It’s not the phone, it’s what you said! There’s no way she’s going to fit in that, I don’t even want to picture her wearing that, it’ll look horrible! It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out that conversation was about me Chris! I get it, I’m not some stick thin vogue model, I don’t fit into everything, I fucking get that. I would have n-never guessed you of all p-people would point that out to someone over the phone.” 

His expression dropped instantly, and he moved toward you to take your hands in his but you stepped back 

“I get it okay, I’m gross to look at, embarrassing to be around, I already knew a-all of that, I thought i-it didn’t bother you, apparently I was wrong.”

When the tears started to fall down your cheeks, Chris was quick to pull you to him, holding you as if you were going to disappear before his eyes, your body shaking against him as your thoughts ran rampant 

“Oh baby…. I’m so sorry, honey this whole thing is a miscommunication, I wasn’t saying anything bad about you, I would never, but I know why you’d think that I should have worded it differently”

You sniffled against the fabric of his sweater, not moving from his embrace, your silence allowing him to continue 

“I was having something special designed for you, and the company got your size wrong, and I was frustrated because I had told them hundreds of times, I was upset because I knew it would make you uncomfortable and wouldn’t highlight how beautiful you are, but I guess my choice in words were shit. I promise you baby I love you and your body so much, there is nothing horrible about you, there is nothing embarrassing about you. I am so fucking fortunate to get to love all of you every day, flaws and all, even though you’re absolutely perfect in my eyes.”

He pulled back slightly so he could take your face in his hands, a sad smile tugging at his lips while his thumbs wiped away your tears 

“You are everything to me and more pretty girl, I promise you, there is nothing in this world that can convince me you aren’t endgame for me, I love you with everything in me, and I need you to know how beautiful you are to me.”

“I’m s-sorry...”

He shook his head pressing a gentle kiss to your lips 

“You don’t need to say sorry honey, I should have made my intentions more clear on the phone, that’s my fault”

You moved back to rest your head against his chest, and he rubbed his hands up and down your back soothingly, calming you down

“I love you so much, I want you to know that you are perfect just the way you are. Always.”

“I love you too, I’m sorry I jumped to the worst conclusion”

Chris tightened his hold on you hating the fact that he made you feel this way 

“You don’t need to apologize to me baby, I promise…now can I make you some lunch to make up for this?”

Your stomach growling in response made him chuckle quietly, giving him the answer, he needed

“So, lunch and then I need to make some updated sticky notes…seems like some have gone missing.”

Chris stuck to his word, making the two of you some food before sitting down and eating it with you, before grabbing his sticky note pads and writing little reminders on them to stick to the mirrors in your bedroom again. A constant note that would continue to let you know just how much he loved you and everything you offered him, because at the end of the day, you were perfect for him, just like he was for you. 

[attilarrific]

Yes, that's right, it's REAL HIDDEN TRACK. The regular one, not my silly Jin Guangyao nonsense! Say thank you to the very generous @forablueeyedmiracle (that @ tag is not working, sorry!), who requested some more of this nonsense with bonus having to be physically affectionate for fake dating reasons.

It has been a While, so if you need to refamiliarize yourself, masterpost is here.

Enjoy!

.

Wei Wuxian is behaving…oddly. Jiang Cheng would probably say that Wei Wuxian always behaves oddly, but Lan Wangji knows better. Wei Wuxian is surprising, frequently. Thrilling. Unique. But he always behaves exactly like himself, each surprise simply another way in which he is completely Wei Wuxian. Now, however, as Luo Qingyang discusses the concert they’re meant to give, he’s quiet. He fidgets, but doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t tease, doesn’t inject his excess energy into the conversation.

“And you two—” Luo Qingyang says, turning to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian jumps slightly. “What? What about us? What did I do? Everything’s fine!”

Luo Qingyang stops, narrowing her eyes at him. “Well, now I think something isn’t.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, brushing it off, but his eyes dart to the side too quickly, and Lan Wangji leans forward, trying to catch his eye. It doesn’t work.

“My mom thinks he’s getting married to Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng says abruptly. “It’s a whole thing. It was awkward as hell.”

Wei Wuxian agrees immediately, but when Lan Wangji changes the direction of his gaze, he finds Jiang Cheng frowning at his brother. He looks angry, like a brewing argument, but on Jiang Cheng, that’s probably the same thing as concern.

“Fine,” Luo Qingyang says. “You two, please try to be as publicly affectionate as possible during this concert? Kiss some more. You’ve been doing fantastically so far, so keep it up, would you? It’s making my job so much easier.”

“Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing don’t make out on stage,” Wei Wuxian protests. And it is a protest, Lan Wangji realizes with increasing worry. It’s very clearly an objection. Wei Wuxian is—bothered? He doesn’t want—

But everything has been fine before now. Hasn’t it? It’s been—

Has Lan Wangji done something wrong?

He wracks his brain, trying to remember, but—Wei Wuxian had come home from his apparently awful dinner with his adoptive family, and he’d seemed unhappy, but not unhappy with their fake relationship or Lan Wangji’s increasingly obvious affection. Wei Wuxian had seemed pleased enough for them to spend time together. That’s not the same thing as kissing on stage during a stadium tour, but surely—surely if Lan Wangji had made some kind of mistake, he would know.

“Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing have also spent years being extremely low key about their relationship,” Luo Qingyang says, because the conversation is continuing while Lan Wangji tries to remember every detail of the last few days. “You know what they haven’t ever done? Made out against a car door in full view of the press, your fans, and anyone else with an internet connection. Declared love at first sight to an entire talk show studio audience. Talked about their fake sex life where photography crews could hear.”

“Okay, listen, that was—that was—I don’t know what any of that was, but I’m not conceding the point.”

Lan Wangji’s fault, is what every single one of those things had been. And perhaps Luo Qingyang realizes that—or, more likely, she just thinks Lan Wangji is more inclined to be reasonable; more fool her—because she turns to Lan Wangji and says, “Kiss on stage. A lot, please. I don’t want anyone doubting the reality of this ridiculous story.”

Lan Wangji swallows. “If Wei Ying doesn’t want to—”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says immediately. “No, it’s fine. She’s right, it’s fine, why would I care. It’ll be fun, it’s fine.”

It cannot possibly be, and Lan Wangji is very much not ready to be done with this conversation, but Luo Qingyang clearly is. She smiles and says, “Good, glad to hear it. Keep the rest of it in mind, and please, for the love of everything, don’t play something unreleased and unrecorded without running it by me first.”

She leaves, and for a moment there’s silence. Then Wei Wuxian sits up straight and claps his hands together. “So, we’re playing something unreleased and unrecorded without running it by her first, right?”

“I fucking hate you,” Jiang Cheng says, and then, “Yeah, okay.”

Wen Qing darts a glance at her boyfriend and then shrugs. “Sure. She’s used to us by now. It won’t exactly come as a surprise.”

Since Wen Ning and Lan Wangji don’t disagree with Wei Wuxian without a better reason than making Luo Qingyang roll her eyes at them, that’s that—or it should be, except Jiang Cheng says, “Wei Wuxian, do you have any love songs lying around?”

Wei Wuxian just stares at him for a moment. “What?”

Wen Qing is frowning at her hands, folded neatly on her lap, but Jiang Cheng just makes an impatient noise. “Love songs,” he repeats. “You have to kiss him on stage anyway. Two birds, one stone—come on, Wei Wuxian. If we do a new love song now, it doesn’t fucking matter what you put for the lyrics, everyone will think it’s about Lan Wangji anyway. You can dedicate it to him, whatever else. All that. Everyone will eat it up.”

“I—” Wei Wuxian says, and then he stops.

“Come on. You always manage to write way more than what we can fit into an album, there’s got to be something. Something that got scrapped because it didn’t fit a theme or something. As long as it’s not literally about a girl, we should be fine.”

“Maybe even if it is about a girl,” Wen Qing says slowly. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, fixed on Wei Wuxian now. “People will hear what they want to. It doesn’t have to really mean anything. It’s like fortune tellers. They say something generic, you find ways to make it specific. Even if it looks like it fits, it doesn’t actually.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, and then he says, “Uh, yeah, sure, I think I have some stuff. It might be a little rough, though.”

Jiang Cheng just brushes off. “Whatever, we’ll polish it. We’ve got, like, what, three hours? Plenty of time.”

Lan Wangji would really like to use any of those three hours to try and figure out what’s upsetting Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian is already throwing himself into the process with more excitement than he’s shown for anything else so far, so—so it’s probably fine.

#

“I think I have stage fright,” Wei Wuxian says without any kind of lead up, staring at the green room ceiling. He only says it because Wen Qing’s the only other person in the room, everyone else having been stolen for various pre-show things. Probably he should know what those things are, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“You don’t,” she tells him, which is why she’s the person he’s saying this to. “You’ve never had stage fright in your life.”

“I know,” he says. “But I think I must.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. She might be making faces at him, but that’s why he’s staring at the ceiling: so he doesn’t have to know what kind. “You’re nervous?” she asks him at last.

Not nervous, not exactly. He shakes his head. “I think I might throw up?”

Another silence, longer this time, and then she suddenly gets up and stands over him, looming and forcing him to look at her. “Look,” she says firmly. “You had a weird conversation with your foster parents. Yu Ziyuan’s pissed at you because now she thinks you might get married before Jiang Cheng does—seriously, who cares, it’s not like I’m going anywhere whether we sign a marriage license or not—and Jiang Fengmian’s all delighted about your new relationship. It’s making you feel guilty about the whole thing. Up until now, you haven’t been lying to people who matter. It’s normal to start feeling uncomfortable with the whole thing.”

Wei Wuxian stares at her, and then he sits up so fast he almost bashes their heads together. “Oh.”

“Makes sense, right?” she says firmly.

“It does.”

“So relax. You don’t have stage fright. You’re experiencing guilt. It’s fine. You’re honestly doing the best thing for everyone, because things would be much, much worse if everyone still thought I was cheating with you. The guilt is normal, but it’s not necessary. You’ll get over it eventually.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says. “That makes so much sense. Yeah, that’s—that’s definitely all it is, shit. Thanks, Qing-jie.”

“Any time,” she says, heaving a sigh that sounds as relieved as he feels. “Just remember—everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine,” he agrees.

He repeats that to himself often during the concert—every time he hangs off of Lan Wangji’s shoulders, every time he presses their lips and bodies together. He repeats it especially firmly when he introduces the new song, the one that’s unreleased and unrecorded and very much not run by Mianmian. He’d thought a couple times—it does sound like it could be about Lan Wangji, is the thing, but Wen Qing’s probably right about the fortune teller thing too. It sounds like it could be about Lan Wangji because he’s looking for those connections now.

And everyone else will be too, especially since he opens it by saying, “This is a new one! Our manager’s going to kill us for playing it for you, but the thing is, we couldn’t ever release it before because—well, because I wrote it, and I was worried it was going to be a little obvious.” The crowd cheers and he grins, doing his best to egg them on. “Lately I feel like all my lyrics are about a certain someone. What do you think, do you guys want to hear it?”

Everyone very much does, which might mitigate Mianmian’s all-consuming rage when they get backstage. And everyone wants to hear it because they believe in Wei Wuxian’s beautiful romance, so he does his best to sell it. He sings to Lan Wangji, winking at him and flirting as outrageously he can, and when it’s over, he throws his cittern to the side and just jumps him.

Lan Wangji responds instantly, kissing back with enough fervor that Wei Wuxian ends up bent backward and only resisting the call gravity because Lan Wangji is holding him up. Wei Wuxian loses himself in the sensation of it all at some point—loses time, loses track of what he’s feeling. Somehow, when he comes up for air, he’s laughing. He’s not sure when the anxiety—the guilt—turned into delight, but he can’t seem to stop smiling.

“So you liked the song,” he says, teasing.

Lan Wangji leans back in to bite at his bottom lip meanly. “Yes,” he says, and then, just loud enough to be caught by the mics they’re wearing, “I love all your music.”

And he means that, Wei Wuxian knows, so their weird, weird lives are more than worth it.

[universalistotalis]

My Valentine

Miya Atsumu x Reader

Masterlist!

Word count: 1K

Atsumu Miya’s ears were ringing at your words.

All he wanted to do was get a little alone time with you. Just a wee bit of time away from the co- workers, the team mates… the whole world. He needed you to listen! Because after years of bottling up his admiration for you, he finally had the courage to speak up.

But what did you say?

“I know you hate me, Miya. You don’t have to hide it.”

Excuse you?! Where the hell did you even get that crazy idea?!!!

“I don’t even know what I did for you to hate me that much. And I don’t ever think that I want the answer.” You whispered then turned away, distancing yourself from his figure.

“What made ya think that I hated ya?” He seethed, disbelief clouded his mind. You’re all that he sees, all that he thinks about, and you’re out here telling him otherwise?!

You chuckled without humor. “Well, everything you do!”

“Like?” He challenged, taking a step closer to where you were. Normally, he’d chicken out in your presence. He’d try to escape because you were too overwhelming and he was scared he’d act like a creep by just staring.

But today was different. He was determined to wipe away every single doubt that you have on yourself. And his feelings towards you.

“I see you laugh at me. You judge me all the damn time with those eyes. Don’t act innocent.” You hissed, your eyes turning into slits. “You boss me around when there’s a team meeting.”

“And?” Another step closer.

You take a step back, color obviously creeping up to your cheeks upon realizing your proximity.

“And?” He repeated.

“You get so quiet when I enter the conversations. A-and you always glare.” You stuttered and looked at the ground. “Look Miya…”

“I am looking.” He answered back.

That took you by surprise and as you looked up again, you were met by his intense gazes that made you weak in the knees.

He inwardly panicked as your eyes became glossy with a sheen of tears. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Neither do I.” Atsumu sighed, pulling you in a bear hug while cradling you from side to side. “God, please don’t cry! I never wanted to hurt ya.”

“W-what?” You sniffed.

“I didn’t know that liking ya s’ much would make ya think I despise ya.” He chuckled. “I get quiet everytime ya come ‘round ‘cause I couldn’t stop staring at ya. And I get scared that you’ll be annoyed when I get noisy.”

He loosened his embrace, only to tower over you with his hands resting on your arms.

“I don’t laugh at ya because I’m makin’ fun of ya. You’re jus’ so cute, it’s really endearin’ to me. And I don’t mean to boss ya around. I’m sorry for that but it’s the only way that I thought of so that you’ll notice me.”

It was taking you a minute but your shocked expression was already scaring him to death. Will you reject him? He won’t blame you, if you will, but he knows it’ll hurt for a long time. You’re the only one who’s gotten his attention and he would love to get to know you better. Even better than you know yourself. If you let him…

“What are you saying?” You asked slowly as if in a daze.

His eyes shined and his lips formed a soft smile at how dense you were being.

“I like you, alright?” He tightened his hold, enough for you to know that he means every word. “I’ve been hiding for years but I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Well, at least he told you. He could die tomorrow and have no regrets.

He was bracing himself for the rejection. You looked like you were wracking your brain for some excuse to get rid of him, to get out of this hallway but—

Your sobs echoed the corridors on the way to the rooftop. Your hands flew to your face in an attempt to conceal your contorted features from his sights.

“This is embarrassing!” You cried.

Ouch. That left him with his mouth open and his heart with a crack. “I— I didn’t mean to embarrass you or—“

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” You held him back on his forearms, shaking your head at the sight of him hurt. “I meant that I’m really embarrassed at my reaction. I didn’t mean to cry or anything… it’s just that…”

“I never thought you’ll like me back.” You choked out and sniffed. “I’ve liked you for the longest time and I thought you were going to confront me about how much you hated me when you invited me up here.”

“Wait, what?!” It was his turn to be blown away. “Do I seem that evil to ya?!”

“You couldn’t blame me!” You shouted back.“But, I guess I did a great job at hiding too?” You joked, lightening up the mood. And it worked. First, a graze of a smile painted his lips then he slowly let out a low chuckle until he was full-on laughing with you.

“I gotta admit, sweetheart. Ya got great skills ‘cause I did not suspect a thing.” A wolfy grin displayed on his as he slowly caged you, with the wall behind your back. He felt your breath hitch and your smile waver as the nerves slowly consumed you again. As much as he liked his effect on you, he didn’t want you cowering at his advances.

“Ease.” He cooed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “I want to make you feel comfortable with me, alright? I’d die before I hurt you.”

“Thank you, Miya.” You smiled sweetly at him for the first time and he felt like his soul left his body. And he had a real good close- up view of it too!

“I-it’s Atsumu to you.” He stuttered, becoming the one completely cowering at your advances. “A-and…”

“And?”

“W-will you go out with me? Tomorrow? Will ya be my valentine?”

Your soft chuckles rippled in his heart but your next reply brought a tsunami that he tried his damn best to stay upright.

“Of course, Atsumu. I’m all yours.”

—

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

Masterlist!

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugo Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 16:

Another day, another round of assignments that made you want to tear your hair out. You’d made virtually no progress on your project- seeming to find nothing but Dynamight smear pieces no matter where you looked. 

You felt a little hopeless and frustrated, but that was alright- you knew the perfect pick-me-up. 

You frowned. That wasn’t an answer you wanted to hear, but you figured you should’ve have been that surprised. 

It you’d learned anything about him over past two weeks, it was that you were expected to live in Bakugou’s world and it was his way or not at all. 

You rolled your eyes in minor frustration, but answered him anyway.

You huffed, your annoyance growing. 

You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t tell you anything. Was he not curious about you the way you were about him? Did he not care even a little bit? 

Oh well- you knew when to pick your battles, and you could see from miles away that this was an incredibly idiotic one to pick right now. 

You decided to ask him something lighter next. Maybe he’d answer then.

You sighed in nothing but utter bewilderment. Bakugou had to be the strangest person you could ever remember meeting. 

You groaned audibly. 

Talking to Bakugou was like pulling teeth, almost every time, and you couldn’t figure out why you kept coming back. All you knew is that you were going to, even with how annoying he was being right now. 

Huh? 

Embarrassing? 

You wracked your brain, searching and searching for anything that could’ve been embarrassing to him. He already said he wasn’t going to ask anything inappropriate, and he’d already swore several times that he wasn’t a liar, so it wasn’t that- but if it wasn’t that then what was it? 

He read your message, but didn’t begin typing. 

You were just intrigued now, what was he talking about? Why was he being so cagey about it?

The more you thought about it, the more nervous you were getting. You genuinely had absolutely no guesses on what he wanted to ask you. When you told him you’d answer anything you’d meant it, but now you weren’t so sure. 

Bakugou began typing a few minutes later.

You waited for his response with bated breath and shaking fingers.

It was a long shot, and you knew it. He’d been so secretive and reluctant to reveal anything about himself, you’d be really surprised if he said yes. You couldn’t help it though, typing out the suggestion the second the thought entered in your head. You wanted to know everything about him. Anything at this point- even if it was just what he sounded like when he spoke.

Bakugou began typing, but deleted his words. He didn’t start typing again.

You sighed, walking away from your phone dejectedly but not altogether that disappointed. You didn’t really have high hopes that he would’ve said yes anyway. You doubted Bakugou wanted to hear your voice as much as you wanted to hear his. 

Over twenty minutes past before your phone started ringing. 

Bakugou :)) - Incoming Call 7:31 PM

You took a shaky breath, unable to tell if your nerves were excitement or anxiety. Seeing the notification almost made you forget almost everything that wasn’t him.

You hit accept, bringing the phone close to your ear and holding your breath. You didn’t want to miss a single thing he said. 

“Hey, dumbass.”

Wow- his voice was not what you expected but definitely what you should’ve. It was low and raspy, deep and guttural; his greeting sounded more like a bark than anything as a result. And he was loud too. So very loud and if you paid extra close attention, maybe a little breathless. 

“Hey, angry man.” You couldn’t keep the joy out of your voice. “Hi.” 

“Oi-idiot. I can hear you fuckin’ smiling. Knock that stupid shit off.”

“Yeah, okay.” Giggling, you shifted the phone from your right ear to your left. “I was just happy to hear your voice at first. I’ll stop now if you want.”

“I- jesus. Fuck. Don’t say embarrassing shit like that again, or I’ll hang up.” His words were fast, and sharp, and loud but you think that maybe you could hear him smiling too. “Got it, shitty woman?”

“Yep. Got it- no smiling, or fun, or laughter or emotion because wet-rag Bakugou said so.”

“Hey! Shut the fuck up! That’s not what I fuckin’ said! I’m not a shitty w-“

“I know, I know, I was joking.” You couldn’t fight the smile stretching your cheeks even wider, but you tried to sober up for him anyways. “Now, c’mon, ask me what you were gonna ask me.”

You heard shuffling on his end, the sound of a door slamming shut, and the flick of a light switch. Otherwise he didn’t say anything.

“Did- did you just switch rooms to ask me?” You asked, nerves beginning to settle in your stomach. “Jeez, how serious is this?” 

Truth be told, you were a little worried now. What kind of question would require a secondary location?

“It’s not- fuck. I did switch,” He shouted, voice still breathless. You couldn’t figure out why though. “But not for that fuckin’ reason, just didn’t want shitty people- nevermind.”

“Wow, that was a whole lot of words there, and most of them were swears.” You couldn’t help teasing, hoping it would lighten the mood. “Very eloquent, Bakugou.”

“Fuckin’ suprised or somethin’? I swear like this over text too, idiot!”

“Yes, yes, I know.” You pulled the phone away from your ear, wincing slightly at just how loud he really was. “Now stop stalling, I wanna know.”

“Are you making demand-“

“Yes.”

“Don’t interrupt me, shitty woman! I’m fuckin’ gettin’ to it, Jesus! Y-you make everything so goddamn d-difficult.”

You were sure now. Bakugou was nervous. Maybe it was the excessive swearing, or the little stutter, or maybe it was the way he spoke his words so quickly that you could tell he forgot to breathe- either way, you knew it for a fact, and it only made your heart grow warmer than it already was. He was just as breathless as you and you found it adorable.

You didn’t say anything in response, instead waiting for him to start speaking again.

“I- shit. I don’t- I don’t know how to fuckin’ ask this without sounding like a pansy-ass!”

“Bakugou.” You nearly snort, already absolutely endeared by him. “C’mon- it’s fine. Just ask, it’ll be okay. What if I promise you I’ll only make you say it once?”

“Only once?”

“Yes, angry man, only once.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can hear him breathing. Even through the phone, you can tell that his presence is loud- that nearly everything about him must be loud. It makes you wonder what a face-to-face conversation with him would be like. 

You decide then that you’ll do whatever it takes so you don’t have to wonder anymore. So you’ll know for certain exactly what he looks like when he swears and screams so much.

“I wanted- I just-fuck,” His voice is somehow louder, words blurring together as he nearly screams through the speakers. “I wanted to know- I wanted to know if you were mad about that stupid shit I said a few days ago, okay?!”

You blinked slowly, trying to figure out how to respond. What- what was he talking about? A few days ago?

Oh.

You always just run your mouth no matter what I say. So just do that since that’s about the only thing you’re capable of. 

You- you forgot about that until now. Almost completely, like he never even said it in the first place. And truly, at the time Bakugou said it, it did hurt; but not for that long, you knew he was just upset and probably didn’t mean it. So when you told him it was alright, you meant it. It was a shitty thing to say, for sure, but you were a big girl, you could choose your battles, and you could recognize when somebody was irritated- especially someone like Bakugou, who was incredibly obvious about his frustration. 

Still though- why was he still thinking about it? Was he- was he feeling guilty? Was he really worrying about your feelings that much? 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Jesus, see, this is why I didn’t wanna fuckin’ say anything!” Bakugou’s shouts interrupt your thoughts. He speaks almost faster than you could keep up with. “Fuckin’ say something already, idiot!”

“No-no, sorry, um,” You place your phone on the ground, turning it on speaker to avoid further hearing loss. “It’s not- I don’t think it’s embarrassing or anything; I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. I was thinking.”

He goes quiet again- and you think you can hear him huff in frustration.

“You didn’t- you didn’t fuckin’ answer, dumbass. That’s not an answer.”

“Oh. Yeah. You’re right. It’s not.” You push your knees up to your chest, crossing your arms and pulling them into your body. “I’m not. I’m not upset- we’re good. It was shitty, but I get it, you were mad.”

“Okay. Because I-I didn’t mean it, okay.” Bakugou says, softer this time, but muffled, like he’s got his hand over his mouth. “But, I-I didn’t like care or anything, I only asked because I was just curiou-“

“Curious, huh?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone from dripping into your voice. “So you weren’t even the least bit concerned about my feelings?”

“No!” Bakugou shouts.

You roll your eyes when you hear the sound of a crash, like something fell on Bakugou’s side of the call. It sounded like glass, maybe? You didn’t think it could possibly get any louder, but once again he seemed to make it happen.

“I don’t care or anything, okay? I just didn’t want you to be fuckin’ annoying as shit and still be crying like a little bitch and not be tellin’ me about it!”

“So you want to know if I’m crying or not?”

“Yes- “ Bakugou says immediately, and even you can hear the surprised gasp that leaves his mouth. “No- I meant no! I don’t care, or whatever I-”

“Mhm. Calm yourself, angry man. Whether or not you care, we’re still all good. I’m not crying.” Your tone was indulgent. “But, you know, if you really wanna make it up to me thou-

“I don’t! I’m not- there’s nothing I’m sorry about, idiot!”

“If you really want to make it up to me,” You continued, talking over his complaints without missing a beat. “You could answer something for me.”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, this is easy. Don’t be a wuss.”

“I’m not a fuckin- fine. Go. Ask.” His words are harsh, but the tone of his voice softens just a little. “Just don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not.” You laugh under your breath. “I just wanna know- what was it that fell earlier, angry man?”

“N-nothing!” He screams, and you could only imagine just how red he was. “Nothing fell- so, so just drop it!

“Really? Because it sounded sort of like glass?” You snicker, moving to lie down, your head next to the phone. “Are you so nervous that you’re destroying your apartment, Bakugou?”

“I’m not-“

Another crash, and then you hear popping. It reminds you of when you cook bacon on the stove- is he cooking? 

“Fucking goddamit! Fuck-“ Bakugou roars so loudly you swore you could hear the spit in his mouth. The popping abruptly stops. “I’m not fuckin’ nervous! I’ve never been nervous so stop running your mouth and saying stupid shit like that becaus-“

“I’m nervous.” You say, voice small. “You make me nervous.”

There’s silence on the other end, and you think that maybe you made a mistake.

It wasn’t a lie. Bakugou did make you nervous- but maybe it wasn’t the right time to say that? Maybe it was too much vulnerability and he’d hang up out of a sheer discomfort? He was pretty allergic to emotions after all. 

That thought made you frown. Your ear drums might have been screaming for him to leave, but you certaintly weren’t. You liked him and wanted him to stay on the phone- asinine wailing and all.

“Being nervous is stupid, dumbass,” Bakugou bites out, all teeth and huffed breath. “Only stupid people do it. And you’re not actually stupid so you shouldn’t do it.”

You snorted, clasping a hand over your mouth. Of course, that’s how he would respond! It wasn’t clear to you now why you ever thought he’d hang up. Bakugou always seemed to stick around- even if only to make fun of you mercilessly.

“Wow. Thank you, Bakugou. Sage advice.” You laughed.

And then it was like you couldn’t stop laughing. You couldn’t help it- that was such a Bakugou response and just by virtue of it being that, you found it hilarious. You found him hilarious, and you were so beyond happy to be hearing his voice.

“G-get closer to the phone, idiot. I can barely fuckin’ hear you.” Bakugou suddenly snapped. You heard him take a deep, slightly shaky breath. “If-if you’re gonna laugh like that then at least let me hear it.”

You felt your face warm, heart racing wildly in your chest. “Yeah. Y-yeah, okay. Got it.” 

Grabbing your phone with shaking fingers, you pulled it to your chest, curling around it as you rolled on your side. The floor was slightly uncomfortable, the wood digging into your skin, but you didn’t think anything could’ve made you disrupt this moment. Nothing in the world. 

“Can you hear me?” You asked, utterly breathless and suddenly very shy. 

“Yeah.” He says softly. “I can.” 

And you agree with him- you think that maybe you can finally hear him now too. Yelling and screaming and surprising care and all. 

[kiirokero]

Outro: Love is Not Over (7)

Pairing: Daycare Teacher! Hoseok x Single Mom! Reader.

Genre: Single Parent! AU, Teacher! AU, Hybrid! AU, Fluff, Angst, Adorable Kids,

Warnings: Family issues, mentions of adoption, mentions of abandonment, mentions of anger issues, some nasty words are said, self-doubt, I think that’s it (?)

Word Count: 1.8k

Note: Ah, I’m sorry for the angst. But it’ll get better! Soon :(

Summary: Years after a relationship goes south. You are the single mother of a beautiful 6-year-old golden retriever hybrid who you named Yunho. He is the light of your life. Yunho is everything to you, and you’d do anything for him. But you’re a human. Yunho doesn’t care, he will tell you he doesn’t. “You’re still my Eomma. No matter what.” He says. But you can’t help but feel like you will never be enough for him. You can’t be the mother he deserves. You can’t show him the ropes of being a hybrid, and you can’t teach him things the other moms can. But you try. You try your damn hardest. So, when a handsome German Shepard hybrid comes into your life, helping you and guiding Yunho in a way you can’t, you can’t help the cozy home he sets up in your heart.

Chapter Guide:

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“W-What? Baby no...” 

      Tears started falling from Yunho’s eyes as he held on tight to his stuffed animal and buried his face into my chest. I held him close and put my hand on his back, gently rocking him back and forth. “Baby, why’d you ask that?” I whispered to him. 

      Yunho took in deep, shaky breaths as he tried to calm himself the way I taught him. “I-I was at school... a-and that boy asked me...” He hiccupped, I continued to rock him back and forth, petting his hair just the way he likes it. “Hey, baby, it’s okay,” I kissed the top of his forehead and hugged him tighter. 

     But Yunho just cried harder, holding onto me as tight as he could. “H-He said that... Y-You can’t be my Eomma c-cause y-you... You don’t have ears... Or a tail...” His words made my heart squeeze. It hurt. It hurt to hear those words come from Yunho. 

      It’s not that I never expect these things to come up. We talked about it regularly, the two of us. Yunho knows I’m human. Yunho knows he didn’t get his hybrid features from me. Yunho knows he... had a father. He doesn’t ask about him. Whether that be because he doesn’t care or it confuses him to know that he had a father, but not anymore... I wouldn’t know. 

     However, just because I knew this would happen, didn’t mean my heart hurt any less. “Oh bub, I may not be a hybrid, but I’m still your Eomma,” I whispered to him. Yunho nodded into my chest, sniffling. “And you can tell Eomma anything, okay?” I said, pulling him back so he could look at me. 

      Yunho’s lip wobbled as he whispered, “Anything?” I nodded, smoothing down his frizzed hair, “Anything,” Yunho looked away from me before he whimpered, “When I said that you were my real Eomma... He didn’t believe me and asked if my Appa was human too...” His voice started to crack and new tears pricked the corner of his eyes, “When I said I-I don’t h-have an Appa... He asked why... But I don’t know why Eomma...” Yunho sobbed, coughing as he attempted to choke down his cries. “Why don’t I have an Appa, Eomma?” 

      I bitterly held back the tears that threatened to spill out of my eyes. This was about Yunho, not me. Even though I wanted to hold Yunho tight to my chest and sob with him, I couldn’t. Even if I wanted to whisper to him that I didn’t know, and that I was sorry, I had to pull myself together by the thin threads I’ve been using to sew myself up for years. 

     Yunho continued to sob as I wracked my brain for an answer. How was I supposed to tell my son that his glorified sperm donor wanted nothing to do with him? I can’t. “Hey, baby, look at me,” I cooed, cupping Yunho’s wet face and turning it towards mine. “Baby, remember what Eomma taught you? Deep breaths, okay? Eomma’s here, you’re okay,” I whispered to him as Yunho tried his best to take deep breaths. 

      We both sat there for 5 minutes, taking deep breaths together as we listened to the crickets play their harmony outside. “It’s okay, baby,” I whispered to him as his breathing steadily calmed down. “Some families, like us, only have Eommas. Some only have Appas. But we’re still a family, bub,” I explained, desperately trying to avoid the topic. 

      Luckily, it worked. Yunho nodded in understanding and held me tight, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck. “I love you Eomma,” Yunho whispered to me, and I felt tears prick up in my eyes again. “I love you too, bub,” I whispered back, desperately blinking back my tears. 

“Why don’t I have an Appa, Eomma?”

      Those words will forever haunt me, and I knew it. If only I could give Yunho the perfect family. A father that could love him and guide him in ways I couldn’t. A father that could teach him how to lift his other ear. He’s been working so hard on it. A father that could teach him what being a hybrid should mean to him. I couldn’t do that. But god I wish I could. 

Why couldn’t you be a good person, Chul?

      It was a rainy day. A thunderstorm was rolling through town, making the small apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Chul, frigid. The chill air was wafting through the broken window in our living room. The cracked glass a grim reminder of the anger issues that plagued Chul. 

      I could still hear the yelling in my ears, even if it was 2 days ago. I could see why he got upset, it was a bad day at work, we all had those days. But he didn’t have to take it out on the window. Now you were stressed with calling maintenance to explain that Chul had, yet again, damaged something in the apartment during a fit of rage. 

      I sighed, wrapping the blanket around my feverish body tighter. I wasn’t feeling too good this morning. When I woke up, I felt nauseous and light-headed. I could barely pull myself out of bed, but I persevered and got up anyway. I didn’t want to hear from Chul that I was being lazy. I already felt like shit, I didn’t need his accusations making it even worse.

Arguments seem to be the only words we exchange with each other nowadays.

     But it was just getting worse, and I didn’t know what to do. I rashly decided to pick up my phone and call Yoongi. He was smart, he’d know what to do. After a couple rings, Yoongi finally picked up with his same dull tone. 

“Sup buttercup?” He asked. 

“Yoongs... I’m not feeling so well this morning...” I groaned, swallowing down the sickening lump in my throat. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, a little more animation in his voice than before. 

“I just feel sick... and hot...” I complained, sinking into the couch. 

“Sick in the sniffles way or puke way?”

“Puke way,”

“Damn, did you eat anything funny?” I could hear the worry in Yoongi’s voice as he asked his question. 

“No, nothing like that,”

“I’ll send Hyejin over to watch you, okay? I call you after I’m done with work,”

“Okay, thanks Yoongs,” I slurred, feeling exhausted suddenly. 

“It’s nothing, feel better soon, yeah?” 

      Soon, Hyejin arrived with a bag full of medicine and my favorite snacks. “I heard your not feeling your best,” Hyejin gave me a sympathetic smile as she placed her hand on my forehead. “You’re quite warm, but you’re not burning up, which is good,” She hummed, setting down the bag on the coffee table and sitting across from me on the couch. 

      Hyejin continued to ask me questions about what I ate, what I did, if anyone I was around was sick. I answered no to every question. Explaining that I felt heavily nauseous this morning, but it got better throughout the day. Now I was just squeamish and warm. 

     “Alright, you don’t have a cough, or a stuffed nose. You don’t have the symptoms of anything, really. And if you didn’t eat anything weird, then it can’t be food poisoning.” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Ya know, it was kinda like me when I first got pregnant-” Her eyes suddenly widened in realization as she looked at me. 

“W-What...?” I asked nervously. 

     “No no no no. This cannot be happening. Hyejin, this can’t be happening!” I sobbed as I threw the positive pregnancy test across the bathroom and collapsed on the tile floor. Hyejin quickly knelt down beside me and held me in her arms. “Hey, Y/n it’s okay. It’ll be okay,” She said, holding me tight. “No! You don’t understand! Chul will kill me!” I cried, laying my head on her shoulder. 

     “Y/n it is not your fault you’re pregnant. Birth control never prevents these things 100%. You’re just... One of the odd ones out,” She soothed, her soft tail wrapping around my shaking form. “What do I do?” I whispered, holding Hyejin close to me. 

“It’s entirely your choice. But whatever you decide, Yoongi and I will be there for you no matter what,” Hyejin promised. 

“I have to tell Chul...” I whimpered out, feeling the chilling claws of fear wrap their arms around my throat. “God, I have to tell Chul...”

“When is he coming home?” Hyejin asked. 

“Soon... He said he should be home around 3pm,” I explained, standing up on my shaky legs. 

      Hyejin stood up next to me and grabbed the pregnancy test I threw, ushering me out of the bathroom and back on the couch. “When he gets home, we’ll explain what's happening, and work through it okay?” Hyejin explained, taking my hand in hers. I nodded, too choked up to speak. “Y/n,” Hyejin called, getting me to look at her, “Whatever happens, you always have Yoongi and I, okay?”

And with what little hope I had, we did tell Chul. 

But I’ll never forget the words we exchanged. 

The argument we had. 

“Whatever. I want nothing to do with you or that thing growing inside you.”

Yunho I wish I could tell you that your father was a good person, and that he loved you. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth...

      After Yunho and I had our moment, he refused to go to sleep. He was stuck to my side like glue. “Eomma, don’t go,” He said when I tried to tuck him in for the night. And I didn’t. I knew that sometimes the last thing a person needed was to be left alone. Yunho needed someone to ground him, and I was more than happy to be that someone. Even if I, myself, was crumbling. 

      So now the two of us were sitting on the living room couch watching late night re-runs of old cartoons that I remember watching when I was 10. We just cuddled in silence. Yunho snuggled into my side while I wrapped around his tiny frame. Suddenly my phone rang, Hoseok’s face popping up on the screen. 

      I starred at the faltering picture of the man that lit up the screen. He was occupied with reading a book to the children he was teaching that day. Hyejin sent me the picture. Saying that he was “father material”

      “Hello?” I answered, putting the phone up to my ear. Not wanting to think about Hoseok’s “father material” any longer. “Hey Y/n, are you two okay? You seemed pretty worried when you had to leave,” Hoseok asked. I cringed, feeling bad about having to leave him all alone. I made a note to make it up to him when I felt better. 

     “Um... Yeah.. Yeah, we’re okay just- Family... Issues... Yunho’s a bit upset,” I explained, holding Yunho just a little bit tighter. “Oh no. Is there anything I can do?” He asked, worry laced in his voice. I chuckled, finding his worry for us cute. “I don’t think so, Hoseok... “ I sighed. “Wait! I know! I have ice cream. I can come over and we can chow down. What do you say?” Hoseok offered, and I could almost see the cute smirk that was most likely plastering his face. 

“Sure, why not?” 

[amyscascadingtabs]

the way you keep the world at bay for me

post-the set up, a.k.a jake taking care of hungover amy, hungover amy taking care of sad jake, and mac caring mostly about himself because he’s a baby 😌

read on ao3

Jake doesn't get a lot of sleep that night, and for once, it's not even Mac’s fault. It's not even due to the pizza parlor simulator game either, although he does play a couple of rounds when Amy's finally snoring next to him after ranting to herself about the babysitter’s club for a solid ten minutes, but not even that can fully distract him from the dull sense of doom that's made itself at home deep in his chest. 

This is bad. Holt wants to see him tomorrow, and Jake knows there will be consequences. There has to be. There should be. He made a mistake, and he's going to get punished for it, and there is nothing he can do but accept his defeat. He already knows what he has to do; the nerve-wracking thing is the fact that it's still hours away, and his brain is spinning too fast for sleep.

He really wishes he could talk to Amy. She's sleeping on her stomach with her mouth open, arms straight out to the sides like she’s trying to push him out of bed, but he still can’t be mad at her. He hasn’t seen her this drunk since before she got pregnant, and he’s seriously worried about the hangover she’ll be sporting tomorrow, but he also knows she did it for him. Because they’re a team. Because she trusts him, sometimes even when it turns out he was wrong.

He wrongfully arrested someone. The sentence keeps repeating in his head, appears pasted in bold font on the inside of his eyelids if he tries to go to sleep, and displayed in luminescent letters on the ceiling of his bedroom when he gives up and opens his eyes again. He should have known better, has learned his lesson time and time again since his early days of constantly glorifying his job and letting his impulsivity get the best of him, and he still made a mistake.

  /

He just wants someone to tell him it doesn’t make him a bad person. If only Amy wasn’t so drunk he’s scared to wake her up right now, Charles wasn’t so devotedly biased in all questions involving Jake’s role as a detective, and Mac wasn’t, well… so completely unable to grasp any of the concepts involved in the question.

Amy lets out another mighty drunken snore, and Jake hopes she will consider it a testament to his love for her that he doesn’t voice record it. He turns his head instead and picks up his phone to go back to the pizza game. Maybe just a few more virtual customers will be able to lure him to sleep.

 ~

 He must have fallen asleep eventually, because when Mac does start babbling to himself over the monitor, the morning sun is shining through the windows, and Amy’s stopped snoring. She’s only moaning uncomfortably to herself now, and Jake’s guessing from her strained grimace that the headache has kicked in hard.

“I’ll get you coffee and aspirin as soon as I’ve checked on Mac,” he whispers to her with a kiss to her neck, and he thinks he sees the hint of a smile as she reaches out for him in what’s probably an attempt of a pat on the back, but ends up more of an unintentional slap to his butt. Or maybe she’s still drunk, and it is intentional. It’s hard to tell.

  /

Mac may have no clue about what’s currently going on with Jake, but at least it’s impossible not to smile when he hauls himself up and rocks back and forth on unsteady feet in excitement over the fact that someone’s coming to get him. He greets Jake with that wide grin that shows off all of his four teeth – two up and two down, and they’ve kept everyone up at night for weeks, but they’re so pearly white and cute so maybe it was worth it – and a laugh that’s been Jake’s favorite sound on Earth since the first time he heard it.

“Good morning, bud,” Jake tells his son as he lifts him up in his arms. “What do you say we get you a bottle and mama some coffee? Hmm?”

“Bah,” Mac repeats. Jake decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and say it means he agrees on the bottle.

“Bottle, exactly. You're so smart,” he says, booping his little nose and smiling as it makes Mac giggle. “Let's try another one. Dada.”

There's a tense moment of them both just staring at each other, and then finally, his son goes,

“Bah.”

“One day,” Jake says with a sigh as he carries Mac out of the nursery. “As long as you say me first, okay? We’ll get there. We’ll practice.”

  /

He puts Mac in the high chair while he tries his best to work the coffee machine and the bottle warmer at the same time. It's trickier than to be expected on almost no sleep, but at least he manages to pour the breast milk from the freezer bag into the bottle and not into his coffee this time. He's only made that mistake once (fine, maybe twice, and he kind of liked how sweet it tasted but he's never gonna tell anyone), but he suspects Amy's never gonna let him live it down. He gets Aspirin from the medicine cabinet while he waits, and puts a couple of slices of toast in the toaster. His own day feels already pretty much beyond saving, but at least maybe he can improve Amy's.

  /

Though, when she stumbles out of the bedroom, still in her pajamas with her huge glasses and hair on end and looking like she's either seconds from being sick or going straight back to sleep, he worries whether she might just be beyond saving, too.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as she gives him one drained look before walking up to the couch and face-planting on it with another pained groan.

“I think I might be dead.”

“That's called a hangover, babe. I think you used to be familiar with the concept once upon a time, but I guess it's been a while.” Jake grins at Mac, who only reaches his chubby hands out for the bottle out in response. “Toast?”

“Do I have to?”

“It's going to help.”

“Fine.” Amy pushes her head off the pillow to look at Mac. “He's not drinking the milk I pumped yesterday, right?”

“I poured that out for you. I know they say moderate amounts of alcohol are fine, but, well, you were speaking British.”

“Good call,” Amy mumbles as he puts the coffee, aspirin, and toast down in front of her. “See, this is why I married you.”

Jake just hums, but he does smile to himself as he goes to grab his own cup of coffee.

  /

“I wish I could call in sick to work today,” Amy says between bites of toast, and Jake looks up from where he’s absentmindedly brushing crumbs off the countertop while finishing his own. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“I mean, you did very much go through contractions while managing an entire precinct during a blackout once. You could think about that?”

“No, this is worse than giving birth,” she states confidently, and Jake has to try very hard not to laugh. “Don’t tell my past self I said that. Or my future self if I ever give birth again.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “I’m pretty terrified to go, too.”

“Why?”

“Because yesterday? All of it?”

“Ohh.” Amy sighs. “Right. Maybe we should both just stay home.”

  /

Jake’s about to tell her how much he wishes that was an option when Mac drops the finished bottle against the tray, immediately starting to twist in his seat. Jake unclasps the belt and lifts him out before he manages to rock the chair – that kid’s shockingly strong – and Mac immediately crawls away towards the walker. He doesn’t use it to move yet, but he’s been pulling himself up with it for over a month, and the anticipation is high every time he lets go with one hand only to sit back down on his booty the next second. Sometimes Jake could swear his son does it for attention. At least Mac doesn’t seem to have inherited his impulsivity, Jake thinks, and then he’s back to beating himself up in his head.

  / 

“I just don’t know why I did it,” he mutters as he sits down on the floor next to Amy’s head on the couch. She nods slowly, and Jake takes it as a sign she might actually be able to listen to him now. “I should know better, right? These are, like... the kind of mistakes I used to make. I thought I’d gotten better at this kind of stuff. Smarter. Less impulsive. Less of a bad cop. But instead I arrested and tailed an innocent man, all because I thought I had a gut feeling and thought I was being set up.” He shakes his head. “I guess that FBI jerk was right about gut feelings.”

“You’re a great detective,” Amy says without missing a beat. “A lot of the time, your gut feeling is right.”

“That doesn’t excuse it. I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“No.” Amy sighs. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It sucked.”

“Yeah. It did. But there’s nothing you can do to change it now.”

“Do you think I’m a bad person for it?” The question comes flying out of him, and Amy frowns.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because it was a shit move! And because I’m definitely gonna get suspended for it, and that’s going to lose us money. And then we’re not going to be able to save as much for Mac, or pay for his baby music class or baby gymnastics. And then he’s going to end up broke and untalented and it’ll all be my fault, and then you’ll be ashamed of me and leave me and I’ll die sad and alone in a ditch.”

“And you don’t think you’re spiraling just slightly right now?” Amy asks. The smile on her lips is one of amusement, and it humbles him, bringing him out of his cycle of self-pity.

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a ton of sleep last night.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” she says, and that does make him feel a bit better. “I think you made a really stupid mistake. There's no getting away from that. I’m not happy about it. But… I know you'll take responsibility for it. That’s already a whole lot further than a lot of people care to go.”

  /

Her fingers brush through her hair, calming him as she speaks. The hangover has made her voice a little scratchy, Jake notices when she's this close. It reminds him of mornings after long evenings out before they were parents, a time that always feels far longer ago than it was. Sometimes he thinks everything before Mac might as well be another lifetime.

  /

“And we'll work it out if you do get suspended,” Amy continues, talking over the obnoxious melody playing from a toy Mac has found. “It's not great, of course. But we can save lots of money on daycare if you stay home with Mac. That helps.”

“Like a paternity leave,” Jake says. He does like that thought.

“Oh yeah.” Amy laughs. “You’ll be just like one of those hip Scandinavian dads who get to stay home with their kids because they live in countries where they don’t hate people for having kids. And you two can go to all of the cool classes and playdates together. You’d be the sexiest dad at baby swim class for sure.”

“Wouldn’t I also be one of the only ones?”

“Good point. Make sure to mention your wife a lot. But hey, Mac’s going to love it.”

 /

As if wanting to confirm Amy’s point, Mac crawls over to Jake and tries to climb up on his knees to sit in his lap. He does this sometimes when he’s playing on his own; retreats to their arms for a hug or a quick cuddle, only to try and wriggle out of their grip and go back to whatever it is he’s doing in the next moment. Jake thinks it might be one of their son’s sweetest qualities. Mac rests his head against Jake’s chest, almost hugging him like that, and he wonders, not for the first time, how a person that’s not even one year of age can make every other issue in the world seem so insignificant. Even if it's just for a moment, it's a pretty damn good moment.

 / 

Fueled by the most powerful motivation of all – their son’s love and attention – Amy sits down on the floor too, patting her knees.

“You want to come to mama, Mac?”

Mac squirms for a moment in Jake's arms, and Jake lets go of him. Using the couch as support, for a second it looks like he’s almost about to take a step toward her. Both parents gasp in anticipation, and it must confuse him, because he reacts by giving Amy a shocked look and sitting right back down on his butt. Jake laughs as their son crawls away again, heading for the soft building blocks outside the playpen.

“He's such a tease.”

“He gets that from you,” Amy says, and Jake huffs in mock-offense. “Are you sure we shouldn't just stay home from work?”

  /

Jake thinks of his upcoming meeting with Holt. He's been fearing it for so many hours now, and he's starting to wonder if the anxious anticipation might just not be worse than the meeting itself. He already knows what he has to do; the only thing left is to rip off the band-aid.

“I don't think it will make anything better if we don't.”

“Yeah.” Amy sighs, closing her eyes and leaning on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you too. And you should probably shower and put on makeup unless you want everyone to know exactly how hungover you are.”

“I know you're right, and I hate it.”

Jake grins and strokes her hair before getting up from the floor. “I’ll go get Mac ready for the day.”

  /

“Jake?” Amy calls out before he can leave for the nursery with Mac in his arms, and he turns around. Her voice is still a little hoarse.

“Yeah?”

“It's going to be okay, babe. We’ll figure it out.”

 / 

Jake brushes his fingers through Mac’s already unruly curls. He thinks of playground dates, the storytime for toddlers their library holds every Wednesday, and how much time he’ll have to make sure Mac says his name first now. Then he thinks of the bigger image; of daring to set a good example for this child, even when it's hard. If he wants the world to be a better place for his son, he's going to have to start by taking responsibility for his own actions.

“Yeah. I know.”

  /

For the first time that day, he dares to believe it.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 13

First

Previous

Next

Chloe sat on the bridge overlooking the river, her feet swinging absently as she watched bubbles streaming to the surface.

She’d love to help.

No, really. On top of just being bored out of her mind, she could also rub it in the other miraculous holders’ faces. That would be fun.

But, alas, things never worked out for her. Master Fu hadn’t whipped up a new batch of powerups quite yet, and even if he had she doubted that he would have given it to her of all people.

(Well, in all technicality they could go underwater and not die. The suits gave them some protection. But have you ever tried punching someone underwater? It’s quite the disadvantage.)

So, she settled for eating some ice cream and watching.

It was kind of fun, if she was being honest. She watched with bated breath, waiting for the occasional moments where Carapace would be thrown out of the water and hit a wall so hard it collapsed on him. He noticed her the third time this happened and now made a point to throw chunks of building at her every time.

Someone was in a bad mood. Who knows why. Couldn’t have anything to do with her, surely.

After about twenty minutes of fighting the buildings started mending themselves and she smiled as her ice cream reappeared in her hand.

Carapace jumped out of the water, a young woman in his arms. Once they were safely on land he detached her from the oxygen tank hidden in the shell on his back. If some of the water on her face wasn’t from the river, neither of them were going to say anything about it.

He walked over. Chloe thought he was just giving her some space to cry (the person looked foreign, if their confused frown was anything to go by), but then she saw the annoyance in the slight set of his jaw and she groaned mentally. Great. She was going to get chewed out again.

“Thanks so much for your help, Chloe --”

“Queenie or Queen Bee when we’re on the job, remember?”

He raised his eyebrows before shrugging and continuing on like he hadn’t heard her: “-- were you here to just watch and laugh?”

She scoffed. “No, that was just a fun little bonus.” She handed him the newly reformed ice cream. “I came here to take the akuma home. Didn’t know she was foreign, though.”

That made him pause, his previously annoyed expression quickly changing to a more confused one. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanted to help me? You?”

“... yeah?” Said Chloe, crossing her arms over her chest. He was clearly looking for some sort of ulterior motive in her eyes, and she figured she’d give him one because she didn’t know how long she could stand to have him look stunned about her doing something mildly nice. “I feel like I owe everyone one for getting us all into this mess.”

He didn’t seem fully convinced (was he really that surprised that she was a decent person? She was a hero! It was her job!), but he let the subject go.

“Thanks, Queenie.”

She smiled a little. “Your ice cream is melting.”

“Damn it --!”

She snickered and walked over to the foreigner, who was just now coming out of their shock.

“Hey!”

The foreigner stared at her for a few minutes before whispering a: “What happened?”

“Um...”

What was the official spiel? Dang. She wracked her brain, trying to remember anything from the many hour long session where Master Fu had drilled it into all of them. Maybe she shouldn’t have slept through it.

“You got turned into a monster by an evil butterfly because we have a magical super terrorist.”

The lady stared at her for a few seconds before laughing and shaking her head. “Okay, what actually happened?”

Chloe gave her a shrug. “I don’t know. You fell in the water and my friend got you out.”

She jerked her head towards Carapace, who was casually eating the ice cream on a nearby bench and not going to class like she’d expected but whatever.

The foreigner nodded. “Yeah, I am a bit clumsy. Why’re you dressed like that?”

Chloe looked down at herself and hesitated. Usually her dad wanted them to say that they were filming a movie so they would still get tourists, but Nadja Chamack wasn’t there to make it sound realistic (no one wants to watch still water on the news for 10+ minutes), so…

“My friend and I cosplay.”

“Oh! Cool!” Said the foreigner. “Thanks for helping me! Hope your outfit didn’t get too damaged!”

After Carapace assured her that it was fine, she relaxed. They gave her directions to her hotel and watched her leave.

He cracked a grin once he was sure the foreigner was gone. “Maybe there’s something in the Paris air that makes people stupid. I still can’t believe anyone actually falls for that.”

“The alternative is believing there's a guy who’s going around with evil butterflies. I’d believe anything over that.”

“America has superheroes and stuff, too, y’know.”

“Yeah, but the heroes are adults and the villains actually show up.”

He sighed. “Lucky them.”

Chloe couldn’t help but agree.

He polished off his ice cream. When asked, she turned away so he could detransform and put his mask on. She didn’t know why he bothered detransforming when he was still wearing a green hoodie as a civilian. What was the point? Did he really want the sleeves back that badly?

Whatever. She detransformed as well.

“Ready to head home?”

“For someone who was so annoyed about leaving class, you don’t seem all that eager to go back to it,” said Chloe, crossing her arms over her chest as they started on their way.

He raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. “The excuse I used isn’t one that would let me go back. Or, at least, if I did everyone in class would think I was a terrible friend.”

She nodded her understanding.

“Thanks for trying, though.”

She chanced a look back and scoffed a little at the soft smile on his face. “Don’t expect anything like that again. I just owed you.”

The look melted into a cheeky grin. “Well, actually, you didn’t actually do anything to help, so don’t you still owe me?”

“... no? I gave you ice cream. Debt gone. That's how it works.”

“Okay, but it was previously eaten ice cream.”

“Like you can tell the difference.”

He rested a hand over his heart. “I happen to have a very refined palette, thank you very much.”

“I’ve seen you eat pickles with peanut butter.”

“You’ve dipped a burger in honey!”

“I have an excuse,” she reminded him. “What’s yours?”

He was silent for a moment. There was no excuse for pickles and peanut butter.

“... you still owe me.”

“No, I don’t!”

Would you believe me if I said that they continued debating this the entire twenty minute walk home?

And maybe even a little bit afterwards?

~

Chloe glanced out the window. It was nearing October, and…

“Hey, guys, we need to use these vegetables before they go out of season.”

Chat looked up from where he was watching a cartoon. Rena stopped doing pushups.

(Ladybug was on patrol and Carapace was doing homework in his room. Unfortunate, because now both of the people assigned the role of ‘group impulse control’ were absent.)

“What even uses a lot of vegetables?” Rena said.

“Salad,” said Chat with a knowing nod.

“Ew,” said Chloe, shaking her head. She stared at everything they had, a tiny frown playing on her lips, then snapped her fingers. “Salsa uses vegetables, right? Let’s just make a bunch of that.”

There were a lot of vegetables, but hey! More for them.

Rena went back to doing pushups. “Sure. Just make sure it isn’t white people stuff. Try asking for the recipe in Spanish.”

“Smart. Chat, can you look it up? I have dirt on my hands.”

Chat groaned as if she were asking him to do some great task and then stretched for his phone on the coffee table. He refused to leave the couch, so he ended up with his feet hooked over the arm of the couch for support as he stretched himself to the phone. He broke into a wide grin when he finally managed to grab it and then pulled himself back onto the couch.

It was probably more effort than just getting up a bit to grab it then sitting back down, but whatever.

He started typing, then he paused. “You guys know the Spanish word for salsa?”

Silence stretched between them as the two women looked at each other, trying to gauge whether or not he’d actually just asked that. Chat was steadily sinking into the couch as if hoping it would swallow him whole.

“The… the spanish word for salsa?” Repeated Rena.

“It -- I -- shut up!” He said. “Do you want salsa or not?”

Chloe snickered. “Sure. Can I see the recipe?”

He showed it to her and she squinted for a minute at all the words. Were some of them similar to French words? Yes. Was she completely sure about anything? Not at all.

She briefly considered asking Chat to translate everything for her, but she couldn’t. Not after she’d laughed at him for temporarily forgetting that salsa is salsa. He’d at least known the word for ‘recipe’ in Spanish, he had that over her.

Whatever. She’d guess. She’d had salsa before, surely that was enough to figure it out.

She started picking vegetables and after making sure to wash them off properly, they were set to start cooking.

Rena raised her eyebrows at the sink full of vegetables, opened her mouth to say something, snapped it shut. Her lips curved into a fox-like grin.

“What is it? I don’t like that smile,” said Chloe. She could feel that Rena was getting mischievous, she just couldn’t figure out why.

“Ah, don’t worry,” said Rena, waving her off as she pulled on an apron.

This worried Chloe more, but whatever.

“We don’t have a food processor or a blender, what do we do?” Said Chat, his eyes scanning the recipe.

“Just cut them real thin. It’ll be fine,” said Chloe with a vague wave of her hand.

She had a lot of confidence for someone who had never been in a kitchen in her life.

… It went great. Obviously.

The resident rich kids actually had been trying to be helpful, which kind of makes their failures worse in a way.

Chloe had been cutting tomatoes with the dull end of the knife for ten minutes before Rena had thought to look over and turn it around.

Chat had thought that it would be a good idea to chop jalapenos before onions and had rubbed jalapeno juice in his eye while trying to stop crying, which had not helped.

While Chat was attempting to get that out of his eyes without actually touching them, Chloe had taken up cutting onions. It was harder than she’d thought it’d be. The onion kept falling apart no matter how hard she tried to hold it together.

Chat had come back, eyes irritated and red, and started trying to cut tomatoes. This would have been fine if he could actually see the seeds enough to get them out.

… it was at this point that Rena had made them go sit down so she could just cook without a disaster happening every few seconds. She may have liked mayhem, but she actually wanted to eat some of the food they were working so hard for, so it was in her best interest to get them to just sit down at the kitchen table and watch.

A good while later Rena walked over. “I finished. Want to see?” She asked, her voice a little wobbly, as if she was on the verge of laughter.

Chloe squinted suspiciously at her before looking at the counter.

Ah. So that was what Rena’s mischievous smile had meant earlier.

They might have made about seven mixing bowls full of salsa (actually, it was more pico de gallo if you consider consistency, but that’s neither here nor there).

Chat groaned quietly. “Well, I hope Ladybug and Carapace really like salsa.”

“We don’t.”

The three problem children looked up to see Ladybug and Carapace leaning in the doorframe. Ladybug looked like she was fighting back her amusement, Carapace just looked tired.

Ladybug managed to pull herself back to her normal formalness as she crossed her arms over her chest. “According to the internet, salsa goes bad in about a week. I do expect that you won’t waste any.”

“Please help,” said a slightly distressed Rena. Their diets were SCREWED.

“Nope. This was your mistake,” said Carapace.

Oh, so NOW he has a backbone?

Ladybug gave Rena a cold look. “You should have told them.”

“... it was my miraculous’s fault.”

“Unfortunate,” said Carapace, unamused. He looked at the bowls on the counter and shook his head with a sigh. “Guess I need to go buy some tortilla chips for everyone.”

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

[dont-call-me-baby-posts]

do we want a preview? what kind of a question is that? ofcourse we do

HEHEH 🤭🤭🤭 okay!

The chapter most likely will NOT be out tonight. I still have a lot of work to do on it (it’s take a long time to write 10-15k words, and then edit). But it will be up soon!!

Tonight I may post a lil bonus chapter though. (Consider it ch 29.5). We’ll have to wait and see because I’m not entirely sure yet. 🤷‍♀️

Chapter 30 PREVIEW

Alternatively….. The One About C*VID.

“What do you mean I can’t come home?”

You paced across the small space of your hotel room, socked feet pressing into soft beige carpet. You pinched the bridge of your nose with a finger and thumb. “I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Tom!”

“I know, peach..” Bethany sighed, panic clear in her voice. “We’re going to figure something out, don’t worry. But they’ve locked everything down- there’s nothing I can do for now.”

Fan-fucking-tastic.

A full fledged pandemic would be happening right now. You’d heard the bickering back and forth for a while, mumbles on the street here or there, but you weren’t really that concerned. From what you heard, it was supposed to blow over in a week or two. And now the entire country was shut down?

“Everyone is supposed to be staying inside, staying away from each other…” Bethany continued to grumble. You could practically hear the way she was pacing through her voice. “There’s nothing I can do right now, but I’m trying my best.”

“So where am I supposed to go?” You whined, throwing yourself onto the bed. You covered your eyes with your hand, shaking your head in disbelief. “If the hotel is closing then what am I supposed to do? Live on the street?“

“Y/N, it’ll only be a day or two, tops. This whole thing will be over before we know it, and I’ll work something out so you can come home. Just find someone to stay with tonight and I’ll have a plan in the morning. You have friends in London, don’t you?”

You wracked your brain, coming up with next to nothing. You kicked your feet in frustration, pressing your hand harder against your face.

“No, I don’t.” You cried out. “Can’t you just get me another hotel?”

“They’re all closing, peach. You just need to find someone-“

“I don’t know anyone!” You cut her off, moping and moaning and sighing into the phone. “No one!”

Bethany paused, her breathing halting suddenly in your ear.

“Well there is someone…” She posed, her words coming out as if against her better judgement. You shot up in bed, balling your hand into a fist.

“I know you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“What other choice do you have?”

She was saying what you thought she was saying. You shook your head frantically, leaping off the mattress to pace again.

“That isn’t a choice! It’s not happening, Beth! No!”

“You should at least ask him, you know he’s in town-“

“Bethany!” You snapped, letting out a deep sigh. You froze in place, closing your eyes. “Bethany I can’t do that.”

“Well it doesn’t look like you have much of a choice now, does it?”

///

An hour went by, then two hours, then three. The originally scheduled time of your flight had long come and gone, and you were still in fucking London.

You didn’t know what to do. You called every hotel within miles, you called Bethany every twenty minutes to see if anything had changed. No luck.

You called Anders, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it but thinking maybe he would have some better idea than Bethany. He didn’t.

“Why don’t you just call him?” He asked you as if it was no big deal at all, crunching loudly on something that sounded like chips on the other end of the phone. He’d already made the drive all the way back to Chicago to stay with his family, and you could tell by his voice he didn’t have a care in the world right now. (When everyone was advised to stay at home, he knew it wasn’t the smartest idea for him to be alone. So he was kicked back and relaxed, enjoying the way his mom was no doubt doting on him right now).

“God, you are no help at all…” You whined. He snickered at you. You could envision him perfectly right now, feet probably kicked up on the sofa, hand behind his head.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” He laughed, taking another loud bite. You groaned.

“Can you chill with the chips?” You begged him, rubbing your eyes. “And I don’t know what I expected. I thought maybe you would have some better idea.”

You heard him setting the bag of snacks down loudly, exhaling deeply. “You should call him.”

“Why does everyone want me to call him so bad?”

“Of course I want you to call him!” Anders said a little bit louder, sounding at his whits end. “He’s my boy.”

“I’m not doing that.” You held your ground. “And since when is he your boy?”

“I told you we were friends.”

“I mean I knew you guys talked sometimes but I didn’t realize it was like that…” You grumbled, still not understanding how or when that whole situation had happened. Last you and Harry spoke about Anders, it was a very different story. “Your ‘boy’…” you added under your breath with an eye roll.

“He’ll let you stay there, I know he will.” Anders insisted.

“No he won’t.”

“I’m telling you right now that he will.”

“No!“ You huffed, “He won’t. I haven’t even spoken to him since January and it’s not like we left things on a very good note, anyway. He probably won’t even answer.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind…” Your friend muttered to himself. “But whatever. Do what you want.”

You were getting slightly annoyed. You were annoyed Anders for not agreeing with you and Bethany for not bending the rules to get you out of here and at this fucking virus that was ruining all of your plans. You were starting to get a killer headache just wrapping your mind around it all.

“Even if he did answer, I don’t want to see him.”

Anders giggled to himself, “Yes you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, okay...”

“I don’t! I’ve gone this long without seeing him and I’m finally over it. If I see him now it’ll just be more fighting and more crying and I’ll say the wrong thing again and make him sad. Or, even worse, it might not make him sad at all to see me! Maybe he won’t even care that I’m there at all and then my feelings will be all hurt because he doesn’t like me anymore. I mean, I know that already but still. He’s my ex-boyfriend, Anders, I’m not calling him.”

There was a long pause after you’d finished ranting. Anders hummed, as if he had something to say but decided not to.

“Whatever, man. If you want to be homeless then go for it. I’ll be here in the comfort of my bed if you need anything.” Anders said finally, deciding to drop it. “I would offer to send you some snacks or something to make sure you don’t starve to death, but you don’t have an address for me to send them to… Which is too bad, really, because these chips my mom bought go hard as fuck.”

“You’re done.” You cut him off, sitting up on the mattress. “I’m gonna go talk to someone who can actually help.”

“Have fun with that.” He said, a smile in his voice. “Just make sure you stay away from all the drugs and crime on the streets, ‘kay?”

You groaned again. You couldn’t help being grumpy. “Goodbye, Anders.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.” He mocked the formality of your words. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah..” You huffed. “You too.”

TO BE CONTINUED….. 🤭🤭

[angelkurenai]

Imagine Sebastian organising an event to raise money for a good cause and wanting to ask you, a famous singer and his not-so-secret crush, to sing but being too afraid too. So his manager does so as a surprise for him.

“And are the guests' seats ready? Did you check the numbers once more? Maria told me some of them have brought more than two plus members with them while others barely one, is that going to cause some kind of confusion with the seats?”

Sebastian had to keep himself from running his fingers through his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Not that could get that carried away with the warning looks his manager gave him, seriously how did the man even do that? Every single time, he seemed to appear out of thin air as if he was lurking around every single corner of the huge place just to make sure Sebastian was presentable and had everything under control. Not that part of him wasn't thankful for that too, he more than was. He couldn't look a mess, he was practically the host, organizing everything along with his team, and he had to look his absolute best despite how hard his nerves were making it for him to. It was as expected both exciting, exhilarating even, and nerve wracking to the fullest.

He was happy with how many people had showed up, the vast majority of them celebrities and people with wealth that could really help and a serious amount of money could be raised and a lot people would benefit from that, and of course terrified because of how much organizing the whole event still needed and he wanted everything to be perfect. Had it not been for his manager and friends he didn't know if he'd be able to pull it all off. Especially if they kept running into problems like the one at the moment.

“Everything has been sorted out, sir. It is nothing we had not anticipated, nothing to worry about.” the young woman didn't know the kind of relief her words brought to him but he'd forever be thankful “Tables and numbers set out and are right now being handed to the guests. Once they enter the main dining hall the waiters will escort them slowly but surely.”

“And the food? I have the feeling some arrived earlier, will that be an issue?”

“No, not at all. The first course is being prepared as we speak and by the point everyone's finished with their drinks and gets escorted to their table, it will be ready and in place.” she smiled, her words sounding more melodic than the actual music playing in the background “And we have plenty of time until that happens so if you'd like to, we could go one more time over the details of the auction later? Come in to check if you'd like?”

Sebastian's lips parted, ready to speak, but it wasn't even a few seconds before someone else beat him at it. Whether he was thankful for that or not he still had no idea.

“Only if he wants to be smacked right in the head with a- What's Scarlett's bag? Loui Vuitton? That.” it was no surprise when he turned to see Anthony alongside Chris, giving him a look which he tried to roll his eyes at but failed brushing off.

“Maybe Elizabeth's will do better? Looks heavier and with those stones, it'll hurt worse.” Chris suggested with a smirk, making Anthony nod his head.

“Why don't you try surviving trying to take their purses from them before planning on how to use them as a weapon against me hm?” it didn't mean that a funny banter wouldn't make things better.

“Hey, I ain't gonna need a purse to begin with. If I wanna kick you to get some sense into that brain of yours, I can get creative.” Anthony said casually but truth was that Sebastian could picture all the ways that could go wrong at the moment – because he didn't doubt for a second that he would do as threatened – and he really couldn't afford to.

“Rose, I'll come meet with you later. If you could go find Josh, I'll come find you guys later.” he said to the young woman, who was thankfully fast to nod and get back to work, allowing him to dedicate his full attention to his friends that he realized were not only the two men but were also joined by the two fore-mentioned ladies “I hope you understand I'm doing this only for the sake of my team's efforts and keeping you guys from starting another war in here.”

“Uh technically that would only be him.” Scarlett shrugged, pointing at Chris who rolled his eyes “And I don't think that it was the plan here. You haven't stopped even for five minutes, you know that?”

“I don't understand what you're trying to say, Scarlett.” he mumbled, quickly snatching a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and all in what seemed like a blink of an eye downed more than half of it.

“That.” Elizabeth spoke up “That is what she's trying to say. You've been practically running around non-stop. You need to catch a break, this, after all, is for a good cause and a chance to be around friends. Just relax and enjoy this! You're supposed to feel happy too, not just your guests.”

“She's got a point there. You look like you're on the verge of a beak-down. You haven't stopped to calm down even for five minutes man!” Anthony nearly exclaimed.

“That's nonsense. I have stopped for-” he paused, frowning in thought “I must have-”

“No, no you haven't.” Chris said matter-of-factly “Stop trying to remember a moment, cause there was none. Now however you have it. Cause it's either that or a food war right after the auction is done.”

“Oh speaking of the auction, you organized that too?” Chris asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“All of it, yes. Thankfully that was the easiest part, many of the guests tonight were glad to donate precious pieces they had.”

“You mean you're not one of the pieces too?” Anthony looked at him with all the shock he could muster “Damn, then you're not gonna earn lots of money pal, I'm sorry. Might do something but not much. No, no I'm serious- Imagine what would happen if you actually put yourself up for auction. A night with Sebastian Stan! No, even better, a night in Sebastian Stan's bed. Who wouldn't wanna put money on that?”

Everyone laughed “Sorry to disappoint. I hope they'll earn enough money from the rest. It goes without saying that I'm waiting for you guys to do the same too.” Sebastian gave his friends a look.

“See? Always using me! Whether it be for my money or my body, this man gives no care about what I feel.” Chris said almost a little too seriously, taking a big of his drink and easily making the rest of his friends burst into laughter.

“And that is the first easy smile we see tonight. See what we mean?” Scarlett said with a more soft and even sad smile that Sebastian couldn't help but nod his head at.

“I know an I really appreciate you guys being here for that. It's just until this get a bit more settled that I will be able to fully relax.” he sighed “Besides that, though, how are you guys enjoying the night?”

“I'm not one to easily admit this, but damn you Stan, you've done an incredible job! I'm definitely taking some of this later home, I'm warning you.” Anthony tapped his glass with his drink, making his friend chuckle and nod his head.

“Don't worry, I've got you. I've already made sure to keep a bottle or two for you.”

“No, really, everything's amazing. And we're barely halfway through. I mean-” the smile grew on Chris' lips in a way that Sebastian didn't want to know the meaning behind “Besides the drinks or the décor or everything else, the music is incredible too! You've got some big names singing tonight I see?”

“Yeah uh-” he cleared his throat, playing with his glass for a couple seconds too long “I had a hand in that. Though I mostly just contacted the first singers that came to my mind.”

“Really?” Chris raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with Anthony who was trying to hide his smile behind his drink “Because we haven't see (Y/n) tonight. I mean, I expected it would expect her to be singing the opening songs, and the ones in the middle and the ones in the end. And really this would most likely turn into a small concert.”

“Why would you say-” Sebastian started in a small, low voice, with a frown.

It make Chris scoff and smirk though “Why? Because your playlist consists of only her songs, that's why. I'm surprised you even remembered the names of the singers here tonight enough to call them. To you there is no greatest singer than her!”

“I swear, I came prepared for him to be a mess of nerves because of her but she's not even around!”

“Honestly it would only be hours upon hours upon hours of her on that stage and us listening to her because he'd be too carried away to remember to get her to stop or move on with the event.” Scarlett said with a smirk of her own.

“That is, you mean, if he ever remembered that there are guests in the room. I bet you, he'd just listen to her music and look at her like a lovesick puppy!” Anthony added, making everyone but Sebastian laugh.

“Oh please, he'd forget his own name! There is no way he'd remember why we're here, that's totally irrelevant. No surprise she's not here, would he even know how to speak if he had to ask her?” Elizabeth grinned and the rest laughed once more except Sebastian who pursed his lips.

He could utter a full sentence if he wanted to, thank you very much. After a lot of practice, sure, and he'd definitely need like an hour or so to prepare himself before he called you but he knew he'd be able to do it. Even if he had tried doing so and always backed from the phone every single time. It was better if they didn't know that.

“Forget his name? Maybe forget how to breathe better yet! We'd have to call a freaking ambulance here. He'd never have been this close to her, isn't it?”

“Oh but there was that red carpet, she was standing at the other end and I swear to you when they made eye-contact he almost faint-”

“Hey!” Sebastian exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly but the music was still pleasantly loud enough to cover up for him “Enough, alright? Enough. You've had your fun, even if I don't understand where all this is coming from. I- I don't- That is not how things happened. For one.” he cleared his throat even though a bit awkwardly “And for another, it just... didn't come up. There were other great artists who wanted to be part of this that I thought it would be good to give them a chance. Some of them are new in the business too, it would do good. And besides, you complain that I- I talk too much about her and listen only to her music, that I make you listen to it- Even though you have to admit you like it too. So I thought that maybe I'd do you guys a favor. That's all.” he shrugged and it was so believable that he'd easily say this was the best acting he'd done in his entire life. He looked so unbothered about it that he could definitely congratulate himself for it if it came to that. But his friends didn't have to know that.

Just like they didn't need to know that he'd been trying to gather up the courage to speak to you but he always got too nervous to go further with his plans. They knew very well about his crush on your, much as he denied it more often than he could count, there was no need to make things worse.

A moment of silence followed after his small rant and he didn't know if he was thankful or not, not when his friends kept sharing looks with one another until Anthony spoke up “I call b-fucking-s. Man, are you trying to convince yourself or what? Cause there is no changing our opinions, that's for sure.”

And yet, just as he was about to reply he didn't get the opportunity to, it seemed like the universe did not want him to win this argument. Probably never in his life.

“Sshh” Scarlett looked at something behind his back “I get the feeling he'll want to hear this next song out.”

Even the smallest “What?” he managed to mutter seemed to have been swallowed by the loud applauding and the fact that his entire world swirled when Scarlett made him turn before it all came to an absolute horrifying yet the most beautiful halt.

“This is a man's world.

This is a man's world.

But it would be nothing, nothing.

Without w woman or a girl.”

“Oh hey, look, it's not-the-love-of-your-life.” Anthony teased, chuckling. But it felt merely like an echo in his ears, very far away from him, as he felt more and more pulled into your mere presence. Your singing easily able to help create a world only for him at the moment.

“He's not replying, is he ok?” Chris asked after a good few second because they had indeed already passed and he had not even realized it.

You were there. You were trully there, looking like something straight out of his dreams. But he wasn't dreaming, it was all real. You were standing on the small stage and singing and goodness you looked stunning but it took his breath away even more when he realized you looked at him and your smile got even bigger. Was he smiling too? He didn't know, he couldn't think and he most certainly didn't care. You were there and while he was struggling to breathe, though that could be the bow-tie's fault too, it felt like the most beautiful feeling in the world to feel his heart beating in that way.

The rest of the world vanished and for all his nerves, for all his fears, it felt so much worth it. Even more than that. Holding your gaze, for real, for long enough, felt good and it felt right.

.

..

...

“Uh is he alright? Is he- Is he gonna pass out or something? Seems like his legs are not holding him well, I think.” Chris asked with a frown.

“Oh he better not. That suit is worth over a good thousand dollars, he is the host and he has things to see to.” Sebastian's manager said sternly “I invited her over because I was sick and tired of him staring at his phone with her number like a kicked puppy wanting its owner back. But that doesn't mean he's gonna mess things up now. Later, once it's all over, he can fanboy all he wants. Or ask her to marry him. Whichever.”

“Somehow-” Anthony snickered “I think we should all better start looking for wedding gifts people.”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 11

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

I... totally forgot to update last week.  Oops.  Lab time’s started so uni got a little distracting.  Also you guys seemed to love the hoodie thing so I figured that had you satisfied for a little while :P (if you haven’t seen it, @louthestarspeaker did some amazing art for that!)

No warnings for this chapter (wow, it’s been a while), unless you think Scott being a flirt needs a warning.

<<<Chapter 10

“So where are we going now?” Scott asked, changing the topic.

“Your call,” Other-Gordon shrugged, even though Scott was fairly sure he had a destination in mind from the way he was driving.  There was no hesitation about their route.  “We can take a break and get ourselves a bite to eat, or we can get the rest of the shopping done and find food after.”

Scott mentally ran through what they had left to get.  “How likely are the paparazzi to hound us for the rest of the day?” he asked.

“Most likely they’ll be asking around what we were buying for a while,” Other-Gordon told him.  “After that, it depends how interesting they find us, and if they can find us again.”

Scott drew the line at paparazzi squawking about his choice of underwear, and sighed.  “Might as well get those underpants now, then,” he said.

“If you’re sure,” Other-Gordon said.  He sounded dubious, but Scott glanced at him and saw concern, rather than disagreement.

“I’m sure,” he said firmly.  “Unless you’re about to tell me I’ll need fittings for that because if that’s the case then I’m sticking with what I’ve got.”

Other-Gordon laughed.  “Well, it’s lucky for all of us that there won’t be any fittings in the next shop, then,” he grinned.  “Underpants, socks and pyjamas are all in the same place.  We’re sticking with Scott’s usual haunts now,” he added.  “Less for the paparazzi to get their teeth into.”

Scott swallowed, thankful for the heads’ up.  Typically, sharp ginger eyes didn’t miss it.

“Say, we didn’t get to have that chat about a pattern yet, did we?” Other-Gordon commented.  Scott sighed.

“I should be fine,” he said.

“Scott.”  The disappointment was clear.  “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

He was right but that didn’t stop Scott disliking it.

“If I’m expecting it, it’s fine,” he clarified, although Other-Gordon’s raised eyebrow said things were still as clear as mud.

“Expecting what.”  It wasn’t a question, but an expectation, and Scott sighed.

“People that know your brother,” he admitted.  “The paparazzi, being recognised in the streets… they’re one thing. That’s fine.”

“It’s people who know Scott,” Other-Gordon finished for him. Scott nodded.  “That explains Madeleine, but not George.  Jones…  We weren’t with him long enough for him to notice anything?”  Scott nodded again.  “So, George is the opposite?  We were with him too long?”

“Something like that,” Scott agreed.  “He saw when I slipped and tried to use the catalogue like I would at home.”

Other-Gordon made a noise that sounded a little like a suspicion had been confirmed.

“I don’t know for sure if it’ll help,” he said.  “But try to remember two things.”

Scott looked over at him again and resisted the urge to tell him to put both hands back on the wheel as one fist raised, a single finger extended.

“First, outside the airport no-one here knows Scott that well. Certainly not well enough to notice any small differences.  Even your voice might not be enough to raise most people’s suspicions, that’s mostly a precaution.  They’re not going to see one small slip and peg you as an imposter.  Scott doesn’t go shopping much, and he prefers going to Kansas or New York for the most part.  Auckland’s only for short day trips.  Anyone acting familiar outside of the airport is doing exactly that.  They’re acting.”  A second finger raised.  “Secondly, you’re Scott Tracy.  You might not be my Scott, but you’re still Scott Tracy.  Have a little faith in yourself.”

“Aren’t you watching me and logging all the differences between us?” Scott asked, and Other-Gordon rolled his eyes.  He did, thankfully, at least put his hand back on the wheel.

“That’s how I know you can pull this off,” he said.  “There are differences, but they’re ones I see because I’m family.  Tom, Dick and Harry aren’t going to notice a jot.”

“George did.”

“George saw you doing something weird,” Other-Gordon shrugged.  “No more catalogues, no more swishy fingers.”

“Swishy fingers?”

“You looked like you were conducting an orchestra,” Other-Gordon told him bluntly.

Okay, Scott could see that.

“Hold your head high and pretend you own the place,” the ginger advised. “We won’t be in this shop long.” He pulled into another car park, next to a sleek building advertising Outstanding Private Garments for the Gentleman. “But if that doesn’t work, remember four for Four,” he added.  “Three if you just need some space.”

Despite himself, Scott found himself grinning.  “Three for Three, four for Four,” he repeated.  “I can remember that.”  Associating the numbers with Thunderbirds was simple, but definitely effective.

“Whatever helps you remember,” Other-Gordon shrugged.  “But like I say, we shouldn’t be in here long.  Ready?”

In answer, Scott plucked at the lever in the side of the door, letting it open. Other-Gordon took the hint.

The inside of the shop was much more like Lemaires’, if less filled with customers, than the workshop store had been.  The class difference was painfully obvious, and Scott found himself wondering why rich meant stuffy here.  It was going to be a relief when he could shuck off Other-Scott’s clothes – still too smart for Scott’s liking even if it was clearly supposed to be casual wear – and put on something that fit his own definition of casual.

Not-Dad could scowl about undone buttons and rolled up sleeves all he wanted, but if Scott was going to suffer being in a different universe, he’d at least do so comfortably.

A salesman headed over to them, apparently drawn like a magnet to the sniff of money, and Scott contentedly stayed back as Other-Gordon repeated their spiel about a lost voice and explained what they were after.

You’re Scott Tracy.  It almost mirrored Not-Dad’s departing message remember you’re a Tracy, and Scott wondered if this was what the older man had meant.  He threw a grin in the salesman’s direction when the man looked at him, kept his back straight and hands – both of them – in his pockets.

Just doing that made him feel like he really did belong there.  It was a dangerous thought, and Scott quickly clarified to himself that by there he meant in the shop, and not in this universe, because he certainly did not belong in the latter and couldn’t wait to get home.

As the man led them down aisles, presumably towards the underwear Other-Gordon had specified, he caught a look of approval from the ginger.

It wasn’t much, just a brief curl of the corner of his mouth and a split second of eye contact out of the corner of his eye, but it lifted a weight Scott hadn’t noticed settling on his chest.

He could do this.  It was just some clothes.

Some clothes in a different universe and subsequently different fashions. Apparently this universe had not yet discovered his preferred style, or at least didn’t offer them for Gentlemen.  He pointedly ignored Other-Gordon watching him even as he nattered away to the salesman, no doubt keeping him distracted, and mentally ran through the options in front of him.

Comfort and practicality were both important, and it was with that in mind that he made his selection, hoping he wouldn’t notice the difference too much when he was wearing them.  He didn’t know how often they did laundry, but in a vain hope he wouldn’t be in this universe for too long, he grabbed a week’s worth before turning back to the other men.

Other-Gordon’s face betrayed nothing about his selection, but he did obligingly prod the salesman into leading them to the socks.

Once again, fashion differences made themselves known as trainer and ankle socks seemed to be entirely absent from the choices, leaving Scott with the simple choice of what pattern he wanted on the calf-high woollen offerings. They reminded him more than a little of soccer socks, and he kept half an eye on Other-Gordon as a yellow pair found their way into the selection amongst the blues, whites and blacks.  To his frustration, the ginger seemed to have pulled on a poker face, no doubt anticipating that Scott would try and throw him again with colour selection.

Still, even that gave him some sort of sense of normalcy, which in turn kept him calm and focused on what they needed to do, and not what anyone else was thinking of him.  Other-Gordon keeping up a stream of chatter with the salesman – whose name Scott realised he still hadn’t caught – was enough to quell the last of the what-ifs, and even selecting a few pairs of pyjamas was much less of a trial than it could have been.

Even if Scott really wished he could just wear a tatty old t-shirt and shorts like he defaulted to at home.  Unfortunately, Gentlemen apparently wore sleeping shirts made of cotton with matching full-length trousers, much like the ones he’d woken up in earlier that morning, and once again had a limited selection that seemed to mostly vary in the shape of the collar and length of the arms.

Assuming that this universe’s Tracy Island tended towards the same temperatures as his home, he opted for mostly thinner, short-sleeved choices, and ignored the many patterned ones in favour of plain where he could.  Blue, yes, but there was also dark grey and another red and black chequered pattern he couldn’t bring himself not to choose.

Amber eyes narrowed at the final selection, Other-Gordon logging it and no doubt wracking his brain for anything that might be inspiring his now second choice for that combination.  Scott was mostly hopeful he wouldn’t figure it out, but the other man had proven himself to be extremely sharp.  There was always a chance he would.

“That seemed like it went better,” the ginger commented once the clothes were paid for and they were back in the car.  The engine purred, although the car was still in neutral and Other-Gordon was leaning back in the seat.  Scott hoped the fuel was as carbon neutral here as it was at home.

‘Went better’ wasn’t a hard thing to surmise, considering it was the first shop Scott hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack in – or any real panic at all. “What helped?”

They had one shop left to go, by Scott’s estimation, and no doubt he was going to have to interact with strangers again for it.  Even at home, shoe shopping still required checking they fit, so he didn’t dare hope it would be avoidable here.  After the reprieve of the relatively easy experience he’d just had, he hoped he could hold it together long enough to get a couple of pairs of sneakers.

“No fittings,” he said dryly when Other-Gordon cleared his throat meaningfully. “It was easier to ignore everyone else.”

“That’s not going to be possible when we get the shoes,” Other-Gordon reminded him, and he sighed.

“I know,” he said.  “But I can handle it.”

“Do you want that café break now?”

Scott shook his head.  “Let’s get this over with,” he said.  “Putting it off won’t make it easier.”

“If you’re sure,” Other-Gordon replied, but there was no dubiousness in his tone this time.  Scott suspected he wasn’t the only one relieved at the success in the latest shop. The ginger shifted the car into drive and then they were rolling out onto the streets again.  “How many shoes are you thinking of?”

“Two should be enough,” Scott shrugged.  “Both sneakers.”

“No sandals?” Other-Gordon looked surprised.  Scott shook his head again.

“I won’t need those,” he said.  “Two pairs of sneakers will be plenty.”

“Well, I suppose you can always steal Scott’s shoes if you end up needing anything else,” the other man mused.  “You’ll need protective boots before you get in the hangars properly,” he added, “but we can’t get those here.”

“I have protective boots,” Scott reminded him.

“Only when Brains isn’t prodding at them,” Other-Gordon pointed out.  “I didn’t look at your boots that closely but they looked weird.”

“I’m almost certainly going to think the same thing about yours when I see them properly,” Scott shrugged.  “They’re protective enough.  Not quite as heavy duty as Virgil’s, but they’re still superior to steel caps.”

“Sounds useful,” Other-Gordon commented.  “We’re here.”

That had been a considerably shorter drive than any of the others. Scott made to get out of the car, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

“Scott got new sneakers recently,” Other-Gordon warned him.  “So the chaps here will remember him.”

The pressure that had lifted with the last shop made its return known with a vengeance, and Scott grit his teeth.  The hand on his arm tightened, grounding him, and he glanced over at Other-Gordon.

“Will it help if I go over the story with you now?” the ginger asked, serious eyes meeting his through the shades.  “Remember, they might remember him, but they don’t know him. Behave like you did in the last shop and everything will be fine.”

“The story?” Scott asked, taking a deep breath.

“That you like them enough to want more,” Other-Gordon clarified.  “As for your hand; you slipped over by the pool and grazed it.”

Scott hadn’t even considered his hand, and that he’d need to be using it.

“Scott, are you okay to go in or do you want that café break first?” Other-Gordon asked, seriousness laced all through the words.  Scott swallowed.  Instinct told him he was going to struggle, but his pride rebelled at the idea of running away.

His lack of an immediate answer seemed to be all Other-Gordon needed as he shoved the car back into drive.

“Wait-” Scott protested as he realised they were leaving.  Sharp amber eyes looked at him.

“What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

Breakfast?  Scott blinked, caught out by the question.

“All you’ve had since you got here was Grandma’s apple pie,” Other-Gordon continued.  “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to feel mighty peckish, and I had a nice, leisurely breakfast after my swim this morning.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, Scott realised the churning in his stomach might not be entirely looming panic.  He didn’t actually remember breakfast.  There was that early morning call-out; he’d chugged a coffee during John’s briefing then gone to pluck the climber from the mountain, and then returned home with the intent of catching a couple more hours of sleep before properly facing the day.

Food, he realised, hadn’t featured at all.  He’d left One, somehow fallen through a universe collision, and then ended up here.

“Coffee,” he eventually answered.

“And?”

Scott shrugged.  “Early morning callout.  Bed was the plan when I got back.”

“Hold on a moment,” Other-Gordon said.  “You’re telling me that slice of apple pie’s the only thing you’ve eaten in… how long?”

“I ate dinner last night,” Scott defended himself.

“Gee.”  Other-Gordon shook his head.  “That settles it.  We’re going to a café and you’re going to eat.”

Scott didn’t have an argument for that one, and his stomach made its agreement known by grumbling at him suddenly.  Other-Gordon laughed.

“We’ve got all day,” he reminded him.  “We can take our time, remember?”

Scott sighed, but knew when he was beaten.  “You got a place in mind?”

“A few,” Other-Gordon said.  “Say, you don’t have any allergies, do you?”

“Nothing I’m aware of,” he assured him.

“In that case,” the ginger said.  “The Nine Bells has some private booths and a good menu.”

The name wasn’t familiar to Scott, but he hadn’t spent much time in Auckland for the sake of sight-seeing – or shopping – so he didn’t know if it didn’t exist in his universe or if he’d just never had cause to go near it.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, and Other-Gordon shot him a grin.

“They serve apple pie,” he promised, and Scott rolled his eyes.  Even he’d noticed Other-Scott’s fondness for the food, so it was no surprise at all that Other-Gordon had his favourite dessert pegged already.  “And their coffee’s good.”

“What about their tea?” Scott asked, keeping a straight face as he got the double-take reaction he was hoping for.

“You drink tea?” Other-Gordon asked.  Scott shrugged.

“Only in England.”

Other-Gordon huffed, and Scott let the threatening grin creep onto his face. “I should have seen that coming,” the ginger grumbled.  “You’re terrible.”

“I’m a big brother,” Scott shrugged.  “Can’t let the younger ones win all the time.”

“Definitely a Scott,” Other-Gordon muttered, shaking his head. “Let’s get some food in you.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Scott agreed.  Now that he was aware of the gnawing hunger, it clearly had no intentions of letting him forget about it.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and Scott let himself properly look out at the streets as they drove through.  Much of it was unfamiliar to him; shop fronts were styled differently, and there were no holograms lighting up sales as they tried to entice customers to browse.  That was no doubt entirely due to the difference in technologies, although he was getting the impression that even society seemed to be subtly different at times.

If Other-John and Other-Brains couldn’t find a quick way to get him back and he was stuck here for a while until they figured it out – and they would figure it out, because Scott couldn’t afford to think otherwise – he was going to have a lot to learn even though he doubted he’d be leaving the island much, at least not as Scott Tracy.  If he was going to be living here for a while, he was definitely going to get involved in International Rescue somehow.

He couldn’t imagine sitting back and watching others do what was his job without stepping in to help, and inaction was never his style.

“Everything alright?” Other-Gordon asked suddenly.  “You’ve gone quiet.”

Scott shrugged.  “Just thinking,” he answered, not looking away from the passing buildings.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  Some things transcended universes, apparently.

“Penny for your thoughts?” the ginger continued.  Scott wondered if he was worried he was spiralling again.

“Just about-” he cut himself off, remembering that even if they were in the car they were out in public – a public that didn’t know about International Rescue’s identity.  “The family business,” he hedged.

“Yours or ours?”

“Yours, mostly,” Scott admitted.  “Where I’ll fit in.”

“Dad won’t say no,” Other-Gordon assured him.  “It’s short-staffed for obvious reasons, but those don’t apply to you. I know the two of you aren’t seeing eye to eye right now, and I won’t lie – working out where you sit in the hierarchy is going to take a lot of compromise, mostly on your end – but if you’re going to be hanging around, you might as well make yourself useful.”

It was the second time Other-Gordon had confidently said he’d be able to join their International Rescue, although Scott was well aware there’d be a lot of difficulty fitting in.

He’d been Commander of his International Rescue longer than this International Rescue had been operating.  But he didn’t know their technology, their limits and procedures. Even the jargon was different.

“I’m not afraid of hard work,” he said, and Other-Gordon laughed.

“No-one’s going to doubt that,” he promised.  “You don’t do well sitting around, do you?”

“Another shared trait?” Scott assumed dryly.  To his surprise, Other-Gordon shrugged.

“I think you’re worse for it,” he admitted.  Startled, Scott looked away from the passing buildings to regard Other-Gordon again.  “Scott doesn’t do well sitting around all the time, but that doesn’t stop him lounging for a few hours with the rest of us.”  Amber eyes glanced over at him.  “I get the feeling you’ve forgotten how to.”

That was getting dangerously close to Dad’s crash again, never mind the fact that Other-Gordon was right.  His own brothers had got on his case about it enough for Scott to know he hadn’t relaxed in years.  Not properly.

“I remember how,” he muttered, the words coming out more defensively than he’d intended.

“Something tells me you’re not going to be demonstrating that knowledge,” Other-Gordon challenged, once again right because he was entirely too sharp.  Scott knew he wouldn’t be able to relax at all until he was home and knew his brothers were all safe and well.  “I’m not going to stop you,” the ginger continued. “But don’t burn yourself out.”

“I won’t,” Scott promised.

Other-Gordon’s silence loudly proclaimed that he expected otherwise but knew better than to call him out on it.  Scott appreciated it; that was a heavy enough conversation for his liking.

There had been a lot of those on this shopping trip, despite him choosing Other-Gordon to avoid them.  It would have been so much worse if he’d come with anyone else.

Part of him wasn’t looking forwards to getting back, because then he’d have the whole island watching him again.  He also, he realised, needed to apologise to Other-Virgil for brushing him off so abruptly, even if he was glad he’d stood his ground against Not-Dad.

Dealing with Not-Dad on a regular basis was definitely going to be the hardest part of this universe.  Scott knew he was going to have to talk to the man, especially if he was going to join their International Rescue, but he looked just like Dad, and even now his chest hurt when he thought about it.

“We’re here,” Other-Gordon said, pulling into a car park in front of a large building that proclaimed The Nine Bells in a neat cursive.  It looked fancy, but then Other-Gordon had said they offered private booths, which Scott was well aware they’d need.

He followed the ginger into the building, where they were promptly greeted by a waitress.

“Good afternoon, sirs,” she chirped.  “A table for two?”  Her eyes were firmly fixed on him, and he knew he was wearing shades but she was pretty cute so he sent her a wink and a grin anyway.

She flushed red.  Good to know he still had it in another universe.

“A private booth, please,” Other-Gordon said, stepping forwards and – ow – onto Scott’s foot.  Well, if he wanted him to be himself, then he was going to flirt with the pretty girls, regardless of whether or not he could talk.

“Of course,” she stammered, still looking at him rather than the Tracy that was actually talking to her.  “This way.” Still bright red, and throwing glances at him over her shoulder, she slipped between the public tables until they came to a concealed privacy booth, no doubt for their richer customers. Scott supposed Tracys counted. She hovered as they both slid into seats, before placing menus in front of both of them – him first.  He thanked her with another grin, and got a nudge in the shin from Other-Gordon.

“Would you like a jug of water?” she asked him.  Other-Gordon jumped in with the affirmative, and she hurried off to get it.

“Must you flirt with the waiting staff?” the ginger asked after she was gone. Scott shrugged.

“She’s pretty,” he said.  Other-Gordon rolled his eyes.

“If it makes you happier,” he sighed, and Scott definitely heard the underlying relief there that something was cheering him up.

“I’ll take the small victories where I can get them,” he confirmed, pulling the menu down in front of him.  “I don’t suppose you’ll take her number for me?”

“Not under false pretences,” the other man retorted.  Scott scowled; he had a point.  Other-Gordon shook his head and grinned.  “At least you’re looking happier.”

“Until you stole my fun,” Scott grumbled, but he knew Other-Gordon was right. He couldn’t flirt seriously with anyone while he was pretending to be Other-Scott.

“Just choose something from the menu,” Other-Gordon told him.  “Several somethings, if this is really your first meal today.  Grandma will have my hide if you pass out on me.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Scott protested, but he looked at the menu anyway.

Food, it seemed, was the same across universes.  It wasn’t much hassle to find something he liked – he’d never been a particularly picky eater, and from the amused looks on Other-Gordon’s face, the ginger could probably have ordered for him without even asking.

“The same?” he asked resignedly.

“Near enough,” Other-Gordon shrugged.  “Coffee?”

The waitress reappeared before Scott could give a verbal answer, so he nodded as she set the water and two glasses down on the table.

“Are you ready to order, sirs?” she asked, once again fixed on him as she withdrew a notebook from her apron and held a pencil up, poised to write.

Rolling his eyes, Other-Gordon placed the order for both of them.  She looked a little put out that Scott, for all his grinning, wasn’t actually saying a word to her, and clearly Other-Gordon wasn’t feeling like a generous enough wingman to tell her that he couldn’t talk.

She hovered for a moment longer after writing down the order, but Other-Gordon looked away from her in a clear dismissal, and Scott reluctantly followed suit, leaving her scurrying away a little disappointedly.

“Now I seem fickle,” Scott huffed once she was out of earshot. Other-Gordon looked amused, smirking in an annoying little brother manner.

“You’re telling me you’re not going to start smiling at the next pretty woman you see?” he asked.  Scott rolled his eyes.

“That’s not the point,” he denied.

“I disagree,” Other-Gordon retorted.  “Gee, you’d think they’d give the Olympic Champion the time of day, at least.”

“Not all the girls care about gold medals,” Scott smirked.  It was Other-Gordon’s turn to huff.

“They do when there’s no tall dark and handsome winking at them next to me,” he muttered.  “If there’s one thing that’s not so good about the job, it’s the secrecy.”

“It’s not worth the headache.”  That, Scott could say for certain.  “Trust me.”

“I’ll trust your grey hairs,” Other-Gordon agreed, and Scott scowled at him. He put his hands up.  “I promised not to ask questions and I won’t,” he said. “But if there’s anything you want to know, I’m available.”

“Here?” Scott asked, glancing around at the café.  The privacy booth at least meant he could talk, but he wasn’t so sure Not-Dad would approve of International Rescue being discussed there.

“Well, maybe not here,” Other-Gordon conceded.  “But any time.”

It was a comforting offer, especially after their first conversation where the man had physically and verbally cornered him and refused to let him near any of the Thunderbirds.

We’re on the same side.  The offer was an extension of that promise, and Scott nodded in acknowledgement.

“I still want that tour,” he said, and Other-Gordon laughed.

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” he said.  “I’ll have to clear it with Dad, but I’m positive I can convince him.”

That would be the first test to see if Not-Dad was, as Other-Gordon believed, going to be willing to let him join if they couldn’t immediately find a way to get him home.  Scott really hoped Other-Gordon’s optimism was in the right place.

The younger man reached for the jug in the middle of the table and poured himself a glass before reaching for Scott’s.  He pushed it closer with a nod of thanks and watched as it filled up before taking a drink.  He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was until the liquid hit his throat, and before he’d realised it, the glass was empty.

Other-Gordon raised his own glass in a mimicry of a toast before taking his own draft.

“You’re not going to tell me the last drink you had was that tea you kept dropping, are you?” the ginger asked.  Scott shook his head.

“Tin-Tin gave me coffee while we talked,” he said, grabbing the glass and pouring himself another measure before throwing that back as well.

“How did that go?” Other-Gordon asked.  “Was it useful?”

“I think so,” Scott said, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand.  “Most of what we discussed were things you already knew.  Otherwise, it was mostly technology differences.”

“Did she have any theories?” the other man asked, taking another drink of his water.

Scott shook his head.

“She just said she’d take it to your Brains,” he shrugged.  “The others came back so we went back for the debrief.”

“Alan was mighty miffed with you then,” Other-Gordon commented.  Scott had noticed.  “I’m guessing he saw you two together?”

“We met him on the landing,” Scott confirmed.  “He didn’t seem happy.  Is there any particular reason he’s so…”  He trailed off, trying to find a word to describe Other-Alan’s attitude in a way that wasn’t blatantly insulting.

“So Alan?” Other-Gordon asked.  “Mostly it’s because he’s the youngest.  Your Alan’s not like that?”

Scott scoffed.  “If my Alan talked back like that he’d be grounded and he knows it.  He’s younger than yours, but I’m not letting him grow up thinking he can get his own way all the time.”

“Aw, Alan’s not so bad,” the ginger said, clearly defending his younger brother.  “Sure, he can be a bit of a pain, but he’s a little brother.  Fame went to his head a bit after he kept winning races, and you didn’t make the best first impression on him by punching Scott, or breaking Dad’s nose.”

Scott sighed.  “He wouldn’t tell me where my brothers were,” he explained.  “Of course, at that point neither of us knew about this multiverse thing.”  He eyed the younger man.  “But by that logic, I didn’t make the best first impression on you, either.”

“You got that right,” Other-Gordon admitted.  “You seemed too dangerous to let wander around, I’ll admit, but Grandma and Tin-Tin didn’t seem bothered by you and then Brains and John had their theory – which you near enough proved – and I figured I’d give you a chance, you know?”

“You interrogated me,” Scott corrected dryly.  The other man shrugged.

“Details,” he dismissed.  “You’re not so bad, you’re just out of your depth.  Can’t say I blame you.  I couldn’t say how I’d have reacted if it were me.”  He paused for a moment.  “How are you holding up?”

Scott huffed tiredly and ran a hand over his face, wincing when they snagged the shades he forgot he was wearing.

“Right now, I’m fine,” he said, his instincts rebelling against telling the truth – that the idea was enough to scare him, that he was terrified he couldn’t get home.  Worried how his family were taking his disappearance.  “Ask me again after it’s sunk in.”

“I’ll do that,” Other-Gordon promised, taking another drink from his glass. Amber eyes scanned him searchingly, and Scott met his gaze head-on, daring him to claim he wasn’t as fine as he was pretending.

If the ginger had noticed the façade, he didn’t comment.  Then again, it was at that moment the waitress returned with a platter of sandwiches.  At the sight and smell of them, Scott’s stomach growled loudly.  The waitress was too shy to giggle, but he saw her eyebrows raise and he sent her a slightly sheepish grin before picking up one from the pile and toasting her with it.

Other-Gordon kicked him in the shins again.  Scott ignored him.

“Your coffee will be ready in a moment,” she said, smiling at him with cheeks coloured a rosy blush.  “Is there anything else I can get you right now?”

Your number, Scott thought, but Other-Gordon studiously avoided any eye contact with him as he dismissed the girl – without asking for her number, or explaining why he wasn’t talking.  Little brothers were a nuisance whatever universe they were from, apparently.

Scott huffed at him once she was out of earshot and bit into the sandwich with a little more vigour than was strictly necessary.

Other-Gordon’s response was a mixture of exasperation and faint disapproval as he took his own pick from the platter to eat.  “I told you, you’re not who she thinks you are,” he reminded him. “You can send all the flirty looks you want, I’m not asking for her number for you.”

“I know,” Scott sighed, swallowing the mouthful.  “Oh, these are good.”

Other-Gordon grinned.  “I told you the food here would be.”

“You did,” Scott acknowledged, polishing off the first one and grabbing another.  He supposed that if he was going to be stuck in another universe for a while, at least there was good food.

The blushing waitress – whose name he never caught, but she didn’t offer it and Other-Gordon didn’t ask – kept coming back with more of their ordered food as they ate.  The ginger devoured just as much as he did, proving he hadn’t been lying about his own hunger, and conversation was mostly dropped in favour of sustenance.

By the time the final dregs of Scott’s coffee were drained from the cup, he estimated they must have been there at least an hour, if not more.  He still hadn’t figured out how to read the analogue dial on the watch, and was at loathe to ask while they were in public.

Still, he was conscious that there was still one shop left to go, and the sun’s steady march across the sky was unrelenting.  They only had so much time, a fact supported by the way Other-Gordon checked his own watch before giving him a considering look.

“There’s an hour left until the shops close,” the ginger told him.  “Do you want to give it another try, or should we head back to the island?”  Scott raised an eyebrow at him.  He was fairly sure the ginger knew what his answer was going to be.

Sure enough, he got a groan and a mutter about pushing yourself too hard, but Other-Gordon waved the waitress over for the bill without trying to change his mind.

Chapter 12>>>

[skysolorights]

See The Stars

word count: 2.2k

summary:  There was a moment of silence, and he could hear Luke take a few shaky breaths. 

“Han?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“I think I’m falling asleep.”

warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, it gets really sad (oops), didn’t really beta read this so uhhh it could be very bad who knows

read it on ao3 instead

“Hey, Han? You got a moment?”

“Yeah, what’s up kid?” Han asked, smiling as Luke blushed at the nickname.

“I just wanted to see you,” the younger man responded, entering the room fully and flopping onto the bed in the corner of the room. Han got up to sit next to him, a warm feeling flooding his chest as Luke leaned his head down onto his shoulder.

“So,” Han said, looking down at him. “What do you have lined up today?”

Luke furrowed his brows momentarily.

“Not much,” he responded quietly, picking his head up from Han’s shoulder, not quite meeting his eyes. “Just-” he paused, clearing his throat. “-just a supply run. I’ll be gone for a little bit, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

“Alright. I’ve got a few things to do in comms this afternoon, but after that, I’m free--would you want to, I don’t know...take some speeders out to the forest? There’s a full moon tonight, so it won’t be too dark.” Because that totally isn’t a date, Han scolded himself silently. Luke smiled softly, breathing in slowly.

“Yeah...yeah, I’d like that,” he said, finally locking eyes with the smuggler. “Han…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t...Just…” he paused momentarily, inhaling slowly. “Take it easy, okay?”

“Okay, kid,” Han laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re acting weird, is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” The Jedi smiled, tracing his eyes over the bend of Han’s nose, the way his eyelashes curled upwards, the gentle shape of his browbone, and how it blended with the soft lids of his eyes. Memorizing every little curve and crevice. “Everything’s okay.”

The two of them stayed like that for a while, just taking each other in. Luke smiled, pressing his lips tightly together. If Han knew better, he’d say he was trying not to cry.

“I should probably get going,” the younger man said quietly. “I’ve got a couple others waiting for me, wouldn’t want to hold them up.”

“Okay,” Han said, smiling. “Be careful, okay?’

Suddenly, the pilot was hugging him, his arms wrapped around his torso, so tight it was as if he’d never let go.

“...Kid?” He whispered, but Luke shook his head vigorously. Han slowly embraced him in return, resting his chin atop the younger man’s head. He could feel Luke’s hands shaking, and concern clouded his mind. “Hey,” he said firmly, leaning back and gently taking the Jedit by the shoulders. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me when you get back. It’ll be alright. I swear."

Luke nodded, smiling. “Right.”

“Sounds good,” Han said, grinning. He clapped the pilot on the shoulder, standing up and walking to the door with him. Luke turned to go but glanced back at him one more time.    

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m out.”

“You know that I will,” Han smirked, and Luke laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, I do…” he glanced down at the floor, smiling slightly. “Bye, Han.”

“Bye, Kid. See you tonight.”

Luke just smiled, taking Han’s hand briefly before dropping it and retreating down the hallway.

The smuggler glanced down. He could still feel the warmth of Luke’s palm in his. He felt his face flush red and cleared his throat before sitting back down at his desk and fiddling with an old hologram projector to pass the time until his next meeting.

***

Han glanced up from his datapad as the comm unit on his desk buzzed. Flipping it over to reveal the screen, he read the message displayed on its surface.

Communications. Now. Emergency.

It was from one of the technicians he had talked to earlier, Jen. He plucked his jacket off the back of his chair and made his way down the crowded halls to Communications, narrowly dodging a frantic nurse dashing towards medbay. He entered the room and his heart halted in its tracks as he saw Leia and several others clustered around a display.

“What…”

“Han,” Leia murmured, steering him away from the group momentarily. “There’s been...an incident.” He clenched his jaw. “He didn’t tell me,” she continued, closing her eyes momentarily. “That he wasn’t just going on a supply run.”

“ No,” Han said quietly.

“He went to Corellia to look into a lead about a missing pilot,” she sighed, and the smuggler’s hands shook. “There was…a run-in with some stormtroopers.”

“ No,” Han repeated, more a plea than anything else.  

“We’ve...we’ve got him on the line, but something’s wrong--he’s not talking much, just-” Han pushed her aside, striding quickly over to the console and snatching a headset off the table. “Han-”

“Kid, can you hear me?”

Silence.

Han’s throat started to constrict.

“Kid, please,” he said, voice straining.

“Hey, Han,” came the muffled response. His voice. Luke’s voice.

“Kid,” Han breathed, relief budding in his chest. “Are you okay?”

“It’s cold here,” Luke responded. Han could hear the quiver in his voice.

“What do you mean it’s cold, it’s the middle of summer th-” Han could see Leia’s head snap up in his peripheral vision, and nearly dropped the headset, thinking back to the brief medical training he’d had when he was younger.

One of the most prevalent symptoms of blood loss is an absence of heat in the extremities.

“Luke, have you been--have you been hit?"

“I think so...it hurts, Han, they had these weird slugthrowers, and I-” he trails off, and Han can hear a clatter as Luke drops the comm unit.

Nonononononono-

“Luke, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Kid, please-”

“Han, have you ever noticed how many stars we can see at base? There aren’t many here. I can’t see them.”

“It’s because of the city lights,” the smuggler replied, voice shaking. “Too much light pollution.”

“Oh.” a pause, and then, “I wish I could see the stars right now.”

“You and I can look at them when you get home, okay?”

“Han, I don’t-”

“And the moon,” he continued adamantly, gripping the edge of the table like a lifeline. “It’s full tonight, we...it’ll be so bright. You always liked the full moon.”

“Yeah,” Luke said weakly. “Han, I’m so tired…”

“Luke, please, you can’t go to sleep, don’t-”  Han shut his eyes tightly, a tear sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Kid, can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can you find the moon?”

“It’s to my right,” Luke answered, groaning quietly.

“Ok. You can see it?”

“Yeah…” the younger man said. Han could hear the pain in his voice. Swallowing thickly, he peered through a small nearby window at the round, silvery planetoid casting a pale light on the tops of the trees surrounding the base.                              

“I’m looking at it too,” he said gently, knowing it wasn’t the same moon, but that didn’t matter right now. “We’re looking at it together.” Luke laughed softly, but it quickly dissolved into a quiet whimper.

“I feel...dizzy.”

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” the older man asked, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. He listened as Luke struggled to inhale, drawing several shallow breaths that were no doubt painful.

“...Han?”

“I’m here.”

“That’s good….” Luke sighed, and Han could hear him shift and moan in pain again. His heart seized at the sound. Luke was hurt. And alone, somewhere on Corellia. And there was nothing he could do about it.  “You--I...can you keep talking? It’s better when I can hear your voice.”

Taking a deep breath, Han pushed a shaking hand through his hair, wracking his brain for something, anything to say.

“I was thinking about the day we were on Naboo earlier this morning,” he started softly. “You-” He let out a shaky laugh. “-you had never seen so much green. You started running around in that field, and I--I had never seen you so happy. Gods, Kid, you took off sprinting towards that forest…” Han smiled tearfully, his heart warming as he recalled the memory. He closed his eyes as Luke let out a breathy laugh. “I think that’s when I knew that you weren’t--you weren’t like anyone I’d ever met.”

“Han…”

“You just ran and ran and ran, trying to see as much of it as possible. You got mud all over your clothes, and Leia had a fit when we got back, but it was worth it.” he paused, more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It was so worth it.”

“Han,” Luke stammered, his voice tight. “I need to tell you, I-”

“Don’t,” Han interrupted, shutting his eyes tightly. “Just...just tell me when you get back, okay?”

“...Okay.”

“Do you remember that afternoon when we first met? You were so worried about the Falcon,” Han continued, laughing quietly. “You called it junk, but you--you trusted me. To get you off that planet. For some reason. I’ll never know why, but...you trusted me. Thank you for that.”

“You and your stupid vest…” Luke muttered, drawing a small chuckle from Han’s lips.

“You know you like it,” Han joked, smearing tears across his face with his sleeve.

“Yeah, I do….” there was a moment of silence, and he could hear Luke take a few shaky breaths. “Han?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“I think I’m falling asleep.”

Han’s heart seized in his chest. No, he thought, starting to panic. Not now. Not yet. Please, not yet.

Not like this.

“Kid, I’m gonna need you to stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” Please.

“It’s so dark here, and it’s cold…Han, I’m...I’m scared, I don’t-”

“It’ll be alright,” Han said gently, wishing he could be there, to hold Luke’s hand, hug him, anything. “Everything’s going to be ok. You’re ok...you’re ok.”

Maybe if he said it enough it would be true.

“Oh, look,” Luke murmured. “I can see the stars.”

There was a clatter of the comm unit being dropped, and then silence.

“KID!” Han yelled, frantic. “No, Luke, please, don’t do this…” he slumped against the wall, leaning on it for support. “Stay with me, please…”

Nothing.

He knew , he thought as he stared at the ground through teary eyes. He knew he might not come back. That’s why he came to see me this morning. He knew.

He stood there, trembling, feeling the weight of Leia’s teary eyes on his shoulders.

Stumbling, he dashed out of the room and into the hangar, brushing past friendly waves and casual greetings from pilots and the like.

Han made his way to the Falcon, tripping up the hallway to Luke’s room and freezing in the doorway. Slowly, he entered the space, gently sitting down on the bed, clutching the blanket to his chest. He breathed in slowly and let the scent of it wash over him; engine fuel and lavender and the faintest hint of leather. From stealing my jackets all the godsdamned time, Han thought. He sat like that for a while, just breathing, tears making tracks down his cheeks as they fell onto the mattress below him. He could hear people looking for him. He didn’t care.

He glanced up at the small bookshelf above Luke’s bed and smiled as he reached out and carefully plucked a small necklace off the surface. It was a simple silver chain, with two circular pendants dangling from it. Twin suns, for Tattooine. Luke’s home. Although he knew that planet never really was home for him. A cage, really. Home was where you belonged, and Luke...Luke didn’t belong on Tattooine, living on a godsdamned moisture farm. He belonged here. On the Falcon. With Han.

Home.  

Slowly, he slipped the necklace over his head and tucked it into his shirt. The metal was cold against his skin, and Han couldn’t help but think about what Luke had said

It’s so dark here.

It’s cold.

I’m scared.

He hadn’t been there. He should have been there. Luke had been alone, and scared, and on an unfamiliar planet. And it was all Han’s fault. He should have noticed that Luke was acting weird, should have made him admit what he was going to do, shouldhaveshouldhaveshouldhave-

“I’m so sorry, Kid,” Han whispered. “I’m so sorry.” he felt a pang in his chest at knowing Luke would have scolded him for apologizing, would have told him it was okay, would have said that there was nothing he could have done. He exhaled shakily, relinquishing his grip on the necklace and falling backward, resting his head on Luke’s pillow.

Taking a deep breath in, Han stared up at the ceiling, letting his tears spill from his eyes and onto the pillowcase. He felt a warm presence at his side, and glanced down, but found nothing but crumpled blankets. He had never been one to believe in the force, and Luke knew that. But he couldn’t push away a feeling of not being completely alone. So, he spoke to whatever was there.

“Kid...I don’t--I don’t know what to do. Stars, I’m so mad at you, why-” he bit back tears, clenching his jaw. “-why didn’t you tell me?” the last part was strained, nearly silent as the smuggler’s throat grew tight with emotion. “And I know that’s not fair of me, you always have your reasons, that’s for sure, but...I would have gone with you, you know. Even to the end.”

Something that could have been a kiss brushed against his forehead.

“Especially to the end.”

That night I put my youth in a casket

And buried it inside of me

That night I saw through all the magic

Now I'm a witness to the death of a hero

[will-noble-owns-my-ass]

Hold Back the River

This is a story based off of this fantastic piece by @goodboybadrep-ooc, who also wrote the letter from Ethan to Amelia which is featured in this piece. Thank you for letting me use Siobhan, I hope you enjoy ❤️

Rash sighed and closed his eyes trying to focus himself, feeling the plane start to descend. Where was he going? He was flying to Ireland to join his girlfriend, she’d flown over a week ago to visit her friend Siobhan. As he walked through the arrivals lounge of Dublin airport, looking for Siobhan, who Will had called to pick him up, he wracked his brain trying to decide how to tell Amy the devastating news. How was he supposed to tell her she was now an only child? He had no idea.

Siobhan waved him over and he offered her a weak smile “Hey Siobhan, where’s Amy?”

“Hey Rash, she’s at my place. She doesn’t know your here because she was asleep when Will called and I didn’t want to wake her. Not yet. I figured if Will called as late as he did then something must be wrong.” She looked at him and her face dropped. “No.. Poor Will.. Poor Amy” she ran a hand over her face “Poor Aoife”

Rash sighed “I know... he.. he wrote her a letter.. Will thought it might be best if I tell her in person... god this is going to break her.” He said quietly as they reached the car, they got in and he leaned against the seat “Siobhan?”

She glanced at him aa she started driving, tears in her eyes “Yes Rash?” She asked softly “Her world is about to collapse around her.. all over again.. how do I tell her?” His voice broke. Siobhan bit her lip ad she drove. “Be there for her Rash, she’s going to need us.. Did you say he wrote her a letter?” Rash nodded “She’s always got me.. Always” he sighed “Yeah he wrote a letter for the whole ED, he probably wrote one for Aoife for when she gets older too. He wrote one for Amy. Will said he thought it would help her.”

Siobhan offered him another weak smile “He was right. It’ll be hard but a letter will help her..” He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as they reached Siobhan’s house “Can we sit out here a little longer? I’m not ready to break her heart yet.” Siobhan nodded and looked at him “I get it but you’re going to have to tell her Rash it isn’t fair on her.”

He nodded and took a deep breath spotting Amelia leaning against the door frame. They got out of the car and made their way toward the house. Amelia grinned as she saw him “Rash! I thought you were working what are you doing here?” Rash looked at her and put on a bright smile “Dylan gave me a few days so I thought I’d come and join you.” He pulled her into a tight hug “It’s good to see you.” She said quietly as she pulled away “How’s Ethan?”

Rash looked at at her as Siobhan led them both into the living room, pushing Amelia down onto the sofa gently. Rash put his bag down and joined her quickly, taking her hands in his. “Rash.. What are you doing? You’re scaring me.” Rash looked at her and squeezed her hand “Amy... I... I’m so sorry.” Amelia laughed emotionlessly “There’s no need to be sorry Rash, everything’s fine, everyone is fine.” She let out a broken sob “He has to be okay.. because if he’s not that means I’m alone in the world, and I can’t handle that Rash I can’t.” She said through wracking sobs, her shoulders shaking as Rash pulled her into him, his heart breaking for her “shhh your not alone Lia.. we’re here.. we’re right here” she bit her lip and sucked in s difficult breath “Oh.. Oh God.. Aoife..”

Rash looked at her and rested his chin on her shoulder “Aoife is okay.. she’s got Will and Robyn... she is asking for Aunt Lia though” he told her softly “I should have been there.” Siobhan cur in then “Amy stop, he wanted you to come over here remember? He had Will buy you your ticket.” She let out a wet laugh “I didn’t even get to say goodbye Siobhan. Again. First Cal died and now Ethan and I didn’t get to say goodbye to either of them!” She yelled “Sorry, I didn’t mean...” Siobhan pulled her into a hug “shh, it’s alright I understand, it’ll be okay, Rash and I are right here.”

Rash shot her s sympathetic look and pulled open his bag going straight to the pocket where he’d placed Ethan’s last letter to his sister. “Amy?” He caught her attention “From Ethan.” She sucked in a breath taking it from him with shaking hands. She closed her eyes “Uh... Siobhan.. Can you read it for me?.. I.. I can’t.” Siobhan took it from her gently “Of course I will Amy” Amelia rested her head on Rash’s shoulder as she opened the letter.

Dearest Amelia

Promise me that when you read this, you’ll have Rash and Siobhan by your side to support you as by the time you read this I will likely be no more.

I know I’m dying but I’m going with dignity and in place I want to be apart from the fact you aren’t with me.. It’s strange. It feels like letting go. Breathing is getting harder but I feel lighter? Like it is time. Aspiration pneumonia is a bitch! Oh I swore! Oops!

As I sit here watching the waves lap against the beach I cannot help but reminisce. We shared such wonderful memories here. Day trips with Mum which ended in us all getting ice-cream (even though I hated it!). I’ll never forget your graduation night; you dragged me down here and we drank, danced, and sang under the stars. You’ve always been my star. My moral compass and it kills me to know that those days are coming to an end.

The hardest part of this is loosing you.

You know me, I’m not religious but the things I do firmly believe in are kindness, compassion and that our spirit and the splits of those we love never truly leave us. They remain in everything we do, think of and love.

When we first found out about the HD my only thought was you. I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want you put your life on hold because of me and I don’t want you to do so when I succumb either. When I could no longer run, you held me up. When I couldn’t walk, you held my hand. When we lost Caleb.. We held each other. I sure won’t be lonely if I rejoin him in heaven.. That day when I trialed working in the chair you turned to me and said I’m still your Dr Who and you gave out stink to a patient who questioned my ability because of it. You inspired me to keep fighting, keep trying everything I could to keep going but now… I want you to have the strength to keep going without me.

There’s no easy way to convey all the things I want to say to you but please believe me when I say that I’ll never leave you. I’ll always be with you. I think the best way to sum it up would be to quote Mary Elizabeth Frye. “Do not stand at my grave and weep,I am not there, I do not sleep.I am in a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain.I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush. Of beautiful birds in circling flight, I am the starshine of the night. I am in the flowers that bloom, I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing, I am in each lovely thing. Do not stand at my grave bereft. I am not there. I have not left.” And my old pal Shakespeare: “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

Love Ethan xx.

Ps. If Rash doesn’t marry you I will haunt his ass!

As Siobhan refolded the letter, Amelia let out a wet sort of laugh as Rash turned red “In the future.” He said quietly she chuckled resting her head on his shoulder “I’ll be there.” She looked toward the sky closing her hand around the necklace her brother’s had bought her when they were younger “and so will they.”

[kjack89]

Personal Gain (Chapter 4/?)

This chapter got long, so I decided to split it. This may have one or two more parts after this, depending on how writing the rest of it goes.

My personal appeal is that if you are an American reader, please make sure you vote if you are able. Seven days to go!

Modern magic AU, developing E/R and Courferre. Read Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here and Chapter 3 here (or catch up on AO3).

Courfeyrac waved his apartment’s warding spell off with a distracted hand, barely noticing that Combeferre had apparently been in his apartment at some point. He had spent the entire meeting wracking his brain for things to try next, and he was drawing a blank.

He didn’t like drawing a blank.

He flopped down on the couch, barely glancing up when he felt the warding spell tingle as Combeferre came in. “Come to gloat some more?” Courfeyrac asked sourly, staring up at the ceiling.

“As much as I may love gloating, no,” Combeferre said, hanging his coat on a hook and heading over to the couch, lifting Courfeyrac’s feet and settling them on his lap like he had a thousand time before. “I come bearing inspiration.”

“Oh?” Courfeyrac said mildly, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Combeferre nodded and pulled a bottle from his bag, setting it down on the coffee table with a clunk. “Yep, inspiration in the form of a bottle of Jägermeister.”

“Jäger?” Courfeyrac asked, wrinkling his nose. “The only thing Jäger ever inspired was bad life choices.”

“Yeah, but Grantaire gave it to me forever ago, and besides, it was between that or a bottle of absinthe, and seeing as how we’re not characters in a nineteenth century French novel—”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Fair point.” He held his hand out and Combeferre pressed the bottle into it. 

“Do you want a glass? Or a mixer, or—”

He broke off as Courfeyrac screwed the cap off and took a gulp straight from the bottle. “Oh, God,” he rasped. “Tastes like freshman year.”

Combeferre grabbed the bottle and took a swig, making a face. “Tastes like a frat party,” he said, handing the bottle back to Courfeyrac, who sat up, looking intrigued.

“When did you ever go to a frat party?”

“Despite what you may think, I didn’t spend my entire college career in the library,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac snorted and took another sip of Jäger. “So you say,” he muttered.

Combeferre rolled his eyes but didn’t push it, instead leaning forward to grab the Book of Shadows off the coffee table. “So what are you thinking?” he asked, flipping idly through the pages. “What’s your next grand plan?”

Courfeyrac sighed somewhat mournfully and cast a baleful look at the grimoire. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t have one?”

Combeferre hesitated. “Would you be mad if I said I wasn’t surprised at all?”

Courfeyrac groaned and took a gulp of Jäger before passing the bottle back to Combeferre. “Just shut up and drink,” he sighed. “And let’s hope the inspiration hits us soon.”

Combeferre wisely chose not to say anything to that, just raising the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

----------

“What about lightning?” Combeferre asked vaguely, the now almost-empty bottle of Jäger sitting between him and Courfeyrac, who had swung his legs up over the back of the couch and was resting his head on Combeferre’s stomach. 

“Lightning?” Courfeyrac repeated.

Combeferre waved a hand. “Yeah, you know, like the, uh, coup de foudre.”

Courfeyrac turned his head to look up at him, looking amused. “I don’t think an actual lightning strike will help with that,” he said, with a slight hiccup. “Besides, I thought the point of the Jäger over absinthe was so that we wouldn’t get our inspiration from French fairytales.”

“Nineteenth century French novels,” Combeferre corrected, before sitting up, almost knocking Courfeyrac off the couch in the process. “Wait a second – fairytales.”

“Ow,” Courfeyrac complained, sitting up as well. “What about fairytales?”

Combeferre ignored him, flipping through the Book of Shadows, before landing decisively on a page and pointing excitedly at it. “Here,” he announced, shoving, the book at Courfeyrac. “Like a fairytale!”

Courfeyrac blinked down at the page, finding it difficult to focus enough to read. “Draught of Living Death,” he read outloud, before looking at Combeferre incredulously. “You want me to kill them? I don’t think we’re that desperate.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “No, don’t you see?” he said excitedly. “Give one of ‘em that, and then the other can wake him up with True Love’s Kiss! Like a fairytale!”

Courfeyrac started at Combeferre for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Ferre, True Love’s Kiss is not a real thing,” he said, reaching out to pat Combeferre’s head patronizingly. “That is a fairytale. So the only thing I’d be doing is putting one of them in basically a coma. Which I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t thought about. Especially Enjolras.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Combeferre muttered.

“But that magical coma can’t be broken by Grantaire kissing him. Not to mention you were the one all concerned about consent.”

Combeferre sighed, looking crestfallen. “Well, I thought it was a good idea,” he said, slumping against the couch cushions and grabbing the bottle of Jäger. 

“Better than anything I’ve come up with,” Courfeyrac sighed. “Since all I can think of is locking ‘em in a room together.”

“And casting a spell on them?” Combeferre asked interestedly.

Courfeyrac sighed. “No. Just making them stay in there until they either confessed or...I dunno. Something.”

Both men fell silent, Combeferre staring at the Book of Shadows as if it might somehow reveal something to him, while Courfeyrac played absently with the crystal he wore on a chain around his neck, feeling the gentle flare of the spells his father had placed on it, spells of charisma and luck and strength and…

“Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Lock ‘em in a room together.”

“You said that already,” Combeferre sighed.

“Right, but not put a spell on them.”

“You said that too.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “No, but I can put a spell on the room.”

Combeferre glanced over at him. “Like your worthless warding spell?”

“It’s not worthless,” Courfeyrac said impatiently. “But yes, kind of like that. I’ve trying to cast the spell on them directly, and that hasn’t worked. So maybe I need to try spelling a location they would both go.”

“Like the Musain?” Combeferre asked doubtfully.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “No, that gets too much traffic from outside parties, it’d be impossible to limit the spell effects.” He fell silent, wracking his slightly drunk brain for an alternative before brightening. “Enjolras’s apartment!”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “That would probably work,” he said. “But, uh, what spell would you use?”

Courfeyrac grinned. “The exact same spell I was gonna use from the beginning – the attraction spell that I used for Marius.”

Combeferre didn’t look convinced. “Ok, but Grantaire already hangs out at Enjolras’s apartment all the time, frequently without Enjolras, because it’s closer to the Musain and his work and because he claims Enjolras’s couch is more comfortable than his bed—”

“Having seen Grantaire’s bed, I believe him.”

Combeferre was undeterred. “Right, but my point is that Grantaire is there all the time anyway, which brings us to the same problem we had when you originally suggested this idea.”

“Exactly,” Courfeyrac said. “Which is why the attraction spell won’t be focused on Grantaire. It’ll be focused on Enjolras.”

Combeferre blinked. “You want to attract Enjolras to his own apartment?”

“Yep,” Courfeyrac said with a confidence only alcohol could provide. “Because that man barely spends any time there. This way, he’ll want to spend all of his time there. With Grantaire and away from Les Amis or anything else to distract them.”

He was so confident in this idea that he was actually taken aback when Combeferre asked, still sounding doubtful, “Ok, so we get him to spend time with Grantaire at his apartment, and then what? What if that’s not enough?”

Courfeyrac frowned slightly. “Well, if they’re spending that time there without any distractions, maybe it’ll just...happen?” he suggested, wincing at how weak it was.

Combeferre gave him a look. “They’ve been spending time together for years. That’s the whole reason why we’re doing this.”

Courfeyrac sagged back against the couch. “Damn, I really thought we had something there,” he said mournfully, leaning over to rest his head against Combeferre’s shoulder.

Combeferre sighed. “Well, we can always go back to my idea.”

Courfeyrac made a face. “Draught of Living Death?”

“No, not interfering.”

“That ship has long since sailed,” Courfeyrac reminded him, glaring up at him. “Besides, you’ve done enough interfering already that you should probably let that idea go.”

Combeferre half-smiled. “Fair.”

“You know, that reminds me,” Courfeyrac said, lifting his head off of Combeferre’s shoulder. “I know why I’m doing this, but why are you? You’ve been against this from the beginning, but you keep coming back.”

“Well, someone’s got to stop you from making a complete fool of yourself,” Combeferre said lightly.

“Ha ha,” Courfeyrac said dryly. “C’mon, I mean it – why’re you helping me?”

Combeferre glanced over at him, something unreadable in his expression. “You really want to know?” Courfeyrac nodded, and Combeferre took a deep breath. “Well, honestly—”

“Wait, that’s it!” Courfeyrac burst, realization hitting.

“What’s it?”

Courfeyrac grinned. “An honesty spell. I can cast an honesty spell on Enjolras’s apartment along with the attraction spell.”

“You can do that?” Combeferre asked.

“Oh, sure, you can layer all kinds of spells to work in tandem.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Ok, so you do a truth spell, and—”

“An honesty spell,” Courfeyrac corrected. “Truth spells tend to backfire and make people confess all kinds of deep dark secrets, and I don’t think sending Grantaire down that path will lead to the kind of confession we’re hoping for.”

“Grantaire?” Combeferre snorted. “I’d be more worried about Enjolras confessing his plans to violently overthrow the government.” 

Courfeyrac considered it. “Fair point,” he allowed. “But in any case, I’m taking chances this time, so no truth spell, just a mild honesty spell so that they can’t lie to each other. That’s as far as my magic can go. The rest’ll be up to them.”

Combeferre was silent for a long moment before he nodded again. “You know, this just might actually work.”

“What was that?” Courfeyrac asked distractedly as he grabbed the Book of Shadows.

“I said, this might actually work,” Combeferre repeated, slightly louder.

Courfeyrac looked up from the grimoire, grinning at him. “Oh, I heard you the first time,” he said smugly. “I just wanted to make you say it again.”

Combeferre scowled and punched Courfeyrac lightly on the arm. “Well, I’m certainly not going to say it a third time,” he said, slightly petulantly. “Not until it actually works, at least.”

“Trust me, this time, it will,” Courfeyrac said, his confidence less fueled by Jäger this time and more by sheer determination. “It has to.”

>>Read chapter 5 here>>

[jombocostello]

hey!! can i request a Polnareff x Reader where it’s basically set after the events of Stardust Crusaders where they go their separate ways and Polnareff goes to back to France but the reader decides to go with him cuz it’s been her dream to go to France and now they’re just a lovey dovey couple doing romantic things that deserve a happy ending after the events in egypt. (ik in pt 5 he said he travelled europe in search of the arrows but i just wanna see my french man all goofy w/ a happy ending)

hi, thanks so much for the request!! i am so happy my first request is a polnareff one lmao. this is such a cute idea! and i agree- polnareff deserves a nice relaxing life on the french countryside with the love of his life more than anything!

perfection (polnareff x reader)

"So... You're sure about this, right?"

"Yes! God, how many times do I have to tell you?"

That had been three months ago, after you and the other crusaders had defeated Dio. You stood at the airport, one hand securely holding your luggage and the other held tightly in Polnareff's. "I don't have any family, so we'll be on our own. It's quiet where I'm from."

"It's not gonna be quiet if I'm there," you said, and he laughed a little. "I'll brighten up your little neighborhood in no time, trust me."

"I'm glad." He leaned down and kissed your forehead, and despite being relatively new, the gesture felt like the most familiar, comfortable thing in the world. "Our plane'll be leaving soon, (Y/N). You ready?"

You nodded, setting your luggage down on the ground and gently letting go of Polnareff's hand. "One second." You walked over to Joseph and Jotaro, who were getting ready for their own flight a few feet away, and pulled them both into a hug. "Bye, guys," you murmured into Jotaro's shoulder, grinning. "I'll see you around."

You all pulled back and took in each other's expressions. "Good luck with him," Joseph said, gesturing to Polnareff. "He can be a real pain in the ass."

Jotaro cracked a smile. "But so can she, so I think they'll be alright." You all laughed and, after one more hug, said goodbye.

Polnareff handed you your bag when you got back. "So, are you excited?" you asked, grinning up at him as you walked. "I am. I'm really happy."

Never one for suppressing his emotions, Polnareff smiled widely down at you and again took your hand in his. "I can't even describe how happy I am. My heart is so full." You felt your face heat up and you sighed, raising his hand and kissing it gently. "I promise I'll make you happy."

You had no doubt that he would fulfill that promise.

---

"Shit! Ah, uh... Jean, on a scale of one to ten, how important is this mug to you?"

Three months later and you've settled into domestic life wonderfully. Polnareff's hometown really isn't much of a town - every house in the area is a five minute drive away - but it doesn't bother you one bit. The gorgeous scenery and the peace of total silence is a welcome change, especially after what you've both been through.

There had been a couple bumps in the road during the first month; you'd taken your relationship pretty quickly, to be fair, so there was a bit of awkwardness and readjusting as you learned to live with each other. Still, though, you both make each other so happy that those problems sorted themselves out pretty quickly.

And now you're here, holding half of a bright red coffee mug while the other half lies shattered on the ground. Polnareff pokes his head in from the other room and you meet his gaze, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry."

He looks from you to the smashed mug, and before you can get nervous, a grin splits across his face. "It was ugly anyways! And now we have an excuse to get a new one." He walks over to you with long strides and crouches down, carefully picking up the shards. "We can get one in your favorite color, which is... Uh..." You watch him with raised eyebrows as he wracks his brain for a few moments. Finally, he tries a color, and to your surprise he gets it right! He smirks as he stands back up and tosses the mug in the trash. "We're on the same wavelength, ma cherie," he says with a laugh.

"I guess so. Definitely on the right track, at least." You grab a different mug and VERY carefully bring it over to the counter. As you pour your coffee, you watch Polnareff lean against the kitchen counter. His hair is nearly touching the ceiling; it's so funny how he dwarfs everything in his own home.

"I didn't know you drink coffee," he comments.

"I haven't been able to sleep for the past two months so I figured I probably shouldn't," you answer as you spoon sugar into your cup. "This week has been pretty good sleep-wise so I'm bringing it back!" You take an obnoxious sip and burn the hell out of your tongue. Polnareff laughs loudly as you swear, but you just set the mug down and laugh a little with him. "The coffee doesn't agree with me."

"Apparently not." He walks over to you and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. Part of you hates the fact that he's tall enough to do this, but the other half absolutely loves it. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, and you feel your heart skip as he takes your hands in his.

"Yeah, it's fine," you breathe, smiling. "It'll take more than a cup of coffee to get me."

"I know." He presses a kiss to the top of your head and sighs. "Well I might as well start drinking coffee too, huh? I never used to but I can try."

You smile as Polnareff walks over to the coffee maker and squints at it for a moment, as if judging by its appearance whether he would like it. "Jean, I'm not making you take up coffee drinking. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"But I want to try!" he declares, and he decides to steal a sip of yours. He picks it up and quickly drinks a minuscule amount; almost immediately his face scrunches up. You snort as he sets the cup down, grimacing. "Maybe it's not for me."

"It figures you wouldn't like something so bitter," you say, a cheeky grin making its way onto your face. "You're just too sweet!" He groans loudly with a huge smile on his face as you wrap your arms around him. "I couldn't resist, sorry."

He sighs. "It's gonna take me a week to get over that one." You let go of him and sit down at the kitchen table with your coffee. "But I forgive you." You look down at the wooden table as you drink some more, while Polnareff looks through the cabinets for something to have for breakfast.

You haven't been sleeping very well for the past few months - ever since you got back from Egypt. Most nights you get a few hours, but sometimes you can't even bring yourself to close your eyes; whenever you do, you're plagued by images of the horrors you witnessed and the friends you lost. Kakyoin's strangled scream as he was killed plays almost constantly in your dreams, and the fact that Avdol hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye hurts more than anything. You shut your eyes and take a deep breath. Polnareff is going through the same thing, so you both spend a lot of time comforting each other, but it's still ridiculously hard. You're so, so, lucky that you have him, but not even he can keep you from falling into all those memories on some days. You clench your fists when you feel your eyes well up with tears; maybe this grief is never going to fade -

"Holy shit! When did you buy brownies?"

Polnareff's elated voice tears you from your thoughts, and you laugh loudly. He looks at you with wide, excited eyes. "Seriously! Did you know they're my favorite?"

"I know now."

"Let's make them," he says definitively.

You raise your eyebrows. "Jean, we haven't even had breakfast yet."

He looks from you to the brownies and back again. "...We could have brownies for breakfast...?"

God, you love him so much. With a laugh, you grab the box from him. "I'm not gonna argue with that." He grins and thanks you as you open up the box.

After a breakfast of slightly-burnt brownies, you and Polnareff spend the day around the house, fixing up the yard and rearranging some furniture. If someone had told you a month ago that you'd be living out this perfectly domestic life, you would've laughed out loud - but somehow, you found yourself in a cottage on the French countryside with the man you loved more than anyone in the world. Days just fly by, because you have so much fun being with him. It's honestly perfect.

Later in the day, you're in your bedroom reading when Polnareff steps into the room. He places his hands on your shoulders and leans down, kissing your cheek. "Hi," he murmurs.

You turn to face him and kiss him, wrapping your arm loosely around his torso. "Hey," you reply. "What's up?"

"I have a request, dear." He gently takes your hands and pulls you out of your chair with a gentle smile. "Put on the nicest outfit you have and meet me at the door."

You squint at him. "What's this about?"

He smiles. "It's a surprise!" You stare at him for a while longer; you know secrets only last about 30 seconds in Polnareff's brain. He finally relents, sighing and letting go of your hands. "I made a reservation at that restaurant you said you wanted to try."

"What?" You hug him tightly, grinning. "Thank you!"

"Of course." The softness of his voice makes you smile; he's just so sweet. "I figured since it's been three months of being together, we should celebrate!"

"Three months..." You lean back and look up at him, cracking a smile. "It's really been wonderful. I love being with you, Jean."

His eyes widen, and he slowly leans down and kisses your forehead. "Three perfect months with the perfect person," he murmurs.

He leaves to get ready, and you get ready yourself. Just thinking about all the wonderful gestures of love Polnareff showers you with makes you blush. Taking you to restaurants, showing you all the best parts of his hometown, the little hugs and kisses he gives you all throughout the day... He's truly a master of romance, that's for sure. He wins you over more and more every day.

You're ready to go, and you head for the door. Polnareff is waiting for you in a crisp button-down shirt and a nice pair of pants; he looks handsome every day but this is just ridiculous. When he sees you his eyes widen, and his mouth just barely turns up at the corners. He stares at you for a minute and then blinks, as if he's forgotten how to speak. "(Y/N), you're so beautiful," he says quietly, taking you in.

Your face flushes and you glance down, unable to hold his gaze. He takes a couple steps towards you and places his hand under your chin, guiding your face up to look at him. "I mean it," he tells you, and you know he does. His voice is so earnest and adoring and you feel your heart nearly burst from your chest. "I love you."

You stand on your toes and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. As you part, you reach out and fix a strand of hair that had somehow fallen from its immaculate style. "I love you too, Jean," you say softly, as you briefly run your hand over his cheek. "Thank you for being with me."

He suddenly puts an abrupt end to the gentle moment by leaning in and giving you a loud kiss on the cheek. "The pleasure's all mine," he says with a warm laugh, and you snort, punching him in the arm. You can't imagine a life or a love that's better than this.

[twistinghearts]

Love Me~

Yandere!Vil x Reader

Finally got around to write a story based on my head cannon for Vil having the power to make others love him~ Did you doubt me? I honestly feel like I made Vil too soft in this but I don’t want to change it. So hopefully it’s enjoyable. Under cut for length [1,964 words]

trigger warning; kidnapping, roofie; fainting; and brain washing

You and Vil were the cutest couple in school. Everyone would fawn of over the two of you being adorable together. Touching up each other's make-up in the halls, holding hands and sometimes sneaking gentle kisses. Pomefiore students liked it as Vil was less demanding when he had you.  The two of you just seemed so in love, too bad it was all a lie. Of course no one knew that except Vil. That didn’t really matter did it? If everyone was happy with this arrangement it couldn’t be so bad. Well you weren’t really given a choice to be happy about it. 

It all started with a simple compliment. 

You were sitting at the lunch table with some of the other first years, finding them to be the least intimidating people at this school to be around. Though the 193cm wolf boy was a bit nerve wracking to be around “Oh great, Epel, your parents are here.” Ace groaned as he spotted the leaders of Pomefiore walking over. “Is it too late for me to run?” He asked, the entire rest of the group responding with a unified yes. 

“Epel, what are you doing sitting with these bargain bin miscreants? You should be eating with us. The people you surround yourself with reflect-” “You have pretty eyes.” You interjected, attempting to diffuse the situation. Apparently you merely pissed off the vice-dorm leader instead. “Wait your turn to speak sourie. It’s impolite to interrupt. And how dare you only compliment his eyes. Vil is the fairest of them all at this school and every bit of him is more beautiful than you rodents.” Rook sneered. However Vil reacted much differently to your comment. He was honestly flattered by it. You noticed a detail about his features and it was a natural one. His heart raced but outwardly his expression didn’t change much aside from his arms crossing. “Tomorrow you better be at our table for lunch, or I’m making you clean the basement lab.” Vil glared down at Epel, before his eyes shifted to you. “You too.”  You blinked a few times, confused, but before you could ask why or protest the two upperclassmen left. 

“Why did you invite the other one?” Rook asked, confused himself with Vil's decision. “Epel will be more willing if he has one of his friends with him.” That was only half truth though. He had taken an interest in you, he needed to see more of you. 

The next day you and Epel begrudgingly sat at the ‘exclusive’ Pomefiore table with the two dorm leaders. The two of them seemed to get along like best friends, rattling on and on about whatever. You honestly weren’t paying attention to anything but your food, and occasional glaces to Epel who looked just as miserable. You two caught each other's gazes and started laughing. “What are you two laughing at?” Rook turned his attention to the two of you immediately. “Nothing.” You answered suspiciously fast. “How bored we are.” Epel mumbled. Vil rolled his eyes. “You have hardly any color on your plate, Potato. It’s disgusting, here have some of this.” He set the smoothie he had been drinking in front of you. Rook and Epel both looked surprised, Vil wasn’t one to share, especially his highly-selected food. “It’s not poisoned is it?” Epel asked, making you a bit worried. 

“Of course not. I’ve been drinking it all lunch with you here. I’m fine.” Vil shook his head, “Unbelievable. It’ll do nothing to you but give you a daily dose of vitamins. Go on.” You slowly wrapped your lips around the straw and took a sip, just wanting this moment to be over. It actually wasn’t a bad smoothie. “Thank you…” You set the drink back in front of him. He smiled and went back to drinking. “Good right, you can’t even taste the avocado~” “Gross.” Epel whispered, earning two glares from his seniors. The rest of lunch was just as awkward as the first half, with Rook and Vil doing most of the talking why you and Epel tried to entertain yourselves. You thought you were both saved when Ruggie came over to the table, unfortunately Epel was the only lucky one. “Hey, we’ve got a problem. Someone,” Ruggie glared over his shoulder at another student who seemed to be getting lectured by Leona, “Lost the key to the equipment shed so we need to find it or we won’t be able to practice.” “We’re eating lunch, scram tramp.” Vil sneered at the hyena. “But Vil-san I’m part of the Magishift club, and it is my responsibility as a member to help out. It wouldn’t look good for a Pomefiore student to be neglecting their duties right?” Epel smiled, knowing he had bested Vil. “Ooooh he’s got you there.” Rook gasped looking between them. “Fine, go.” Vil pursued his lips, unable to argue. He may have let Epel get away but he would still have you. Epel mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ to you before running off with Ruggie. 

There was an awkward moment of silence after he left. “Since Epel is gone, I feel no reason to be here. So… I’m going to go.” You stood and suddenly it felt like the room was spinning. Did you stand up too fast? Luckily Vil had rushed to your side a steady hand on your waist keeping you upright. “Careful there. You don’t look well.” His fingers brushed across your forehead. “I’m just a little dizzy is all.” You pulled away from his grasp, wobbling slightly. That only made him pull you closer, “Don’t be an idiot. You’d be on the floor if I let go of you. Come, I’ll take you to the infirmary.” While you weren’t happy with the situation you gave a nod unable to deny he was right. “I’ll meet up with you later Rook.” Vil kept his hands on your waist, helping to support you until you exited the cafeteria.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You awoke slowly, groggy and feeling heavy. Looking around nothing was familiar, you were in a grand bedroom. Were you still on campus? Maybe a dorm leaders bedroom, based on the size. Where were you before this? You groaned pushing yourself up into a sitting position, catching the attention of the owner of the room. 

“You’re finally awake. The citrus really did increase the potency of my potion. You were out longer than expected.” Vil commented as he moved from his desk to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Vil-senpai.” There was distance between you but you still backed up. “What am I doing here? The last thing I remember we were at lunch?” You placed a hand on your head, trying to remember. “Yes, you fainted once we got to the hall so I brought you back here.” His smile made your stomach twist. “Why?” You asked rather bluntly. “Have you forgotten your manners? Shouldn’t you be thanking me for saving you?” He tilted his head and brought a finger to his lips. “I don’t think saved is the right word.” You drew further back. “Hurtful. I simply wanted to spend time with you. That’s all.” You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, unsure what he was thinking. Unsure what to even do. Good thing Vil was good at taking charge and running his mouth, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since yesterday.” He moved forward crawling toward you. You instantly slid yourself off the opposite side of his bed to create more space. You still felt a little shaky, but you felt better with the distance. Vil actually stopped and sat back as you moved away again, his hand going to hold his head. “This isn’t working. I’m only scaring you away. I should know better, but I just was so excited to spend some time with you.” He shook his head. This was not going well and he did not like when things didn’t go his way, but getting angry wouldn’t help either.. “Why?” You asked softly, keeping on alert. Oh, you were taking an interest, what a delightful opportunity. “It’s cliche really, sickeningly so, but I can’t deny it. It’s because you’re different. You don’t seem to hold an interest for me. You don’t want my attention for fame, or are interested in me based on what you’ve seen online.” He got off the bed and took a step toward you. You of course took a step back. “I-I don’t really have an interest in you at all.” “Yesterday you complimented my eyes, did you not? Such a unique feature to pick. Eyes are the hardest to alter with make-up. I work hard on perfecting my look to reflect that of ultimate beauty and you pick a feature most unique to me. It simply makes my heart flutter.” He leaned over you, his words successfully distracting you so he could trap you against the wall. His hands on either side of your waist. “I’m… sorry?” You squeaked, unsure what to say or do. If there was anything you could do really. “What do you want?” 

Vil smiled, that sickening smile that made your stomach twist. “I want you.” You honestly felt sick at his words. You were starting to panic, you didn’t want to anger him considering the situation but his proposition was preposterous. “No. No way!” You answered, raising your voice. Vil simply shook his head. “Don’t be nervous, my darling edelweiss.” One of his hands left the wall to caress your face. You turned your head away but he drew your gaze back with his finger. Your eyes  locked with his leaving you frozen. “Love… me…” Vil whispered gently, his irises glowing a lavender. 

Soon the feelings of tension and panic faded. Your eyes closed and you took a deep breath. A bright smile appeared on your face as your eyes opened and Vil filled your sight. You leaned off the wall and onto him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close. Vil’s wicked smile grew with pure joy as you willingly hugged him. He returned the gesture. “I never thanked you for saving me earlier did I, my Prince.” You giggled a little. Pleasant butterflies filled your stomach as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. How heavenly his lips felt against yours. “Thank you~” You whispered upon pulling away from the kiss. “Anything for you.” Vil pressed his lips on your temple as you moved your head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m sure you have work to get to, but could we cuddle for a little? I still feel weak from earlier.” “Of course my darling edelweiss. Anything for you.” You took his hand and led him to the bed giving him a kiss as you tugged him down. Your arms wrapped around him, and he placed one arm lightly around you resting at the small of your back. His other hand running through and fiddling with your hair. “I love you.” You sighed happily, nuzzling against him lightly. This was everything Vil had been hoping for. He had you in his grasp, and in love with him.

Unfortunately that bliss, and his spell didn’t last forever. Every night you fell asleep in Vil’s arms, happy as can be next to the love of your life, and every morning you woke up fearful and confused about what you were laying next to a someone you hardly knew. Yet he still gave you a chance. He always hoped one day you would remember all the wonderful times you spent with him while under the spell and had grown to return his feelings for real. Still no luck, but he wasn’t giving up. He had you, that was all that mattered for now.