#I know tidying can be hard but please remember to empty out anything with food remnants once in a while

[roseredsnow]

*realises my headache gets worse upon re-entering my room*

Ah fuck time to clean again.

#I'm better with food wrappers now I'm using a plantpot as a mini bin by my bed but that doesnt mean whats already in the bin bag wont go bad #I know tidying can be hard but please remember to empty out anything with food remnants once in a while #adhd #cleaning #mental health #executive dysfunction #depression room #overworked

[shinichiro-scigarette]

Happy Birthday, Y/N

Synopsis: Y/N and Keisuke eats lunch at the school rooftop and invites you to his house after classes so you guys could hang out and eat peyoung together.

Story contains: Slow Paced Story, Wholesomely lovey-dovey bonding, kissing, hickeys, mentions of sex, and fingering. This will be female Y/N and in third person POV (for most of the time, I'll put careful indications).

Author's Note: it's my first time writing like this so please bear with me >\\\<, what inspired me to write was the image uploaded here, I wondered how would Baji be if He had a girlfriend, after all the wild smut I've read, I thought if writing some adorably wholesome bonding moments with my favorite guy, Keisuke while having intimate moments with him, I'll only be writing mild (maybe? Idk) sex scenes since the whole focus should be wholesome moments with Baji.

PART 2 COMING SOON IF PEOPLE ACTUALLY READ THIS

Chapter 1

I missed you

It's been so long since you and Keisuke or Kei (which you prefer calling him with) had hung out with each other since he was busy with other things in his life, you always understood him since toman is so precious to him, it's been actually just 2 weeks but you guys used to go out at least 3-5 times a week, it just made you lonely although you guys eat lunch together at the rooftop, just the two of you.

While you were busy thinking of Kei and the upcoming exams next week, you didn't notice that it was already 5 mins after the bell rang for lunch time, Keisuke has been waiting outside the door for you in his usual neat school get up.

You get startled as you feel a light pat on your head, you slowly turn your head and you are greeted with a smiling nerd

Baji: "y/n, is someone bothering you? Want me to beat them up" he says in a sarcastic manner with a grin on his face then chuckles as he clenches his fits

Y/N: You look at him as you pause for a sec and burst in to laughter "Now, didn't we already talk about that?" You wipe your laughter tears away "Can go to the usual spot now?, I bet you're starving, cuz heck yeah I am!" All of a sudden, you were a radiating light to Baji, you jumped out of you seat and you kiss his cheek, He smiles softly and pats your head.

Baji: "you're really f*cking adorable when you do that, y/n, that's my girl" he slides his free hand to your's as your hands intertwined, he was carrying something on his other hand, it was mostlikely food. "I love you. Now let's get outta here!"

You grabbed your lunch box tightly because you already know what's going to happen, while he was holding your hand, you guys sprinted out of the classroom like kindergartens on a playdate as you guys laughed, you always both get the student president on his nerves as you guys ran to the hallways, but at this point, he grew tired of telling you guys what to do, but he'd always grins his teeth in anger as he sees you guys

You finally reached the rooftop, you guys were mildly sweating, but you guys didn't seem to mind.

you pull out a towel from your pocket.

Y/N: "Kei, look over here" you say as you were both catch your breaths, he slowly turns to you "always so naughty, you get us into trouble!!" You say with a strict voice as you grabs his chin, you start wiping the sweat from his forehead while he looks at you with a pout. "But I love getting into trouble with you" you kiss his forehead, even though he was sweaty, he still smells nice.

Baji: while his eyes closed, his pout transitions to a chuckle, he then straitens his back "y/n" he takes off his glasses and puts it in a case inside the bag he was carrying as he unties his hair and loosen his necktie, your heart would race everytime you see him like this, it was always like when you guys make out at his house.

your thighs would tighten, you were turned on by the way he looked right now.he looks at you and notices your reaction, he'd always tease you like that because he damn knew you liked, no, you LOVED that whenever he does that, your face, your eyes, your lips says it all, it reminds you of the times he fucks you.

Baji: "oh-, silly girl, we're not doing that here" he chuckles as he corners you to the wall "you're so caring and loving, it turns me on" he says in a seductive voice, your back bumps softly on the wall as it meets you, he places his left hand on the wall and his other to your chin "I missed it, I missed you, y/n" you look at him in silence, as you notice the empty sadness behind his facade

You lean forward holding his face with both of your hands as you kiss his lips softly, he reciprocates as both of your eyes closed and passionately kissed eachother.

After that, you guys smiled and ate your lunch, he pulled out the thing inside the hand bag he was carrying, you were curious from since earlier since he doesn't usually carry anything except his lunch, he looks away for a second while blushing.

Baji: "Uh... I don't usually do these kind of stuff but uhm.." he shyly rubs his head still looking away, his face was turning red.

Y/N: you would chuckle as you find his behavior quite adorable, he rarely acts like that, I could only remember him acting like that was when he was confessing/courting me, our first kiss, and our first time having sex. "You look fucking adorable when you're like that" you tease him as you boops his nose.

Baji: "shut it!!!!" He grits his teeth and regains his composure "I made you something." he passes you a small container as he turns aways completely leaning his head against the wall.

Y/N: "Ke-Keisuke!"

you blush and investigated it, it was a black rectangular tub made out of plastic, it was meant to store food, you were a bit curious of whatever it was so you'd open it

Baji: "so what do you think?" He still wasn't facing you but he'd peak so he could see your reaction, he was acting cool and tough.

Y/N: "AAAAH!! KEIII! Are you serious?!" Baji would look at you, he got startled by your reaction, [shit, was it that bad?!] He'd look at you with a concerned look with his fangs showing.

your eyes would glisten as you were met by your favorite food, you would giggle though, since it was obviously homemade, you'd assume that your boyfriend made it for you since the icing and the written words were all wonky but you found it adorable anyways.

You would take a quick taste with the spoon that was placed on top of the lid.

You were amazed by how delicious he made it since it was the first time that he gave you food that he made, expect for peyoung, of course. you weren't really expecting anything like this.

You were indulging it as he watches you eat it , the white cream from the cake each time you lick it would turn him on, he was getting hard already, of course, knowing your boyfriend, you'd know how he would feel about this or how he'd react, but he respected you to do any sudden movements while you were doing something, except for exceptional times.

Y/N: you'd look at him, you'd see him wanting you on him right now, you'd take another bite but you wouldn't swallow it just yet— not until- "mhhh hmmm" you'd stand up, you'd go to his front, and he raise his brows.

You went crawling to his legs and sat on it.

Baji: "agh, my girl's doing hot girl shit. You do know how to turn a man like me on" he grins in a naughty manner while you guys make eye contact and not breaking it, you'd slowly sat on his lap while you loosely place your hands on his shoulder as you made naughty faces.

You'd feel his hard bulging cock clothed , on your cunt that is covered by your underwear. You'd lean in for a kiss, he'd reciprocate. You both were comfortable of doing stuff like that.

You both shared the cake that was on your mouth, as disgusting as it sounds, keisuke was in to that shit. He'd grab your waste and the other on your boob, you'd make moaning quiet noises as he chuckles while both of you were passionately kissing with cake, you felt so aroused that you didn't notice that your cunt was fucking wet already, it would leave a mark on his pants, it would look like he pissed on himself, yet, he didn't care, he'd just take of his coat and wrap it around his waist.

Your alarm would ring (10 mins before the bell)

You two break from kissing, you guys were fucking messy, with hints of the carrot cake on the side of your mouths but he loved the look on your face right now. He snickers and grabs your neck pulling you towards him.

Baji: "Mine" he'd whisper to your ear, it would leave goosebumps all over you, you loved hearing those possessive words, he would never cheat on you but you love getting verbal and physical reassurance.

He'd slightly loosens a button on your uniform and opens it slightly, he would dig in to your breast and sucks it slightly hard as he leaves a mark in between your breasts, arching your back towards him as your chest collides to his face even harder, you'd make cute noises.

Baji grabbed both of your breast and slowly slides to button your uniform again and tidies it leaving a soft kiss as he murmurs "mine" repeatedly

Y/N: "keisuke." You'd leave a small moan as you look at him hugging you with his eyes closed

Baji: "Happy Birthday, Y/N, I want you to come with me later, I missed you so much." You'd level with him as he looks at you, he gives you a forehead kiss "meet me later okay? Outside, after classes."

You'd find this entertaining and attractive, you'd just want more of him, but what holds you guys back was you were within school premises, and you didn't like the idea of fucking anywhere near the school.

Y/N: you'd only blush, giving him a nod "I love you, Kei."

Baji: He caresses you "I love you more, Y/N, we only have 5 mins left, don't want them losing their shit after they catch us like this" he chuckles.

You both tidied yourself up and went back while holding hands.

You guys wave good bye as you went back to your own classrooms.

#baji smut #keisuke baji #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #fem reader #roleplay #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers fanfic #baji keisuke

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

“Let me bandage you up,” Tía or Ray and Reggie, just to be different. 😁

hi i loved this so much omg. huge thanks to Ángela @angela-feelstoomuch for the spanish help as well, any remaining mistakes are totally my own fault haha. warning for some swearing and mentions of bl00d/minor injury.

ao3 link in reblogs!

--

Honestly, being an honorary Molina is pretty great most of the time. Reggie loves having a little brother, would have done anything to convince his parents to have another kid when he was younger (and alive), though he knew they never would, since one kid was already such a pain in the ass. So Carlos is amazing.

And obviously Julie is his favourite girl ever, and his favourite still-alive person in the world, and she sings like an angel and thinks his country songs are cool and he would do anything for her and et cetera. It’s nice to see Luke and Alex settle in, get more relaxed - Luke doesn’t shy away from Julie every time Ray enters a room, and Alex doesn’t make excuses to miss dinner so that he doesn’t have to say grace, because he’s realised Ray doesn’t make him say grace.

“Niños!” Ray is calling from the kitchen, oven mitts on his hands, grin on his face, “Help setting the table?”

Even from here, dinner smells amazing. “Coming!” Reggie calls, manages not to say ‘dad’ at the end but it’s close, as he and Carlos bounce up off the couch and run to the kitchen.

Ray is the best. Reggie’s own dad was - look, it’s not that he was awful, it’s not that Reggie hates him, it’s just - he saw these dads, in movies, and on TV, and in other peoples homes, and he wanted one even more than he wanted a puppy, or a little brother, and Ray is that dad. He’s understanding, and encouraging, and funny, and a great cook, and he never raises his voice even when he should be mad about something. Reggie feels so lucky that Julie and Carlos let Reggie share their dad, even unofficially.

“Carlos!” Tía snaps, as he runs past her and ducks under her elbow, narrowly avoiding the tray in her hands, “Cuidado! La bandeja está caliente!”

It’s Tía Victoria who kinda scares Reggie.

It’s not that she’s not nice. Tía is nice. She brings over food and drives Carlos to ball games and pesters Ray about dentists’ appointments he almost forgets to go to. It’s just that she’s a little more like the other adults Reggie knew. She barks her words, sometimes, and she doesn’t get Julie’s music thing quite like Ray does, even if she’s supportive for the most part. And she doesn’t always believe Carlos about things, which Reggie understands more now that he’s been conned by Carlos about several random things (for example, Eggos are not in the house-sized waffle business in 2020 as Carlos told him, and they did not manage to breed dragons into existence with new DNA cloning technology) but still. It makes him nervous.

“Sorry, Tía!” Carlos chirps as he slides on his socks into a crouched position in front of the cupboard where they keep all the plates and bowls. Since Carlos has them handled, Reggie goes for glasses instead, reaching overhead for the cupboard on the opposite side of the room.

“Carlos!” sighs Tía again, more irritated than before, and Reggie feels his shoulders tense even though he wills them not to. “Let me help carry some of those, you’ll drop them, sobrino.”

“Fine,” Carlos huffs, and there’s the clink of plates as he passes half his pile off to her and they head for the dining table.

Reggie counts in his head as he stacks the glasses in the crook of his arm. There’s him and the boys, so four - wait, no, three - plus Julie, so four - then Ray and Carlos and Tía so five six seven -

He’s too caught up counting, is the problem, and doesn’t focus enough on how he has the glasses balanced. It probably would have been fine, except there’s a loud thud! Which Reggie registers a moment too late as being Luke, jumping from the top of the stairs to the bottom, enjoying his alive body. The sound scares Reggie about a foot in the air, and he fumbles the stack of glasses, and almost manages to save it.

The glass from the very top of the pile smashes on the floor, a harsh shatter that makes every head in the room turn in his direction. Reggie feels the panic surge up in him like a forgotten pot on the stove suddenly bubbling over. With trembling hands, he puts the rest of the glasses on the counter and scrambles down to the floor, tries to gather the glass shards together into a pile from where they’ve scattered, desperate to tidy the mess, to give some sense of responsibility, instead of just standing there like a stupid kid. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and his voice shakes more than he’d like, almost more than his hands had, “I’m sorry, I can clean it-”

“Reggie!” interrupts Tía, and her voice seems sharper than the glass.

“Victoria-” Ray begins, but Tía doesn’t let him finish, either. She’s already practically at Reggie’s side, crouching down next to him on the floor.

Her closeness makes Reggie’s hairs stand on end, and he’s not sure what he expects, but it’s not for her to gently lay her fingertips on his wrist and say, in a much softer tone, “Mijo, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh.” Reggie blinks. Looks at his arm, next to where her perfectly manicured nails have landed. She’s right, he sees. There’s a few little gashes, nothing huge, trickling blood in tiny streams down his forearm. In a few more moments, the blood would have reached his hand, and he would have noticed, probably. Except when he turns his palms up to look at them, he realises they’re cut up, too. Probably from grabbing glass shards with no protection.

His lip wobbles before he can stop it. He can still feel everyone looking at him. Knows what they must be thinking.

Stupid fucking kid.

“What are you staring at?” Tía says, back to business as usual. He flinches at her voice, before he realises she’s not talking to him. She’s talking to the others. “Come on! Ray, grab the dustpan and some shoes, clean up this glass before anyone else gets hurt. Carlos, finish setting the table, and Luke, go fetch the others para la comida.” In his peripheral vision, Reggie sees everyone bounce back into action, like her words broke a spell on them, and it’s a relief to know they’re not all looking at him any more. Tía continues, as she tucks an arm around Reggie’s shoulders, “Reggie and I will be back.”

“We will?” Reggie asks automatically, as she helps him balance on his wobbly, baby-giraffe legs.

“En un minuto,” she tells him confidently. “But first, let me bandage you up.”

He’s not exactly going to argue with her. Honestly, any excuse to get out of the public space is appreciated when his eyes still feel so close to swimming with tears. Firm yet warm, she leads him to the bathroom and has him sit on the closed toilet lid while she pulls Ray’s first aid kid from the cabinet, pulling from it some disinfectant, bandages and a pair of tweezers.

“Just in case any glass is left,” she explains briskly, settling on the edge of the bathtub and turning his arm over, palm up, so she can see the scratches. She tuts softly. “Your poor hands!”

Reggie ducks his head, whispers, “I really am sorry.”

“¿Por qué?” she asks. “It was an accident, right?”

“Huh?”

She sits back again and looks him in the eyes for a moment. If it was Ray, or one of the boys, Reggie would shy away from the look, but she has the same skill Julie has, to pin you in place with her gaze, so Reggie assumes it’s from Rose’s side of the family. “I know you didn’t throw that glass on the ground on purpose. It was just an accident. These things happen.”

“You’re not angry?” The question slips out before Reggie can think about how silly it sounds, but instead of rolling her eyes, or her jaw clenching in annoyance, Tía’s expression softens somehow.

“No, mijo. Not at all. Estaba un poco preocupada, maybe, but that’s only because I care about you.”

Reggie doesn’t know what to say to that. Bites his lip as she gently applies disinfectant along the wounds, once she’s declared them sufficiently glass-free, and wills himself not to cry as she wraps the bandages around his arm and a little around the palm of his hand. At least if he cries she’ll just think it’s because of the sting, and not because he braced himself so hard to be yelled at and called names and then it never came.

Not because he keeps remembering that he feels like glass himself. Always a moment away from falling onto the ground and shattering, so teeter-y that the kindness of adults he barely knows can almost knock him over the edge.

“Terminado!” she declares, tying off the last of the bandage, and gives him a big smile. It looks genuine enough. Not like she’s bottling anything up to let out at him later. Not like she’s fronting, or lying, not that Reggie’s ever been particularly good at telling the difference with anyone. She must see the puzzlement in his face, because she adds, “Just an accident.”

It really seems that simple. Like everything’s just fixed and okay. Like she doesn’t think Reggie is stupid. The feeling is sort of overwhelming; Reggie’s stomach feels all warm, and - empty, actually. It grumbles loudly in that moment, and Tía laughs, and Reggie laughs with her.

“Vamos a como?” he tries, because he’s been listening, and trying to pick things up.

“Vamos a comer,” she corrects him, but he can’t mistake her tone this time for anything other than delighted, her expression for anything other than fond and relieved as she helps him up. They go back down the stairs, her loosely holding his hand the whole way, not enough to hurt his wounds, but enough to remind him she’s there.

She presents him to the table with a goofy little ta-da! gesture, much to the joy of those already at the table. “Our Reggie, back in one piece!” she says. Laughter and relief radiates from all the others, and Tía grins, pleased, puts her hands on her waist. In that moment, despite all his preconceptions, she reminds him more of Julie than anyone else.

Maybe she isn’t so scary after all.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #reggie peters #reggie molina #tia victoria #ask #queenofthequillandink

[ofendlesswonder]

ah so exciting! would love number 25

25. “I need a place to stay.”

A shadow falls over Kara’s desk, and she pauses her proofread of her latest article to glance up at the person hovering by her shoulder, jaw dropping open when she gets a glimpse of messy blond curls.

“Carter?” It’s been months since she’d thought of him, longer still since she’d seen him, but the face is unmistakable, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “What are you doing here? Is your Mom here?”

She hasn’t seen Cat in months, either, not since she left to ‘dive’ into pastures new. No one has seen her recently, in fact—she’s effectively disappeared off the face of the earth, is only mentioned in gossip columns when they’re speculating her whereabouts.

Not that Kara has a Google alert set up for her name, or anything.

“No, she’s in Washington.”

“D.C.?” What on earth is she doing there? And what on earth is Carter doing here, backpack slung over his shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy like he’d been crying.

“Yeah. She took a new job there.”

Kara feels like he’s reading from a script she isn’t privy too, has no idea how any of this has led him to be here, standing by her new desk and scuffing his converse along the floor. “Okay…”

“But I don’t want to live there. I didn’t want to leave here, but she said it would be temporary. That we’d come back. Only now she wants to work in the stupid White House and she’s looking at apartments and a new school and I—I don’t want it. We had a fight.” He sniffs, rubs the back of his sleeve across his cheek like he’s scrubbing away the remnant of his tears. “And I said I wanted to come back. Live with Dad, if that’s what it took.”

Kara can only imagine how Cat would have taken that.

Not well, by any means.

“She sent me back, only I don’t want to live with my Dad, I want to live with her, but here in our old apartment. He wouldn’t even meet me at the airport. He said I was old enough to get a cab.”

Kara’s jaw tightens—she knows Chris is an asshole, but this seems like a new low, even for him.

“So, I got a cab, but not to him.”

“You came here, instead.” Here, to some semblance of stability, of familiarity. The apartment is gone—Kara had helped Cat list it for sale, and it had been snapped up in no time, and she wonders if Cat had ever really considered a move back to National City. The apartment is gone, but CatCo. is not, and Kara remembers countless afternoons where Carter had come by after school, curling up in Cat’s office with his homework. Sometimes, Kara had helped him with a particularly stubborn math problem, or talked to him about his favorite anime, keeping him entertained until his mother was off the clock.

“I need a place to stay,” he says, voice small, eyes glued to his shoes. “Can I come home with you?”

Yes, she wants to say, without hesitation, recognizing the small, scared child he so desperately tried to hide, the one who felt like he had nowhere else to go. Yes, of course you can—but it’s never that simple, is it?

She has a secret identity to protect, and he’s supposed to be with his father, and Cat might kill her, and—

Wait.

Does Cat know where he is?

“No,” he says, when she asks. “I didn’t tell her. And I turned off my phone, so she wouldn’t track me.”

“Carter.” She can’t help the admonishment, because she knows how much Cat cares about him—she’d do anything for him, and she imagines her pacing up and down a hotel room in the capital, already on the phone to the police. “You should call her.”

He makes a noise of discontent.

“At least let her know you’re safe. She’ll be worrying.”

“Can you call her?”

“I…I don’t know about that. I think it would be better coming from you.”

“Please?” He peers down at her with eyes so like his mother’s that Kara aches.

“All right,” she sighs, and makes the mistake of glancing across the bullpen. Snapper is glaring at her, his face red. Great. Someone else who wants to kill me. Could this day get any better?

“Kara?” Cat answers the phone sounding harried, and Kara recognizes the faint note of panic in her voice. She lets herself bask in the familiarity of it for one long moment—months, since she’d heard Cat’s voice, months, since she’d last felt the comfort of it. Months of missing her, in a way she knows she isn’t allowed to. “This isn’t a great time.”

“Uh, I know.” She looks at Carter, who avoids her gaze. “Something about a missing fourteen year old?”

“How…how do you know that?”

“Because he’s standing right in front of me.”

“Carter’s with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Good question. Should I let him explain it for himself?”

Carter shoots her a sharp look, but Kara forces the phone into his hand anyway, pointedly turning away like she’s not listening as he lifts it to his ear. She stares at the blinking cursor on her computer screen as he talks, trying to summon the will to finish her work.

No such luck.

“Could you…could you keep an eye on him for me?” Cat asks, when Carter gives her back her phone. “I’m going to fly out as soon as I can, but it’ll be a few hours before I can get there. I know it’s an imposition, and he’s supposed to be with Chris, but he said he’d be more comfortable with you.”

Her gaze flickers to Carter, to the hopeful expression on his face, to the pleading note in Cat’s voice, thinks of the opportunity to see her again, even if for just one more day.

“Okay,” she says, and knows it’s the right decision when Carter lurches forward to wrap his arms around her neck. “I’ll watch him.”

“No runaway trains this time,” Cat says into her ear, and Kara laughs, remembering her last ill-fated babysitting attempt, a lifetime ago.

“I’ll try my best.”

 ***

The knock on her door comes at nine thirty, not quite loud enough to wake the sleeping teenager stretched out on her couch.

She pulls open the door, comes face-to-face with the woman she’s been trying so hard not to think about for the past few months, and Kara thinks, as their eyes meet, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, that she’s been fooling herself, because it all comes rushing back the second their eyes meet.

There was only ever one reason why things would have never worked with James, one reason why Kara hasn’t been able to so much as think about dating since they’d ended things, one reason why her life has felt so empty these past few months.

Only one person who could make her heart pound, set butterflies free in her stomach, make her palms—physically impossible though it may be—feel damp.

And that person is the woman standing in front of her now, her eyes as wild as her hair, mussed from the wind, a faint flush on her cheeks and Kara wonders if she’d raced up the stairs in those three inch heels, desperate to set eyes on her beloved son, to see for herself he was safe and well.

“Come on in,” Kara says, standing aside to let her past. It’s the first time Cat has been inside her home, and the gravity of the moment isn’t lost on her.

She’s glad she had the foresight to tidy up a little, while Carter had been in the shower.

If he’d noticed that the amount of cleaning she’d done shouldn’t have been possibly in such a sort frame of time by human hands, he’d had the grace not to mention it.

“I, uh, didn’t want to wake him up,” Kara says, pitching her voice low, when Cat gravitates toward the couch, gazing down at Carter with such open affection she feels like she has to look away. “Seeing as he’s had a hard day.”

She’d tried to distract him as much as possible, enlisting his help with the fun of filing while she’d been at work, and then with food and games once she’d taken him home. He looked like he’d needed it, lost in his head, spiralling over the choices that had been made for him, bits and pieces of his life over the last few months spilling out over the course of the afternoon.

“Thank you for looking after him.”

Kara shrugs. “It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Still. You don’t owe me anything. Not anymore.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Grant. I owe you a lot.” She’d forgotten how hard it was to think, with Cat’s eyes weighing heavy on her face. “My job, for example. I wouldn’t be a junior reporter without you.”

“Nonsense. You got that job on your own merit. Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing so well.”

“You read my articles?”

“Of course.” Cat looks offended she thought otherwise. “Is Snapper still giving you hell?”

“I think he likes to torture me.” Her nose wrinkles, and Cat laughs, some of her worry ebbing away now Carter is within her sights.

He’s still sound asleep, and Cat doesn’t look like she wants to wake him. Bathed in the glow of the lamp on Kara’s coffee table, she’s breath-taking, and Kara looks away before she’s caught staring.

“Do you, um, want a drink or anything?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose any more than we already have.”

Panic seizes her heart at the thought of Cat leaving so soon, because when would she see her again? Would she leave right away, ushering Carter back to the CatCo. jet and across the country before night truly fell? Or would she linger, perhaps let herself remember all the things she loved about this place?

Not that that would include you, you idiot.

“Please,” she says, trying not to listen to the voice in her head. “I…It would be nice to hear what you’ve been up to these last few months.”

For a moment, she doesn’t think it’s enough. Thinks Cat is going to leave anyway, slip away even though Kara only just got her back.

But then she blinks, and her lips curve into the smallest of smiles, and she says: “Very well. What have you got?”

Good question, Kara thinks, because probably not a lot. Whatever Alex and Maggie had left over last game’s night, which turns out to be a bottle of cheap whiskey Cat turns her nose up at. Kara doesn’t blame her—apparently it left a killer hangover.

“I’m trying to cut down on drinking,” Cat says, and her gaze flickers over to the back of the couch. “I’ve been told it’s not very healthy. Apparently it’s bad for my liver.”

A sentiment she’d never once shared before, but Kara bites her tongue. It’s none of her business, the ways in which Cat has changed. None of her business, to wonder if Cat’s been throwing down scotches to try and chase away the memories of the city she’d left behind.

“How about a tea?” Cat suggests, and Kara blinks at her.

There’s a request she’s never made before.

“Regular, peppermint or camomile?”

“Regular is fine.” Kara brews a pot, wonders why she feels so jittery, but she knows the answer. It’s because Cat is here, in her space, after so many months away. Here, in a place thus far untouched by her, and Kara knows when she’s gone she’ll feel the imprint of her, remember the way she’d stood, leaning against her kitchen counter, looking out of place and like she was exactly where she belonged at the same time.

“So,” she says, once she’s handed Cat a steaming mug. “Washington, huh?”

“Carter told you.”

“Only a little. He didn’t say what you were there for.”

“I was offered a job. White House Press Secretary.”

Kara nearly chokes on a sip of her own tea in shock. But then, she thinks, it makes sense. She could see it—Cat, at the front of a room full of reporters, tearing them apart if they dared ask her the wrong thing. She could certainly think of no better person to have fighting your corner than Cat Grant.

“Is that what you want to do? Get into politics?”

“It’s something I’ve considered.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“My, my,” Cat says, clutching her mug between long fingers and throwing Kara a lazy smile. “Look at you. Am I being interviewed, Ms. Danvers?”

Kara ducks her head, feeling her cheeks warm. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“It’s all right.” Cat’s voice is gentle, her eyes unguarded when Kara dares to look her way. “To be honest, I don’t know what I want. I thought getting away from here would bring me clarity, inspiration for my next big thing, but…instead I found myself wandering without purpose. Less a shark stuck in a tank and more a tiny goldfish, lost at sea.”

“Then why not come back? It...it’s not the same without you.” Too much, probably. Too close to spilling the truth, maybe, but it’s too late to take the words back now.

“Because my reasons for leaving haven’t changed.”

What reasons, Kara wants to ask, because the ones she’d been given had never made any sense. Cat handing over the reins to her beloved company just didn’t seem like something she’d do, especially without so much as a glance back. What reasons, Kara wants to know, but the line they tread is so thin—she thinks of Cat’s razor-sharp voice saying strictly professional and never wants to feel an ache like that again.

“And what about Carter?”

Cat glances toward the couch again and sighs. “I hadn’t realised he was so reticent until today. I know he struggles with change, but…I thought this would be a good one. He could go to a better school, have more opportunities. I didn’t know he was so attached to this place.”

“Of course he’s attached. It’s his home. It’s all he’s ever known, and you—no offence—are yanking it away from him.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Cat’s lips purse. “When did you get so wise?”

“Learned it from the best,” she says, and Cat’s smile is tight. “Are you…are you going back there tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think Carter and I need to have a discussion, first. One where I listen to him instead of making the decision for him. I just…I thought I was doing the best thing for him. For both of us.”

“So you might stay?” She can’t quash the hopeful note in her voice, watches a shadow pass across Cat’s face and wonders what it means.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.” Her fingers tremble, the tiniest amount, as she sets down her empty mug, runs them through her hair.

“Why?” Just do it, she thinks, because when she wakes up tomorrow, Cat might be gone, and there are too many unanswered questions for her to be left with. “What’s so bad about being here? What are you so desperate to get away from?”

“Oh, Kara.” Cat’s eyes close, a sigh rattling through her chest. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me to.” She knows she’s being obstinate. That there’s a reason Cat doesn’t want to tell her, that she has no right to know.

But she remembers Cat saying goodbye, Cat’s arms wrapped around her, heart beating so loud it was impossible for Kara not to notice, the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she’d blinked them away. Remembers the countless times Kara had reached out, over the past few months, only to be ignored, like she meant nothing when she knew she’d meant at least something.

“Please, Cat. I just want—”

She’s cut off when Cat surges forward, settling one hand on the counter beside Kara’s hip and wrapping the other around the back of Kara’s neck, drawing her down into a kiss. Kara freezes, brain short-circuiting as Cat’s lip brush against her own, soft and warm, but when she feels Cat begin to pull away, her bravado failing, she snaps into action, discarding her mug on the counter and splaying a hand at the small of Cat’s back to keep her close.

It’s been building for years, she thinks, as Cat parts her lips for Kara’s searching tongue, nails digging into the base of her skull. Years of working closely together, a spark igniting but neither of them willing to give it space to grow, too terrified of what might happen, if it grew into a fire they could no longer control.

“That’s why,” Cat breathes, when she pulls away, heart hammering almost as fast as Kara’s.

“Seems like a pretty good reason to stay to me,” Kara says, leaning in to kiss her again, but Cat stops her with a shake of her head.

“It’s not. Kara, you shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want me.”

“I know,” she says, and when Cat flinches, she doesn’t let her pull away. “I know there are a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t, why we shouldn’t be together, but I also…don’t really care. I’ve spent the past few months missing you like crazy, and it hasn’t diminished the way I feel about you. Doesn’t that mean something? Doesn’t that mean it’s worth trying?”

“I…” Cat trails off, meets her gaze and traces the pads of her fingers across Kara’s cheek, looks at her like she barely believes she’s real. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to.”

“You start by letting me in. By not running away when—” She hears movement on the couch, hopes to Rao Carter hasn’t heard any of their hushed conversation. “Carter’s waking up.”

Cat is quick to slip from her arms, and Kara feels the loss of her like a physical ache, chilled to the bone in the places she’d just been burning with warmth. “I don’t want this to be the end of it,” she says, knowing Carter’s not yet fully conscious, knowing they have a few more stolen moments. “I don’t want you to go to your hotel room and talk yourself out of it.”

“Kara Danvers, are you asking me to spend the night?”

“No, because I know you’d turn me down.” She can sense it, in the nervous energy radiating from her. Cat isn’t a person who lays her heart on the line, is someone guarded and careful, isn’t reckless the way she had been tonight. She needed time to process, time to think it through, and Kara would give her that—as long as she wasn’t going to slip away without saying goodbye. “But we should talk. Tomorrow.”

“Before five.”

Kara frowns. “Why five?”

“Because that’s how long the Press Secretary job is on the table for.”

“You haven’t accepted it?”

“Not yet,” she says, and Kara feels hope bloom in her chest. “I told them I had some things I need to consider first.”

“And now?”

“Now I have even more things to think about.” She reaches out, catches Kara’s fingers with her own and squeezes, and Kara’s heart thuds in her chest. She wants to lean down, wants to kiss her again, already misses the heat of her mouth, but a head pops over the back of the couch, Carter rubbing at his eyes.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi Mom’ me,” Cat says, eyes narrowing until Carter gulps. “Do you have any idea how worried I was, young man?"

“I’m sorry,” he says, his head hanging. “But I wanted to stop you doing something stupid, and this was the only way I know how.”

And thank Rao he had. Her day would have shaken out very differently had Carter not arrived in the bullpen, she knows. She’d have finished her article and gone to hang out with Alex and Maggie, probably, tried to ignore the ache seeing the two of them so happy seems to incite, lately, craving something similar for herself.

“Hm. Well, we’ll talk about it later. For now, I think we’ve taken up enough of Kara’s time, don’t you?”

Not enough of it, Kara thinks, but she bites her tongue. Space. Time to process. Not snuggling up together on the couch with a movie.

“Thanks for today, Kara.” Carter looks only a little sheepish as he gathers his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Any time, buddy,” she says, meaning it more than he’ll probably ever know. The urge to kiss Cat goodbye is so strong she can barely stand it, and she balls her hands into fists at her sides so she doesn’t reach for her. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?” She asks, before Cat slips through the door, dizzy with the feeling of being on the cusp of something she’s wanted for so long.

“Tomorrow,” Cat agrees, looking like it pains her to say it, looking like she doesn’t know how she’s possibly going to muster the will to leave, green eyes so heavy on Kara’s face it feels like a caress, feels like the ghost of her kiss, makes her feel like she’s burning from the inside out. “Goodnight, Kara.”

Goodnight, and not goodbye, and Kara hovers in the doorway, watches them go down the hall.

“You are in big trouble,” she hears Cat say as they turn the corner, slipping out of sight. “What were you thinking?”

And she shouldn’t listen, she knows, but she catches her name, as they start down the stairs, and can’t help but tune in to a snippet of conversation.

“I was thinking I missed home, and that I was sick of you moping after Kara for the past eight months, and it was time someone did something about it,” Carter says, then: “Ow!” as Cat must smack him over the head.

“Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.”

“But did it work?”

“None of your business.”

“It totally worked.”

Kara shakes her head, unable to bite back a smile as she steps back inside and lets the door shut behind her.  

#supercat #supercat:fanfic #this was supposed to be short... 🤷‍♀️

[sequinsmile-x]

Riptide

A love story told from two perspectives. One after it is has ended, and the other just as it begins.

Chapter 1: The Beginning 

Words: 3.8k 

Rating: Mature. Major Character Death.

You can either read over on a03, or below the cut. 

I would love to know what you think. 

“I have loved with the breadth of the ocean, and lost with the grief of rainfall.” - Angie Weiland-Crosby ___________________

October 2025

His wake is in the house they shared together. People she both recognised and didn’t mill through their home, giving her and Jack their condolences as they passed by.

Emily’s grief felt oppressive, like she was drowning in it. Every breath she heaved in through her lungs burned in her chest. Hollowing out the place where his love used to live.

She had been through a lot in her life. Her childhood was snatched away from her at 15 in a small clinic in Rome. Ian Doyle had torn through her life twice, leaving disaster behind him both times. The ruins of her life his personal victory, even in his death.

But this, losing Aaron, was by far the worst thing she had experienced. Since the moment she was told he was dead she had struggled to comprehend it, only really believing it when she was taken to see his body. Emily felt numb. She knew she was pushing everyone away but she couldn’t help it. The solitude of her grief helped her just about cope enough to get up in the morning.

“Emily?”

She turns to see JJ standing at the door of Aaron’s home office, having clearly sought her out. Emily would place money on the fact the team was taking it in turns to check on her. Their own grief for Aaron outweighed by concern for her.

“I’m hiding from my mother.” Emily explains from where she is sitting on the couch. “She has no tact and I can’t cope with her today of all days.”

JJ sits next to her and places her hand on Emily’s. She runs a thumb over her knuckles. A gesture Emily thinks is supposed to be comforting, but she can barely feel it. The numbness she has felt the last couple of weeks ever present. Like she was watching life from behind glass, all of her senses muted and warped by grief.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I’m ok. Or say anything kind.” She pulls her hand from under JJ’s and stands, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Trying desperately to hold herself together, but feeling like she could fall apart any minute. “I don’t think I can take it.”

JJ stands too but keeps a good distance from her friend, respecting the boundaries Emily had put firmly in place the morning after everything changed. “He wouldn’t want this for you, he’d be worried.”

Emily scoffs, but tears fall onto her cheeks anyway. She furiously wipes them away with the heel of her hand. “I wish people would stop saying that.”

JJ’s face crumbles, barely restrained emotion on her own face. “He loved you Emily. You were going to-”

“JJ. I really don’t need you to explain my relationship to me.” Emily says harshly, bitter words falling past her lips to stop her from breaking down. She felt like she hadn’t stopped crying in days. “I have to go check on Jack.”

“Em-”

“He lost his father. The only parent he had left. He’s what’s important right now, everything else can wait.” She turns to leave, hand hovering over the door handle to lead her out of his office and she hesitates to turn back around to look at her friend. “I love Aaron, JJ.” The use of the present tense wasn’t lost on either of them. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And he’s gone. I’m never going to get him back and you need to let me deal with that in my way. Okay?”

She leaves the office before JJ can respond. She walks through the hallway of the house she and Aaron had bought together, a photo on the wall making her stop in her tracks. Penelope had taken it on a night out with the team not long after Emily and Aaron first got together. She had just been injured on a case, her shoulder still sore from where she’d been stabbed. Aaron was still fussing, not drinking so he could take her home whenever she was done. He had pulled her onto his lap, his broad chest protecting her shoulder from being jostled by anyone. Occasional whispers in her ear asking how she was slowly driving her crazy. Penelope snapped the photo as she turned her head to admonish him, a loving look on her face.

The squeal that came out of her friend after she took it still echoed around Emily’s head 4 years later. Penelope had passed her phone over, showing them the photo of them looking at each other like no one else existed.

She’s always loved that photo. She had sent it to her own phone immediately and had it printed. Now it made her heart clench in her chest, wishing she could see him again. Their home now felt like a museum of memories, their life together a snapshot in time that would never have been enough, even if they had grown old together. In the two weeks since he had died every part of her wanted to run, to get out and leave this all behind.

She stays despite everything in her screaming to leave. To get out of the house they shared, the city that reminded her of him at every turn. She wants to be somewhere he never had been, in the futile hope that she would one day be able to breathe without it being painful, without her lungs constricting like she was underwater.

She stays. She knows from experience that running away won’t fix anything, that she would just take memories of him anywhere she went. Carried on her skin like tattoos of his affection, etched permanently onto her. And in her worst moments, when having been loved by him felt more like a curse than the blessing it was when he was alive, she wishes she could hate him for it.

Jack is standing with Jessica in the living room. Emily is reminded of watching Aaron and Jack together at Haley’s funeral so many years ago. It was hard to believe that the little boy was now the young man in front of her, back in town from college and clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

He looks so much like Aaron that it steals her breath away.

“Jack.” She says gently as she approaches, a tight smile on her face. Both Jack and Jessica turn to look at her. “I’d ask how you are doing but that’s a stupid question.”

The 20 year old nods at her. “It’s weird. Knowing he’s gone forever.” Jack replies, clearing his throat. “It feels final now.”

Emily agrees, her fingers digging into the skin around her thumbnails. “Where are you staying tonight? You can stay here if you want. Your room is still set up.”

“I’m going to stay with Aunt Jessie.” He says tilting his head towards his aunt. “Thanks, though.” He adds as an afterthought. “Excuse me.” He walks off, having spotted Henry in the corner, and Emily sighs as he goes.

Her relationship with Jack had always been good, but since Aaron’s death it had been difficult. Tense in a way that tore through her. Their mutual love for Aaron was no longer the thing that was the foundation for Emily and Jack’s relationship.

It was that they both believed his death was her fault.

“Emily.” Jessica puts her hand on her arm and squeezes it. “He’ll come around. You know he doesn’t actually think-”

“Thanks, Jess.” She cuts the other woman off, not wanting to hear anything else. She walks off again, desperate for a moment alone.

JJ seeks her out again once most people have left. The team helps tidy up, removing all traces of the wake from her house before they leave. JJ has a plate of food in her hands that was clearly intended for Emily. She places it in front of her on the coffee table and sits next to her.

“I’m not hungry, JJ.”

“Em, please.” She says, worry laced through her voice. “You have to eat something. He wouldn’t-”

“JJ stop.” Emily shouts, finally at her wits end. “Aaron is dead. He’s dead. So it doesn’t really matter what he would want, does it?” She curses under her breath as tears spring to her eyes, and she wipes them furiously away from her cheeks as they fall. She’s aware of the rest of the team around them, stopping their individual tasks and desperately pretending they weren’t listening in.

“Emily-”

“Do you know what I keep thinking about?” She asks, interrupting any more platitudes JJ may have that she simply cannot bear to listen to, she watches as her friend shakes her head. “I keep thinking about when I died. There was nothing. It was dark, and empty. Just nothing.” Emily’s chin wobbles as she tries to keep the emotion in, failing as her next words choke out around a sob. “And I lay there at night, on his side of the bed, and hope it’s different for him.”

This time she doesn’t shy away from JJ’s touch, and allows herself to be pulled into a hug she cannot bring herself to return. ___________________________

Once everyone has gone she lays in bed, on his side, and stares at the ceiling. She is wearing one of his shirts and wonders when all of his clothes will stop smelling like him, when she will lose the last trace she has of him.

Emily closes her eyes, both wanting sleep to come and for it to evade her. Aaron was always in her dreams, mostly good ones. Memories of their lazy mornings in bed together played out during the night in her head. The sound of his laugh as he trailed his fingers down her spine to wake her slowly, his enjoyment at her inability to function first thing in the morning never ending.

The dreams were a blessing. A reminder that it had been real, that she’d had him. They were also a curse. She’d wake with the ghost of his touch on her skin, and for a blissful moment she’d forget he was dead. She’d half expect to see him standing at their bedroom door, coffee in hand with a smile on his face.

Then she would remember, and it was always too much to bear. ___________________________

It’s Dave that comes over. Letting himself into the house with the spare key Aaron had given him, claiming that he felt better knowing other people that they trusted had access to their home in case of an emergency. Emily knew it was a lingering fear he had from when Foyet had broken into his apartment, those memories still sharp in his mind until the day he had died.

A small knock on the bedroom door announces Dave’s arrival a mere second before he opens it. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t tear her gaze from the dress hanging on the door of the closet. She's sitting on the floor, back pressed up against the side of the bed. Her knees are against her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she was physically holding herself together.

“Did you draw the short straw today, Dave?” She sniffs, wipes her hand across her face to wipe off what felt like ever present tears. “You guys don’t need to check up on me. I’m fine.”

Dave sighs and sits next to her, groaning as he joins her on the floor, his body protesting the movement. “You’re not fine, bella.” He says simply. “And the others don’t know I’m here.”

She can sense his want to help her, sees his fingers twitch out of the corner of her eye as he seemingly tries to figure out if she wants to be touched or not. In the end he settles for leaning against the bed with her, a distance between them just small enough that she can feel his presence. Emily leans her chin on her knees, eyes still fixed on the white dress infront of her.

The dress that, if things had been different, if she hadn’t lost him, she should have worn today. She remembers teasing Aaron about it, telling him just enough about how it fastened up her back, how careful he’d have to be when he took it off to not break any of the delicate buttons.

She fiddles with her engagement ring before she opens her clenched fist to reveal two matching wedding bands in the palm of her hand. The rings they would never get to wear.

“It’s meant to be my wedding day, Dave.” She says, voice breaking around the words that didn’t need to be said. “And he’s not here, he never will be.” ___________________________

June 2021

When Aaron first moves back to Virginia it feels strange, like he was stepping back in time. The first thing he thought of was the team, of her. Once he no longer had to hide his identity he could have reached out. He almost had more than once, this thumb hovering over Emily’s name in his contacts, but he always stopped himself. Unsure what to say, thinking whatever they could have been had passed them by in a flurry of tragic circumstance and bad timing.

He’s back for two weeks when he sees her, and she’s somehow more beautiful than ever. He calls her the next day. ___________________________

Emily shouts at him. A lot. Years of pent up anger and worry spilling out over the phone when she answers, mixed with curse words and sighs in a way that was just so *her* it makes him laugh.

“And what is so fucking funny, Aaron?”

He clears his throat, tries to smother another laugh but doesn’t quite manage it. “Nothing, Emily. I just...I missed you.”

“Well.” She replies. “Whose fault is that.” There’s a pause, and it is just long enough that he thinks she’s going to hang up, leaving their interaction there. Aaron is about to speak and give her an excuse when he hears her sigh. “I missed you too.”

A spark of hope flares in his chest, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. “How about I take you to dinner? My treat. You can yell at me in person.”

Emily laughs at that, and he can picture how her eyes would crinkle with it. She was always so damn beautiful when she smiled. “That does sound appealing.”

“Tomorrow? If you don’t get caught with a case?”

She pauses, and he would bet his life savings if he could see her that she was biting her lip. “Tomorrow.” ___________________________

When she doesn’t get a case, and confirms that she will meet him at the restaurant he suggested, Aaron tries not to overthink it. He tries not to get carried away and think that this could be their chance, that the universe was finally aligning for them.

Emily tells him about her relationship with Andrew, how it had come to an end. Both of them were too set in their ways to truly make room for each other in their lives. He tells her about Jack, how he cannot believe his son is a teenager. The years had slipped by in a way that made him reflective, and she teases him out of his melancholy by telling him stories about the team. Aaron didn’t realise how much time had passed until the waitress came over and gently told them they needed to close the restaurant. Emily exchanges a sheepish look with him when they realise they are the last ones there.

She refuses his offer of walking her home, claiming it was pointless since she lived so far away and that she’d be fine in a cab. He gets a text from her when he gets home himself, an offer of another meal soon, insisting that she pays next time.

For their third date, because that was how he now exclusively thought of their dinners, if only in his head, he purposely choses somewhere near hers so he can walk her home. She narrows her eyes at him as he suggests it, having figured out his game but she allows him to play it anyway.

During the three block walk to her place she slips her hand into his. He turned to look at her but she was pointedly looking ahead, avoiding his gaze. That’s when Aaron realises she wants this as much as he does, and is just as worried about it as he is, what it could do to both of them. Neither of them would ever admit it, but they were both fragile when it came to love. Damage as clear as the scars they both bore on their bodies.

He stops them in the street, now half a block from her building, and stands in front of her, still holding onto her hand. He uses his spare hand to cup her cheek, to make her look at him. She licks her lips, her eyes now staring right into his.

He’d always thought her eyes were beautiful.

Aaron closes the gap between them and presses his lips to hers. She responds almost immediately, tearing her hand out of his so she can cup the back of his head and pull him closer.

It’s years of waiting, of hoping, coming together in a perfect moment. Her hands are in his hair, and his are on her back, pulling her closer as he tastes the dessert they shared on her tongue.

She pulls back, and rests her forehead against his, a laugh escaping her lips before she presses them against his again.

“We should have been doing this for years.” She murmurs against his lips, her hand stroking the back of his head . He mumbles his agreement before kissing her again, unable to help himself now the dam was broken. She suddenly pulls away, lips swollen as she looks at him, seemingly remembering that they were standing in the street still. “Come on, let's go.”

Aaron smiles at her as she tugs his hand, determined to lead him down the street. “Where are we going?”

“To mine.” She says simply, groaning when he comes to a stop, easily stopping her from walking any further. He places a hand on her hip, pulling her closer to him again.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I'm sure.” She says, bringing a hand to his cheek and smiling at him, “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

That night they lay in her bed, in tangled sheets, fingers trailing over scars they’d both imagined for years. They are reverent with each other, acting as if they are both made of something precious. He laces his fingers through hers as he enters her for the first time, her broken gasp in his ear almost too much for him. When she breaks around him and he follows her over the edge he whispers words of praise into her skin, tells her how perfect she is to him, and he hears her repeating it back to him as her lips press to the scar closest to the top of his chest.

Aaron thinks she has never looked so beautiful as she did when she was curled up against him in her bed, hair in disarray and a sleepy smile on her face. When he tells her as much she scrunches her nose at him and tells him he’s ridiculous, a hand sliding up his chest as he pulls her in and kisses her again.

He stops himself from telling her he loves her that night as she falls asleep in his arms. The promise of their next date being breakfast the following morning dying on her lips as she is lulled into sleep. ___________________________

Emily gets hurt on a case a month later, and it’s bad enough that she ends up in hospital. Dave calls him, and Aaron isn’t even sure how he knew to do so until he says Emily asked for him.

The case was mercifully close by, Aaron jumping in his car to do the two hour drive as soon as he’s off the phone with Dave. A note left for Jack saying what had happened, and a call to Jessica to ask her to look after the teenager that night.

He makes it to the hospital in 80 minutes. A vaguely amused looking Dave meets him at the front desk and tells him that she is fine, that she lost a fair amount of blood to the unsub’s knife and that they were keeping her in for observation overnight.

Aaron doesn’t believe him until he sets eyes on her himself, the door to her room clicking closed behind him. He briefly thinks about the team standing outside her room, the confusion on their faces at him being there, at what he was sure was fear on his face.

“Em, sweetheart.” The nickname slips out before he realises what he is saying, the first time he’s said it, and it makes her eyes brighten at him.

“Hi Aaron.” She tries to smile at him, but the pain lacing through her arm and shoulder means it doesn’t go far. She swallows against her dry throat and she holds out her good hand to him which he eagerly takes, any concerns about the team disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. “It looks worse than it is.”

He raises an eyebrow at her before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.” She smiles up at him. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Em.” Aaron smiles when she fails to suppress a yawn. “You should get some sleep.”

Emily frowns at him. “You only just got here.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He runs his hand over her forehead, pushing her hair out of the way. He can’t help but smile when her eyes flutter shut at the first touch of his skin to hers. He keeps the movement across her skin going, watching as her breathing evens out.

“I think I love you.” He whispers, sure she was fast asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by his thumb stroking over her forehead.

She laughs weakly and opens her eyes. “Oh, well I know I love you.”

Aaron leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you.” Another kiss. “Now get some sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She closes her eyes, the painkillers in her system making her tired. “I hope you’ll always be there.”

Aaron smiles at the admission, something she would never have said out loud in normal circumstances. He runs his thumb over her forehead again.

“I’ll always be here, I promise.”

(It’s the only promise he ever breaks.)

#hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #angst #major character death #fanfic #fanfiction #i am oddly proud of this #I made myself sad

[honeypirate]

You write the characters of Fire Force so good omg I am extremely weak and soft for these QwQ can I please request either an imagine or headcanon of where Viktor has a S/O who is typically more self-confident, relaxed/teasing person until Viktor does anything remotely affectionate then S/O just turns into a bright red stuttering mess. They absolutely adore the affection, they're just easily embarrassed with things like this

Okay Okay alright alright cool cool cool

I had fun with this!

I’m glad you like how I write and thank you thank you for this request I hope you like it because it ran away from me and this is how it turned out lol

Viktor Licht x Easily Flustered reader (I went Fem but let me know if you want me to write a different one that’s GN! ❤️)

Viktor I think he’s so goofy and funny I adore him

I think he’d be his normal self around you 90% of the time

Okay more like 80%

but he’d wait for the right time to whisper something in your ear

or slip you a note at work

that makes your heart race and your cheeks flush.

Which isn’t hard to do but he likes to have the element of surprise.

So when you least expect it,

“you look beautiful”

or “your butt looks juicy in that orange jumpsuit” (god idk why I even wrote this my brain went vrrr and couldn’t think of more weird compliments.)

now I don’t know if he’d say something exactly like that (I don’t put it past him)

but I do think he’d say original weird things occasionally just to see your shocked eyes and hear your sweet chuckle

And the way you stutter through syllables before you say “Viktor” and slap his chest playfully.

Bro.

He just loves you okay?

And he loves how sweet and flustered you are just for him.

He sees you confidently tease the others

And Damn you look good doing so

but he knows he can unravel that with just a few well worded phrases.

and sees your self confidence which he ADORES.

It was something he first noticed about you, one of the first things he realized he liked about you

When he first met you, when he came to the eighth, you couldn’t help the warm feeling your heart got whenever you were around him

and he loved the way you’d chuckle at his jokes

he started making more jokes just to hear you laugh.

Then he wanted to make you blush.

Then he realized he wanted to kiss you every time you blushed because of him,

and every time you were teasing the others, when he saw your confidence in your job,

mans just wanted to kiss you.

Physical touch and quality time are his love languages (I personally feel this man is touch starved because he’s so invested in his work that he just pretends and convinces himself he doesn’t care) so that’s how he began to show you he was into you

he’d tuck your hair behind your ear and grin when the familiar flush would appear

or he’d help you with your paperwork just to talk to you and be next to you.

The more time he spent with you the more comfortable you felt around him

but every time you tried to tease him he’d watch your cheeks flush and he couldn’t help but smile.

He asked you out for the first time and you choked on the water you were drinking.

Bad timing on his part which he apologized for but you accepted

because it’s Viktor! How could you say no! He makes your heart warm! he’s so sweet on you!

So now it’s been three months and he’s trying to figure out how to tell you he loves you, he has the perfect idea, he’ll tell you after work tonight, with the perfect moment.

“Oh shush Arthur, you cheated. and you Shinra, you know he cheated so his win means nothing. Now go, both of you, we all have paperwork and no time for this” they both go to their desks, mumbling stuff under their breaths but not continuing their fight anymore. It was a stupid bet about flipping a coin into a cup across the room, you didn’t really understand since you just showed up but you knew Arthur’s tell, he said he didn’t cheat and you knew he was lying by the flick of his hair.

You sigh and finish your cup of coffee before heading to the pot in the corner to refill it. Viktor, who was watching from the doorway, comes over and you refill his cup with a small smile as you make eye contact. “I love it when you do that” he says quietly and you chuckle “do what?” You cock your head and he gives you a lopsided grin “put the kids in their place” he leans in to your ear “it’s kinda hot” he whispers and then pulls back to get a get look at your red blushing face, a lopsided grin on his lips “t-thanks” you manage to stutter out, your heart racing and thumping in your ears as he chuckles and kisses the top of your head before making his way back to his lab.

“You’ve been dating him for what.. three months?” Arthur asks from his paperwork when you sit at your desk “yeah. Why?” He looks up at you with a smirk “and he, Viktor Licht, still makes you flustered?” You glare “oh shut up Arthur” you say and smile sweetly, compared with the fire in your eyes it sends a shiver down his spine “actually. Would you rather I just tell you why he makes me flustered? What he said to me… about how-“ you started to tell him but he plugged his ears as Shinra started screaming. “NO NO NO Arthur SHUT UP. She’s flustered WITH HIM but you KNOW SHE HAS NO PROBLEM TALKING TO US!” Arthur sulks as you chuckle, tucking your hair that fell from your pony back behind your ear.

Before you can finish your paperwork you’re called out to help put some infernals to rest. You were exhausted, you smelled like smoke, and you weren’t up for anything special, he could see the bags under your eyes. So he kissed your forehead and sent you off to a shower, moving his confession to another night.

You saw the emotion in his eyes, something was wrong, but he played it off. So you thought you’d do something special for him. After your shower you swung by his room, walking in when he doesn’t answer your knocks and remembering he had dinner duty. You make your way through the empty room, carefully stepping across the papers strewn about. Sure, you didn’t know what they were, but he certainly did. When you find what you’re looking for you grin and carefully make your way out of his room.

“Psst Hey” you whisper as you stuck your head through the door of the kitchen. He turns around and cocks his head, the apron on his body said ‘kiss the cook’

“Hey sweetheart” he makes this face, one that you’ve seen a lot, one that says ‘what is this beautiful girl doing now?’ “Meet me where we had our second date” you grin and slip out before popping your head back “and do you think you could maybe..” he laughs “bring some food? I’m on it, love” he smiles as he hears your giggles as you walk down the hallway. Maybe he won’t have to wait after all.

ꕥ(Twenty minutes later)ꕥ

“What is this?” His voice was shocked as he stuck his head out the window, looking out at the scene unfolding before his eyes on the roof. soft music playing that he realized was his favorite song, blankets, pillows, a couple candles and you kneeling in the middle in one of his sweatshirts. You were an angel. He loved you so much.

“Remember coming up here to watch fireworks? I know it’s only been three months and that’s not a long time but... well.. when we got back you seemed a little down so I wanted to do something nice but also easy since tonight took a lot out of us” you cheeks flush from feeling embarrassed with doing something semi-big but keeping your eyes on his “So I got your favorite record and my record player, all the blankets and pillows I own, a couple of your sweatshirts, candles, aaaaand” you pull out a bottle of wine you were saving once he settles into the blankets next to you. He leans against the side of the house and he gazes down at you, a bowl of food in each hand.

“You did all of this for me?” He whispers and you nod, your blush fully covering your face as you scoot closer into his side, placing your hands on his knee, leaning up and kissing the corner of his mouth “I love you, Viktor” you whisper, looking down at your hands, butterflies in your chest and your heart thumping in your ears again.

“W-what did you say?” He whispers and you feel your heart drop “I- I said” he shoves the bowls of food out where they won’t be kicked and he turns to sit on his knees in front of you, cupping your cheeks and turning your face up to meet his eye. Your breath hitches at his expression, excited, soft, sweet. “Tell me” he whispers and his thumbs brush against your skin and send goosebumps down the back of your neck.

“I- I said” you swallow hard and pull back your confidence from earlier, gently taking a hold of his wrists, “I said; I love you Viktor” you watch his cheeks flush as he sighs, a peaceful look in his eyes “I love you, so much” he presses his lips to yours softly, warming up your cold ones from sitting outside waiting for him.

Look all I’m saying is Viktor is sweet and goofy and loving and he would he would love to watch your cheeks blush when he’d say sweet things and compliment you

but he’d also want to make sure certain things are perfect, like telling you he loved you. Or your first time wink wink together.

Certain perfect moments that tie together all the goofy, sweet, moments.

The moments where he makes your face flush bright enough to be compared to an infernals flame,

the time you stutter through words after he whispers something in your ear,,,,

but who is he,

or I,

kidding anyone?

Every moment is perfect with you.

Even if they’re hard.

Even that time you tried to tidy the papers in his room and messed everything in his system up.

Or the way you tried to fix it by making the papers rain down around you both, making him laugh before you hugged him and apologized for messing up his system and really helping him fix it again.

Oh God.

Holy Sol

He knows there’s nothing he believes in more than you, more than the love you share, and the fact that his favorite color is the pink dusting your cheeks. The pink that is just for him

#viktor licht x you #viktor licht x reader #fire force viktor #viktor licht #viktor licht x y/n #viktor licht headcanons #viktor licht imagine #viktor licht fanfiction #fire force fanfiction #fire force imagines #fire force headcanons #fire force x reader #fire force x you #fire force x fem!reader #viktor licht x fem!reader

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from @nebulousfishgills and myself. *giggles* Thomas Sharpe is back in time for Halloween season! Also, this is probably one of the cheesiest Imagines I’ve ever written. Be warned and enjoy!

Words: 2329 Warnings: so much fluff

Thomas Sharpe had stepped into your life rather unexpectedly. He had been looking for work in your brother’s mining company and, thanks to his experience, landed a well-paid job soon after. Your brother liked him. He was the true personification of Britishness—polite, considerate, a Gentleman… and he did love his tea.

Every year when the leaves began to grow too heavy on the trees, discolour and fall off, your brother held a feast to thank his employees for their hard work before the mines closed over the winter. You usually helped to prepare and cook and refill empty glasses; and last year you happened to have refilled Thomas’ glass. He had been smitten by you as much as you had been smitten by him and after countless rendezvous where he confided in you about his horrifying past, you now considered yourselves a couple.

It had been almost a year. Autumn was drawing near again and as you drove through a grove in a carriage, able to peacefully take in the beauty of the season, you leaned against Thomas’ strong body. He sighed, his shoulders heaving. In fact, he had been rather quiet for days now.

“Thomas, are you alright?” Looking up at him with a concerned expression on your face, you allowed him to cup your cheek in response.

“Oh, yes. The cold seasons always remind me of home, that is all.“ He confessed, giving you a small smile. A sad smile.

“This is your home now,” you reassured him. “You are beyond welcome here. A new beginning, remember?”

He hummed in response. “A new beginning…”

-

By the time you arrived at the modest house your brother and you were sharing and you finished cooking dinner for you two, Thomas was still silent. Eerily silent, almost. And it made you worry for him.

Moment after moment passed with only the cutting, chewing and swallowing of food being audible in the cosy kitchen.

“I want to go back to England.” He suddenly stated. You almost dropped your fork.

“You… what? Really?”

“Yes. It is just like you said,” He went on, growing more enthusiastic with a start, “A new beginning. I could start over, restore the house… it does not have to wither away.”

“But… Thomas, I thought you were glad you left this place… that you have so many terrible memories attached to Allerdale Hall. Are you sure you want to be there again?”

Your appetite was all but lost now. Discouraged, you put your fork down and looked him straight in the eye—his beautiful, innocent blue eyes.

“I am. It took me weeks to figure out just why I do not feel complete in this place. I am missing something. I am missing my roots.”

He reached across the table to hold your hand when your eyes filled with tears. “So… you will leave me?”

Thomas shook his head. “No! No, I do not want to leave you. In fact… I meant to ask if you would like to come with me. I do not ask you to leave your home forever. But if I spend my summers here with you, working for your brother and return to England for the winters…”

“Thomas…”

“Please, my love. I want you to be with me. The house is all I have left in my possession and I cannot live at your and your brother’s expenses forever. If I could I would long have purchased us a house here so we can get married and raise our children in our very own home but my savings will not allow it. Instead… if I used them to restore Allerdale Hall…”

Your lips parted. He wanted to marry you. He meant to buy a house where you could raise your children. And he truly seemed to miss his home. Biting your lower lip, you considered his proposal for a moment.

All the work that would come with restoring an entire mansion did not put you off as much as the fact that Allerdale Hall was miles away from your own birthplace. Only if you were with Thomas… did it truly matter where you were? If it meant so much to him… as for you, as long as you could stay with him, it did not matter much to you where you were. It was the change that was scary.

“If this is what you really want…” You finally responded. “…then I will come with you.”

“You will?” His face lit up like a Christmas tree and you nodded.

“I will.” There was no denying your promise, in this very moment, was as significant as a wedding vow.

-

“Thomas… this house is huge. It’s just the two of us. How will we use all of this space?” Tilting your head back, you took in the gigantic construction towering into the sky.

“We’ll have to have lots of children.” He replied, gently kissing your cheek and hugging you from behind.

There was a gaping hole in the ceiling, letting the cold autumn air come inside, trapping it. It was freezing. Thomas had not exaggerated. The house was in dire need of renovation but together, so you were certain, you would transform this place into an exciting and a cosy living place. A place in which your children could grow up in and, once in adulthood, remember fondly what it had been like.

You worked hard. Your brother knew some good and honest roofers who offered a fair price for the repair of the ceiling, after that Thomas was able to afford two floorers with whom he began figuring out a way to keep the house from sinking into the red clay he had told you about underneath.

Everything had remained just like he had left it, even his clay machine. Only the bodies… the bodies must have been removed by wild animals or a decent human being who found and buried them. Thomas himself could not bring himself to bury both his most recent wife and sister himself—and after everything that happened, the remaining villagers were rather out of sorts with the last survivor of the Sharpe family.

The next couple of weeks you spent cleaning and tidying (and sneezing) and building and sweeping and slowly but surely, Allerdale Hall was turning into a wonderful home. Not once since your arrival had you felt the presence of a tormented ghost—not once had either of you been haunted. It was like, ever since Lucille’s death, the many murdered women in this house had finally been able to move on.

His favourite part of the house was still the attic which had remained untouched for the most part. You had merely replaced the sofa and the desks, added some lovely curtains and a beautiful lustre for his late-night crafting.

You were almost done now. Nearly everything was clean and tidy, new furniture adding an elegant touch to the old house. The only thing still missing was the outer front and the lowest level. Thomas had told you he no longer wanted anything to do with red clay mining, for it reminded him too much of his past with Lucille and the horrible deeds he had been forced to be a part of. Instead, he wanted to keep helping your brother develop new machines for his mines.

“I have an idea.” You said, loosening your tight ponytail after another cleaning orgy in the house. It was only time for lunch and you could not wait to retreat to your new bedroom already. It was Thomas’ old room, re-furnished and cosier than you could have ever imagined. Thomas had spent a fortune on the new king-size bed with the softest mattress you had ever had the pleasure to sleep on.

“You have had many wonderful ideas over the last few weeks, my love.” Thomas said with a smile. “What have you thought of now?”

“We should host a party tomorrow night.”

His lips parted in surprise. “A party? For whom?”

“No one in particular. Us. Our new home. Besides, Halloween is right around the corner. We should ask everyone to dress up and have some fun after all the hard work.” Now there was a chance that the villagers would downright refuse to set foot into this building ever again but you were rather sure that most of them were curious as to what had become of Allerdale Hall as well. Thomas would be able to prove to them he was a good and decent man—and that he had finally found happiness.

“I agree. I do believe we deserve some time off.”

-

You were busy the next morning, sending out invitations and then buying all the supplies you would need for your Halloween party. Thomas had outdone himself with his outfit—he prepared an all-black suit and black polished shoes along with a cylinder and a dark red bowtie, the latter which fit the dress he had insisted on buying you for tonight perfectly.

Now that the first guests began to arrive in their carriages, all wearing fashionable masks as it was Halloween, admiring what had become of the house so far, Thomas’ nervousness infected you. You had decorated where you could, collecting sycamore leafs and carving pumpkins which were now grinning eerily with candles inside of them. You soon realised, however, that your worries were unnecessary. Thomas conversed like the true Gentleman he was, passionately recalling how much fun it had been to restore the house and that he would have never been able to do any of that without your help. That was when all the attention drifted to you.

Thomas had just disappeared upstairs with an old friend who had been happy enough about his return to show him his renovated workshop when an older man, perhaps in his late fifties, approached you with dismay coating his lips. The rest of his face was unreadable given that he too was wearing a mask.

“So I understand it that you will at some point be marrying the baronet then, my lady?”

“Yes, Sir.” You responded with a polite and content smile. The man shook his head.

“Well, good luck. His last few wives all passed away under rather strange circumstances.”

Tensing up a little, you lifted your chin.

“So I’ve heard and that is very unfortunate. Sir Thomas has my deepest sympathy. And I thank you for your concern but I don’t easily perish.” In fact, the very first thing Thomas and you had done was tossing out the poisoned tea Lucille had been using on his former wives. It was still unsettling sometimes to know he had been involved in murders—but you also knew that Thomas was a good man. He had already lost Edith. He would not lose you.

“You sure don’t, my lady. However, the last remaining woman in Sir Sharpe’s life was his sister Lucille and even her body was never found. I am only trying to help. I run a hotel a few miles west of this atrocious place. I can provide shelter for you, my lady, and hide you from him.”

Shit. You clutched your dress tightly so your hands would not shake as much. “Thank you but that will not be necessary. I love my soon-husband-to-be dearly and if you keep insulting him or his intentions, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Is there a problem?” Relieved, you let out a breath when you felt Thomas’ arm around your waist and turned around to notice his stern gaze. It was not often you experienced him this cold. The older man blinked, fists clenching a few times.

“No. No problem at all, Sir Sharpe.”

“Good.” With that, he reached for your arm, gently pulling you into the living room. A pianist—another good friend of your brother’s—was filling the hall with warm musical sounds as a couple of guests were dancing. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. He was just being… invasive… about your past.”

“I suspected this might happen tonight.”

“Yes…”

You joined the dancers with a sly smile, letting Thomas take the lead and following his elegant movements as you melted into the harmonious music, both your feet gliding across the floor. And when the piece ended and you came to rest in graceful position in his arms… he suddenly went down on one knee and cupped one of your hands with his as you looked up at you like the most blessed man on the planet. Your heart skipped a beat when he spoke your name. All of a sudden, the room went so still one could have heard a needle drop.

“Will you do me the honour and become my wife? Let me be yours as you will be mine and let us fill this house with nothing but love and harmony.” You never realised there were tears swimming in your eyes—not until they rolled down your cheeks and wetted the fabric of the thin crimson mask you were wearing.

“Yes!” You cried out. “Yes!” Thomas smiled. As the party guests started to clap around you with Ah’s and Oh’s, he scooped you up into his arms, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“And tomorrow morning…” He whispered into your ear, “I shall buy you the most beautiful engagement ring that England has to offer.”

“You don’t have to buy me an expensive ring, Thomas. Actually…” Your face lit up. “Now that your workshop is done, would you craft one for me?”

His laugh tore through your heart like a tornado. You were right, of course—a hand-crafted engagement ring would be more personal and precious than anything a jeweller could make.

“Did I tell you that I love you?”

“Many, many times. And I love you too. More than anything.”

Your audience cheered even louder when you kissed once more, hugging so tightly not even a thin piece of parchment would have had any space between you.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe imagine #thomas sharpe fluff #thomas sharpe x you #thomas sharpe x reader #sir thomas sharpe #sir thomas sharpe imagine #sir thomas sharpe fluff #sir thomas sharpe x you #sir thomas sharpe x reader #crimson peak #crimson peak imagine #tom hiddleston

[thatdoctorharvey]

Flowers?

All I have to say is; I’m sorry.

Kudos to @soft-bois-make-me-simp for assisting with the idea. Don’t worry man, we can collab on another story!

Please listen to this while you read this!

There were only three times that Harvey would remember enjoying flowers. He usually wasn’t one for them, not because he was allergic or anything, he just didn’t find the reason to desire them.

Roses are red

The day he first knew he had feelings for you. He always said it was the best day of his life. He will never forget that day; the day you brought him wine on his birthday. You two had occasionally spoken from time to time, but it was really nothing super deep. You had opened up to him about a few things that you hadn’t told anyone else but not super personal. Mostly just little quirks you hated about yourself. He remembered blushing every time as everything you named seemed to be things he liked.

“So, how about a birthday dinner tonight Harv? I’m sure you can’t remember the last time you had a real meal.” You offered.

He was reluctant to answer at first, not wanting to be a bother, but he did hate his current diet and knew he needed to change it up a bit, even if his stomach might not agree with the sudden change from pre-packaged meals to home cooking.

“That...Sounds nice. Thank you.”

And boy was it nice. It was quite obvious you knew that he needed real food because you made more than enough for him just to make sure he had leftovers. He almost felt bad but you had insisted he needed it. You both knew it would be gone tomorrow. You secretly knew, he -- as a man -- had quite the appetite and had held back eating as much as he could with you around.

You left late that night, but left behind some flowers you had grown on the farm. They sat in a vase on the table, right next to his radio equipment.

“Feel free to get a hold of me if you need anything Harvey. Doctors deserve to be taken care of as well.”

Those words never left him. “Doctor’s deserve to be taken care of as well.” You cared about him and actually wanted to make sure he was doing okay. As suspected, you two grew closer after that. He started to become a lot more anxious but never made a move. 

What if you only wanted to be friends? That would be super awkward…

Violets are blue

The day you gave him the bouquet, he cried. Never had he felt so relieved and excited at the same time. You like him. No, you loved him. You. The precious farmer.

“A-are you sure? I’m so much older a-and there’s so many oth-”

“Harvey. I’ve made my choice.” You kissed his cheek. “I don’t want anyone else. They just aren’t my type.”

Fifty shades of red his face was. There was no denying that for sure. He was a tomato and a strawberry at the same time.

He’s never hugged you so tight either. Even when you brought the pendant to him (he was more gentle then). He just wished the flowers in the bouquet didn’t wilt. Joys of having live flowers though.

That and every month, you brought him a new bouquet. Not the exact same one, but you had started growing flowers specifically to make bouquets on your monthly anniversaries. 

My heart is dead 

The bouquets continued, even after marriage. Now, you just added an extra day and made sure the bouquets on your wedding anniversary were extra colorful. It was how you showed him how much you loved him.

He adored this. A lot. It always made his day, even if the day was actual garbage. Coming home to you was always enough to make him happy, but coming home to a bouquet on the table, dinner being cooked, and the sound of you humming...Oh it just made his heart melt. Even after almost five years of it.

They always reminded him of the wedding -- the last time he recalled loving flowers. You had made sure your bouquet was the brightest thing in existence, jokingly saying you wanted the attention to be on that instead of your face. He still scolds you for that. Playfully of course.

I'm such a fool

He couldn’t recall when things started to go downhill. Things had been okay for so long that he didn’t see it at first. He knew you were busy so he never thought much of it when you would come home late.

Until you started coming home drunk.

There were times he would wonder where you were or why you were drinking...But for a while, he didn’t think to ask who you were drinking with. When he found out you and Shane had been growing closer, he got jealous. He knew you wouldn’t leave him, but the anxiety started to build. You were starting to pass out drunk on the way home or you and Shane would fall asleep at the bar.

Of course, he had to confront you about it. Not in a mean way, at least he thought he didn’t.

“It’s not okay for you to be doing that? Do you know how bad that is for you and how bad of an influence he is?”

Wrong answer.

“You don’t even know him. You just cared about making ends meet and didn’t really listen to him.”

Why did I fall for you?

He was grateful you had started to listen to him after that. You came home at night sober, but you began to distance yourself. In fact, you had begun to hang out with everyone but him. You stopped making the bouquets. You stopped giving him gifts. It soon came to a point where he felt like you wanted nothing to do with him. He felt empty and felt he had to make it up to you.

He messed up right? He could fix this...He had to.

I gave it all for you

Dinner every night was a pain, but he did it. He always made sure yours was hot, even when you came home at 1 am. He would be there, taking it out of the microwave. Dishes were always done. The house was always clean and very tidy. Farm was always taken care of. He really worked his ass off to make sure you were happy.

But it wasn’t enough.

You kept pushing yourself further and further from him. It eventually got to the point where you slept on the couch just to avoid him.

It was when he found the letter on your nightstand that he knew there was no fixing this.

So, knowing he wasn’t welcome, he packed his stuff and went back to his apartment above the clinic. Maru, who Harvey had been talking to about everything when things started to go south, helped him get settled back into his old home. She was the one who held him when he cried that night and she was the one who made sure he ate something before bed. She even told him to let her know if she needed to work more at the clinic, not wanting him to be pushed too much.

He was appreciative, but knew his work would be the only thing that would take his mind off of you.

Love around my neck starting to feel like the noose

The words lingered in his head for days. Every sentence filled him with hurt. What had he done wrong? Was he really that boring and unattractive? Should he have just given up at the beginning? Did you ever really love him?

Why did this happen to him?

He lost weight from his loss of appetite. He knew it was unhealthy, especially when people began to notice, but he always said he had started to work a bit harder to get physically fit and the results were starting to show. He didn’t want anyone to know how hurt he really was. Maru knew, and if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have eaten.

He numbed himself to relationships of any kind. He once was very close with his patients, now he just saw them as his next visit. Even with Maru. He only saw her as an employee.

All of the lies starting to feel like the truth

He began to drink. He knew it would hurt him more, but his heart hurt all the time. He had no one to turn to when he really needed to talk, as everyone was asleep by then...But not you. You were always awake. He would hear you stumble out of the bar, laughing with at least one other person. You were drunk too, but you got to enjoy your time. He didn’t.

“Why me?”

At the end of the day, bitch, I'm not feeling you

After so long, he began to get used to the sound of you going home drunk. In fact, it worried him when you didn’t.

It started as just one night, no big deal. But then two...three...seven...twelve…

People began to look worried. No one had seen or heard from the town’s dear farmer in nearly two weeks.

The search parties started. Being himself, Harvey made sure to go. Yes, you hurt him, but by God what he would give for you to just run back into his arms and say how much you love him.

You playing with my heart, you made me look like a fool

He hated that he had been the one to find you. There was no doubt in his mind that you were gone; your skin a gray/blue color and flies around you. What killed you, he didn’t know. Only an autopsy would tell him.

At least until he further examined you.

A rather large wound on your abdomen. It was much too big to be treated on your own, but by the looks of it, you had tried to stitch it closed.

...You died because you refused to go to him for help and bled out...

This, a tragedy, it may end up on the news

The funeral was a sad one. It rained that day. Hard. Everyone in town was there too. Everyone. You had grown so close to everyone in your time away from Harvey. They all cared so much about you and our death hit hard.

It was also at the funeral where he realized how bad he had messed up. You hadn’t just been getting closer to Shane, you were getting closer to everyone. They all said a little bit of the stuff you did for them, mostly just helping out with tasks and small favors. You had started staying with Shane at the bar because he talked more when he was drunk and you had started getting drunk with him because it helped him open up. You were just trying to help him.

And Sam. You were helping him learn how to play cooler songs on the guitar and even showed him a couple cool tricks on the skateboard.

Abigail and Pierre had finally begun to form a bit of a stronger bond because you had been helping them talk through their differences.

You had been doing so much and he basically said you were cheating on him.

So, there he stood, watching the casket be lowered into the hole, and then buried. Many tears were shed. Many. Everyone knew the town wouldn’t be the same without you there. Especially Harvey.

At the end of the day, I don't wanna be with you

It rained today too.

“You still looked beautiful that day.” Harvey said softly, arranging the bouquet in his hand. All the flowers were brightly colored. Not as bright as you would have wished, but he was trying his best. “The flowers just enhanced your beauty.”

He stood in front of the tombstone, a large frown on his face. It had been even years since you had passed now, and he wasn’t doing any better. He still cried a lot, but now, it was more just a feeling. He couldn’t bring himself to get over you.

He slowly set the bouquet down against the silver tombstone, making sure you would be able to see it from the heavens.

“Happy Anniversary (y/n). I’m sorry I wasn’t a better husband to you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you.” He slipped his glasses off his face and fell to his knees, letting the tears fall. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t believe you! I’m sorry I let my feelings take over! I’m sorry I couldn’t trust you! I love you so much!”

Loud sobs left his mouth, his tears blending with the rain as they fell to the ground. His heart, for the millionth time, shattered before him.

“Harvey?” A soft voice asked.

The doctor wiped his eyes and turned his head slightly. At this point, everyone had seen him like this. He didn’t care anymore.

It was none other than Abigail behind him, an umbrella above her head and a spare one at her side.

“Hey, it’s okay. We all miss her.” She said and handed him her spare umbrella. “We’re all worried about you too. You aren’t the same.” She sat beside him. “We all arranged something to help you. Come to the saloon so we can tell you, please.”

Harvey looked to Abigail, and then back to the bouquet. You wouldn't want him to be sad. You hated seeing him cry. Maybe this was a sign from you.

“...O-okay...Thank you...Just, give me another moment. I-I’ll be there.” He mumbled, trying to hold back sobs.

Abigail nodded and stood, letting him have a moment while she told everyone what was going on. Harvey sat there a moment longer, wiping his eyes to rid them of the tears. He sniffed once more before saying the same thing he did every year. The poem you had written for him. Part of it at least. It was a reminder to the both of you that he knew he messed up.

“Roses are red...Violets are blue...My heart is...is dead...I...I’m such a fool…”

The tears came back.

“I’m such a fool.”

#stardew valley harvey #harvey #harvey x reader #sdvharvey #stardew valley #harvey story #stv #angst

[etoileholland]

Seeing Double

Anonymous asked: Hello, my dear, got a fun ask! Tom meets up with reader except it’s actually reader’s twin cousin, maybe aunt (some people get the good genes) and they react defensively when he tries to be affectionate which confuses him at first thinking he did something wrong and tries to win her back over but it gets cleared up in the end

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Warnings: none :) 

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: I’m so sorry this request is a while overdue, but it’s better late than never I suppose. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist :)

“I cannot believe this.” You muttered to yourself as you hung up the phone with your aunt, Manon. She had just called to say that her and her daughter, Chloé, have come up from France to visit via train. It wouldn’t have been a problem, except for the fact that they had once again shown up unannounced. 

You walked into the living room of yours and Tom’s shared home to see Tom sitting on the couch, laptop on his lap. He was typing away vigorously at the keyboard, and you knew that when he’s this focused, you shouldn’t bother him. 

“Babe,” you said, hoping to try to get Tom’s attention for a second. 

“Hmm?” He hummed, not looking up from the laptop. 

“I just got off the phone with my aunt. She called to say that she’s at St. Pancras and they’ve dropped by for an unexpected visit.” 

“Oh.” Tom replied. 

“Yeah, oh indeed.” You answered. “I don’t want them taking an Uber so I’m gonna pick them up, but I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay love, drive carefully.” He didn’t bother looking up from the laptop, eyes fixed to the screen. 

Walking over to the front door and letting yourself out, you went outside to your car in the driveway. After starting it, you drove to the station to greet your family. 

You loved when your aunt and cousin visited, but you wished that they had called you before so that you would’ve had time to prepare. You desperately needed groceries and the guest room could’ve been spruced up a bit, but luckily they weren’t too pretentious. Still though, a call before they left France would’ve been nice. 

You hadn’t seen them in a long time, and you wondered if you and your cousin Chloé still looked nearly identical to each other. The resemblance was uncanny, so much in fact that your own parents had a hard time telling each other apart. Everything was nearly identical, even down to fashion choices and mannerisms. It was all fun and games until you were almost always the one about to go back to France, and not your cousin. 

When you were both children, it was easier to tell you both apart because of the accents. She definitely had a French accent while you didn’t. Well at least, until  you taught the other how to speak each other’s language without an accent; her English being spoken without a French accent and your French being spoken like a native.

You two were the same age, same height, your body shapes were similar, and you both even had the exact same birthmark on your arm. So really, you two were more like twins than you were cousins. 

Upon arriving at the train station, you easily spotted your cousin and aunt, luggage in tow. Even after not seeing each other for a few years, and not knowing what the other was wearing, you and your cousin still managed to even dress the same-both of you wearing a pink hoodie and black leggings, with white sneakers. How odd. 

“Mon ange, t’es très belle.” Your aunt cooed, running to you to give you a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. 

“Merci.” You replied, hugging her tightly. She was more of like a mother figure to you than she was to your cousin Chloé, since Chloé tended to be a bit less affectionate. That was another way that your parents could tell you apart, which was by how affectionate you were, and how unaffectionate Chloé was. She was stereotypically French in many ways, except she wasn’t affectionate. If you tried to hug her, she would stand there stiffly, while you loved being hugged. 

With that in mind, all you did was wave to Chloé, which was her favourite way of greeting people. 

“I still can’t believe you actually live here.” She remarked. 

“What, as in England? You know I love it here.”

“But everything is weird here. The food, the accents, the culture…” she trailed off, while you laughed lightly. 

“I don’t think so, personally I love it.” You said as you grabbed her luggage and began to walk to the car. 

“My love,” your aunt interjected, “don’t be rude. We’ve talked about this, yeah?” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Chloé replied as she got into the car. 

“Ignore her.” Manon whispered to you, “she’s just French” which got a laugh out of the both of you. 

—

About an hour or so later, you had arrived back to your home with Manon and Chloé, luggage in hand. Tom wasn’t where you had last seen him before you left for the station, but maybe he had gone to clean the guest room. Or at least, you hoped he did. 

“Chloé, since I’m pretty sure the guest room needs to be tidied, you can just put your luggage in my bedroom instead.” You pointed at the door that was slightly ajar. 

“Merci.” She grabbed their luggage and walked towards the door of your bedroom, opening it to see your boyfriend sat on the bed. 

“Hey baby.” He looked up from the laptop screen and gave a smile, all while Chloé looked at him funny. She completely ignored what he had said and walked to the closet to set the bags down. 

“I said, hello baby.” He pouted, but Chloé stared at him, silent as she walked out of the room.

“Well, that was odd.” Tom remarked under his breath, but didn’t think twice about it as he went back to typing. 

—

After settling in a bit, you and your aunt Manon had tidied up the guest room, all while Chloé had a snack in the kitchen. 

After rummaging through the nearly bare cabinets, and scoffing at the English snacks in the cabinets, Chloé settled on a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee to help combat the jet lag. 

Just then, you and Manon entered the room, jackets and purses in hand. 

“Hey, we’re gonna go get some groceries for the household, do you wanna come with?” You asked Chloé, but she shook her head no. 

“You know I hate grocery shopping.” She remarked, scrunching her nose at the thought of going to the shops. 

“Right, just wanted to ask.” You hesitated, taking a step back. “If there’s anything you want though from the store, just text me. And can you let Tom know that I’m heading out? He’s busy working so I haven’t seen him since we arrived, but I presume he’s in our bedroom.” 

“Alright.” She replied flatly.

“Great. See you in about an hour or so.” And with that, you and your aunt had left the house, leaving Chloé alone. 

The house felt eerily empty, and she was beginning to regret not tagging along with you and her mom. She disregarded the thought as she went to take a sip of her coffee, nearly letting out a scream when she burnt her tongue on the hot liquid. She quickly spit out the drink, but the drops got on her shirt.

“Putain,” Chloé muttered under her breath, “fuck.” She walked over to the kitchen sink, hoping to get the stain out of the shirt. It somewhat worked, but now the shirt was soaked, and she hated the sensation of wearing wet clothing. 

“Now I’ve gotta change.” She said to herself, walking out of the kitchen and back into your bedroom. 

Remembering that she had last seen Tom in your bedroom, she knocked first before waiting a second to make sure the room was empty. She heard nothing, so she cracked the door open to take a peek inside. Tom must’ve moved to another part of the house, so she walked in there to change. She stopped in her tracks as she noticed your closet door open, all while one shirt caught her eye. She grabbed it off the rack and walked over to the mirror to see if it looked good on her. 

It was Tom’s white Saint Laurent shirt with the name of the brand embroidered in cursive on the front. Chloé held it up to her, noticing that it would fit her perfectly.

That shirt happened to be one of your favourites to borrow from Tom, and you wore it so much that he gave it to you. He always said that shirt looked better on you anyway.

She pulled the shirt over her head, admiring in the mirror how good the shirt looked on her. The shirt was a little long, but it was extremely comfortable. She heard a little knock on the door and looked back to see Tom standing in the doorway.

“Darling, you know I love that shirt on you.” He walked towards Chloé, and she took a step back. Tom looked at her puzzled, while she gave him the same confused look back.

“Listen, I know you’re stressed that your family showed up unannounced, but there’s no reason to be mad at me.” He said as he tried to put his arms around her waist. Chloé then shimmied out of his grasp and held his arms away from her.

“I am not Y/N.” She stated, and Tom laughed.

“Sure you’re not, like I’m not Tom.” He smirked and she shook her head.

“I promise I’m not Y/N.” She said again, but he looked at her like she said that the sun didn’t exist.

“God you are acting weird today.” He tried to pull her into an embrace but she shoved lightly at his chest.

“Get off of me, you idiot. I am not your lover!” She exclaimed, while Tom just was silent.

He backed up, walked out of the room and stood in the hallway. There was no way that wasn’t Y/N, he knows his girlfriend and that clearly is her.

I know she’s just stressed, so I’ll order her some fish and chips from the shop down the way, he thought to himself.

—

While at Tesco, you and your aunt shopped for an hour, easily losing track of the time while you wandered the aisles. 

“Mon ange, you know I love spending time with you.” Manon stated as she browsed the aisles of pasta. 

“And I love spending time with you.” You added, lightly touching her arm. “I wonder how Chloé is handling it at home.” You remarked as you shared a glance, shrugging your shoulders while continuing to shop.

—

“What the hell is this?” Chloé picked at the food on her plate, scrunching her nose as she picked at the food.

“Okay you’ve gotta quit this, you know you love it when I order fish and chips for you.”

“This looks like shit, and I have no idea why you Brits think this is...how do I say, edible.” She seethed, not wincing when she saw Tom’s face contort into a frown.

“Okay, that does it! I thought you would like it.” 

“Why would you think I would like this? I can think of many other things I would rather eat, even dog food would be more appetizing than this.” She pushed the plate away, and stood up from the table. 

Tom sat there, in shock of what to do. You were never this rude to him, and you loved when he ordered from the fish and chips shop from down the way. But yet, he didn’t think of the fact that maybe, just maybe, that she wasn’t you. Then again why would he? He still hadn’t met your family since he’s been busy all day, so of course the thought never crossed his mind.

“Listen, why are you making this so difficult? I’m trying to do something nice for you since I know you’re stressed out, and what do I get? A defensive girlfriend who keeps insisting that we’re not together and god that hurts.” He sat down, defeated. He placed his face in his hands and let out a sigh. 

Tom was so upset that he didn’t even hear you and your aunt walk in through the front door. Upon walking in, you both were silent as you were trying to figure out what was upsetting Tom. So, you two stood in the hallway near the kitchen so you could hear the conversation without being seen. 

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Or do you genuinely not love me anymore?” He whispered, not looking up at her face.

Chloé looked at him, remorse written all over her face. She didn’t say anything, but just sat across from him at the kitchen table.

“Y/N, please answer me.” He pleaded. She looked at him confused, now finally making the connection that he really did think she was Y/N. She figured he was joking before, but upon seeing his reaction now, she knew she had taken it too far. 

You stood by the entrance way shocked, as you wondered why he thought Chloé was you, but then you realised that Tom hadn’t seen the both of you together in the same room. He’d been busy all day, and you’ve been gone for most of the day as well.  And if your own parents couldn’t tell you apart, what made you think your boyfriend could? Once you realised that he mixed the two of you up, you and Manon looked at each other, signaling that you both should walk into the kitchen. He was hunched over the table, head in his hands as a tear rolled down his face. 

“Baby?” You walked over to him, hugging him as he pressed his head to your stomach. His eyes were closed and you could feel the tears staining your shirt. You looked over at Chloé, while she looked at you sympathetically.

“Why are you being so sweet all of the sudden?” He asked and you looked at him bewildered.

“Darling, what are you talking about?” You tried to step back, but he held you closer to him.

“You’ve been mean to me all day, ignoring me,” sniffle “and not appreciating when I did something nice for you.” He sobbed. You didn’t know that Chloé was being rude to him, but it’s something you should’ve expected. 

“Baby, I’ve been busy all day cleaning up the guest room, and I went to the store with my aunt.” You said and he shot his head up.

“What?” He asked as he looked at the both of you, nearly jumping out of his seat when he realised that you both looked identical.

“Chloé, I told you to tell him that I went grocery shopping, why didn’t you do that?” 

She just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Je sais pas, j’ai oublié.” 

“I know you didn’t forget.” You retorted, translating what she said so Tom would understand.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t, but you gotta admit it was pretty hilarious to have him think I was you all this time.” She smirked. 

“You’re terrible.” You laughed, although it was a little bit funny. 

“I know.” 

“Also, why are you wearing his, well, my shirt?” You asked, and Chloé looked down while she tugged at the bottom hem. 

“Oh, I spilled coffee on my shirt and needed something to change into. And I saw this shirt and I liked it, so now I’m wearing it.” She replied matter of factly.

“Now I can see why there’s been some confusion, I always wear that shirt.” 

“Which is why I thought it was you when I saw you wearing it, but now I feel stupid.” Tom replied, face still buried at your stomach. You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him relax against your touch.

“You’re not stupid darling, I can see why you got us both mixed up. Even our own parents could hardly tell us apart.” You said while Chloé agreed with you. 

“It’s true, you don’t know how many times we’ve both almost ended up in the wrong country.” She replied. 

“But now it makes a lot of sense why she kept saying I wasn’t her lover.” Tom muttered while your eyes widened.

“So wait, even after she denied it, you still thought she was me?” You questioned. 

“Yes,” Chloé chimed in, “I told him I wasn’t his lover but he didn’t believe me.” 

“You can’t really blame me though, you failed to mention that you and your cousin are nearly identical. How was I supposed to know?” Tom asked, eyes flickering back and forth to look at you and Chloé. 

“It’s okay darling, now you know.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head while he held onto your waist. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He laughed and pulled you closer to him, all while Chloé and Manon laughed. 

——

mes petits anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow​ @fangirlwithasweettooth​ @taciturnspidey​ @harrysleftchelseaboot​ @quaksonhehe​ @halfblood-princess-505​

#tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland and y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland and you #tom holland and reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland one shots #tom holland writing #mine #text

[moondustis]

sweet (m)

pairing: jung jaehyun + reader genre: smut, fluff word count: 2k summary: Dinner nights, wine, vinyl records and falling in love. song rec: sweet by cigarettes after sex 

It’s a good night. One that you had been needing for a long time, considering getting to see Jaehyun was becoming a very hard thing to achieve these days because of both of yours hectic routines. So it’s nice getting a night to spend with him, and him alone, with no intruding roommates, no phone calls and no schedules ruining everything. 

He cooks dinner and it’s nothing too fancy, just ramen with a few extra things but it’s still good enough. Better that you two eat it while catching up on everything you hadn’t been able to talk about in the last few weeks, a half empty bottle of wine going away with the food. He talks about album preparations, showing you the pictures he can from the photoshoot they did, blushing all the way to his ears when you say he looks handsome. You talk about work and how one of your coworkers had been annoying you and he plays the boyfriend role perfectly by cursing her out for you. 

After the food is done and you are both already feeling a little lighter from the wine, the night moves to his bedroom, where you watch as he goes through his still small vinyl collection, passing by some of his favorites before he finally decides on cigarettes after sex, one that you had also became to like because he played it before bed every time you came over. 

“Should we drink some white wine?” He asks, getting up from the floor and stretching his arms above his head. He’s wearing just a simple black t-shirt that runs too big for him and pyjama pants, but you think he looks as attractive as ever. “I got a bottle this week.” 

“Trying to get me drunk?” You tease, making him chuckle as he moves to the wine cooler he has in the corner of his room. Grabbing the bottle, he pours enough to get one glass full, sipping on it before he’s offering it to you. 

“”M just trying to set a romantic mood.” He jokes because you both know there’s no need for that, with how you’re already in his bed with a slow song playing. You’re wrapped around his fingers, and he’s wrapped around yours. You happily take the wine glass from him, humming at the slightly bitter, but nice taste. 

“This is really good.” You point out, raising the glass for him to take. You remember when he used to not like wine at all, the thought making you realize how much he had changed and matured. How much you both had. 

He hums. “Right? I think I just became a full on wine sommelier.” To humor you he does the full theatricals of letting the wine swirl on the glass before he’s drinking it, your soft laugh filling the room.

It’s when the sixth track starts playing and you’re already a bit tipsy, that you start feeling a little emotional. You remember on the beginning of your relationship, when you met him through a common friend and just immediately clicked. It was easy to fall for him, with his silly jokes and boyish charm, it felt natural. And even if doubts filled both of your minds, yours afraid that the small but still there age difference would make it not work, and him scared that his busy routine wouldn’t allow it to be more than a what if, you had managed to stay together for almost a year now.

And now, inside his room, with his favorite songs playing and your mind floating a little from the wine, you feel like you’re in your own world. And as you watch him sing softly to the words, his face bare and hair pushed back, you think you fall a little more in love. No one is perfect, you know that, but Jaehyun comes pretty close to it, because there’s no other person you know that is so kind and passionate, and so gentle especially when it comes to you. No one had ever treated you with so much care and so much love, and your heart swoons and beats a little faster as you call him over to where you’re laying on the bed. 

He approaches you with a tiny smile on his lips, his knees pressing on the bed as he hovers over you, and it may be the wine making you feel a bit touchy, but you can’t help but bring him closer with your arms behind his neck. You let yourself drown in the feeling of his proximity, humming quietly as he traces your cheek with his nose before he lets it bump yours, a silly smile crossing both of your faces. “Feeling sleepy?” He asks in a whisper and you shake your head, because even if you are a little bit, you want to enjoy your time with him as much as you can. 

“Nope.” Is all you say, nudging your nose with his before you’re finally pressing your lips together. It’s a soft kiss, as the moment requires, the press of your lips together as you fit you bottom lip between his. You know he’ll deepen it before he even tilts his head, because you want it as much he does.

The kiss is still slow but now his tongue slides against yours, the taste of the wine you both had very much present, making your head spin a little. You moan when he crawls closer to you, pressing his front to yours and when your head rolls back, falling into the pillow, he uses it as an opportunity to move his kisses to your neck. 

“Been wanting you all week.” He confesses, low against your neck, before he’s biting gently at it. He knows you’re sensitive there, in fact, he knows you like the back of his hand. Knows exactly where to touch you and what to say to get you how he wants. 

With his hips flush to yours, you move your hands to grab at his face and bring him close to yours again. “Me too.” Is all you say before the kiss turns into something needier and rougher but still in a pace that makes you squirm. You want to feel of him, his perfume making you dizzy and with the first tentative roll of his hips you are already a little desperate, wine always did that to you and he knows it too. His hands move to your thighs caressing them, before he’s dipping inside your dress, fingers gripping at the exposed flesh and helping you hook your legs on his back. “Please, Jae. Want you inside.” 

He moves hastily to get his t-shirt off, and you can’t help but watch the silver necklace hanging on his naked chest. The rest of your clothes stay on, because even if you had all the time in the world to remove them and completely feel each other, the desperation after being apart for so long was the only thing filling both of your minds. “Want me to fill you up, huh?” His voice is low as he lets his pants down just enough to let his cock out, and you watch as he rolls the condom out, mouth comically watering with you much you want him. “Have to get you ready first.” 

“No — No, please, just fuck me. ”You beg, pushing him closer with your legs. He falls forward, hands on each side of your head as he presses another kiss to your parted lips, tasting you with his tongue. 

Moving one hand between your bodies, you grip at his hardness, stroking it slowly as you swallow the moan he lets against your mouth. He always makes the most beautiful sounds, that make you clench around nothing as arousal fills your mind. “God.” He whispers when you press him against your folds, guiding him inside finally as he watches with glazed eyes. “That’s it, baby, put me in”

It’s blissful when he’s finally inside, a shared moan being let out by the two of you, your nails pressing on his back as he gives you the first stroke of his hips. You feel snug against him and you know he likes it by the way he eyes roll a little to the back of his head. “Fuck — always feels so good, baby.” He groans, hands gripping at your hips as he sets on a pace. That was the best part of doing this, the way that he would always let it get to him and make him spill anything that came to his mind. You loved his voice, loved the praise and the filthy things he would say. 

“You too — Ah, you’re so deep.” That makes him press a deeper thrust inside of you, his breath coming out heavier. 

“Yeah? Can feel me in your tummy?” You clench around him at that and it only makes him fuck you deeper, with slow snaps of his hips. A deep moan leaves his mouth as he moves one palm to your mound, where you can actually feel him and he can too. “God — so tight, so fucking tight.” 

Your hands more around frantically, looking for leverage before finally settling on the rumpled bed sheets. You watch with eyes barely open as his hand moves from your stomach to his lips, pushing two of his fingers inside his mouth, wetting them before he’s pressing it to your clit, circling it in the same pace as he fucks you. Your whole body feels like it’s been electrified and with a couple more thrusts, the knot forming on your lower stomach finally snaps with his name on your lips and your back arching. 

He holds you as you shake and flutter against him, but his hips don’t stop moving, not until he too is coming with a low grunt, stilling inside of you as his cock pulses and he empties himself on the condom. 

His whole body falls onto yours, warmth involving you completely as he catches his breath, face tucked against your neck.  “Fuck. Love you so much.” His words are muffled but they still make you feel giddy inside.

“I love you too, baby.” You say with a giggle when he lets himself plop on the small space left on his bed, messily removing the condom, tying it up and throwing it in the trash before he tucks himself inside his pants again. 

After awhile you get up from the bed with a huff, tidying your dress and hair.  “Gonna pee?” He asks and you nod in reply, rushing to his bathroom so you can come back and cuddle quicker. 

You notice that the album is coming to an end when you return to the bedroom. Jaehyun has his eyes closed, still shirtless and with one arm behind his head. You ponder throwing yourself into him, but decide against it, instead laying yourself gently by his side and he immediately brings you closer by circling his arms around you. 

He hums deep in his chest when you hug him back, his warmth involving you again and you feel extremely content and safe. “Can’t believe it’s our one year anniversary next month.” He mutters, voice a little dreamy and you mimic the feeling with an exhale.

“Me neither.” Time has gone by so fast and at the same time not at all. It felt like yesterday you saw him smiling with his dimples out for the first time, but if also felt like you had been with him for a lot longer than that. “I feel like I’ve known you longer than that, thought.” 

He hums in agreement, fingers drawing circles on your back. “Uhm, me too.” 

The final chords of the album play in the back and you both stay in silence, basking in the blissful feeling of an orgasm mixed with the slightly slowness of being drunk. When the song stops completely the only sounds that fill the room are from the air conditioner and both of yours heartbeats. You listen to it until you’re falling asleep, warm in Jaehyun’s arms. 

#jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #nct smut #nct scenarios #commission #:)

[adachicuto]

day by day

a/n: sort of struggled with the ending but hope it’s okay

pairing: hui x reader (gender neutral)

rating: angst and fluff

word count: 1,421

warnings: food and wine mention.

  To be hardworking means being able to get tasks done once they were started. Unfortunately, sometimes one can become too focused on a task that they forget to take care of themselves or events.

 That was the case for Hui.

 There was so much that needed to be done, deadlines to be met and tracks to be sampled. Honestly, it was too much at times but Hui tried his best to push the tiredness away and continue to work hard. He knew that all of the late nights and early mornings were worth it.

 Most days you would wake up to see his side of the bed empty but some days you were lucky enough to catch him before he crossed the threshold. You groggily wiped the sleep from your eyes as you walked to the bathroom. Once you were done with your morning routine, you quickly made your way to the kitchen where you found Hui.

 His back was to you as he poured himself a cup of coffee. When you figured he was done, you walked towards him and placed a kiss on his cheek. A chuckle escaped Hui as he pulled you into his arms.

 “Good morning,” he gently cupped one side of your face.

 Your eyes closed for a second at his touch, “Morning. Headed to the studio?”

 Hui hummed, “Yeah, there’s so much that needs to be done before next week,” he frowned but a smile quickly took its place, “I’ll try to get home early, okay?”

 You nodded. Sleep was still in his eyes as he sipped his coffee. For a moment, you took in his current state. Bags were forming under his eyes and his shoulders seemed tense. A sigh left your lips as you soothingly rubbed his back, trying to somehow melt away his worries and give him enough energy to get through the time he was going to spend at the studio.

 Hui checked the time on his phone and his eyes grew wide.

   He hurriedly pulled on a sweater and kissed you, “I love you.”

 “Love you too.”  

****

 Morning melted into the afternoon and the once cloudy sky became clear. You spent the rest of the day tidying up around your shared apartment and got a bit of work done. Dinner was nearly done when you heard a few knocks on the door. You quickly stirred the pot before you opened the door.

 You were met with a laughing group of boys. Wooseok and Shinwon were laughing at something on Hyunggu’s phone while Yuto only shook his head, remnants of a smile on his face. Once they all calmed down, they greeted you and you invited them in. All of you filed into your, sort of, tiny kitchen, and complete silence settled over all of you.

 You looked at the boys questioningly as they all avoided your gaze.

 “C’mon, what’s wrong? You were all laughing just a few minutes ago?”

 Shinwon exhaled, “We think Hui forgot about your anniversary.”

 With furrowed brows, you continued to cook. Hui couldn’t have forgotten but the more you thought about you concluded that he forgot. You looked at the time and your phone and it was half-past eight. Slowly, you put down the spoon you were holding and faced the boys.

 “He did but it’s okay.”

 It only took a minute before you rushed around the kitchen in search of a reusable container to put food in. When you finally found a container you realized it was too high up and Wooseok helped you get it. You thanked him and told all of them to help themselves to the food while you tugged on sneakers and a hoodie.

 “Please lock the door behind you if I’m not back soon,” you hurriedly filled a container with food, “I’m gonna check on Hui, okay?”

 The boys barely heard you as they helped themselves to the food. With a smile and a shake of your head, you left.

****

 Within about thirty minutes, you arrived at the studio. On the way, you were met with a little rain and managed to wait it out under the awning of an Italian restaurant which is where you able to score a bottle of wine and dessert. That was enough to make your smile grow.

 The smile on your face never wavered during your walk. Yes, Hui may have forgotten your fourth anniversary but it wasn’t the end of the world. You knew that he was so focused on meeting deadlines so, it was understandable that he forgot. It didn’t change anything between you.

  As you took the elevator up you received a text from Hyunggu and the others. The text included a picture of an empty pot and you could only shake your head.  The elevator dinged and before you knew it, you were stood outside the door of the boys’ studio.

 Quietly, you entered and were met with a focused Hui with headphones on that you bought him a few birthdays ago. The studio was clean aside from an empty takeout box, from lunch you assumed, and a few disposable coffee cups.

 Careful not to disturb him, you threw away the trash and crept up behind and rested your hands on his shoulders. Hui jumped slightly and you placed a hand on your mouth to muffle your laughter. Once the initial shock wore off, he took off the headphones, hair all over his head, and turned in his chair to face you.

 “You scared me,” he let out a breathy laugh, “what are you doing here?”

 You fixed his hair and he leaned into your touch, gaze stuck on you. Hui stifled a yawn and you slowly pulled your hand away to place it on his cheek.

“Just thought I’d bring you dinner,” you sat the containers down, “it’s our favorite.”

 Hui grinned at the food and his brows narrowed in confusion at the wine.

 “I could definitely use a glass,” he gestured towards the bottle, “but what are we celebrating?”

 Hui searched his brain for something that he forgot and at first, he came up short but then he remembered the date. It almost felt like his heart had dropped and it rendered him speechless. His hands rubbed at his face before he rested his face in his hands. How he was able to forget such an important date was beyond him and he couldn’t help but beat himself up.

 It only took him a few strides across the room to reach you and pull you into a hug. For a moment, there was only silence until you heard, and felt, a sob shake through Hui. As gently as you could, you untangled yourself from him a bit and watched the tears fall.

 “Hui, it’s okay.”

 He sniffled and tried to compose himself, “No. It’s not. I shouldn’t have forgotten. I wanted it to be perfect.”

 You could slowly feel a pang in your chest. Everyone forgets things, which you voiced, but you didn���t want him to be so hard on himself about it. Sure, it was your anniversary but it wasn’t a big deal that he forgot because you knew that he had a lot on his plate. There was still time for both of you to celebrate.

 “Hey, it’s fine. We can still have dinner,” you used your thumb to wipe away a few tears, “please don’t feel bad about this.”

 Hui nodded, “I just wanted this to be special, you know,” he fished around in his pocket and pulled out a little velvet box.

 “And it is,” you kissed him softly, “whether or not you planned something, my answer would always be the same, Hui.”

 Hui opened the box to reveal a beautiful ring. He looked from the box to you with a questioning gaze on his face and all it took was a nod from you for the brightest of smiles to form on his face. Once the ring was placed on your finger, Hui drew you into the sweetest kiss.

 Hui pulled away to saying something but was interrupted by cheers from the door. The two of you both turned to see what was going on and were met with the rest of the boys.

 You laughed and rested your head on Hui’s shoulder before you looked up at him. He didn’t look so tense anymore and you were thankful for that. Yes, there were different scenarios of how things could have turned out but neither of you would have changed anything.

#i feel like there was sooo much dialogue #pentagon scenarios #pentagon imagines #pentagon #pentagon au #pentagon fluff #pentagon hui #ptg #ptg au #ptg fluff #ptg scenarios #ptg imagines #hui #hui au #hui fluff #hui scenarios #hui imagines

[inkwell1013]

Snapshots - Persona 5

Pairings: Yusuke Kitagawa & Yusuke Kitagawa’s mother, Yusuke Kitagawa & Ren/Akira, Yusuke Kitagawa & Madarame, Yusuke Kitagawa & Natsuhiko (all plationic/familial)

Genre: Angst, shameless angst, one shot, found family, 5+1 fic.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: This fic deals with some heavy topics, including child abuse, emotional abuse, meltdowns, the death of a parent, a mention of suicide, unhealthy eating habits and alcohol abuse.

Summary: There’s a funny thing about memories. Some of clear and defined – like a photograph – while others are hazy and vague like a half-finished sketch. Still, they define a person just as much as the choices they make or the friends they keep. All of Yusuke's most important memories are about Madarame. Thinking back on his life, he wondered how he missed all the red flags.

Five moments in Yusuke's life chronically his life with Madarame and one moment after he leaves him.

- - - - -

Age 3

“Mama, play with me,” whined Yusuke, tugging on his mother’s sleeve.

His mother sighed, setting her paintbrush down on her easel. “I can’t play with you right now Yusuke.”

Yusuke pouted. “But I want to play!”

“Why don’t you draw instead?” she said. “I promise I’ll play with you once I’ve finished this painting. Okay?”

Yusuke beamed. “Okay, Mama.”

She gave him an easy smile and fetched his crayons and some paper from the shelf. She passed them over to him and went to get some more paint. Yusuke sat down at the table and started scribbling. Slowly, the picture began to take form. A neat brick house with a wild garden next to it.

It was a world away from the decrepit house they shared with Madarame. The shack was nailed together from sheets of scrap metal and was so unstable that a particularly strong gust of wind could have knocked it over.

Two people were standing in front of the house. A dark-haired woman and a small boy. Him and his mama. Just the two of them. They would finally be happy there away from everyone else. Away from Madarame.

Yusuke didn’t like Madarame. He was scary. Mama tried to make them spend time together, but Yusuke would always throw a tantrum and demand to be let go. She would always concede and let him run off, but he knew she and Madarame weren’t pleased about it.

“What is your painting going to be Mama?” he asked, as he coloured in the sky a bright blue. He imagined that they would live far out in the country, away from the grey skies of Tokyo.

“It’s a surprise!” she answered, tapping him on the nose as she walked back to her easel. “But it’s going to be a present for you.”

“A present for me? Can I see it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not until it’s done. You can’t know what it is, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Yusuke went back to his drawing.

After a few minutes, Yusuke realised that he was thirsty. He turned around in his chair. “Mama, can I go get a drink?” he asked.

She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, holding onto the easel and quivering. He hurried over and gave her a little shake to get her attention.

“Mama!” he cried. “Are you okay?”

She convulsed and fell backwards, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Her body and twitched, as if there were electricity flowing through her veins. Yusuke didn’t know what to do. He tried to shake her awake, but that just made her tremble even more. He yelled Madarame’s name until his throat hurt but he didn’t come to help.

Yusuke didn’t remember much after that. Everything was hazy, like a drawing smeared over with chalk dust. He remembered a dark figure loitering in the doorway, it’s face bland and uncaring. It stood there for a good few minutes. Standing. Staring. Waiting.

By the time that she had stopped shaking, it was gone. Yusuke was crying. Then, he heard sirens. He slammed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, trying to block out the terrible noise. The sound dimmed but wasn’t gone completely. He curled up into a ball and rocked himself, trying to calm the swirling emotions in his chest.

He had been doing that for some time when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, hoping it would be his mother. Instead, his eyes met with those of a stranger. Startled, he shuffled backwards. The man was wearing a dark green uniform and had a kind-looking face.

“Hey kid,” he said softly. “Are you back in the real world?”

Yusuke gave a hesitant nod. “That’s good,” continued the stranger. “You gave us a real scare there but your daddy told us not to worry.”

Yusuke furrowed his brows. “I don’t have a daddy,” he mumbled.

“Your grandpa then?” Yusuke said nothing, just shaking his head.

“No grandpa either? Then who’s the man downstairs?”

“Madarame is Mama’s friend,” said Yusuke.

He looked to his mother, who was still lying on the floor. There was dust in her long dark hair, which was splayed out above her head. She wasn’t shaking anymore, which was good.

“Can I talk to my mama?” he asked. “She fell asleep, but she’ll be awake by now.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this kid…” The man looked over to his friend, who was knelt next to Yusuke’s mother. The woman, who was wearing the same uniform as him, shook her head. The man bit his lip and held out his hand to pull Yusuke to his feet.

“Let’s go downstairs,” he said.

“I don’t understand… Is she going to be okay?”

The man shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Your mother has passed away.”

Yusuke knew at that moment - when everything he knew came crashing down around him – that they would never have that perfect crayon scribbled life.

 Age 7

Yusuke was bored of waiting for Madarame to finish painting, so he decided to explore. He was curious to see what he would uncover in the drafty, old shack. Maybe there would be buried treasure under the floorboards or a wild beast living in the basement.

Yusuke always had an overactive imagination. He made stuff up for the fun of seeing where his mind would lead him. Sometimes it would take him to faraway fantasy lands full of awe and magic. Other times he would find himself somewhere mysterious and dark, full of horrifying creatures - like the dark shadow that watched his mother die.

He was so deep in his head that he nearly slammed headfirst into an unfamiliar door.

It was covered in pretty peacock feathers, all painted in swirls of blue and gold. He ran his fingers along the ridges and crevices in the paint, marvelling at the way it was layered. The style and technique were nothing like Madarame's and it made him wonder who painted it. Could it have been one of his previous students?

He stood on the tips of his toes and grabbed a hold of the handle. Just as he was about to swing open the door, someone grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him backwards. He whipped his head around and saw that it was Madarame.

“Sensei, what’s in this room?” he asked.

Madarame slapped him so hard that Yusuke was knocked to the floor.

Still reeling from the shock and confusion, Yusuke raised a shaky hand to his cheek. It hurt to touch.

“You are not allowed in that room,” growled Madarame. “Do you understand me?”

Yusuke nodded through the tears which threatened to fall from his face. 

You are not gonna cry. You are not gonna cry. You are not gonna cry. 

Maybe if he repeated it enough, it would be true.

Madarame stormed off in a violent temper, leaving a shaken-up Yusuke to continue with his day like everything was normal. He went to eat dinner with his fellow pupils. Natsuhiko raised an eyebrow at Yusuke’s bright red cheek but said nothing, handing him his food wordlessly. The rest of the pupils stayed similarly tight-lipped. Yusuke swore he could see the tiniest hint of sympathy on their faces. 

After wolfing down his food, he excused himself and went to bed, thoughts swirling in his mind.

Why would Madarame hurt him like this? Madarame loved him. It didn’t make any sense.

The next morning, Madarame came down for breakfast like normal and Yusuke briefly wondered if he just imagined it all.

Everyone else found a reason to leave the room, leaving Madarame and Yusuke alone.

Madarame spoke first. “I'm sorry you’re upset Yusuke, but you have to understand this from my point of view. That room is where I keep all my old paintings and if you were to damage them, I would be upset. You understand, right? I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Yusuke gave a hesitant nod. Madarame stood up and patted him on the shoulder. “Good. I love you Yusuke,” he said, as he left.

Yusuke was still curious about the contents of the room (perhaps even more now that he knows it’s full of paintings) but when he went to investigate later that day, he found that it was sealed with a heavy padlock.

So, he left it alone and tried to push the ordeal to the back of his mind.

 Age 9

Tidying up the studio was one of Yusuke’s chores. Madarame had never asked him to do it, but he always blamed Yusuke when it was messy in there, so Yusuke learned it was expected of him.

He dumped the pallets and paintbrushes in the sink. Turning on the tap, he watched the paint run together and wash down the sink.

Madarame usually let Yusuke paint with him - as long as he behaved - but Yusuke had been exiled from the studio for two weeks now. He understood though – Madarame had to focus on his pieces for the upcoming exhibition.

Madarame had always been short tempered but the past few days had been worse than usual. It was okay though. He was just stressed about the exhibit; Yusuke was sure everything would go back to normal once it was done.

It was quiet. Natsuhiko had gone on an errand, so it was just him and Madarame. The shack always felt empty now that there was only three people.

Madarame used to have lots of students back when Yusuke was younger but over time, they had all left. Yusuke didn't really know why but he didn't want to risk upsetting Madarame by asking.

A few open cans of paint were sitting on the windowsill next to a drying painting. Yusuke went to put them away but something about the painting made him stop to take a closer look.

Madarame had signed it, but it didn’t look anything like his style. Had he really painted this?

The longer Yusuke looked at it, the more confused he got. The strokes of the brush were familiar and…

The realisation hit him. This was Natsuhiko’s work. He had painted it and let Madarame sign it as if it was his own. Why would he do that? It was didn’t make sense.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he didn’t even notice that he had knocked over the paint until it was seeping into the canvas. Panicking, he swept the it out of the pool of red, hoping it would still be salvageable.

Yusuke snatched a rag from the cupboard and desperately tried to wipe off the paint but it quickly became obvious that the painting was too damaged to be saved.

That was how Madarame had found him – scrubbing at the ruined painting with a rag, red stains all over his hands and forearms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and flapping his hands to calm himself. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”

Madarame prowled over to him, like a wolf stalking its prey. Yusuke expected the slap but that didn’t make it hurt any less. “I’m sorry Sensei. I swear it was an accident,” he mumbled, tears welling in his eyes again.

“Apologising isn’t going to fix this Yusuke.”

“I know, I just… I can’t… I don’t...” He could barely get a word out. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh, stop that!” snapped Madarame, grabbing Yusuke by the wrists. “I didn’t want to do this again but you’ve given me no choice. Come on.”

Yusuke allowed himself to be dragged down the corridor, thinking that Madarame would just yank him upstairs and maybe shut him in his room. That wouldn’t be so bad.

His eyes widened when Madarame pulled him past the stairs and a little further down the hall. He dug his heels into the ground and tried to wrench his arms from Madarame’s grasp. Madarame just tightened his grip, digging in his fingernails harshly.

“Sensei please!” he cried. “Please! I’m sorry.”

“You have to learn.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“Do you think I care what you want?” yelled Madarame, hauling Yusuke into the cupboard beneath the stairs. “This is for your own good.”

With that, Madarame slammed the door shut and locked it. Yusuke screamed to be let out, but was ignored. He tried to force open the door, but only succeeded in making himself exhausted. Defeated, he sunk down to the floor.

There was a miniscule crack in the wood which let in a little light, but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the dark cupboard. Of all the punishments he endured from Madarame, this was the one he hated the most. It was cramped and uncomfortable, and he never knew how long it would last. Madarame would let him out once he felt he had learned his lesson, whenever that was.

His wrists hurt where Madarame had dug in his nails. Yusuke wasn’t sure if they were bleeding or not – it was dark enough in the cupboard that he couldn’t discern the difference between the paint and the possible blood – but it hurt all the same. Why did Madarame hurt him like this?

It’s because you were bad.

Was that true? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know anything anymore.

He had been in there for some time when the front door creaked open. Yusuke heard footsteps coming toward him. He peered through the crack and saw that it was Natsuhiko, home from running errands.

“Yusuke, where are you?” called Natsuhiko.

“I’m in here!” responded Yusuke. “Can you let me out?”

“Yusuke? I can’t believe that he… Not again. Are you hurt?”

“Only a little,” said Yusuke. “I might be bleeding.”

Natsuhiko mumbled something under his breath that Yusuke couldn’t quite hear. “I’m calling the police,” he said. “He’s been getting away with this for too long.”

He could hear Natsuhiko talking to the police, and even though he was pretending to be confident, his voice was trembled with every word. He was talking so quickly that Yusuke couldn’t make out the words.

There was a long pause and Natsuhiko mumbled a thank you. Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Madarame.

“I’ve called the police,” said Natsuhiko. “You can’t keep treating Yusuke like this. I won’t let you!”

“You have no right to tell me how to parent my son, Natsuhiko. This is a punishment – nothing more,” said Madarame.

“This is abuse!” yelled Natsuhiko. “I’ve being turning a blind eye to it for too long but this ends today.”

“I can’t believe you are doing this to me!” growled Madarame, grabbing Natsuhiko’s arm. “You’re going to regret this.”

“No!” roared Natsuhiko, snatching his arm out of Madarame’s grip. “You’re not going to control me anymore. I am done! I’m not that fifteen-year-old boy you picked up off the street. Not anymore. I’ve had enough of you using and manipulating me. This ends today.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” said Madarame. “You don’t understand anything about the world Natsuhiko. You’re so naïve, still just a child.”

Natsuhiko violently shook his head. “I’m not a child anymore. I am nineteen and I know what I am talking about. You’ve been mistreating me for so long. You abused all of us. That’s why everyone else is gone. You hurt them so much they couldn’t stand to be here anymore. You’re the reason that Tatsuo has a panic attack every time he picks up a paintbrush. You’re the reason Miki shakes in terror whenever she’s around men. You’re the reason that Yukki killed herself!”

“YOU’RE INSANE!” bellowed Madarame, grabbing onto Natsuhiko’s collar. “Do you think I wanted that to happen? I loved you all like my own children.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it. We’re terrified of you.”

“How dare you treat me like this! I took you in when no one else wanted you. I saw potential in you when you were just a homeless delinquent - when everyone saw you as trash – and this is how you treat me?” He sounded genuinely upset and Yusuke felt a little guilty.

Madarame continued. “You’ve always been manipulative but this is a new low, even for you. Prank calling 911 is a crime you know.”

“I didn’t…”

“Yes, you did. You called the police out of spite. All because you want revenge for nothing.”

Natsuhiko stared at him. “That’s not- I’m didn’t- You’re lying.”

“Let’s see what the cops think,” growled Madarame. “Whose story are they going to believe? The accomplished, famous artist or the high school drop out who never amounted to anything? I know who’s side I’d be on.”

There was a ring at the front door. “That will be them now. It’s not too late to back down.”

Natsuhiko faltered for a moment - for just long enough for Yusuke to think he had given up – before giving Madarame a sharp glare and shaking his head.

“Suit yourself,” said Madarame. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

***

The officer inspected Yusuke’s wrist. Traces of blood lingered amongst the red paint.

“You’re saying he did this?” asked the officer, gesturing towards Natsuhiko. Madarame gave a nod.

“I’m afraid so,” he sighed. "Natsuhiko tends to get a little aggressive with his brother when they play.”

“Bullshit!” yelled Natsuhiko. “You’re lying.”

“Don’t speak to your father like that,” snapped the officer.

“But nothing he’s saying is true,” said Natsuhiko desperately. “He’s the one who hurt Yusuke, not me.”

The officer sighed and stood up. “Calling the police under false pretences is a crime. I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t do it again. If we’re done here, I need to leave.”

“You can’t leave.” Natsuhiko grabbed a hold of the officer’s sleeve. “Please, he’s lying.”

“Let it go kid,” said the officer. He slammed the front door shut on his way out.

“Go to your room Yusuke,” hissed Madarame.

Yusuke eyes flicked between Madarame and Natsuhiko, unsure and frightened.

Natsuhiko gave him a brave smile. “I’ll be okay Yusuke,” he said. “You can go.”

***

Natsuhiko limped into Yusuke’s room a while later, a shadow of the person he was, voided of all his courage. His left eye was bruised purple and black, and his lip was split down the middle.

“What did he do to you?” asked Yusuke.

“Nothing he hasn’t done before,” said Natsuhiko, sitting on Yusuke’s bed. “If you could leave today, would you do it?” he asked, wiping the blood from his lip.

There was a long empty pause

“I would,” he admitted. “Are you going to leave?”

Natsuhiko stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

***

The next morning, Yusuke woke up to a single post-it note on his bedroom door. It had a phone number written on it, as well as two words.

I’m sorry.

 Age 13

Yusuke had finished his first proper painting. He called it Grief. It had taken him hours and he was satisfied with it. The way the colours and shapes twisted upon each other was perfect and the colours were just right, which was satisfying. He had spent so long picking the right shades of blue and red that he worried he would have gone mad.

There was something profound about it. It was an apt representation of how he felt about his mothers passing - tornado of sorrow and bitterness. He barely remembered her but there was still an empty hole she had left in his heart that nothing seemed to fill.

Yusuke had proudly showed it to Madarame, rambling about his inspiration and the techniques he had used. Madarame gave him an impressed smile, that seemed ever so slightly forced.

Then, he asked Yusuke something strange. “Do you remember the day your mother died?”

“I don’t,” lied Yusuke. His recollection of the day was vague but there were shards of the memory clinging to his mind. He remembered a dark shadow, and the kind man who came to help him. He wanted to tell Madarame about the shadow, but he would never believe Yusuke.

Besides, the selfish part of his brain wanted to hold onto the final moments of his mothers life for himself.

“That’s good,” said Madarame. “I wouldn’t want you to remember something so... traumatic.” He tapped the painting. “Do you mind if I hold onto this for a little longer? I need to have a closer look before I can give you feedback.” Yusuke had been more than happy to let him keep the painting.

Two weeks later, Madarame held an abrupt exhibit. Yusuke had been excited to see what art would be on display. Madarame had been struggling with significant art block for weeks and Yusuke was glad that he was feeling creative again.

Yusuke was floored when he saw the principal piece of the exhibit. It was the painting he had poured his heart and soul into encased in a gaudy ,golden frame.

For a moment, he thought Madarame had put it up by accident. He glanced around. His mentor was just a few feet away, happily chatting with a critic. He hadn’t even noticed the mistake. Should he tell him?

Madarame walked over and stopped in front of the painting. He would have to realise his mistake now. Right? The critic studied the artwork with an enamoured look on his face. “This is a fascinating piece,” he said. “I'd love to know your inspiration.”

Madarame gave a serpent’s grin. “This piece is one of my favourites in this collection. It plays with the concept of fame and how it effects one’s ability to create art.”

The fan nodded. “I see. That makes a remarkable amount of sense.”

Bullshit! Everything Madarame had said was bullshit. He had stolen Yusuke’s art. Yusuke had ripped open his own heart and poured it onto the canvas, and Madarame had taken it like it meant nothing. Yusuke wouldn’t have minded Madarame taking credit for it either, as long as he had asked and hadn’t corrupted the meaning like that. That was unforgivable.

He listened to the two men talk for a little while longer. Once the critic was gone, he pulled Madarame far away from prying eyes or ears.

“Why did you steal my painting?” he demanded.

Madarame frowned. “I didn’t steal anything Yusuke. You agreed to let me use it for this exhibit.”

“I agreed for let you keep it for a bit. I never agreed to this!”

“Stop being so selfish,” snapped Madarame. “I’ve done everything for you these past years. You owe me. The least you can do is stop being such a brat.”

“But this painting is so personal...” muttered Yusuke, looking anywhere but Madarame’s face. Why did he feel like the bad guy? Madarame was in the wrong. Madarame had stolen from him and lied and hurt him. So why did Yusuke feel so guilty about upsetting him?

“All paintings are personal,” said Madarame. “Yours is nothing special.”

“But I –"

“You’re being ridiculous Yusuke. This conversation is over. You agreed to this and getting upset over nothing isn’t helping anyone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an exhibit to attend to.” He whirled around and walked away, leaving Yusuke standing alone, confused and guilty.

Age 15

The feeling of the paintbrush in Yusuke’s hand was familiar and reassuring. The growling feeling in his stomach was familiar as well, though it did nothing to comfort him. He put down his brush and looked up from the painting he was working on.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

Madarame sipped his green tea. “Be patient.”

Yusuke frowned. “But I want to eat now.”

“Don’t be selfish Yusuke.”

“But—”

“Just finish this painting, then you can eat,” Madarame stood up and setting his cup in the sink.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He patted Yusuke on the shoulder as he left the room. Yusuke listened to him fetch his coat, leave the house and lock the door behind him. It wasn’t unusual for Madarame to go out in the evenings, so Yusuke paid it no mind.

He returned to his painting, the hunger gnawing at him like a wild beast.

 Yusuke finished his painting after a few hours and immediately went to start another. It wasn’t that late, not really. It was barely even dark outside. Besides, the more work he did, the happier Sensei was. It was a simple equation really. Hard work went in one end and kindness came out the other.

The next time he checked the clock, it was nearly midnight. His eyes strained when he pulled them away from the canvas. When had it gotten so late?

He really should eat something.

When he checked the fridge, he found it was nearly empty. Yusuke wouldn’t be sent grocery shopping until Sunday and the food would have to last until then. Besides, the gnawing in his stomach had calmed a bit. He could survive another night.

Something deep down told him he doesn’t deserve anything anyway.

Yusuke tidied up after himself and went to his frigid room. It was always cold in there because the radiators didn’t work. They broke down a few weeks after Natsuhiko left and had never been fixed.

He didn’t have much - just his futon, a small table and an easel in the corner - but it was enough. Madarame had always preached that worldly possessions and wealth corrupted an artist. You couldn’t be creative if you were happy and content. You needed to suffer.

Art is borne through suffering. Art requires sacrifice. Pain is temporary but Art is forever.

He lay down on his futon, exhausted and hungry. A tiny shard of anxiety lingered in his mind, keeping him awake. Madarame still wasn’t home. It was unusual for him to stay out this late without warning Yusuke first.

Yusuke was probably just being paranoid. Everything would be fine. His sleep slowly came to him, like snow settling on the ground, only to kicked around by the first person to deem it’s existence inconvenient to them.

He was startled from his brief rest by a sharp banging at the door. Yusuke dragged himself out of bed and went to let him in. Opening the door, he saw something he didn’t expect.

It was Madarame.

He was drunk.

Yusuke knew that Madarame drank – it wasn’t a secret – but he had never actually seen him drunk before. Whenever he stayed out late, he would slink off to bed while Yusuke was asleep, being careful to not wake him up. Yusuke would find him hungover the next morning and connect the dots.

Madarame looked like shit. That was the simplest way to describe it. There was vomit down his shirt, he reeked of whisky and his hair was wild and unkempt, as if he had been caught in a hurricane on his way home. He swayed on his feet, to intoxicated to keep his balance.

“What are you doing awake?” he slurred. “It’s late. You have school tomorrow.”

I was up late worrying about you.

“You’re drunk,” said Yusuke, slightly more accusatory than he intended.

Madarame bristled. “I’m not drunk,” he snapped. “I’m just a little… tipsy.”

Why does he even bother to lie?

“I think I’m going to be sick again,” muttered Madarame, stumbling into the house.

Yusuke grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the bathroom. Madarame retched and Yusuke went to pull his hair out of his face so he didn’t get sick in it.

As it turns out, helping your drunk father puke at one o’clock in the morning is not fun. Madarame looked rather pathetic, and Yusuke wondered why he kept doing this to himself. It only ever brought him pain.

Helping Madarame into his bedroom, Yusuke handed him a clean set of clothes. He turned around while Madarame got changed and took the soiled clothes from him afterwards.

“You are so much like your mother Yusuke,” croaked Madarame, as he settled down. “Sometimes, when I look at you, I see her eyes staring back at me.”

Yusuke didn’t remember his mother, but from the few blurry pictures that he had found around the shack, left forgotten in notebooks and stashed away in drawers, he knew they looked a lot alike. They shared the same dark hair, cool-grey eyes and lean stature. They could have been twins.

“I loved your mother,” wept Madarame, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “I wish I did something differently that day. I could have saved her.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” reassured Yusuke. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

Madarame rolled over to his side, racked with sobs, and Yusuke comforted him until he fell asleep. He wasn’t slightly surprised when he only got to bed himself at four in the morning.

He was even less surprised when he fell asleep in class the next morning. His teacher hit him over the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper and Yusuke jumped so hard he almost fell out his chair.

“No sleeping in class,” he snapped. “Why on earth are you sleeping anyway? Did you stay up late watching television or something?”

Yusuke nodded.

He didn’t know what he would say. How would he explain that his father is falling apart at the seams? That he seems to be drunk more often than he is sober? It makes him feel lonely and isolated. There is no way that his teacher could understand.

No one could possibly understand.

 Age 16

Yusuke was staying at Ren’s house for the night. It felt strange to sleep in the same room as another person; he hadn’t shared a room with someone since his mother died.

He couldn’t sleep, anxiety swirling in his chest. What if something had happened to Madarame? What if he had a mental shutdown? Even after everything Madarame had done to him, Yusuke didn’t want him to die. He tried to reassure himself that Madarame had been okay when he had made his confession.

Still, they didn’t know much about the mental shutdowns. Could they be delayed? He wanted to poke Morgana awake and ask him, but decided not to. He didn’t want to be a nuisance. Morgana flicked his tail in his sleep and Yusuke hoped he was having a nice dream.

It was too quiet in the attic. The only sound was the rain beating down on the roof and Ren snoring on the couch. Ren had insisted that he take the bed, which only made Yusuke feel more guilty. Ren had done so much for him and Yusuke didn’t want sink further in his debt.

You’re so selfish Yusuke. You always use people.

He wanted to wake Ren up. He wanted to feel less alone. He wanted to let out this worry before it ate him alive. Ren had said that Yusuke could wake him if he needed him.

But you don’t need him, not really. You want him, but you don’t need him.

He decided to let him sleep. Yusuke stared at Ren, pondering. Why had he helped Yusuke in the first place? He had been so rude to him and his friends when they’d first met. Still, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to hold a grudge. He had probably forgiven Yusuke already.

Hopefully.

Yusuke laid back in bed, trying to force himself to sleep. He jumped a little when his phone vibrated on the windowsill. Someone was calling him. No one ever called him.

He was about to decline the call, when he recognised the number. Trying to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Ren up, he spoke.

“Natsuhiko?”

“Yusuke, there’s something I need to tell you,” said Natsuhiko. He paused, as if trying to figure out what to say next. “There’s no easy way to say this but Madarame is dead.”

“What?” exclaimed Yusuke. Ren stirred on the couch. Yusuke lowered his voice. “How did you—"

“I have a friend who works at the Police Hospital,” explained Natsuhiko. “He told me.”

“That can’t be true…” Madarame couldn’t be dead. Yusuke couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it.

Natsuhiko sighed, his voice more sympathetic that Yusuke expected. “He was an old man Yusuke. Being arrested put too much stress on his heart and he couldn’t handle it.”

“Sensei always had a weak heart...” mumbled Yusuke as a wave of guilt crashed over him. He had done this. He had killed his father. And for what? A mere slight or two? Was that worth snuffing out a human life?

Natsuhiko sighed and for a split-second Yusuke thought Natsuhiko knew what he had done. His logical side reminded him that was ridiculous.

“Look, I wanted to be the one to tell you this rather than some stranger,” said Natsuhiko. “Madarame wasn’t a good man but he was still your father. It’s okay to mourn him.”

There was a pause. “I have to go,” said Natsuhiko. “Are you going to be okay?” The question was as loaded as Yusuke's silence.

“I’ll be fine,” murmured Yusuke. Natsuhiko hung up, leaving Yusuke with his horrified thoughts.

He faintly realised that he was crying. Why couldn’t he stop? He was such an idiot. He was going to wake Ren up. But Yusuke couldn’t stop the tears from coming. He was a murderer. No one could know about this.

He could leave. The idea hung around his head for a minute. There was nothing trapping him here. He could just pick up his bags and leave. Escape the scorn of the only real friends he ever had.

But where would he go? He couldn’t go back to the dorms. Everyone there knew him about Madarame and he wouldn’t be able to take their pitying stares. He would stay at a motel, but he had no money. How would be pay for it?

He really had nowhere to go. Yusuke had never felt so guilty and lonely and helpless as he did in that moment. Pulling his knees to his chest, he wiped tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and did his best to quell his weeping.

You’re not seven years old anymore Yusuke. Stop crying.

He was so inside his own head that he didn’t notice that Ren had woken up until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Yusuke looked up at him through bleary eyes, his brain barely recognising his friend.

“Yusuke… Are you—"

Yusuke pushed him away and scrambled to his feet. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped.

“Yusuke, what’s wrong?” said Ren. “I just want to help you.”

“I killed Madarame! Natsuhiko just told me he had a heart attack. He’s dead and it’s all my fault.” He fell to his knees, chest heaving.

“I’m a murderer,” he sobbed. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted him to die.”

“You are not a killer,” said Ren, crouching down to Yusuke’s level. “I’ve only known you a week, but I know that much. You didn’t kill him.”

“But I stole his heart, knowing this could happen. He was old and weak. I should have known better.”

Yusuke was startled when Ren wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “You couldn’t possibly have predicted this Yusuke. Besides, stealing a heart doesn’t cause heart attacks. We know that much. You didn’t kill him.”

Suddenly, Yusuke was three years old again, wrapped up in his mother’s arms. He hasn’t felt safe in so long, but in that moment he found comfort again.

Ren didn’t judge him. Ren wasn’t mean or snippy, even when Yusuke got tears and snot all over his t-shirt. Ren hand rested lightly on Yusuke’s shoulder, holding him to reality when Yusuke was sure he might evaporate and float away. He is an anchor. A lighthouse in a stormy ocean. A beacon of comfort in the mess of Yusuke’s life.

Yusuke’s voice was ragged by the time he finally brought himself to speak.

“I hated him,” he muttered. “Despised him even. But there were good days. Days where I loved him. Sometimes we would sit in the den together for hours, just painting. Painting and painting and painting. He used to praise me too. “You’re such a talented painter,” he would say. “You’re such a good kid. I love you so much.”

“You never knew what to expect from him. Sweet words could be replaced with cutting insults in an instant. But I wanted that praise so badly that I would hunt for it. I would do anything he asked, just so I could hear that praise. Turn over all my art, go without food, take his insults and abuse, all for the promise of a little kindness at the end of it all. I only ever wanted to be loved. I only ever wanted him to love me.”

Yusuke buried his face into Ren’s shoulder, not wanting to see Ren’s to see his pathetic expression. “Why do I still love him? Why do I still love the man who ruined my childhood? The man who killed my mother? The man who treated me like dirt? Why can’t I just admit that he hurt me?”

“Will I always be his property?” he asked. “A portrait in his museum of stolen work. His son in name but not in practice. His prodigy. His worker. Will I ever be free from him?”

Ren held Yusuke even tighter. “You are a creator,” he said. “And you are an artist. You are so much more than your past. So much more than what he said you were. And most all, you are my friend. I care about you Yusuke.”

For the first time in his life, Yusuke knew he was hearing the truth.

#persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 #persona 5 angst #angst #autistic yusuke #akira kusuru #yusuke kitagawa #natsuhiko nakanohara #death tw #child abuse tw #alcohol tw #suicide tw #disordered eating tw #i'm not sorry #inkwell writes

[drspencr]

always in my heart | part one

pairing: spencer x reader

summary: you know that it’s too late to fix your relationship with spencer; but what if a terrible accident gives you another chance?

word count: 3.1k

content warning: angst, car accident

a/n: before you ask i did not proofread the last part hehe,, also! it jumps right into angst so beware

masterlist part two

You could see it in his eyes. The way they were distant when he smiled at your jokes or how uninterested they looked when you told him about your day. You watch him stray away from you until you found yourself alone in your bed at 2 am wondering what went wrong. Every day, you see him falling out of love. And the worst part is that you’re reminded of it every time he says those three empty words; I love you has never felt so meaningless. 

Every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would shoot you a cold look as if he has told you multiple times to not talk about it. He would stop talking to you for the rest of the evening in hopes that you don’t bring it up again. So you let it go, hoping that it’ll resolve itself. But as time went on, those evenings turned into hours, and hours turned into days. Eventually, he was giving you one-word answers: “good”, “fine”, “sure”, “okay”. It was hard enough that you had your own busy schedule. You don’t even remember the last time the two of you had sex or shared a special conversation.

You figured it was a case that hit too close to home– something that took time for him to open up about. But again, as weeks went by, he continued to dismiss you. You were so worried for Spencer that you brought matters into your own hands and called Derek. 

You’ve only talked to Derek a handful of times. Each conversation you shared with him revolved around casual matters: sports, food, jobs, hobbies. So he was surprised when he saw your contact light up his phone.

“Hey, y/n. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, for the most part. I just uh…” you closed your eyes, contemplating whether or not you should continue. “It’s nothing urgent but is it okay if we meet up in person?”

“Yeah, of course. Does Friday afternoon sound good? We can meet at the corner of Elk and Rhodes.”

“Sure that sounds fine. And do you mind not telling Spencer? Please?”

The line goes quiet for a moment before Derek responds back, “sure thing. See you then, y/n.”

Friday afternoon rolled around sooner than you expected. You weren’t even sure what to ask let alone how to bring up the subject. It’s hard asking for help considering how unique your relationship with Spencer is. After all, not a lot of people can relate to having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory who travels the country to catch murderers. 

You step into the corner cafe on Elks and Rhodes. There weren’t many people at this time of day so you took the liberty of taking the window seat where you watched people come and go. It was 12:09 when Derek arrived and by then you’ve already gone through half of your cup.

“Hey, Derek!”

He smiles as he goes in for a side hug, “Hey, y/n. How’ve you been?”

Your smile falters at the question but you quickly cover it up before he notices. “Good, and you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Here let me buy you lunch.”

“Oh please, you shouldn’t, I was the one who invited you. Let me pay, it’s the least I can do,” you insist as you move in front of him to block the cash register. 

Derek takes notice of your desperate urging and figured that whatever you brought him here for was more important than he expected. He steps aside for you to order, “okay, but I got you next time alright?”

You tried not to freak out at the fact that you were sitting across one of Spencer’s best friends. Derek is very intimidating. God, he was probably profiling you at this very second. Sweaty palms, bouncing knee, lack of eye contact– all telltale signs that someone’s nervous. But as anxious as you were, Derek didn’t seem to notice as he happily bit into his sandwich.

With your food still untouched, you hesitantly lean in. “I would love to catch up with you, Derek. But I’m assuming that you’re on your lunch break so I’ll try to make this quick. It’s about Spencer.”

He only nods and wipes his mouth with his napkin, “what’s up?”

“This is gonna sound weird,” you laugh, hoping that it will take some of your tension away. “But is… is Spencer okay? Like at work? Did anything bad happen?”

Derek crosses his arms and leans back in his chair as he chews on his food. He was studying you, trying to figure out what this is all about. Your heart rate speeds up anxiously as you wait for his answer. You were unsure if you wanted his answer to be a yes or a no; either way, each had its own bad fortune. 

“Nothing’s happened from what I know of.”

Your heart fell. “Right,” your voice barely above a whisper. So it was all because of me, you thought, he’s like this because of me.

Derek lowered his head to meet your eyes, “If you don’t mind me asking, are you and Spencer okay?”

You continued to look down at your food, embarrassed to tell your side of the story. Deep down, you knew that your relationship with Spencer was derailing but you were afraid that if you admitted the problem, you would be validating its existence. “Well that’s the thing, I don’t really know. He won’t talk to me.”

He nods slowly. Derek of all people knows that Spencer doesn’t like to talk about his problems until he’s ready to confront it. He normally ignores the situation until it interferes with his daily life. But with you it was different. Spencer found it easier to talk about his feelings around you. He claimed that you brought him peace and tranquility to his restless, busy life. And you took pride in that. But now, you weren’t entirely sure if what he said was true.

“I asked if something was bothering him,” you started. “And usually it would take him a couple of days to tell me what was wrong but now he just shuts me down. The past few months I’ve noticed that he’s becoming more distant and aloof.”  You raise your head with furrowed brows, alarmed at the conclusion you’ve created. “I’m starting to think that I’m the thing that’s bothering him.”

Derek was quick to rebuttal your statement. “Hey now, kid. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you make Spencer happy.”

“Or used to,” you mumbled.

He sighs, “don’t beat yourself up, y/n. Knowing Reid, he’ll probably come around sooner or later.”

You nodded even though you didn’t find much comfort in his words. You desperately wanted to believe that what Derek said would turn out to be true. But he doesn’t know how lonely it feels to be in an empty relationship, he doesn’t know how it feels to watch your significant other fall out of love right before your eyes. 

“I can talk to him if you want–”

“No,” you insisted, “please, it’s okay.”

“If something’s going on, I want you to know that you can talk to me. Alright? I know how hard it might be to keep up with Reid, am I right?” he jokes, hoping to lighten the mood. “Hang in there, y/n.”

Your silence kept Derek from pressing more on the matter. It was clear that you got the answers you needed and didn't want to talk about it anymore. So for your sake, he let it go. 

“Do you think homemade dinner would suffice for now?” you asked, brows furrowed. 

Derek gives you a warm, sympathetic smile, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You smile back, gratefully. “Thanks for meeting with me today, I appreciate it.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You hug your goodbyes and thank him once more before heading to the grocery store. In the parking lot, you excitedly take out your phone to send a text to Spencer.

Y/n: Hey Spence, I’m cooking your favorite tonight :)Meet at my place at 7?

Surprisingly, he texted back in a matter of minutes.

Spencer: Okay, I’ll try to clear my schedule.

Your breath hitched in your throat while your eyes read his text over and over again. After comprehending his response, you let out a sigh of relief. It’s not every day Spencer responds to your text at all. You felt a light glow inside you as you walked towards the store, head held high. 

It took you three hours to set everything up. You tidied the house, retouched your makeup, cooked pasta, making the pesto extra nutty. All with a newfound lightness in your step. You were hopeful that this gesture would help things get back into a routine– or at least make it seem like it. You just wanted everything to be normal, just for this evening. But unfortunately, your sanguinity was short-lived. You knew it was too good to be true. 

At 7 o’clock sharp, you made finishing touches to the plates and poured two glasses of red wine. You sat on one side of the table, satisfied with your preparation. 

At 7:30 you sent a text to Spencer asking if he was okay.

At 8:15, you poured yourself a fourth glass of wine and dialed your boyfriend’s number with trembling hands. There was no answer.

Just as you were going to put the untouched food into a container, a knock echoed through your apartment. You inhaled deeply, mustering up mental strength for a conversation you didn’t even think you’d be having in the first place. 

You were frustrated, to say the least. You spent so much time and effort into tonight and he couldn’t even send you a quick text back. Short and vague answers are one thing but standing you up was another. This was a whole new level of low. 

Another set of knocks echoed, “y/n, you there?”

You rolled your eyes and stomped your way to the entrance, opening the door forcefully.

Despite the raging anger inside of you, you managed to keep your tone at a normal level. “You’re late,” you seeth.

Spencer walks in, dismissing the spite in your voice, “sorry, I got caught up at work.”

You closed the door behind him, “you could have texted me.”

“I know, I forgot.”

“You forgot, huh.”

“I’m sorry.” He goes in for a hug. Before you know it, your head is buried into his chest, inhaling his scent. Warmth spread throughout your body, melting away any angry thought you had towards him. Spencer hasn’t hugged you like this for a long time. His hand sat firmly on your waist and his head rested at the top of your head. As much as you enjoyed it, you didn’t want to. You knew that it wasn’t real. 

“I can warm up the food again, go change into something comfortable.” You said quietly, parting ways with his embrace. He looked at you, a soft, dull tone in his eyes, “okay.”

The tension in the air was thick as the two of you sat quietly, eating your microwaved pasta. An occasional question about each other’s day. You really wanted to strike a conversation but you had other things bothering you. You were never good with confrontation. You didn’t like how quickly the conversation turns into arguments. Because of this, you tried your best to lay the foundation of your point slowly.

“Spencer, you know I’m not one to jump to conclusions.”

He takes a bite of pasta, trying his best to avoid your eyes, “I know.”

“But I have to ask...”

“I’m fine, y/n? It’s been months, can you drop it already?.”

Your heart dropped and your head darted back at his sudden burst, “that’s not what I was going to say.”

He looks up apologetically, “sorry.”

He went silent, flustered. His knee bounced with anxiety and anticipation for what you were going to say next. You shake your head and count to ten, trying to let go of his response. 

“Do you–” you pause as you search for the words you really wanted to say, “why don’t you love me anymore?”

Spencer sets his fork down, “I never said that, y/n.”

“You didn't have to. I already know.”

He didn’t retaliate your accusation which alarmed you. You looked at him expectantly, hoping he would say something to defend himself. But Spencer stayed silent, unsure of what to say. So many thoughts and excuses ran through his head but none of them was a good enough response.

Spencer couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He sighs uneasily, ashamed to tell the truth, “I still love you, it’s just different now. I don’t… I don’t love you that way anymore. I’m sorry.”

Despite the softness in his voice, the words jabbed at you like knives. Your greatest fear becoming your reality.

You found your hands clinging to the side of the table. Your eyes stung with tears as you tried your best not to cry in front of him. Your voice quivered, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t know how to. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You stand up and laugh bitterly. “You didn’t want to hurt me? I spent sleepless nights wondering if I made you happy, wondering if I was good enough for you, wondering if you still loved me!  For months, I fought for both of us, and you had the audacity to just stand there and watch me try and fix this relationship. You left me in the dark, Spencer. And I was hanging on by a thin thread of hope. Do you know how much misery you put me through?” 

His voice was small, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

You lean over the counter, head in your hands. “Spencer, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Please.”

He makes his way over to you but you raise your hand before he makes another step. “Y/n, please. I don’t want to leave things like this please–”

“Spencer. Just go.” You sobbed. For the first time, you looked into his eyes. They were glossy with tears just like yours, a genuine sadness in them. 

He felt a wave of guilt as he stared at you, so close to breaking. “I’m sorry.”

The door closed with a small click and you fell to your knees. Hair stuck to the hot trail of tears that ran down your face and you hyperventilated as you struggled to find a rhythm in your breathing. 

There were still many more questions you had for Spencer. But you couldn’t bear to look at him in the face again. Loving a person who doesn’t love you back feels like lemon on a wound– a slow, slow sting. You watched him leave you and no matter what you did would have been enough to get him back. Although, you found a bit of relief knowing that in a way, you set him free. You still loved him and you just wanted to be happy– whether you were in his life or not. It was unfortunate that he didn’t find his happiness with you.

You don’t know how long you were on the floor crying and drinking wine. But when you woke up, it was dark. The only lighting in the house came from your ringing phone.  You squinted at your screen, waiting for your vision to focus. There were two missed calls from an unknown number and eight from Derek, all from the past hour. 

“Derek?” you croaked, bringing yourself up to your knees. “Is everything okay?”

“Hey, y/n. Don’t freak out, but Spencer was in an accident.”

You scramble to your feet to turn the light on, “what do you mean accident? Is he okay?”

“He’s in surgery right now but we don’t know anything else.”

“Where?”

“Hunter Medical.”

You didn’t even bother looking in the mirror before you left. “On my way.”

The roads were empty at 4 am so you took the liberty to speed to the hospital. Derek’s phone call definitely sobered you up. Upon arriving, Derek and Aaron were already at the entrance to greet you. They exchanged looks as they saw you stumble out of your car with a wrinkled blouse, smudged makeup, and tangled hair. “Is he okay?” you asked, lifting up a bra strap.

“They’re closing him up now, no complications. Are you okay?” Aaron inquired. Your eyes were bloodshot red and puffy and your faded lipstick has found its way to the side of your face. 

“Me? I’m fine… But what happened to Spencer?”

“Drunk driver,” Derek sighed, “Some guy T-Boned his car into a pole.”

“Oh my God,” you breathed. It was too much. You can’t even think straight. The wine was barely wearing off and all you could think about was how it was all your fault that Spencer was open on a table. Derek and Aaron nodded to each other, mutually deciding to talk to you in the morning when you have a clearer mindset. 

“C’mon y/n, let’s get you cleaned up a little.” Derek led you inside as Aaron followed behind.

You spent three long days in the hospital. After finding out that Spencer fell into a coma, you never left the premises of the hospital. You spent your days going in and out of the ICU when visiting hours were active. Every day, you meet the rest of his team, and every time, they give you words of comfort and hugs. You were too ashamed to tell anyone about the fight you had with Spencer, besides Derek. Not only was it humiliating to tell but you were afraid that they were going to stray from you too and as selfish as it sounds, you needed all the comfort you could get. 

Derek somehow persuaded you to go home and shower, and you did so with lots of retaliation. He insisted that Spencer wouldn’t be going anywhere. But the atmosphere, however, felt different when you came back. You found Derek with his head in his hands, something that you rarely saw him doing. 

“I’m back.”

He stands up, startled. “Y/n, hey.”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Derek sighs, “look there’s no easy way to say this but... Reid doesn’t remember anything.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t remember anything? Spencer remembers everything.”

“No y/n, I mean he lost his memory.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #nikki writes #mine #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler

[nike-shawn]

Hockey Shawn Part III

A/N: Lol this took forever. Exams really are the worst. Pls, as always, let me know what you thought of this! Feedback is the best motivator. 

Trigger Warning: Talk of Drug Addiction/Usage

Part I

Part II

If you were more confident, you would say you and Shawn are dating. 

You aren’t, not really. He just sleeps over at your place every night, texts you at random times to tell you things that reminded him of you, and brings you your favorite restaurant’s takeout on nights he knows you are working too hard to remember to eat, grading papers and emailing parents. 

This has been going on for too many months. 

One night, while your head rested on his chest, you tapped out the rhythm of his heart on your mattress. It sounded too familiar to be comforting. You knew him better than you knew your roommates. You loved him more than you loved that college boyfriend. You---

“Are you okay?” 

You tensed in his arms. Part of you wondered whether your feelings for him were so deep that they melted through you and into him, like sap trailing down a broken branch and into the grass. It seemed impossible for him to not at least be hinted towards your love for him-- it was so obvious to you. A bit too obvious. 

“Hmm?” you asked, though you both knew you heard him. 

He lightly pinched the skin of your upper arm, playfully scolding you but he asked the question again, this time his lips closer to your ear. “I said, ‘are you okay?’” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shawn laughed lightly. “You fall asleep in two seconds flat on every other night, but it’s been an hour and you’re still awake.” 

You sighed out your exhale. You could’ve told him then. You could’ve said actually, I'm not okay because you don’t love me like I love you and you could’ve gone from there, could’ve made him tell you what he really thinks of you, but instead you told him that “school’s been crazy.” 

He didn't believe it. You could tell by the way he didn’t immediately kiss away the fold between your brows or rub his thumb up and down your shoulder. He just mussed up his hair and swallowed like he was keeping something from leaving his lips. 

Okay, you thought. He doesn't wanna talk about it either, then. 

Since then, although you both act the same way you always have, there’s some kind of unspoken tension between you. When he comes over it seems like he’s biding his time, waiting for you to blurt out what he knows you’re waiting to say. When he hugs you hello, his arms are stiffer. When he kisses you goodbye, his lips are colder. But he still texts you every night with random, seemingly insignificant things that happened that day. You know it’s because he finds some comfort in hearing you interact with these quips of his. You tell him oh, that’s interesting or really, he said that? like you are together. Like you’re dating. Like he loves you.

Shawn’s flying back to New York from Toronto today. Yesterday was the first day in almost three months that he didn’t text you to tell you what he was up to. You checked your phone between each class period, your heart getting lower and lower until it was just about in your stomach. You know why he was there. You knew who he was with. 

And you knew you didn’t stand a chance against her.

After school yesterday, you finished up grading and tugged your winter coat closer around your shivering shoulders as you walked from the school to your car. Your mind refused to let you forget the disappointment that now was associated with Shawn’s pretty face, the betrayal that has now settled deep into your bones. How could he love Maddy? How could he be with her while you’re tidying up the bed you two have shared for months on end? How could he hold her while you’re still shivering in his absence? 

You rest your head on your steering wheel as tears start to fall down your rosy cheeks. Your car is freezing cold but you barely notice, frustrated sobs ripping from your throat. There’s some kind of rabid, angry energy bouncing around in your chest, and your hands itch to grip your phone and dial his number and scream at him until that feeling goes away. 

And why shouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t you scream at him? Does he not deserve it? 

Once you compose yourself, you decide that, no. You won’t call him. You’ll wait for his slow slither back to your apartment. You’ll wait until he pretends like nothing happened. 

Then. Then you���ll confront him.

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

“What?”

Shawn has pizza sauce at the corner of his mouth. Your eyes narrow in on it. “Nothing,” you say, finally tearing your gaze away. 

Everything he does annoys you. It’s like the knowledge of what he did last week is choking you from the inside out. His hands on her hips, his lips on hers, his clothes in her closet, his clothes on her floor... 

“Seriously,” Shawn says, louder than before. “What’s up?”

You shake your head, fiddling your thumbs. The food in front of you has gone cold. Your appetite is gone. The idea of confronting him sounded a lot easier before he was in front of you, all innocent looking and warm. His hair has gotten longer so it falls in his eyes now when he looks down, and you fight the adoration in your chest as he, annoyed, pushes the stray hair from his face. His eyebrows raise, waiting for you to answer him. 

When you do, he wishes you hadn’t. “You were with Maddy.” You say it not as a question, but as a one-off statement, something not up for debate. 

Shawn finishes up the pizza he was chewing before sliding his empty plate further into the table, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his sweatshirt pocket. He takes a deep breath, pushes his hair back again, and answers with a simple “yes.” 

“Why.”

“She asked to see me.”

You bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying angry tears. You can already feel them crawling their way up your throat. “That doesn’t mean you need to see her.” 

Shawn has a tick in his jaw and you wonder if he has the audacity to be mad at you, if he thinks you’re being ridiculous. As if he hasn’t spent all his time with you, hasn’t told you things under bed sheets and under streetlights as the New York chill frosted up his car windows. You let one stray tear fall. The rest you manage to hold back, but the damage is done. You’ve broken the facade. 

At the sight of your sadness, he seems to lighten just a bit. The tick in his jaw is gone and his arms uncross. But still, he says “we’re not dating” like someone would say ‘today is Tuesday’ or ‘the weather is nice’. “I love spending time with you, Y/N, but we’re not dating.” 

“Then what the fuck is this?” you say, your voice rising above its normal volume. “What the fuck are you doing when you spend weeks on end here? What do you tell Maddy you’re doing?” Incredulous, you throw your hands in the air as you exclaim “and I’m crazy?! To think that I had some kind of claim on you?” You wrap your arms around yourself as you suddenly cold and exposed. You’re crying a lot now, and you use the back of your sweatshirt sleeve to wipe at your running nose. “Fuck you Shawn, honestly. You spend your time pretending that you love me for what? For something to do?” 

“No, of course not.”

“Then what? What do I offer you that you can’t get from Maddy?”

Shawn just drops his head as he shakes it, rejecting everything you’re throwing at him. “It’s not like that.” 

At a loss, you drop your face in your palms. Tears slide through your fingers. You say, sadly, “I can’t keep seeing you if you can’t commit anything to me.” 

Shawn stays silent, twisting the ring on his left middle finger around and around. 

Quietly, you say, “get out, please.” When he doesn’t move, you say, louder, “I said, get out.” 

“I don’t think I should leave--”

“Well I think you should’ve left three fucking months ago,” you bite back, poison in each syllable. 

“Stop being so mean: I just wanna talk this through.”

“Then talk!” You yell, throwing your hands to the sides. “Talk! All you’re doing is deflecting! I fucking wish you’d talk to me.” 

Angry again, Shawn stands and you feel your confidence shrinking as he dwarfs you in his height. He takes a few cautious steps forward and you can see that he wants to yell, wants to match your volume, but he doesn’t want to scare you. So, instead, he puts his hands out in the same way you do to a wild animal-- cautious, yet imposing, as he walks closer and closer to you. You’re nose to nose now and you're in a cloud of his cologne. 

His hands come up to your shoulders and you notice that you’re shaking with all the pent up anger and love and whatever the fuck else you’ve been feeling for the past few weeks. He places a careful kiss on your forehead. You let your eyes close as tears slip out from under your eyelashes. 

He handles you like some kind of fine china as he guides you to sit again in the dining chair, him taking the place beside you, his hand gripping your knee lightly. He starts with, “Maddy was my first friend after I got signed.” His thumb rubs over your leggings once before wiping his sweaty palms on his own thighs. “I moved to the city and had no one besides my teammates, but even they weren’t super welcoming. Went to this party and Maddy was there, dancing on a table. She was really drunk and I heard some guys talking about how they could see up her dress so...” he shrugs. “So I helped her down and the rest is history I guess.”

“You started dating?”

Shawn nods. “Yeah. She was a model. She was just getting started, then, but after a year or so she made a good name for herself.”

“And you did too,” you add.

“Yeah, I did alright,” he says, smiling a bit. “But then... um.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I got hurt. I think you said you saw the video. I couldn’t play so I ended up spending a lot of time with Maddy. Stayed at her apartment most of the time, actually. And when you move in with someone, you start to see their... mannerisms, and the way they are when they don’t think anyone is looking.” He leans back in his chair again, faking nonchalance. “I broke up with her and she reacted badly. I think I was the thing keeping her sober, since I was there all the time and she had someone to hang out with besides her friends who all used.”

Things started to click for you, then. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So when we broke up, she went back to hanging out with the wrong group of people. She’s always had addiction problems, to drugs, alcohol, cigarettes. But I had no idea that me living with her was keeping her on the right track.” He clears his throat and you can see his eyes getting red rimmed with tears. “I just want to make it clear that I care for her a lot, but we were never meant to be together. I apologize for keeping this whole situation guarded but it’s... tough. It’s tough for me to talk about.”

“I understand,” you whisper, guilt lacing your words.

“I can see how you’d be angry with me. I really can see it. But I can’t cut Maddy off. I’m afraid that the one time she reaches out and I say no... I don’t know. I just recognize that she’s fragile.”

You nod.

Shawn rubs at his watery eyes. “I care for you, too, though,” he says in quietly. “I just don’t know if I can commit right now.”

You fight the frustration in your chest. Calmly, you ask him, “what is the difference between what we’re doing now and a relationship?”

He’s silent.

You continue. “In my eyes, a relationship is exactly what we are. The label is the only difference.”

“And the publicity.”

“What?”

“The public thinks I’m with Maddy. She likes it that way.”

Your heart sinks. “Okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t care for you—”

“I get it,” you interrupt him.

The two of you sit in silence and it feels like an 80 lb. weight was placed on your shoulders. He moves forward to kiss you and you let him, though your brain is screaming at you to cut him off for good. He doesn’t feel for you the way you do for him. You’re wasting your time. 

But as he jokes around with you and tries to stuff pizza in your mouth and tells you that he’ll be around tomorrow you just can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this will work out. 

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

You get home from work the next day and Shawn is waiting for you outside your apartment complex, car running and headlights on. 

You recognize his car because it’s much too nice to be in your parking lot that’s riddled with pot holes and fading painted lines. The lot is almost always empty, since most city-dwellers choose to take public transportation over their own vehicles. Plus, he’s easy to spot because when he sees you with your coat pulled around your shoulders and your school bag slipping down to the crook of your elbow, he rolls down his window and shouts “Hey, miss? You’re very beautiful and I’d love to take you to dinner.” 

You smile and walk over to the driver’s side, close enough now to see the familiar scar on his cheek. “Hmm,” you tease, “what’s in it for me?”

“A lovely dining experience at the finest restaurant in New York City with the most handsome bachelor on the East Coast.” 

The cold wind whipping your hair around, you give him a quick peck on the lips and walk around to the passenger side door, shoving your bag in the back. His cold palms rest on your cheeks as he pulls you in for a deeper kiss this time, his tongue darting in your mouth for only a second before he pulls away. You ask, “what did you do today” in the normal way that you do, unable to stop the wide smile from crossing your face. 

“Went to a few meetings,” he says casually. “Then I had a doctor’s appointment...” 

The way he trails off makes your ears perk up. “Oh? And what did they say?” You watch as a wide grin takes over his features and your heart leaps for him. “Can you play again?”

Shawn nods and you just about jump out of your seat, wrapping your arms around his neck as his arms meet behind your back, your body leaning over the center console. You can see people walking by your parked car and you know you should be worried about them looking in, but you can’t care about any of that right now. You can feel Shawn’s smile against your shoulder and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt such joy for someone else’s successes. “They said my hip has healed a lot more than they thought it ever would, so I can maybe get back to practicing in the next few months.” 

“Wow, that’s so fantastic, Shawn, really.” 

“Thank you, baby.” 

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he says again. “I thought I’d pick you up for a celebration dinner.”

You kiss him on the cheek and pull away for him to put the car in reverse, turning on to the bustling New York streets. “Where are we going?” you ask. Your mind is racing through all the nicest places, places he surely would fit in like the true celebrity he is. A feeling of dread washes over you as you look down at your outfit. “Oh my god, I need to change. I’m still wearing my work clothes.” 

Without missing a beat, Shawn says “oh, don’t worry. I was thinking we could just pick something up.”

You swallow back your disappointment. Of course he can’t take you out in public. You’re stupid for thinking otherwise. You dig your fingernails into your pants to keep yourself from showing any signs of let-down. “Okay, yep. Sounds good.”

He looks over to you like he knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t say anything. 

The two of you chat for a bit about where you want to go. He talks about his meetings of the day and how he felt like his life was getting back to normal, like old times. 

He speaks and you stare at his ruby red lips as they form each word, and you’re trying your hardest to pay attention, but all you can do is wonder where exactly you fit in his new world. 

Deep down, you know you’re on borrowed time, because his new world doesn’t have any room to spare. 

#Shawn Mendes imagines #angst #hockey shawn #fluff #hockeyshawn #TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT #it's a bit short

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Four

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Four

When Adrien woke up, everything smelled fresh and clean, like fabric softener and laundry detergent.

He was warm and dry, and the bed, the covers, and his pyjamas were all comfortable and soft.

He’d been holding his cat plushie, Chat Noir the Third, when he’d fallen asleep, and C3 was still tucked under Adrien’s arm, fur fuzzy against Adrien’s skin.

It was comforting. In a way, it reminded him of Plagg and how they would sometimes snuggle.

Adrien rolled over onto his back and hugged C3 closer.

Grief and joy mingled in Adrien’s chest as he stared up at the clean, white ceiling.

The morning sun was pouring in through Adrien’s windows in a cheerful, inviting way that Adrien had never experienced in his old room with his old windows.

He was safe. He had a home—a real home this time.

It had been eleven years since he had last had a true home…since he’d lost his mother and the mansion had become silent, cold, and empty.

But now Adrien was home and safe and wanted.

He buried his face in C3’s fur, remembering what Luka had told him the previous day: Luka had bought C3 for Adrien so that he would remember he was loved.

It had been a long time since Adrien was last loved, and the prospect of getting something like that back was overwhelming.

He set C3 aside so that he wouldn’t get him dirty as he cried.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was crying, if it were happiness or sadness or stress, but it felt good to get the emotions out.

When he was done, he sat up, cleaned his face with the tissues on the nightstand, and got out of bed, ready to do his best with the second chance he’d been given.

It felt amazing to get dressed in new, clean clothes with the knowledge that he could throw them in the laundry whenever he felt like it at no charge and that he didn’t have to sleep in them or wear them for multiple days at a time.

It was really nice to have a spacious, private bathroom with a door that locked where he didn’t have to worry about the sanitation.

Well…Luka’s bathroom was currently a mess with toothpaste and shaving cream smudges on the counter and mirror and grooming products left spread out all over the place. Used towels were scattered, crumpled on the floor, and the medicine cabinet was left open.

But Adrien wasn’t necessarily worried, unlike he had been when using other bathrooms where he didn’t even want to think about what kind of germs were growing on surfaces.

Once dressed, Adrien went to Luka’s door and listened for signs that his roommate was awake.

The apartment was still, and Adrien didn’t see any light peeking out from underneath the door, so he assumed that Luka was still sleeping and, instead, made his way to the kitchen.

It was a war zone that had been subsequently ravaged by flood, famine, and pestilence.

It was hard to believe that things could go to ruin in as few as six days, but Adrien was seeing the evidence with his own eyes. Luka was the comparatively neat and tidy Couffaine, but The Breakup had obviously laid him very low indeed.

Dishes were piled high in the sink and crusted with days-old food debris, so Adrien rinsed and scrubbed to the best of his ability before loading them all up in the dishwasher.

Hardly anything in the fridge was worth salvaging.

Adrien got out trash bags from under the sink and started checking dates. He sniffed the items that still resembled food and summarily tossed the ones that were more petri dish than pasta.

He cleared off the counters, sorting the refuse from the misplaced possessions and raided the cabinet below the sink for cleaning supplies.

Once the kitchen was spotless, he expanded his efforts to the living room, picking up the dirty clothes, junk food wrappers, and takeaway containers.

He located the mop, broom, and vacuum cleaner in the coat closet and set about sweeping, reasoning that he would vacuum the rug once Luka was awake so that he didn’t disturb him.

With the living room looking presentable, he gathered up the rubbish, dirty clothes, and items needing to be returned to their respective homes, putting each grouping in their own location to be dealt with later. He then moved on to the bathroom.

By the time he was done tidying and scrubbing, it was midmorning, and he was starting to get kind of hungry. When he’d woken up, he’d still been full from the ridiculous amount of food he’d eaten the day before, but after burning so many calories cleaning, his body was getting ready to eat again.

Luka still hadn’t emerged from his room, so Adrien left a note on the blank page of a sketchbook he had found while cleaning to let Luka know that he hadn’t run away. He was just grocery shopping.

He tore another empty page out of the sketchbook so that he could write up a list of the things he needed from the store.

There was a Monoprix just up the street from the apartment, so it took him less than an hour to walk there, shop, and make it back home again.

He picked up a croissant from the bakery section to snack on as he cooked breakfast but noted that it paled in comparison to what he remembered of those from Tom and Sabine’s.

Adrien was beginning to think that Luka was dead as he plated the food. It was almost noon, and Adrien hadn’t heard a peep.

Luka had looked exhausted the previous day, and he’d mentioned not sleeping well since The Breakup, so maybe he was just catching up on sleep, but Adrien had enough experience with depression to know that it was time to step in and drag his flatmate out of bed.

He knocked on the door, but there was no response.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and discovered it was unlocked.

“Luka, I’m going to be really mad if you’re actually dead,” Adrien grumbled, hesitantly pushing the door open. “Luka?”

Adrien blinked as he got his first glimpse at the inside of Luka’s bedroom.

It was even worse than the rest of the apartment, and that was saying something. Garbage and dirty clothes were strewn everywhere, and the floor was like a minefield of filth.

“Oh, Luka,” Adrien cooed, carefully making his way across the room to the bed. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

Luka snored softly, deaf to Adrien’s sympathy.

“Orpheus.” Adrien kept his voice quiet as he gently shook Luka’s shoulder, not wanting to startle his friend. “Luka? Hey. Wake up.”

Luka drew in a long breath, and his eyes slowly blinked open.

He stared up at Adrien in a daze.

“Angel,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke Adrien’s cheek.

Adrien was torn between enjoying the attention immensely and feeling guilty about it because Luka was obviously still out of it.

“You are not awake,” Adrien chuckled, carefully removing Luka’s palm from his face. “Earth to Luka. Come in, Luka.”

Luka gave a jolt as he blinked and his eyes came into focus. “Oh my gosh. Adrien. Sorry. Hi. What’s wrong? Did you need something?”

“It’s breakfast time. Get up,” Adrien teased, tugging on Luka’s arm lightly.

Luka cursed under his breath. “I am so sorry. Give me just a minute and I’ll go to the grocery store and then make you some breakfast.”

Adrien snorted in laughter. “No need. It is I who have made you breakfast. Come eat before it gets cold.”

Luka blinked at Adrien. “You what?”

“I made omuraisu,” Adrien explained with a pleased smile.

“You what?” Luka repeated, wondering if his ears were failing him.

His Adrien didn’t cook.

“I’m twenty-four,” Adrien enunciated. “I make my own breakfast. Now, get up or I’m seriously climbing in bed with you and pushing you out.”

“…You made breakfast?” Luka echoed in disbelief as he followed Adrien toward the door.

“Yep,” Adrien confirmed with a pop to the p. “I’ve worked in a lot of kitchens these past few years. The chefs taught me some things.”

They stepped out into the living room, and Luka had to do a doubletake. “Faeries came during the night and cleaned the apartment.”

Adrien cracked up. “I mean…it’s not like this is the first time someone’s ever called me a faerie, but…I prefer the term ‘knight in leather armor’.”

Luka gawked at Adrien. “You cleaned the apartment?”

His Adrien wouldn’t know what to do with a broom if his life depended on it…unless he needed to use the broom as a weapon. His Adrien had that covered, but to use a broom for its intended purpose…

Adrien came to a stop in the kitchen, pushing one of the plates of omuraisu towards Luka.

“Surprise,” he announced softly, a sad expression in his eyes that made him look older than Luka had ever remembered. “I’m a functional, responsible adult now too.”

“Yeah,” Luka breathed, looking at Adrien with new eyes. “You went and grew up on me, didn’t you?”

He pulled Adrien into a tight hug, and Adrien squeezed back.

“I had to get it together pretty quickly,” Adrien confessed bitterly. “I cook, clean, do laundry… I even scrub toilets now.”

Luka pulled back, looking mortified. “Please tell me you didn’t clean the bathroom.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Adrien assured.

Luka dropped his forehead to Adrien’s shoulder and let out an animalistic groan. “I am so, so sorry. I swear I was going to clean everything today.”

“I know. I believed you when you kept telling me so last night,” Adrien informed. “It was just that you were completely wiped out, and I saw an opportunity to be helpful.”

Adrien took Luka’s face in his hands and tipped it up to look him in the eye. “This isn’t like before when I’d sneak out and come visit you when I was upset. I may still be a mess, but you’re a wreck too at the moment, and, now, I’m able to help and support you too.”

“Don’t sound so pleased about me being a disaster,” Luka chuckled, horrified and amused all at once.

“I promise I’m not. I’m just glad that I can finally do something for you after all you’ve done for me.” Adrien gave Luka a sincere smile and then stepped back to focus on his food. “Eat your breakfast already.”

Luka sighed, resigning himself to this alternate universe where his Adrien was fully capable of taking care of himself.

“Thank you,” he stressed, digging into the omuraisu. “…Geez, this is good!”

Adrien smirked around his fork. “Told you so.”

“What else can you make?” Luka wondered through a mouthful of rice and egg.

“I specialize in ethnic food,” Adrien preened. “I do desserts passably too, so maybe tomorrow I can make tiramisu and chickpea coconut cashew curry.”

Luka bit his tongue to stop himself from confessing his eternal love to Adrien because it was way too soon after The Breakup to be developing feelings for anyone. Besides, Adrien was vulnerable; Luka would be taking advantage of Adrien’s dependency on him if he made any kind of move.

He never wanted Adrien to feel pressured into anything for fear of winding up back on the street again.

Instead of the declaration of love, Luka smiled gratefully. “I’m really, really glad you came back into my life yesterday.”

Adrien paused, looking taken aback for a moment, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “You like curry that much?”

“It’s not just about the curry,” Luka chuckled. “Thank you for all of this.”

“Sure.” Adrien returned the smile with a grin full of pride. “I’m not even done yet. I still have your room to clean.”

“No,” Luka groaned. “I can clean my own room.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m going to help you,” Adrien informed in a tone that told Luka he would not be backing down. “You can tell me what you don’t want me touching, but I can at least help sort the trash from the dirty clothes from the dishes from the stuff that just needs to be put away.”

“I will consider letting you help,” Luka conceded through gritted teeth.

“Perfect!” Adrien chirped cheerily. “…So, I didn’t start any laundry yet because I wasn’t sure what your preferences were, but this evening after we sort through the stuff in your room, you can tell me how you want your laundry done, and I can work on that while you hide your dirty magazines or whatever.”

Luka rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure that Adrien remembered that Luka was demi and didn’t experience sexual attraction unless he had a strong emotional connection with someone and, therefore, had no need for dirty magazines. They’d talked a lot about sexuality when Adrien was sixteen/seventeen and trying to figure things out. Adrien didn’t have trusted adults to talk to, and Luka was actually really honored that Adrien had come to him.

“I will consider letting you help with laundry,” Luka repeated with a shake of his head.

“Great. So…status update,” Adrien prattled right along, leaning his forearms on the counter as he consumed his omuraisu. “I gathered all the trash and piled it up in bags by the door because I didn’t know what the building’s trash collection procedure was.”

“We can take it down to the dumpster on our way out the door to band practice,” Luka replied.

“Cool.” Adrien nodded, taking in the information. “I also piled all the clothing articles in two heaps over by the couch….” He hesitated, biting his bottom lip. “…Not all of the clothes are yours. I can wash them and fold them up in a trash bag so you don’t have to see them, if you’d like.”

Luka winced. “…I don’t know right now. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Adrien rushed to assure. “I’ll just go ahead and do that, and then you can deal with them whenever you’re ready.”

“I really hope there wasn’t anything too embarrassing,” Luka groaned.

Adrien grimaced. “You both have impeccable taste in underwear?”

“I want to die,” Luka replied with an ironic smile.

“It seriously wasn’t a big deal,” Adrien stressed. “…Though, I wasn’t able to determine as easily what was yours as far as possessions go, so I just lined them up neatly against the wall out of the way. I hope that was okay? You don’t have to go through them anytime soon. They can just wait until you’re ready.”

Luka reached out and rested a hand on Adrien’s bicep. “Thank you.”

Adrien placed his hand over Luka’s and smiled. “What are friends for?”

“For times like this,” Luka hummed, feeling blessed.

There was a beat, and then Adrien went back to his status update. “I cleaned out the fridge and went shopping for the essentials, but we’ll need to shop again tonight or tomorrow for the rest of the week. Also, I bought a cheap rice cooker. I hope that’s okay. I had a rice cooker up until a few months ago, and I used to cook all kinds of things in it. I can do a lot with a rice cooker.”

Luka grinned, watching Adrien fondly as he animatedly recounted his rice cooker culinary adventures.

Adrien had slipped so easily into Luka’s life, making himself indispensable in less than twenty-four hours. It left Luka wondering what he’d been doing without Adrien for the past four years.

 “Émile!” Josie cried, sprinting across the bar and enveloping Adrien in a fierce hug.

Luka, smiling fondly, stepped around them and went over to get the things he’d left with Jacob the previous day from the bassist. “Glad to know I mean nothing to you, Josie.”

Josie ignored Luka, focusing all of her enthusiasm on Adrien. “Look at you! You clean up nice, Kid! Look at your little baby face! You are the cutest thing. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Josie,” Adrien chuckled, hugging her back with genuine affection.

Luka couldn’t stop grinning because Adrien was adorable. He got attached to people so quickly.

Jacob looked back and forth between Luka and Adrien and quirked an eyebrow quizzically. “You two came together?” he whispered so only Luka would hear.

“He’s actually my roommate now,” Luka confessed, wanting to get this conversation over sooner rather than later.

Jacob’s eyes bugged out. “Dude. You work fast,” he hissed. “You’re already shacked up?”

“No.” Luka winced. “It’s not like that. It’s completely platonic. He just needed a place to stay.”

Jacob nodded, not believing that for a second. “Right.”

“Émile!” Marc greeted, leaving his guitar propped against his keyboard on stage to go give Adrien a hug. “Hey, Kiddo. I did get your text with your phone number. Sorry I didn’t text back. I read it right away, but I was in the middle of burning food, and I completely forgot.”

“No worries,” Adrien assured, returning the hug and absolutely loving it. “So long as you got the message.”

Luka promptly shoved down the little niggling of jealousy that sprouted up at seeing Adrien being affectionate with another guy.

Josie quickly distracted him as she came over and hung off of his shoulder. “You don’t look like crap today.”

“Thank you?” Luka frowned, trying to decide whether to be insulted.

“He said Émile needed a place to stay, so he moved in with him yesterday,” Jacob reported, looking at Josie expectantly.

Josie’s eyes went wide. “Wow. Very opportunist. You get any yet?”

Luka swatted her away. “It’s platonic. I just broke up with The Girl, guys. I am not jumping into anything for a very long time.”

“Are you trying to say that my baby brother isn’t good enough for you to seduce?” Josie snorted, doing a very good job of actually looking offended.

Luka threw his hands up in frustration. “You know, I was having a good day until I had to deal with you two clowns.”

“Émile!” Jacob waved as Adrien and Marc came over to join them. “Sup, Kid?” He opened his arms for a hug which Adrien readily gave.

“Hey, Jacob.” Adrien smiled nervously as he pulled back, reaching up to rub at his neck. “I actually have something I need to tell everyone.”

The band’s expressions suddenly went serious.

“What’s up, Émile?” Josie prompted gently.

Adrien took a deep breath. “That isn’t actually my real name.”

Luka’s eyes widened, and he reached out to rest a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “You sure you’re ready to do this now?”

Adrien nodded. “Yeah. They’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I don’t want to lie to them.”

“Is your real name ‘Adrien’?” Marc inquired.

Everyone looked to him in surprise.

Adrien blinked. “You knew?”

Josie and Jacob turned to Marc with twin frowns.

“How’d you know that?” Jacob demanded.

Marc shook his head. “I wasn’t sure. I just thought you kind of looked like the billboards I used to see all the time.”

“Billboards?” Josie echoed, arching an eyebrow.

“My name is really Adrien,” Adrien confessed. “Adrien Agreste.”

Jacob blinked. “That…sounds familiar?”

“I used to be a model,” Adrien elaborated. “Especially about ten years ago my face was on everything. You couldn’t get away from the advertisements if you tried…. I’m also known more notoriously as Gabriel Agreste’s son,” Adrien informed, gaze directed intently down at his shoes. “You know. Papillon.”

Jacob promptly pushed Luka out of the way and wrapped his arms around Adrien, announcing, “Just so you all know, this is mine now.”

“I don’t think so,” Josie huffed, coming to join the puppy pile. “I saw him first, but if I get caught when I sneak into jail to assassinate his father, you’d sure as hell better take care of him for me.”

She turned to Adrien (who looked very, very confused).

“You’re adopted,” she declared, her voice just on the right side of calm even as it came out clipped and furious. “There’s no way you’re actually related to that slimewad. He akumatized my little sister when she was being bullied, and there is no way you’re related to him. Besides, like I keep saying, we are officially adopting you now.”

Marc reached out a hand to rest on Adrien’s shoulder. “We’re here for you. Promise.”

“People…don’t usually react like that,” Adrien hiccupped. “They usually want nothing to do with me when they find out who I am.”

“People suck,” Jacob reported. “Obviously, they didn’t put much effort into finding out who you really are because, if they had, they would have discovered that you’re a precious baby who deserves to be loved and protected.”

Adrien turned to Luka with a watery smile. “You pick good people.”

Luka grinned. “I picked you, didn’t I?”

The whole group besides Adrien groaned.

Adrien only smiled.

“…So why ‘Émile Dupain’?” Josie inquired as they slowly pulled away.

“‘Émile’ is actually my second name,” Adrien explained. “I was named after my mom.”

Everyone nodded, making cooing, “that’s so sweet” noises.

“‘Dupain’ I stole from a friend,” he confessed with a blush that made Luka narrow his eyes. “It was the most common surname out of all of my friends, so… Plus, it was like taking a little piece of home with me while I roamed around.”

They all cooed again.

“Wait. Hold up.” Jacob turned and pointed to Luka just as the conversation was about to shift. “He’s not surprised about any of this. Did you tell him already yesterday?”

Adrien bit his lip, smiling guiltily. “I’ve known Luka for about a decade now, actually. I didn’t recognize him yesterday until we were outside on the street, though. He still had blue hair when I last saw him.”

“Man, I dated him when he had the blue hair,” Jacob sighed, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have let him go so easily if I had known the black hair upgrade was coming.”

“Hey,” Luka grumbled. “I looked good with blue hair. It went with my eyes.”

“I actually think the black offsets your eyes better,” Adrien hummed thoughtfully. “The black makes the blue pop. I like it like this.”

Luka’s brain broke. “O-Oh? You think so?”

Marc put a hand over his mouth, holding in a laugh. “He’s never going to dye his hair again.”

Josie opened her mouth to quip, but then she caught the soft, warm, gooey way Luka was looking at Adrien.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Holy crap! He’s Adrien!”

Adrien gave a start, suddenly very worried. “Uh…yes? I thought…that was okay?”

She waved her arms, shooing away his concerns. “No. The thing with your father is fine. I meant that you’re Adrien. Luka’s Adrien!”

Jacob’s jaw dropped. “He’s The Boy!?”

Adrien looked to Luka for reassurance, quite obviously anxious at something he had no way of understanding.

Luka grimaced and wrapped a comforting arm around Adrien’s shoulders. “Yes,” he said pointedly. “He’s the dear friend I’ve mentioned many times to you.”

Jacob scoffed under his breath at that.

Marc decided to stay out of it.

“I really was worried about you while you were away,” Luka explained to Adrien. “I may have been a little preoccupied.”

Slowly, Adrien began to nod, thinking he understood. “Sorry again for worrying you.”

“He survived,” Marc assured, beckoning Adrien over to the stage. “He was a real mess for a while, though.”

Josie hung back, giving Luka a skeptical look. “You moved in with The Boy a week after breaking up with The Girl?”

Luka shrugged helplessly. “It’s platonic.”

“You make questionable life decisions,” Jacob snorted. “You’re screwed.”

“He’s going to wish he were,” Josie sighed. “Does your sister know that you’ve set yourself up for total emotional annihilation by platonically moving in with The Boy a week after your breakup with The Girl?”

“Adrien isn’t ready to tell people he’s back in Paris yet, so don’t you dare say anything to Juleka,” Luka growled protectively, getting his friends’ attention.

They shared a look and then held their hands up in surrender.

“We’re just worried about you, Dude,” Jacob clarified sympathetically.

Luka sighed, all the hot air coming out of him. “I’m kind of worried about me too,” he confessed.

#Lukadrien #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Slow Burn #Friends to Lovers #Flirting #Pining #Mutual Pining #Roommates #Mikau's Writings #Zebras Can't Change Their Stripes