#be sad be upset that's perfectly fine whatever but this is ridiculous

[sarah-cam]

some of y'all are truly wild... this level of drama is so unnecessary. calling for the show to be canceled, somehow blaming the ACTORS, calling them "liars" and saying eric deserves to lose his job??

please get a FUCKING grip.

#chenford #the rookie #anti fandom #text #some of y'all need to go outside i am BEGGING #be sad be upset that's perfectly fine whatever but this is ridiculous #i'm so sick of this bullshit in fandoms #that's why i don't even get involved anymore because sooner or later they all turn into crazy weirdos #trust me i've been burned before but IT'S A TV SHOW #IT IS QUITE LITERALLY NOT REAL

[vintagepresley]

I think I'm a little late on this subject but that's ok. I read a lot of things about this new movie Priscilla that made me really scared of the evil of people, So many people on Tik Tok and Tumblr saying inhumane things like, 'Good thing Lisa died before she saw what a monster her mother was' or people saying that Cilla should be abused, killed and things like that. Don't get me wrong, I personally believe that everyone has the full right to express their own opinions (specifically about things or artists that you like) but this is getting genuinely scary.... You have the complete right to be disappointed or upset with Cilla but threatening her and saying mean things about Lisa's passing is completely inhumane! It's okay to express your opinions, but the moment your "opinions" violate other people's rights as human beings, they stop being "opinions" and start to become hate speech. I don't want to seem rude or anything like that, I just think there is a limit to everything.

(English is not my mother tongue so sorry for any mistakes)

I want to start off by saying that I agree with you. Everyone has the right to their opinions until those opinions go too far and become borderline scary and well.. just bat shit crazy. I’ve seen a lot of this as well and it’s honestly sad. I get that people hate her or dislike, whatever. That’s valid and everyone is entitled to their feelings and opinions. But wishing death, abuse or wishing murder on someone is so sick and ridiculous to me. I understand people hate her.. But when do we take things too far? On top of that if Elvis were to hear the the way people are wishing these things on her I doubt he’d be happy. I feel like people who say things like that forget the kind of person Elvis was and that was not someone who wished death or horrible things onto people no matter what.

For someone to wish something like that on a person you have to be very sick and twisted and honestly full of hate. Which all I have to know is how do you sleep at night? It’s not like she committed some like sick crime or something to warrant such disgusting things like that. It’s really not that deep. Then when they bring Lisa into it that baffles me. She knew her mother better than we will ever know. She clearly didn’t hate her mother as much as people claim or hoped she did. I can imagine she too would be disgusted by the things people are saying about her mother. Because I don’t know if people realize she’s always defended her mother. Whether people like that or not. It’s true. Just like any parent and child they had their issues. It’s normal. I mean, hey, if everyone has a perfect relationship with their mother then cheers to you! But being in the public eye the way they were because of Elvis it probably wasn’t easy on either of them. I’d also like to point out that the only two books written about Elvis that Lisa read and only ever liked written about him was her mother’s and Jerry’s.

But I digress. I don’t wanna rant any further. Everyone is entitled to their opinions. But as you said.. Until those opinions become hate speech and death threats.

(Also your English is perfectly fine!)

[waitimcomingtoo]

Viral

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Requested by @hstyleswritten : you and Tom make tik toks on set that test your friendship

Masterlist

“Hi tik tok.” You waved to your camera. “I’m not sure who’s gonna see this but I wanted to announce that I’ll be playing Black Cat in the MCU going forward. I just saw that the news broke online and-“

“-and she’s my girlfriend.” Tom jumped on your couch and wrapped his arms around you. “Did she tell you she’s my girlfriend? I finally got one.”

“All right, relax.” You chuckled as you playfully pushed Tom off of you. “I’m his girlfriend in the movies. Tom and I are just friends.”

“Why’d you have to kill my vibe?” He teased as he hugged you again. “Who is this video for anyway?”

“It’s for tik tok.” You told him.

“Oh. Hi tic tac!” He waved to your camera, making you burst out laughing.

“No it’s not…you know what? It doesn’t even matter. Bye tik tok.” You waved goodbye.

“Bye tic tac! Are they sponsoring you?” Tom asked as you posted the video.

“Uh uh.” You said sarcastically. “Tic Tac is sponsoring me. I get free breath mints for life.”

“Really?” Tom gasped. “You’re so lucky.”

“I’m joking.” You laughed. I don’t think they sponsor anyone. Wait, look. I already got a few thousand followers.”

Tom looked at your phone and patted your back to show he was impressed.

“Wow.” He smiled. “Look at you.”

“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “They’re following for you.”

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous.” Tom tutted as he pinched your cheeks. “They’re following to see this pretty face.”

“No.” You giggled as you pulled out of his grasp. “It’s for you.”

“We should make more of these.” Tom suggested.

“Oh, trust me.” You told him. “I plan to.”

~

“Hi Tik Tok. I’m on set right now. I can’t show you anything or I will be smited but look who I’m with.” You grinned as you rested your head on Toms shoulder and panned the camera to him.

“Hi.” Tom smiled at you. “What’s this for?”

“Tik tok.” You told him. “Say hi.”

“Hi tik tok.” Tom waved. “What is tik tok anyway?”

“It’s a dating app.” You told him casually as you posed.

“What?” He stammered, his jealously getting the better of him.

“I’m kidding.” You chuckled, making him sigh in relief. “It’s kinda like vine. Remember vine?”

“Is that that thing you showed me with the “road work ahead” guy?” Tom wondered, always confused with changing technology.

“Yeah, that’s it.” You laughed again at his choice of references.

“Uh, I sure hope it does.” Tom quoted in the style of the vine. “Was that good?”

“That was perfect.” You complimented, smiling at how he looked to you for approval. “I’m so posting this.”

Tom leaned on his hand and watched you fondly as you uploaded the video.

“How many followers do you have, love?” He asked as he gazed at you.

“13 million.” You showed him your phone and shook it proudly.

“Wow.” His eyes widened. “Already?”

“What can I say? They all want to see this pretty face.” You teased as you pinched his cheeks, just as he did to you.

“Unhand me, woman.” He laughed. “That’s seriously impressive. I can’t believe my best friend is the face of tic tacs.”

You rolled your eyes at his joke as he laughed at himself before checking the comments on your latest video.

~

“Okay I’ve been getting a bunch of comments to do more tik toks with Tom so I’m gonna pull some pranks on him.” You said as you set up your phone. “He should be coming to my trailer any minute.”

Soon enough, Tom opened your trailer door and set a package of baby carrots and some hummus on your counter.

“Hey.” You said stiffly, keeping your eyes on your phone.

“Hi beautiful.” Tom smiled at you. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing.” You mumbled. “Just sitting here.”

“Are you okay? You seem upset.” Tom noticed. You flicked your eyes to the camera and smirked a little before going in for the kill.

“You could have been nicer to be today.” You said quietly, still keeping your eyes down.

Toms eyes widened before filling with sadness as he took a seat next to you in the couch.

“I’m sorry, princess. What did I do that made you feel like that?” He apologized as he rubbed your back.

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.” You said coldly as you turned away from him.

“Is this because I said my butt looked bigger in my suit than yours looked in your suit?” Tom asked, making you break.

“You didn’t say that.” You laughed as you turned around.

“But I’ve been thinking it all day.” He grimaced, resulting in you hitting him with a pillow.

“You think I didn’t see you camera?” He laughed as he pointed to your phone. “You’re making a clip clop.”

“It’s a Tik Tok.” You corrected as you hit him with another pillow. “And I hate you.”

“Guys. Send help.” Tom said as he grabbed your phone. “My best friend is trying to kill me.”

Tom let out a scream as you chased him but the video ending and perfectly cut off his scream. You burst out laughing when you watched it back and added some hashtags before posting it.

“How many followers are you at now?” He asked once you caught up to him and tackled him onto the bed.

“23 million.” You told him as you shook your phone in his face.

“Wow. All thanks to me.” He pretended to flip some hair behind his shoulder.

“Shut up.” You shoved him playfully. “I’m so gonna get you back for this.”

~

Your plan to get Tom back went into motion the following week when the two of you were hanging out in his trailer.

You set the camera up and gave it a thumbs up before putting your feet back in his lap. You watched him scrolling on his phone for a moment before letting out a loud sigh.

“Are you all right?” Tom immediately noticed your sigh.

“I’m fine.” You said flatly.

“You don’t sound fine.” Tom insisted as he rubbed his thumb against your ankle.

“I am.” You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If somethings bothering you, it matters to me.” Tom said gently.

“Whatever.” You grumbled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tom pouted for a moment when he realized he wouldn’t be getting through to you before an idea came to him. He sudden yanked you by the ankles onto his lap and began to tickle your sides.

“Are you fine now?” He teased as you burst into laughter. “Does this feel fine?”

“You can stop now.” You said between fits of laughter. “I’m okay. It was for a tik tok.”

“You’re making another tik tok?” He asked as he found the camera.

“Yup.” You smiled proudly as you reached for the camera. “Bye guys!”

~

Knowing Tom was in the eating area, you went to see him with another idea for a video. You discreetly set up your phone next to Tom before going through with your plan.

“Hi Tommy.” You greeted him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You placed a kiss on his cheek before sitting down.

“Hi. Aw.” He chuckled fondly and rubbed your back as you sat down. “What was that for?”

“I just wanted to kiss you.” You shrugged.

“Aw.” He repeated as his cheeks heated up. “Thank you.”

Just as you hoped, Tom leaned in to kiss your cheek. You smiled warmly at him before wiping the kiss off with your sleeve.

“Did you just wipe it off?” Toms smile fell when he saw what you did.

“Hm?” You hummed as you leaned on your hand.

“You wiped my kiss off.” He repeated, visibly offended now.

“Sorry. It was a little wet.” You shrugged.

“So are my eyes in two minutes if you don’t let me give you another one.” Tom pouted.

“All right.” You agreed. “Try not to soak me this time.”

Tom kissed your cheek again and you gave it a minute before wiping it off.

“Oh My God.” He gasped and got up. “I’ve never been this insulted in my life.”

“Wait.” You laughed as you grabbed his hand. “Come back. It was for a tik tok.”

“Again?” He smiled in relief as he sat back down. “How do I keep falling for these?”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad you do.” You chuckled. “You’re getting me a lot of followers.”

“I’m telling you and tik tok right now.” Tom pointed at the camera. “I’m never falling for one again.”

“Yeah right.” You snorted. “He so is.”

And he so did.

“Hey.” You said causally as you walked in to Toms hotel room and found his sitting on the bed.

“Hi.” He said back as you knelt down in from of him. “Oh? What are we doing?”

“Just sit back.” You smiled at him, his eyes widening as you spread his legs apart. He leaned over to see what you were doing right as you picked up a pen you had planted under his bed earlier.

“Thanks.” You held up the pen. “I’ve been looking everywhere for this.”

“Wait, what?” Tom sputtered as you got up from the floor. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” You asked innocently as you clicked the pen a few times.

“You were just getting a pen?” He gulped as he crossed his legs.

“What did you think I was doing?” You played dumb as you looked at him through your lashes.

“Nothing.” Tom said skeptically as he took a pillow from the bed and placed it over his lap.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” You tilted your head to the side.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tom muttered as he held the pillow down.

“Uh huh.” You nodded. “Is there a reason you’re crossing your legs?”

“No. For an unrelated reason, I have to use the bathroom.” He got up quickly, keeping the pillow where it was as he ran to the bathroom. You grabbed your phone and saved the video to your drafts, smirking to yourself as you watched it back. You posted it just as a very sheepish Tom came out of the bathroom.

“Good evening.” He said stiffly as he held his hands behind his back.

“Hey.” You chuckled. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “I do.”

“Good.” You smirked. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re sneaky.” He pointed at you accusingly. “You’re a sneaky little snake and I don’t appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrugged simply.

“Oh, don’t you?” Tom mimicked you.

“Tom, come on. This isn’t fair.” You sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop being so hard on me.”

“I hate you.” Tom said decidedly as you giggled shamelessly. “I seriously hate you.”

“Aw. But I love you.” You pouted as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, right.” He scoffed. “Was that for that stupid app?”

“Yep.” You popped the p. “Thanks for 30 million followers, by the way.”

“30 million?” He asked. “You’re gonna have to do something huge to get to 50 million.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” You told him. “I have just the thing.”

~

“Okay, Toms in the bathroom but he’s coming back any second. This has been the most requested one by far, so I’m gonna do it.” You smiled nervously. “This is the “kissing my best friend” challenge.”

Your hands shook as you set your phone up on the nightstand just as Tom came out of the bathroom.

“Come here.” You pulled Tom by the hand until he was next to you on the bed. “I wanna show you this song.”

Your thighs and shoulders were brushing as Electric Love played, a small smile resting on Toms lips as he listened to it.

“This is a nice song.” Tom said softly as he turned to you. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I really like it.” You mumbled as you pulled his face to yours and kissed him. Toms eyes widened in surprise before fluttering shut. He kissed you back eagerly, placing his hands over yours to keep you close. He pulled away after a moment and rested his forehead against yours, sighing happily as the music stopped.

“Did you actually want to kiss me or was that for a video?” He asked suddenly.

“Both.” You giggled before kissing him again. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now. Tik tok just gave me a perfect opportunity.”

“So that was real?” He asked hopefully. “That wasn’t one of your pranks?”

“No.” You shook your head, your noses brushing against each other. “It was not a prank.”

“Thank god.” He sighed in relief and covered your face in kisses. “I was planning on kissing you, by the way. I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Uh huh.” You humored him as you uploaded the video. “Sure you were.”

“I was.” He insisted. “I had a whole speech planned.”

“Really?” You looked at him. “Tell me your speech?”

“Something along the lines of you’re beautiful, you’re magical, and I want to be your boyfriend more than anything.” He shrugged casually. “No biggie.”

“Aw. Too bad you were too chicken to say it.” You teased.

“Shut up.” Tom laughed. “I was gonna get there.”

“Look.” You showed him your phone. “I posted that less than five minutes ago and it already went viral.”

“What did I tell you?” Tom sighed happily.

“You told me what?” You looked at him curiously. He chuckled a little and pinched your cheeks.

“It’s all because of that pretty face.”

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17​ @thebookwormlife​ @imanativeofswlondondahling​ @weirdr-artiest​ @serendipitous-amor​ @dummiesshort​

@foreverxholland​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @maryjanee23​ @geeksareunique​ @emmamarshmellow​ @unbelievableholland​ @rebekkah4766​ @flixndchill​ @sovereignparker​ @thisisthebiplace​ @spideydobrik​ @every-marveler-ever​ @undiadeestos​ @caelestii-e​ @eridanuswave​​ @itscaminow​​ @fiantomartell​ @solarxmoonchild​ @where-art-thau-romeo​ @canyouevencauseicant​ @illwritetomorrow​ @thehappygrungelife​ @saysomethingspiderman​ @parkerboop​ @smilexcaptainx​ @quaksonhehe​ @kelieah​ @kickingn-ames​ @babeyspidey​ @seasidecrowbar​ @lovelessdagger​ @love-sick-blues​ @electraheart-3174​ @unbelievableholland​ @yourtypicalhotmess​ @spideyanakin​ @horanxholland​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @anapocalypseinmymind​ @marshxx​ @heyheycharlatte​ @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie​ @tomshufflepuff​ @cookiemonstermusic258​

@maybemona​ @young-romanoff​ @alexxcorona113​ @spideyspeaches​ @lethal-wisdom​ @xo-spidey​ @im-still-tryin-to-find-it​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @pandaxnienke​ @theincredibledeadlyviper​  @thestylestour​  @officialsimppage​ @mrvelscaptains​ @peterspideysstuff​ @reemusluupin​ @itsemohours​ @satanswitchings​ @okkulta​ @parkerlovebot​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @mati4188​ @geminiparkers​ @jungkxxkk​ @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ @whatthefuckimbisexual​ @olixerwxxd​ @starkbrain​ @creatorofthegalaxy​ @far-from-holland​ @f-hollands​ @ilovefrogs1000​ @itstaskeen​ @dreamedforu​ @itmatteredatthetime​ @rockyrogers​

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb #tom holland tik tok blurb #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #iron man #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine

[komoreangel]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬/𝐨

pairings: childe, zhongli, and xiao x f!reader (separate)

scenario: your past lives never stop haunting you, but your boyfriend is there to comfort you

request: What about Childe, Zhongli and Xiao having a s/o who can reincarnate, but her past lives were really terrible people and she sees herself as one? So they comfort her, telling she isn't one

genre: mostly angst with cuddles and kisses in between

childe

you’ve been lost in your thoughts for a couple days now

you can’t stop thinking about it

the blood staining your hands

what your past reincarnations did

what you did 

childe can tell something’s wrong

he can sympathize with feeling guilt for lives taken by your own will 

as someone who’s killed countless people, he recognizes the look of searing guilt in your eyes all too well

“y/n, is something wrong?”

you don’t answer

you have your head in your hands, and you’re sitting on the edge of your bed with your eyes facing the ground

he can tell you’re not completely there with him 

“y/n?”

“i hurt them.” 

he knows about your reincarnations, you’d told him when you two started dating

“hey, are you okay?” he pulls your wrists away from your face 

“how did this happen?” your voice is quiet, almost that he can’t hear it 

you look up at him and the darkness in your eyes is familiar

too familiar

he promised he wouldn’t let this happen to you too

“y/n. snap out of it.” 

no reaction

he grabs your shoulders and grips them, making sure you’re staring straight into his eyes 

“i can’t stop thinking about it.” 

he pulls you into his arms 

“y/n, you are not your past lives. you are someone new, you are someone different. you are brave, you are strong, you are not responsible for what they did.”

“but it doesn’t change the fact that it was me. i took their lives.”

childe can see he’s not getting through to you

“i know. i know it’s hard. i know you never really forget the look in their eyes. and it’s okay. its fine. just please don’t feel guilty for a death you didn’t cause.” 

“but how can i? how did- how did you...” 

you stop talking for fear of upsetting him

he wants to tell you that he didnt stop hurting

he didnt get over it

he wakes up in a sweat fearing that the things he did will cause him to lose the good things he has

but that’s not something he can bring himself to say 

so he just hugs you as you cry 

because he knows you’re not a terrible person 

because a terrible person wouldn’t have it in their hearts to love him 

and although you don’t feel any less guilty

it’s better having him with you than being alone

zhongli 

as someone who knows a thing or two about reincarnation

and also as rex lapis, who hurt people during the archon war

when you sneak into his arms for cuddles he doesn’t protest

“darling, is there a problem?”

you remain silent. 

after a while, your quiet voice echoes out into the dark

“i was a terrible person.”

out of context, this would seem confusing

but he understands

“those people aren’t you.” he tries his best to speak words of comfort, but your tears continue to wet his shirt (not that he minds, he just doesn’t like it when you cry) 

“i...i killed so many people..” 

he holds you close to his chest, so you can hear his heartbeat 

“a reincarnation of you, someone who has almost nothing to do with you...you aren’t a bad person, y/n.” 

your guilt burns in your chest

you know zhongli is only trying to help

but you still can’t just forget what your past life did 

“but that was me...just, different.” 

he tries to comfort you in the best way he can: by explaining 

“a reincarnation is described as sharing the same soul, but otherwise having nothing in common. you and all your reincarnations are completely different people, with nothing in common.” 

you know he’s right 

but you just want your chest to stop hurting and those memories to stop coming back 

“it might help to get some sleep,” he says. 

but sleep is the last thing on your mind right now

“even if you’re not tired,” he continues as if he can read your mind

“just closing your eyes for a bit” 

you don’t feel like sleeping, but it can’t hurt to listen to him

you lean against his chest and close your eyes

he looks down at you and wishes he could take all your pain away 

he wishes he still had his godly powers 

surely there wouldve been some ability that he could use to help you 

unfortunately, just hoping won’t be able to do much

so he holds you close and hopes you stop feeling guilty for crimes that you didn’t commit 

and when you wake up, he’ll remind you that he loves you because of all the good things you do every single day 

xiao 

your regret is not all that different from his own

the sight is all too familiar 

you’re curled up in a ball in the corner of the balcony at wangshu inn 

“y/n, come out of there. i can see you perfectly well.” 

you come out and rest your forehead against his chest 

he can sense that you aren’t holding up too well 

the only difference between your guilt and his own is that you aren’t responsible for the bad things your reincarnations did or may have done 

“it’s not your fault. you couldn’t have done anything.” 

he does feel sympathetic for you, but he’s firm in the fact that you have nothing to do with the past memories that have come flooding back 

he notices that you’re wrapping your arms around him in a hug 

he’s not the best at comforting, but he tries his best to return your embrace 

he’d rest his chin on the top of your head if you started crying

most likely he would try to calm you down and help you relax because crying for a long time can get you sick

and that’s the last thing he wants 

he would also let you sit on the couch in your room with almond tofu 

if you wanted he would even let you sit on his lap and eat 

(although he’d scold you if you got food on the couch) 

he might run his fingers through your hair at an attempt to make you feel at ease 

he does like cuddling, but this time you aren’t cuddling out of happiness 

it’s understandable why you’d be distressed during a time like this, but he feels like you’re being sad over something you didn’t do 

even if he’s unable to convince you that you’re innocent, he’ll still be there for you 

the little things he’d do to help you feel better :(( 

and kiss your nose and forehead hhhh 

feeding you almond tofu and whatever other food he can make without burning down the inn

if anyone comes to see you with a commission he would tell them you aren’t feeling your best and to come back later

(and they’d probably pee their pants because of the intimidation levels he’s giving off) 

holding your hand and carrying you to bed if you fall asleep 

oh god xiao please hold my hand pls jfdksghsla

if you go a bit too long with being sad he might tell you you’re being ridiculous and that your past lives don’t deserve your tears 

harsh, but he just hates it when you’re unhappy 

he would force you to go outside if you haven’t gotten sunlight in a while

and slowly but surely your guilt might die down 

it could take a while but xiao is willing to wait as long as it takes 

as long as he gets to see your smile again and hear your laughter because to him those are the most beautiful things in the world 

a/n: they were all pretty angsty except for xiao’s...which had a happy ending. it took a bit longer to write but i really like the end product so i hope you guys enjoy! as of february 7, requests are CLOSED while i write the other ones i have in progress. they will open once all pending requests are written and posted! ty <3

#xiao x reader #archon:request #xiao x y/n #xiao x you #xiao genshin impact #xiao genshin #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #genshin impact stories #genshin stories #genshin stuff #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #childe x you #childe x y/n #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #tartaglia x y/n #childe #childe genshin #kit.writings

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

mammon with a overly emotional MC? asking bcs I cry too much lol, the story would just make everytime I cry a bit better :))

Ok, first off anon, SAME. I also had a dad that thought crying was just women trying to manipulate men, so yeah, that was fun.

I was in the middle of writing something else when I got your request and I just felt like I had to write something for you. (And myself, let’s be honest lol) I’ve never done a songfic before, but I couldn’t get this song out of my head and it just seemed to fit perfectly with the idea I had.

I hope you enjoy. ☺️

Emotional

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 1804

Content warnings - light angst, lots of comfort and some fluffy cuddles

Prompt/inspiration - anon request, “Emotional” by Diana DeGarmo

NOTE - the original song uses the word “girl”, this has been removed in this story and replaced with [gender]

Summary - After a rough day at RAD, you hide out in your room while Mammon tries to figure out what’s wrong.

NOTE - lyric free version can be found here.

AO3

Today had been a long day. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but for whatever reason, anytime someone so much as looked at you funny, you felt like crying. The voices in your head whispering to you that they were watching you, judging you.

Mammon had tried on several occasions to pull you aside, but you successfully managed to slip away each time. Normally you were so grateful for his company, but today you just knew that if he asked you if you were okay you were going to lose it.

And you absolutely did not want to lose it in the middle of RAD.

You flopped onto your bed, now in the safety of your room, curling up on yourself and pulling your comforter around you. Finally you were able to let out all the stress that had been holding onto. And just as you started to cry, a loud KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on your door shocked you back to your senses.

“Hey, open up! You’ve been avoidin’ me all day.”

It was Mammon.

Not even taking a moment to think about what you actually wanted, you snapped at him.

“GO AWAY.”

Sometimes I get emotional

Sometimes I do some stupid things

Sometimes I say

What I should just keep inside

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Your tone was sharper than you had intended, but not only that, you didn’t really want him to leave. Part of you wanted him to wrap you up in one of his hugs and just hold you while you fell to pieces in his arms. However, you learned a long time ago that only babies cried. If you were strong, you wouldn’t cry so much. That crying was a burden on and an annoyance to everyone around you.

Sometimes I'm sad

'Bout everything

Sometimes I'm mad

And break some things

Sorry times ten

But you just got in the way

The silence that followed made your heart break. You couldn’t tell if you were more sad at the idea that you had hurt Mammon’s feelings or more hurt that he seemed to have just left you without even trying to figure out what’s wrong. If he cared, surely he would have been more persistent, right? And you knew that was a ridiculous thing to think, manipulative even, but you couldn’t help those feelings that coiled around your heart.

Don't give up now running away

I won't hurt you

Sometimes I'm just a pain

And that's the way it is

That's just the way I am

Resolving to spending the evening alone, you laid back down, curling up as small as possible once again. As your thoughts wandered, and your tears fell, you slowly started to drift off to sleep. You didn’t notice when your bedroom door opened. You didn’t notice the smell of hot chocolate wafting into your room. And you didn’t notice the dip in your mattress as someone climbed in beside you.

Sometimes I feel like crying

Laying down and dying

That's when I need you

In fact, it wasn’t until you felt an arm slip around your waist and a kiss on the exposed skin of your neck that you finally started to become aware of what was going on around you.

“Hey,” Mammon whispered as he settled down in your bed, spooning you from behind.

Your breath hitched, and you felt your body stiffen involuntarily. Why was he here? Had he seen your face? Did he know you had been crying? Tears silently slipped down your face again as you started to panic internally. What was he going to say when he realized?

Laughing's always easy

But sometimes I'm just scared

You'll leave me

That's when I feel

Emotional

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere until ya tell me what’s wrong.”

“I...umm…” you wanted to answer him. Make an excuse. Offer some sort of rational explanation for why you were hiding in your room and had been avoiding him all day. Something told you just saying “there’s something in my eye” wasn’t going to fool him.

“Tch, always gotta be so difficult,” Mammon said. You felt his arms release you as he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. If you thought you had been anxious before when he was laying beside you, it was nothing compared to the feeling of him leaving, with the words “difficult” echoing in your ears.

You say I'm just impossible

Totally unpredictable

I'm just a [gender], get used to it

No big deal

“Here. Sit up.”

But before your thoughts got to turn too dark, Mammon was sitting beside you again. Poking you with his elbow as he nudged you in the back. So surprised were you to find that he was still there and hadn’t left, you turned around immediately to look at him.

Despite his dark skin tone, you could tell he was blushing, and even if you couldn’t, his refusal to look at you would have been more than enough to confirm that he was feeling embarrassed. Your gaze slowly traveled downward until it landed on the tray he was holding in his outstretched hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, puzzled at why Mammon was offering you a mug of hot chocolate, and what appeared to be...cookies…? Only they were slightly burnt, and you weren’t sure you recognized the ingredients he had added in lieu of chocolate chips.

“What’s it look like? I had some extra and thought you might want some. But if ya don’t appreciate it…”

Not wanting to discourage Mammon, you quickly sat up, wiping whatever tears remained on your face away, and took the tray from him.

“...thanks.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye as you studied his gift, smirking at your response.

Once you were situated with your back against your headboard, you placed the tray in your lap and Mammon sat down beside you. He grabbed his mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip as he waited for your reaction. He was pretty impressed with the results of his baking skills, and was certain the treats would put a smile on your face.

You can't change me

Why would you try (Why would you try)

(You know that I) I'm no angel

But I can make you smile

You reached for one of the cookies, a soft smile playing on your lips as you took a bite.

“So? How was it? Good right?”

When you didn’t answer, Mammon gave you another nudge with his arm.

“Right?”

Without a word, you returned the cookie to your plate, picking up the cup of hot chocolate instead, taking a deep gulp in an attempt to cleanse your palate.

“Mammon...honey...that was awful…” you looked at him over the rim of your mug, taking another deep swallow. At least the hot chocolate was delicious.

“Whattya talkin’ about?! They’re perfect!” Mammon replied, quick to shove what remained of your first cookie into his mouth. You continued to watch him while sipping on your beverage, slowly now that the initial foul aftertaste seemed to have been gone.

You tried your best to hide the smile that was threatening to spread over your whole face as Mammon froze mid bite, glancing at the plate of cookies, then at you, then back to the cookies, before finally chugging down what remained of his own mug of hot chocolate, desperate to rid his mouth of every last crumb.

When his mug emptied, you offered him your own, laughing at his reaction.

“Shaddup,” he snapped, eagerly taking the cup from you and polishing off its contents. But he wasn’t mad. Not at all. He was relieved and overjoyed to see you smiling again, interacting with him and no longer pushing him away.

And that's the way it is

That's just the way I am

When he finished what remained of your drink, he took the tray from you, sitting it on the floor beside your bed, before turning back to you and wrapping you up in a tight hug. Now much more relaxed than you had been, you wrapped your arms around his waist, returning the gesture and burying your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“It's fine. Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you, “Are ya gonna tell me what happened now?”

You nodded against him, tightening your arms around him as you clung to him.

“I just...I don’t know...had a bad day, I guess. Everything made me just want to cry. And I know it’s ridiculous. I’m an adult. I should…”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Huh?”

“With cryin’. What’s wrong with that? Ain’t ya the one that told me it was ok to let it all out?” Mammon had leaned back now, resting against your headboard, pulling you up against himself as he began to rub your back, pressing an occasional kiss to your forehead.

“I...uh...well, I just...I’ve always been told I cry too much. I’m too emotional. Like little things that wouldn’t bother anyone, upset me. And I didn’t want to annoy you...so I…”

“Dummy. I dunno know why you’d think I’d feel that way. You never act like that with me.”

Sometimes I feel like crying

Laying down and dying

That's when I need you

Mammon gave you a reassuring squeeze, and yet another kiss to the top of your head. All you could do in response was hold him tighter, pulling your legs up so that you were practically sitting in his lap by now.

You weren’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to you before. You honestly never saw the connection. And if you stopped and thought about it, Mammon had easily cried more times in front of you since you had arrived in the Devildom than you had cried at all (in public or private) during your stay.

You always reassured him, and comforted him. You never laughed at him, or thought for one second that he was a burden for opening up to you. In fact, you never felt more loved than when he would let you see that sensitive, emotional, side to himself because you knew how much it meant that he trusted you.

Why did you ever think he wouldn’t treat you with the same love and care you had always shown him?

Laughing's always easy

But sometimes I'm just scared

You'll leave me

That's when I feel

Emotional

I won't hurt you (I won't hurt you)

Sometimes I'm just a pain

And that's the way it is

That's just the way I am

That's when I need you

Laughing's always easy

But sometimes I'm just scared

You'll leave me

That's when I feel (feel you)

I feel you

Sometimes I get emotional

#gn!mc #anon request #songfic #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me angst #obey me comfort #obey me fluff #mammon angst #mammon comfort #mammon fluff #obey me fanfic #mammon fanfic

[toujoursmiraculous]

Thoughts and Reaction to Gang of Secrets!

I'm very late today at writing this because life ;-; You know it's a bigger episode when they start off with a problem. Ladybug doesn't want to detransform so she's desperate to find reasons to remain Ladybug. I love how the entire time, Chat Noir knows something's wrong and wants to get her to talk about what it is, but she just tries to pretend she's fine. If anything, Chat Noir would probably be the best person to talk to considering everything he's dealt with too both with Kagami and his responsibility as Chat! She could mention that she was seeing someone but they broke up because of her secret, and she could tell him how much being the Guardian's having an affect on her. All perfectly well and good without exposing any identities or things like that with questions for details asked. Instead she puts up a front with him and pretends she's okay in front of him and it's just so sad. :/ I understand why she doesn't, probably because she doesn't want him to know how much she's struggling. But ugh my heart hurts for her. Chat: I know where we can go where we won't have to talk! Ladybug: Yes, take me there Chat! *in the theater* Ladybug: You lead me into a trap. I MEAN HE'S NOT WRONG THOUGH! Not many places you can go where it's okay or encouraged to not talk without there being an awkward silence. But that cracked me UP. Also that casual attempt to wrap his arm around her lolol still hasn't give up, I see. I also find it simultaneously hilarious and extremely depressing that Ladybug's ranting like that in the theater because of a romance movie. When your heart is broken, that's probably the last thing you want to be doing. And Chat Noir yanking her down asking that she be quiet 😂 Literally just rants her entire love life out for everyone including Chat to hear in that theater. CHAT NOIR, YOU BETTER BE LISTENING BECAUSE SHE'S TALKING ABOUT ADRIEN HERE "She takes a long time to tell him and stutters and blah blah blah" lol sound familiar, sunshine? If anything please have him recall this later and be like, wait, didn't Ladybug say girls stutter around a guy when she likes him? BAM. Then he's off on his path towards Marinette. I can dream. Ladybug: And how do you know if he loves her? IMPOSSIBLE. Adrien: No, Marinette couldn't possibly be in love with me. *eyetwitch* But at the end of the day. This is Marinette ranting to Adrien about how she had to give up on Adrien and then couldn't make things work with Luka because of her secret. Ooof. And poor Chat having to apologize for everyone because Ladybug's disturbing them XDD THE GIRL SAVES EVERYBODY'S LIVES PRACTICALLY EVERY DAY AND THEY'RE PISSED SHE'S RUINING A MOVIE THEY CAN JUST REWATCH? 😂 She's clearly having a hard time right now, c'mon people! Chat can tell she has a broken heart. This boy is so sweet. He wants her to at least admit that and talk about it so she can feel better but you know, Ladybug's stubborn. I WANT TO GO SWIMMING LET'S GO SWIMMING CHAT, WOO HOOOOOO! Ladybug acting like Chat to hide her pain just like how Chat acts like Chat to hide his pain. YOU KNOW WHAT, IT'S FINE. :') It doesn't matter how much pain she's dealing with, those pictures mean too much to her to remove them. x3 Thanks Juleka for showing us how sad Luka is now, that's very helpful. Marinette's been going into the bathroom at school to cry, and then had planned stupid looking glasses to hide her tears so people wouldn't have to know she's cried because wearing a ridiculous pair of glasses that's embarrassing is better than being asked what's wrong. Because the pain I feel for her wasn't already enough. Ugh I adore Trixx. Trixx being the voice of reason when Tikki's not there, trying to help and letting her know that Tikki may need to rest too when she's so upset it doesn't cross her mind. And the tears in her eyes when she apologizes to Tikki for not thinking of her like she should. ;-; SO MUCH PAIN. OH DANG Alya was literally a second away from seeing a detransforming Marinette lol But she did say DETRANSFORMATION or well in the English dub it'll be "Spots

off" I love Rose, she's really sweet. and considerate But she also shouldn't be touching things in others rooms like that. I never liked it when my friends went around my room touching stuff. Also didn't help that a couple of them stole from me... but it's just not a cool thing to do. Would've probably ended up much better had she not had to desperately hide an exposed Miracle Box. But then we wouldn't have had what happens so it's all good c: Marinette saying she doesn't want to be friends with the girls anymore

It hit Alya deep. Everyone else is like *le gasp* but her eyes all shrunken like that, you can tell it really got to her hard.

This entire exchange right here. Alya's glance at her in the first picture is piercing, like I can feel that OOF feeling in my chest when I see it. The new music dramatizes it so well that a lot of people probably didn't pay attention to it the first time around. Can we just appreciate how these animators got all these emotions so right and did such a good job animating everything for us? And those that work on the music too? Everything's so spot on. Marinette's red-rimmed eyes is so well done. "No, it can't end like this!" Awww Alix getting super upset too x3 I honestly think Alix could be the next one.... you know what I mean BUT I'll wait until the end to talk about it. Trixx pulling a Plagg and rescuing Marinette! x3 I seriously love Trixx, I really do. I know the other Kwami's got mad, but if he hadn't done that it would've been disaster, probably. And the episode wouldn't have ended how it did! And Plagg knowing it was Trixx who caused the Eiffel Tower to be all weird xD Why do I get the feeling the relationship between Trixx and Plagg would be like that of Chat Noir and Rena Rouge? And I want to point out, we got 7 whole seconds of Adrien again! Aren't we lucky? The last time we got so little of Adrien in an episode was when we had his parallel episode Lies. I don't think that'll happen this time but I do hope it means more Adrien later on. Ladybug: They're after Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Chat Noir: Okay but remember everybody likes her (so don't go thinking she's a bad person for causing their akumatizations) Yes, I read between the lines. Ladybug being able to get through to Lady Wifi and have her deakumatize herself was absolutely amazing! I know Chloe was the first to fight off being akumatized but once you're akumatized it's obviously extremely hard to break. That says a lot about Alya. "Because you're an incredible friend, Ladybug." One, AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW Two, did you notice the little jerk of her head, gesturing to Ladybug like that when she said it?? It's the little details guys that make this so good. 😍 "Chat Noir, nooooo!" Guys, we got our tiny little Marichat scene! It's not actually real, but still! (okay but why do I also get this really weird feeling like something like this may end up being real later?) Alya giving Ladybug that hug 😭 Marinette has such good, supportive friends. I love them all. x.x YES THANK YOU. Alya's finally realizing there are more things going on with her than just boys. One of the things that's always irked me since Chameleon is that any issue Marinette has, be it with Lila or otherwise, she always assumes it has to do with Adrien. Of course, at the time she didn't know she was Ladybug but she should've still listened and realized there's something else up. But now she finally is noticing and I love how she was going to respect her regardless and not push. Pushing has always been one of Alya's characteristics, but she knew whatever it was was something too big and serious to push her on. "Marinette, I'm your best friend, and I always will be." 😭😭😭 This episode brought me so close to tears so many times. Marinette admitting she's keeping secrets, lying to everyone. Admitting that that's why she draws a line between her and Adrien, and why her and Luka didn't work out. Alya saying however heavy it is, they'll carry it together (MY HEART) And then Marinette saying "If I tell you, things between us will never be the same. It's going to destroy everything, change it all." It sounds like this girl is thinking about Chat Blanc and oop there's the sound of my heart breaking again. So much paaaain. "Je suis Ladybug." YESSSSSSS Why they had to leave it off on a cliffhanger But YESSSSSSS First, the expressions she had flash on her face, the gasp 😮, then the expression like she's trying to get her mind to process. Then if you notice, Marinette gives a little nod, as if letting her know that it's true. Then the way her eyebrows furrow and pulls her into the hug as she understands all that she has on her shoulders as that music plays. I'm getting

emotional just writing this. 😭 This episode is just so amazingly good in so many ways, I don't think I can actually cover it all. I'm very impressed. I've loved nearly every episode this show has put out, even those that a lot of people seem to hate. But this one, I don't see how this could actually be hated if you're trying to think of everything that happened from Marinette's point of view, her thoughts, feelings, struggles, depression. I will say, personally I hoped Chat Noir would learn who Ladybug is first. He's been such a good partner, very thoughtful, always putting his life on the line. He's also been dealing with a lot of the same struggles. I felt like he deserved to know first. However, this isn't about who deserves what, it's about what Marinette needs. It's not that she doesn't want to tell him who she is! Don't misunderstand. There are many times throughout the past 3 seasons where she wants to or regrets not being able to. But now, Chat Blanc's in her mind. She knows what could happen if she tells him with Hawk Moth still there, so she can't do it. So instead, she tries to pretend in front of him that she's fine even though talking to him about everything would help and fix so much. In her mind, that's not an option. I just hope that when he finds out she told someone else first, he doesn't think that she doesn't trust him enough to tell him. Next I thought maybe Alix. That way it'd be more understandable to Chat that she'd know, after all future Bunnyx clearly knows and said to Ladybug that she chose her because she's capable of keeping secrets (notice how Alya said that to Ladybug in the alley? I bet Alix will find out in the near future. Maybe not this season, but she'll find out.) But that's for another time. But now Alya knows! Her best friend, the one to have her back and will no doubt have it even more so now! Watch out, Lila. Alya doesn't hold back so I can imagine how vicious she could be to her (and I can't wait). And that brings up a very interesting thought. Alya will realize Adrien has been the only one to have her back in Lila situations. Why would he do that, hmm? When everyone else was so sure Lila's an angel and Marinette must be bad for saying anything negative about her. Journalist Alya, incoming! There's also the matters of Alya bringing up Marinette's feelings for Chat Noir because duh, everybody can see how much she loves him! There are even photos of them kissing, one of which happened in front of Alya's own eyes! Though affected by an akuma, they all know that kiss didn't happen because of it. And of course, Alya has brought up twice in the show so far that Adrien and Chat Noir could be the same person. And last time Alya said that neither of them could be Ladybug and Chat Noir. Except, she's now found out that Marinette is Ladybug. So maybe Adrien could after all be Chat Noir. I look forward to seeing how their new dynamic is. I wonder how this affects their relationship with the other girls. And I'm most curious about how Nino and Adrien may react to this change. I thought during Truth and Lies both that their best friends were going to find out about their breakups. Gang of Secrets was Alya finding out. Even though I feel like another parallel episode is just wishful thinking, I can't help but think it may be a possibility. Nino and the boys are going to wonder what's up with Adrien too. They're going to wonder why he's not with Kagami anymore so suddenly. So what if i the end, Chat Noir ends up telling Nino? I could see it, if this takes place shortly after Gang of Secrets, where she tells Chat that she's confided her identity in a very close friend and somehow they agree that he can tell someone too that he trusts to make it fair. It'd be an amazing way to exercise Ladybug's trust in Chat Noir too. Then we'd have both Alya and Nino in on it, keeping their best friend's secrets for them without knowing about the other one. Oh that'd be so beautiful! And also let them keep their Miraculouses too after the charms are given to them and Alya has the ability to break

free after being akumatized. I adore Rena and Carapace so much I'd be ecstatic if they kept them. 😭 Anyway, so much potential can come out of this episode and I honestly cannot wait until episode 4!!

#ml #miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #ml spoilers #ml season 4 spoilers #ml spoilers season 4 #gang of secrets spoilers #I wrote this late because I've been in a ton of pain today but I hope you enjoy it anyway! #alya cesaire #marinette dupain-cheng #ladybug #rena rouge

[hogarthwrites]

just friends

pairing: young samuel drake/reader (m/f) 

genre: fluff

warnings: none

words: 3,155

summary:

Sam's your best friend, and you're hopelessly in love with him. It's cliche and it's stupid, but you can't help it. Is it really okay to be in love with your best friend even though you know it might ruin things between you two?

note:

Hi! This is a two-part story. The first part takes place in the past, in 1989, while the second part will take place in the present day.

tags: unrequited love, best friends

1989

You stared at your notebook covered in doodles as your history teacher, Mr. Phelps, talked on and on. A 90 minute class felt like three hours and you couldn't wait to just get out to see Sam.

Your vision kept blacking out as you tried to stay awake, something Mr. Phelps noticed right away.

“It was ironic that the British Empire condemned pirates when they pillaged and stole more than those buccaneers ever have, isn't that right?” The old man was looking directly at you and you blinked yourself awake and nodded.

“Yup, I agree,” you tried to act like you were interested.

“Welcome back,” he laughed.

You sighed and slumped further into your chair. 3 o’clock couldn't come any sooner.

As soon as class ended, Mr. Phelps asked to talk to you and you gulped as you picked your backpack up and walked to his desk where he was looking through papers.

“I'm worried about you,” he slid a paper across to you and y ou picked it up and frowned at the F in red taunting you.

“I'm gonna have to ask for a guardian or parent’s signature on this.”

“Really?” You sighed.

“I'm sorry, but it's just school policy,” Mr. Phelps shrugged. “Look, don't be afraid to ask questions, alright? I'm here to help.”

“Sure,” you pursed your lips and shoved your test paper into your bag.

Sam was lying on the grass in the park and reading a book when you found him, and you tilted your head to see what the book was. Treasure Island . Again.

“You know grass stains your jeans?” You nudged him with your Nike Cortez sneakers.

“Well look who the cat dragged in,” Sam gave you a lopsided grin as his brown eyes met yours.

You felt your cheeks burn and you quickly sat down next to him so you wouldn't have to face him. It was something you didn't want to admit, but you had a budding crush on Samuel Morgan, your cocky, way too ambitious best friend who was probably deranged.

“Fuck my life,” you groaned as you plopped down on the grass.

“I thought grass stains your jeans,” Sam tugged at your denim skirt.

“Fuck you,” you stuck your tongue out.

“Oof, cranky.”

“Sorry, it's just been such a shit day.”

“What happened?”

You pulled your test and put it on his chest. “That happened. Uncle Arthur’s going to skin me alive.”

Sam looked at the paper, and you almost thought he was going to laugh because he looked so amused, but instead he sat up.

“Let me help you,” he simply said.

“Help me?”

“Yeah! Like those tutor people.”

“What makes you the history expert?”

“My mom taught me, and pirates are kind of my thing. You know that,” this time it was Sam who nudged you with his worn out Chuck Taylors. “Come on, let me help you.”

“Fine, but can you do me a favour?” You propped yourself up on your elbows.

“Yeah, what is it?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Can you wait for me outside if Arthur decides to kick me out?”

It was a joke of course. Arthur wouldn't dare kick out his favourite -- and only -- niece. He did, however, lecture you about your priorities and banned TV for a month. As soon as you got to your room, you looked out your window and saw Sam smoking next to his red motorcycle.

You waved out a handkerchief to signify that things were good, and you could've sworn you heard Sam laugh before he drove away.

Sam’s apartment was actually a room he'd rented out in an older woman’s ( she’s just a friend , Sam had said) home near the city. It had a bed in the corner with an Indiana Jones poster above it and books piled on the wardrobe.

You sat on the floor, your back against the bed while you wrote the essay Mr. Phelps asked you to do while Sam read on his bed. Soft music played from somewhere outside and it was softly raining outside and all you wanted to do was lie down on the cool floor and take a nap.

“Done,” you announced as you finished your last sentence.

“Alright,” Sam plopped down in front of you, your knees touching. “Show me what you’ve done.”

Saying nothing, you held it out for him and buried your face between your knees.

“Hmm,” Sam grunted. “I mean, you’ve certainly memorised what you needed, but…”

“But?” You peeked up at him and saw that he was sucking in his cheek.

“But why was it important that pirates like Thomas Tew and Henry Avery pillaged the East India company?”

“For treasure?” You cocked your head to the side.

“Close, but you see, India’s economy dwarfed Europe’s at that time, and there weren’t any powerful navies in the Indian Ocean, which made a lot of the vessels there an easy target,” Sam explained, his hands flailing around as he talked. He did that a lot, and you thought it was kind of cute.

“Oh, alright,” you wrote what he was saying down on a piece of paper. “You make it a lot easier to understand than my stupid textbook.”

“Good to know,” Sam grinned. “If you get a good grade, I’ll take you out. My treat.”

Your face lit up. “Promise?”

“I promise. We’ll go anywhere… As long as I can afford it.”

“I’m holding you to that promise,” you stuck your tongue out.

It was quarter past nine when you were done rewriting your essay and Sam had fallen asleep. He was your ride home, but you figured if you walked fast enough you’d get home before 10 PM. You put your books away and looked at Sam who was gently snoring, his brown hair messy on his pillow.

He stirred when you covered him with a blanket, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t really make out.

“Good night, Sam,” you whispered as you turned off the light and stepped out.

Sam was waiting outside after school with a smug look on his face. You held up the paper as you approached him, doing a little victory dance before giving it to him.

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I’m a wonderful tutor.”

“Oh please, you were asleep for most of it,” you jokingly punched him in the shoulder.

“I think the A on this piece of paper makes your point moot.”

“Fine,” you giggled as you took your paper back and stuffed it back into your bag. “Where are you taking me then?”

Sam hopped onto his motorcycle and patted the seat behind him. “I dunno, it’s your choice.”

“Hmm,” you tapped your chin. “I’ve always wanted to go on a picnic.”

“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Alright. But what about food? It’s not a picnic without food.”

You ended up buying burgers and a small cake at a local diner and without a picnic blanket, you laid out a little lace handkerchief on the grass where Sam meticulously set the food. It looked a little ridiculous, but it was the best you both could have done with what little budget Sam had and at short notice too.

It was a cool evening and you happily ate your burgers while Sam blabbered on about Henry Avery. When he leaned back, his pinky touched yours and you froze, unsure if you wanted to move away or not. It was funny how just the tip of his finger touching yours made you feel hot and all you wanted to do was take his hand in yours.

Sam kept talking, but you wondered if he noticed that you probably just stopped breathing. You read plenty of romance books, hell, you even ready Forever by Judy Blume, but you never knew what it felt like to actually be in love. No, you shook away the thoughts. I can’t be in love with Sam… This is just infatuation. Nothing else.

You practically memorised him, the way he’d run his fingers through his unkempt hair, how he’d talk with his hands, how he’d bite his lip when he was upset. You saw him fall in and out of love with a variety of people, and you were always there for him. It was almost pathetic how much you knew about Sam Morgan, and you wondered if he memorised you the same way you did with him.

Something cold dripped on your cheek and you looked up as rain started pattering down.

“Oh shit,” you frantically picked the mostly eaten cake up while Sam picked up whatever was left of the burgers and the handkerchief and followed you to a gazebo nearby.

“Well, that ruined a perfectly good picnic,” Sam had his hands on his hips. “Is the cake alright?”

You looked down at the soggy cake. “It had better days.”

Sam laughed before he stuck his paper cup into the cake to get another slice.

“Really?” You looked up at him.

“What?” He shrugged between bites. “It’s still a cake. It’s not like the rain is dirty or anything.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“It’s fine,” Sam shrugged again. “Thanks for the picnic, by the way.”

“Nah, you paid for it.”

“But it was your idea. I haven’t been on a picnic since…”

Since his mom passed away. He suddenly looked forlorn.

“I know, Sam,” you reached out and touched his arm.

“Do you mind if I steal this picnic idea? Nathan might like this too,” he forced himself to smile.

“Not at all. Tell him I say hi, alright?”

“Sure thing.”

The rain lasted long enough for Sam to mostly finish what was left of the cake and once the sky cleared up, he drove you home.

“Thanks for helping me, by the way,” you smiled as you stood by his motorcycle. You could hear the sound of a TV blaring inside and you knew Arthur was probably waiting up.

“That’s just what friends do, right?” Sam grinned. Right. We’re just friends .  “I’ll see you on Monday?”

You nodded and watched him drive away. Arthur was fast asleep on the sofa while an old western played. You were always grateful he took you in when your mother ran off to Europe and your dad felt you were too much responsibility, but it made you sad Sam and Nathan didn’t have the same privilege.

You turned the TV off and placed your somewhat damp essay on the coffee table before going to your room.

I don’t love him . It was a lie you constantly told yourself. Believing it was getting harder every time you were with Sam and you could barely look him in the eyes without butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You tried to make yourself stop, but you just ended up thinking about him more.

Your grades improved, much to Arthur’s delight and you hoped you could keep it up until after graduation at least. You applied to some colleges, but you were nervous with your mediocre grades and lack of extracurricular activities.

“And I can’t escape / I’m a slave to love…” Sam sang as he tossed a baseball up and down. He didn’t seem like it, but he was a pretty good singer. You were on the floor again doing your homework while he sang along to the song that was playing outside.

“Is there a bar here or something?” You asked.

“Nah,” his brown eyes followed the baseball. “There’s this old man who plays music on his roof. The lady says it’s because he misses his wife or something.” He shrugged. “It’s not too bothersome. He has good taste.”

“I guess it’s better than Arthur’s loud westerns at home,” you muttered. “That’s sad though. He must have really loved his wife.”

“Yeah,” Sam simply shrugged.

“What? You don’t think you’ll be an old man yearning for his spouse someday?”

“I don’t even think I’ll fall in love, to be honest,” he ran his fingers through his hair.

You laughed. God, I hope you’re wrong .

“What about you?” He nudged you with a socked foot.

“Gross, get your nasty socks away from me!” You shrieked, which made him push his foot against your back more. “Sam, stop, I swear you’re disgusting.”

“Come on,” he teased. “I bet you have a little crush. Was it Vicky? Whatever her name was? The one with the…” He gestured at his chest.

“No!” You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. “Don’t be rude. Vix is just a good friend, and she’s dating some guy anyway.”

Sam gave you a smug grin. “Alright. Keep your secrets.”

It was quiet again while you went back to your homework, your heart pounding from the interaction. What a bastard, you thought. If he knew… If he knew I had a crush on him, this would all be over. You didn’t want to think about what it would be like without Sam.

“I got this fancy letter for you from the University of Texas at San Antonio,” Arthur strolled into your room and handed you a letter. “You really wanna move that far away from your ol’ Uncle Arthur?”

“It’s a good university,” you stuck your tongue out as you tore open the envelope. “Please, please, please,” you whispered.

You barely read past the “Congratulations!” when you squealed and jumped out of bed. “I made it!”

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Arthur embraced you. He looked at the letter then frowned. “Biology?”

“Yeah, I think I kinda wanna be a doctor someday,” you bit your nail.

“And someday you will be,” he ruffled your hair. “Promise you’ll phone as much as you can, alright?”

“I’m still here, Uncle Arthur.”

“You’ve just grown up so fast,” he sighed. “What am I gonna do when you’ve gone off to be a doctor?”

“You could get a dog?”

“Huh,” he grunted. “Maybe.”

A week later, he came home with a puppy named John.

As graduation loomed closer, you felt excited, but you were left with a melancholy feeling of having to leave Sam behind. He was his usual, oblivious self, but you wanted to do it. You wanted to tell him before you left.

It was getting warmer again, so it was different to see Sam without a jacket on as he squatted on the pier, skipping rocks in the river. It seemed like there was something on his mind and he didn’t even notice you coming up to squat next to him. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a rock skipping far.

“Nice,” you said and he looked at you in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” he gave a weak grin. “Didn’t know you were here already.”

“Yeah, you seem busy.”

“Nah, just got a new job out of state.”

“You're leaving?” You felt your heart drop.

“In the fall, yeah, but not for long I hope.”

Sam fell silent, and you felt your heart beat quickly in your chest. Was this the right time? You were graduating in a few weeks, then you were off to San Antonio, unsure when you were ever going to see Sam again.

“Sam,” your voice was weak and he hummed in response. “I–I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah? What's that?” He looked worried when he turned to you.

“I could tell you anything, right? Promise you won't laugh?” Your cheeks flushed and you felt like your heart was gonna leap out of your chest. What am I doing?

“I won't laugh.”

At three, you took a deep breath. One... two…

“Sam, I like you,” you blurted out. “No, I think I'm in love with you.”

His expression softened at your words.

“I'm sorry, I tried my best not to let it get to me, but we're parting soon and I just thought–”

“I've always known,” Sam interrupted.

“What?”

“That you have a crush on me.”

“Oh.”

“I didn't wanna say anything because this is the best friendship I've ever had, and I don't wanna ruin what we have. We're great like this.”

Oh .

Best friendship.

The butterflies in your stomach turned into moths and you wanted to vomit. A lump in your throat grew and you held your breath. The last thing you wanted to do was to cry in front of Sam.

“I'm sorry,” you looked down at your feet.

“Hey,” he lightly nudged you. “We'll always be close. I'll write to wherever you are in the world. I promise.”

“Alright,” you nodded weakly. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Bring it in,” he held out his arms and you leaned into his embrace, trying not to sob into his shoulder.

You spent the night crying while you packed your bags, deciding not to bring anything that reminded you of Sam to college with you. You had to get over him.

Your chest felt heavy as you felt your heart break with every stupid lovesong that came on the radio. Why did you even bother confessing, of course Sam wouldn't be into you. Why would you even want to ruin your friendship like that?

The day you had to leave for the airport, Sam was at your window early in the morning.

“Mornin’, college student,” he smiled as he climbed into your room.

“I thought you were going to see me off at the airport,” you yawned.

“Just thought we could spend a bit more time together,” he looked around your now empty room. “Wow. You're really leaving.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “San Antonio, here I come.”

Sam didn't react, instead he turned back to look at you, his brown eyes scanning your face. “Hey listen, uh, a few weeks ago… I'm sorry about that.”

“Oh,” you sat on your bed. “No, it's fine. You're right, we're great friends.”

“I didn't mean to break your heart or anything.”

“I completely understand, Sam.”

He reached into his pocket and asked for your hand. There he placed a little medallion with a star engraved on it. It looked more like a little coin with a chain pierced through it.

“Here, it's a late graduation gift. I couldn't get out of work to buy it early enough, but I made it just in time last night.”

“Sam, this is beautiful,” you gasped. You made your way to the vanity and put the necklace on.

“It's just so you won't forget me, the most amazing friend you could ever ask for,” he looked smug.

“And it was such a sweet moment too,” you shook your head. “Thanks, Sam. I don't think I can ever forget you.”

You hugged him, feeling his arms around you tightly. At the moment, you felt your heart break, suddenly missing someone who was right in front of you. Your tears flowed, and you buried your face into his shirt as he soothed you.

“Promise we'll see each other next summer?”

“Promise.”

“Promise you'll write and call?”

“I promise.”

But Samuel Morgan was gone by the next summer.

#sam drake x reader #sam drake #young sam drake #fluff #ig

[buferfliz]

We Belong Together

So Kuroo is one of my faves and i wanted to write something for him. I will eventually write something for all of my favorites. For now i hope you all enjoy this. Thank you to my awesome sister @silentprincessofhyrule​ for this awesome banner.

Warnings: This is mostly fluff with some angst. Swearing, toxic person/relationship, happy ending

Key: I’m sure you all know this but just in case, y/n = your name and gf/n = girlfriend’s name

         Peas in a pod. That was what you and your two best friends heard most from your teachers, parents, even just neighbors when you were younger. They weren’t wrong, the three of you were always together from the very start.

         At first it was just you and Kenma. You lived on the same street and were the only two children. He was only a year younger than you and so you were just naturally drawn together.

         Kenma was quiet, kept to himself, but that was fine with you. He was sweet and kind and fun to be around. Besides you were loud and outgoing enough for the two of you anyway. Most of your time together was spent playing games and talking about whatever was on your mind. The two of you enjoyed each other’s company.

         When Kuroo had moved onto your street, you were the first to say hello. You thought he was cute even if he was on the shy side, not that anyone would ever be able to guess that nowadays. It hadn’t mattered though, you were friends with Kenma and so you were used to that sort of thing.

         The three of you bonded over games and eventually started playing volleyball together. You’d even managed to find some co-ed training camps so the three of you could play in actual games together. You always had fun playing with them even if they were way better at it than you were.

         When you started middle school, the two of them joined the volleyball team and you became their number one fan and biggest cheerleader. Sure you were sad that you couldn’t play on the same team with them, not that you had ever intended on joining a school team, but that didn’t stop you from going to every game and practice. After they were done with volleyball club for the day, the three of you would do your homework together then play games at Kenma’s or watch movies at your house or play a little volleyball in Kuroo’s backyard.

         The three of you were inseparable and that continued through middle school, on through high school, and even still now in college. Your schedules didn’t always match up perfectly but you spent as much time together as you could and every morning the three of you would commute to college together.

         You’d all chosen to live at home while attending college to save on money. Besides you all lived close enough to the campus that commuting wasn’t a big deal. But you all had also decided to do it so that all of you could still be close to each other and see each other whenever you wanted, just like it had always been no pesky dorm rules to stop you. The three of you truly treasured each other and the time you spent together.

            You rushed into the gym hoping to see your friends before their practice match with Fukurodani began.

         “There you are chibi-chan, I was beginning to think you got lost.” Kuroo says as he approaches you.

         “Yeah sorry about that. My professor went off on a tangent and kept us late.”

         “Well that’s ok, you’re here now.” He smiles at you.

         “Hey, Hey, Hey kitty cat.” Bokuto says when he spots you talking to Kuroo.

         “Hey Ko, how are you?”

         “Seriously bro? What’s with that nickname?” Kuroo asks him.

         “What? Your mascot is a cat and it sounds cute. She doesn’t mind that I call her that. I mean I could call her my baby owl instead.”

         “No. Kitty cat is bad enough and she isn’t yours.”

         You just laugh at the exchange between the friends.

         “Hey y/n, are those two at it again?” A calm voice asks from behind you.

         “Oh hey Kenny. You know they are but I think it’s cute.”

         “Cute? I think not.” Kuroo says.

         “The only cute thing here is you kitty cat.” Bokuto says to you in a flirty manner.

         “Aww, thank you Ko.”

         It was always like that with you and Bokuto. You were just friends but there was always flirty banter between you two. You never saw anything more to it than just a playful exchange. Bokuto then makes another comment that causes you to laugh and maybe that’s why you missed the look of jealousy that briefly flitted across Kuroo’s face.

         Turning your attention back to your two best friends, you give Kenma a hug and then you give Kuroo one as well. As you hug Kuroo, you feel as though his grip around you seems a bit tighter than usual but you decide to just enjoy the feel of it.

         “Good luck guys.”

You head towards the bleachers and find your usual seat in the front row. You can’t help but to think about the hug you had just gotten from Kuroo. You feel your heartrate pick up as you remember the warm strong embrace. The truth was your feelings for your two best friends had changed. They were still your best friends and they always would be. But while your love for Kenma had taken the sibling route, your love for Kuroo had taken the romantic route.

         You feel a little ache in your chest thinking about it because you have convinced yourself that Kuroo would only ever see you as one of his best friends. You’ve told yourself that you’re ok with it because he’s a great friend, but every day you can’t stop yourself from hoping that today would be the day. The day that Testsuro Kuroo, Tetsu as you affectionately referred to him, would realize that he was in love with you. No matter how unrealistic it might be.

            Kuroo throws the ball into the air, jumps, and hits it. Hard. Too hard actually, it goes sailing out of bounds.

         “Shit,” he curses to himself. “Sorry guys.”

         “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get the next one.” Yamamoto assures him.

         Kenma gives his best friend a concerned look as the coach calls for a time out.

         “Are you ok?” He asks him as they head over to the bench.

         “Yeah I’m ok, don’t worry.”

         In truth, he wasn’t ok. The way Bokuto so casually flirted with you earlier and the way you had laughed at whatever stupid thing he had said bothered Kuroo more than he would ever admit. And he knew it was ridiculous for that to bother him, you were both his friends and he wanted the two of you to be happy. If you were to get together, he knew that Bokuto would treat you right. But the thought of you with Bokuto, or anyone really, upset him because the one you should really be with was him. He would treat you so well, take care of you no matter what. He knew you better than anyone, with maybe the exception of Kenma. He knew what you wanted and what you needed and most importantly, he would love you more than anyone else ever could.

         His mind was racing, to the point where he couldn’t even hear what coach was saying. He knew that he really had to focus but the only thing that was currently on his mind was you. That wasn’t really anything new but he could usually focus on volleyball whenever he was playing. He found himself looking for you, knowing you always sat in the same spot whether it was normal practice or a practice match. Front row right behind the bench. He looks at you just as coach finishes talking and the team begins to head back onto the court.

         You give him a sweet smile and he feels his own smile spread across his face. Ah there it is, he thinks. The smile that lights up your face as well as the room and makes his heart race in the best way possible. He loved that smile.

         He heads back to his position with a new focus on the game. He doesn’t even let his mind wander when he and Bokuto are staring each other down across the net. Your smile had been just for him, even if it was just a supportive one from one friend to another, but it had been enough to chase away the jealousy that had overtaken his mind earlier.

            After the game, you said goodbye to Bokuto and Akaashi and waited for Kuroo and Kenma to come out of the locker room. As you waited, you thought back to the game. Kuroo had not been acting like himself, he seemed distracted and almost angry. You were worried that something was wrong but he seemed to get back on track after the time out. So maybe he was just too fired up at the beginning, it had happened before when they played Fukurodani. The competitive streak between him and Bokuto was always on full display when they played each other. Whatever it was, you were glad he had settled in after that.

         You were roused from your thoughts when you heard a voice speak.

         “Hello? Earth to chibi-chan.” Kuroo says as he waves a hand in front of your face.

         “Oh sorry. What was that?”

         “Kenma asked what you wanted to eat. Where were you?”

         “Just spacing out. You guys took so long I was afraid I might fall asleep.” You tease them.

         “Sorry about that,” Kenma says, “Lev called Yaku short again and we had to make sure that Yaku didn’t murder him.”

         “I swear Lev must have a death wish to keep bringing that up.” You laugh.

         “Yeah tell me about it. And I get stuck breaking it up because I’m the captain.” Kuroo says with a sigh. “It gets tiring.”          “Aww but you’re such a good captain Tetsu, I’m sure the team appreciates everything you do for them.”

         “They damn well better. Anyway, food. I’m starving.”

         “How about we just get some take out and go play games back at my house? I’ve had enough intense activity for today.” Kenma says as the three of you leave campus together.

         In the end, that’s exactly what you ended up doing. Now with full stomachs you’re all playing a game together.

         “Damn it Tetsu! Stop saving all those fucking turtle shells for me, use one on Kenma for a change.”

         “But you react so much more to it than him kitten, it’s far more entertaining.” Kuroo laughs.

         “No. You don’t get to call me that when you keep knocking me off the road.”

         Kuroo laughs more and you end up getting hit with yet another shell.

         “I swear I’m going to kill you Tetsu!” You yell at him while giving him a little glare.

         “You both suck at this game, so what does it matter?” Kenma says with his eyes fixed on the screen, his character lapping you for the third time.

         “Shut up Kenny!” You throw a pillow at him and hit him in the back of the head causing him to drive off the road. “HA, now who sucks?”

         Kenma turns and gives you a look that promises revenge.

         “Oh shit.” You get your arms up just barely in time to cover your face from the pillow that Kenma has launched at you.

         “Ok fine, two can play this game.” You say before throwing a pillow back at him, the two of you laughing as you take turns hitting each other.

           Kuroo just watches the scene before him, well just you actually. He loves riling you up because your expressions are all so cute. Whether you’re laughing and smiling like now or pouting and scowling like you were before when he kept messing you up in the game, he loved them all.

         He didn’t really want to admit it, not even to himself though it was undoubtedly true, but he was hopelessly in love with you. It had been a few years already since he first felt it and denied it, though if he was being completely honest with himself he’d had a crush on you since you were kids. But kids don’t really understand the meaning of that or at least he knew that he hadn’t. Still he had managed to act the same as he always did around you, leaving you none the wiser to his changing feelings towards you.

         Even when he had first become friends with Bokuto, which led to you and Kenma becoming friends with him, he had managed to ignore the flirty way that Bokuto interacted with you. But now it had started to bother him. He just didn’t know why it now did. Ok he did know. He couldn’t lie to himself about his feelings for you anymore and there was a very real possibility that you could end up with Bokuto, the two of you got along so well and he wasn’t some jerk that you wouldn’t look twice at. So he couldn’t hold back his feelings but he couldn’t tell you either. What if he ruined everything? Too bad that didn’t stop the jealousy from rising up like it had before.

         As he sat there staring, he heard his phone go off signaling the arrival of a new text message. Before he could pick it up off the floor next to him, however, he was nailed in the face by a pillow followed by your laugh. The laugh that was music to his ears.

         “It’s your fault this whole thing started Tetsu, so don’t think you’re getting out of it.” You say to him.

         “Oh you’re in for it now kitten.” Kuroo says with a smirk before hitting you with a pillow.

         And so he was dragged into your pillow war as well.

            Fifteen minutes later, the three of you were all out of breath from throwing pillows but also from all the laughing. You always loved the time you got to spend with these two men. You glance over at Kuroo who has a smile on his face as he catches his breath.

         Oh how you loved that smile of his, how you loved everything about him really. You so badly just wanted to curl up in his lap and have him wrap his arms around you. Everything just felt so right when he would hug you, like you just belonged there, wrapped up in his arms.

         Of course that wasn’t likely to happen, he was super popular with the ladies and could have his pick of any one of them. He didn’t even have to make a move. Girls were always asking him out on dates but he would always turn them down. You figured he was just too preoccupied with volleyball and his studies. Still whenever you heard that yet another girl had asked him out, you would feel a pain in your chest and your stomach would churn as you waited to hear if he had said yes because you knew that one of these days he would. Just the thought of it devastated you but you knew that you would have to deal with it when it happened because you wanted him to be happy.

         Yeah happy with me, the little voice in the back of your head supplied. You know that you would love him more than any other girl could because you already did and you would take such good care of him too. But you couldn’t risk it. What if he didn’t feel the same and it ended up ruining your friendship? You couldn’t lose him from your life and so you remained quiet about your feelings.

         You tear your gaze away from Kuroo and see your phone blinking. Unlocking it you see that you have new messages. From Bokuto.

         “Oh hey guys, Ko wants to know if we want to hang out on Saturday. Also he told me to tell you that before you say anything, he texted you first Tetsu but you didn’t answer.” You say to him as he picks up his phone to check.

         “So he did.” Kuroo replies.

         “It’s fine with me as long as we don’t do too much, he has way too much energy.” Kenma chimes in.

         “Well you’re not wrong there.” You chuckle.

         “Yeah ok.” Kuroo adds.

         “Do you want to text him and let him know Tetsu? Or should I?”

         “I’m sure he’d rather hear from you than me, so you can do it.” He says a bit more sharply than intended.

         You raise an eyebrow but just shrug your shoulders and message Bokuto back.

            Kuroo makes his way to your house. It had been decided that they would all go there and watch movies.

         You lived alone now after your grandmother had passed away in your first year of college. She had left the house to you as well as whatever inheritance she had. He didn’t know where your parents were and he had asked you about them once but you said that you didn’t know where they were either. Your grandmother was all the family you’d had.

         It had been two years already since she passed. He remembered how upset you had been and how he and Kenma had stayed with you every night for a month. They helped you with anything you needed and took turns holding you as you cried. They also made sure you were taking care of yourself and they tried to keep you busy, hoping that it would help you with your grieving process and it had helped. He was happy that he had been able to be there for you and help you heal.

         That was also when he realized for the first time just how hard he had fallen for you. When he saw you cry his heart shattered and he wanted nothing more than to wipe your tears away, kiss them away really, and see you happy and smiling once more. He never wanted to see you cry again. He had no idea if you felt that way about him though and so he went back to denying and suppressing.

         Kuroo reaches your house and hears humming coming from the backyard. He pushes open the gate and finds you watering the garden. Your grandmother had started it when you were all younger and now you took care of it.

         “Hey chibi-chan. The garden looks great.”

         “Hey Tetsu” You happily greet him with a smile as you put the hose away.

         There it was again that smile, his smile. He was certain that you didn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Bokuto. But maybe that was just him hoping that was the case.

         You come over to him and give him a big hug. He breathes in the coconut scent of your shampoo. He loved that smell, you’d used it for so long now and it was just so undeniably you. If he ever smelled it elsewhere it would immediately bring you to the forefront of his mind. You separate from him sooner than he would’ve liked but Kenma and Bokuto had arrived and so you went over to greet them.

         The night went by in a blur for Kuroo. There was food and movies, a couple of games, and you had all chatted about whatever. The only thing he could focus on, however, was the way that Bokuto looked at you, the way he made you laugh, the way he touched your arm and he felt that jealousy bubble up again. All he could think was that should be me. Why can’t I just tell her?

         Because you could ruin everything if you did, the sabotaging voice in the back of his head told him.

         He needed to get his mind off of you, needed to distract himself from his feelings for you. But do I really want to? He was unsure, that was until he saw Bokuto give you an innocent little kiss on the cheek when he left later on. It was no different than the friendly kisses on the cheek you would get from Kenma but it made him angry. And he knew it shouldn’t so he decided then that he did need to find a way to distract himself from his feelings for you.

            It had been a couple of weeks since the movie night at your house and Kuroo had been acting strange ever since. He didn’t hang out with you as much as he usually did and when he did hang out he acted distant. Things you would say or do that would normally have him laughing hysterically, now didn’t even really get a response like he wasn’t even paying attention.

         What was wrong with him? Did I do something to upset him? You had no idea but it was breaking your heart little by little. Now you were sitting in Kenma’s room, playing a game with him.

         “Do you know what Tetsu’s problem is?”

         “Not sure. He hasn’t talked to me about it but I don’t think his new girlfriend is helping.”

         “Girlfriend?” You ask with surprise.

         This was the first you’d heard of it and you felt your stomach lurch, threatening to spill its contents.

         “Yeah. I guess she asked him out a couple of weeks ago and he said yes but she isn’t a nice person so I don’t know why he’s dating her.”

         “Am I not worthy of hearing about this? I mean we’re supposed to be best friends.”

         “He didn’t tell you? That’s weird.”

         “I’m going to text that jerk right now.”

         You pick up your phone, open the text thread, and send him a message.

You:  “You have a girlfriend? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tetsu:  “Oh yeah. I guess I forgot.”

You:  “Forgot? We’re best friends and you just forgot?”

Tetsu:  “Yeah, sorry.”

You:  “Well do I ever get to meet her?”

Tetsu:  “I guess. Are you at Kenma’s? We can stop by there before we go out.”

You:  “Yeah I am.”

Tetsu: “See you in a little bit then.”

         You put your phone to the side.

         “They’re coming over here. Sorry Kenny.”

         “It’s fine but you’re going to hate her.” He responds as he continues to play his game.

            Ten minutes later you hear a voice come from Kenma’s bedroom door.

         “Oh wow, is this really your room Kenma? Are you sure you’re old enough to be in college? Because it looks like a 12 year old lives here.” Kuroo’s girlfriend says.

         Your eyes widen at how rude she just was. She’s pretty but Kenma is right she isn’t very nice.

         Kenma just rolls his eyes and ignores her as he continues to play.

         “Haha, yeah Kenma loves his games.” Kuroo laughs but you can tell it’s one of those fake ones people do when they’re embarrassed. “Anyway this is my girlfriend, gf/n.”

         You decide that you will do your best to be nice for Kuroo’s sake.

         “Hi, I’m Tetsu’s frien—“ Before you can finish speaking she cuts you off.

         “Yeah, yeah I know who you are.” She shoots you a glare. “Ok I met her. Can we leave now? I don’t want to look at this bitch anymore.” She says with disgust.

         You see annoyance flicker across Kuroo’s face at her words.

Oh hell no is she getting away with that, you think.

         “Excuse me? What the fuck did you just call me? If there’s a bitch in here then it’s clearly your rude ass.” You get up off the bed where you were sitting and go to approach her only for Kenma to stop you.

         “Calm down.” He says as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you to him to keep you in place.

         “Yeah ok. Let’s go.” Kuroo says as he leads her away from you and out the front door.

         Once they’re gone, Kenma lets you go.

         “I told you that you were going to hate her. She’s rude to everyone.”

         You clench your fists and let out a frustrated shriek.

         “What a fucking bitch! Why the fuck is he dating someone like that?”

         “I’m not sure.” He tells you though the look in his eyes suggests otherwise, still you decide not to press him for an answer.

            Kuroo sits on his couch. It had been a week since he’d introduced you to his girlfriend, gf/n. Ugh, that didn’t even sound right to him. The only one he wanted to call his girlfriend was you.

         Why was he even dating her? Oh right, to forget he’s in love with you. Too bad it’s not working. It’s making him think about you even more actually because he can’t help but compare the two of you.

         She was pretty. You were beautiful.

         You were sweet, kind, thoughtful, caring, funny, and smart. She had been nothing but rude and nasty to everyone, including him a few times.

         You fit so perfectly in his arms like it was where you were meant to be, He had to stop himself from pushing her off of him when she would hug him and he would always come up with an excuse to dodge having to kiss her.

         He felt an ache in his chest with every beat of his heart as he thought about you. He’d been acting like such a jerk to you too since he started dating her. He knew he needed to break up with her, you were right, she was a rude bitch.

         A knock on his door stirs Kuroo from his thoughts. He gets up and opens it, on the other side stands Kenma. He glances around before he speaks.

         “Is she here?”

         “Who? Oh, gf/n? No, I’m supposed to meet her later.” Kuroo tells him and lets him into the house.

         “Good. We need to talk Kuroo.”

         “What’s up?”

         “First of all, you’re being a jerk to y/n. She’s supposed to be one of your best friends yet you’ve done nothing but blow her off and ignore her. It’s messed up.” He looks right into Kuroo’s eyes as he says it.

         Kuroo flinches slightly at Kenma’s words despite already knowing it was the truth.

         “Second of all, you need to get rid of that bitch you’re calling a girlfriend. She’s not a nice person. She’s rude to everyone. The team doesn’t want her to come anywhere near them so tell her to stay away or you’re going to have a problem on your hands.”

         “Ok fine. I’ll tell her not to come to practices anymore. She’ll probably be happy about that actually.”

         “And lastly, not only is she rude to all of us but she gets downright nasty with y/n. I have to keep stopping her from punching your “girlfriend” in the face.” He says, using air quotes when saying girlfriend. “The other day we were eating lunch together and your “girlfriend” came over to us. She ignored me completely which I was fine with but she had the nerve to insult your other best friend. You remember her, right?”

         He winces at Kenma’s words.

         “The bitch told y/n to stay away from you and that you didn’t want anything to do with her anymore.”

         Kuroo lets out a groan and pinches the bridge of his nose as Kenma continues to speak.

         “I’m not really sure what you’re thinking but deal with it instead of running away from it.”

         Being called out on his bullshit causes Kuroo to get defensive.

         “I’m not running away from anything and her name isn’t bitch, it’s gf/n.”

         Kenma lets out a derisive laugh.

         “Yeah, funny how that’s all you call her by, her name. Don’t people usually have pet names for their girlfriends? Like kitten?” He pretends to think. “Or maybe, chibi-chan?” He gives Kuroo a pointed look before leaving.

         “Damn it! What the fuck am I doing?” He says to the emptiness of the room after Kenma’s departure.

         Damn Kenma’s observational skills. He loved them on the volleyball court but not when they were used against him.

         I can’t just let him think he can read me so easily so I won’t. He had his pride and he could be stubborn when he wanted to be. He was not going to let Kenma know how easily he had seen right through him.

         Kuroo looks at the clock and sighs. Time to get ready to see his “girlfriend.”

            The following Saturday you were sitting in your living room with Kenma and Bokuto. You invited them over to watch movies again and had hoped Kuroo would come too.

         “Is Kuroo coming?” Bokuto asks.

��        You sigh.

         “No. I invited him but he said he had plans with that bitch.”

         That was her name now as far as you were concerned after the multiple times she had gone out of her way to be nasty to you.

         “Why is he still with her? I thought he was supposed to be smart. He must know that she isn’t worth his time. I saw her screaming at him outside the gym last week when we went there for another practice match so she isn’t even nice to him. Did you talk to him?”

         “I did.” Kenma answers. “He didn’t listen, obviously. Though thankfully she stays away from the team now. I think that’s what she was screaming at him about actually, I heard some of it. Apparently we’re jealous of how happy she makes him or some nonsense and he should stop being friends with us.”

         “He didn’t really respond to her from what I saw when I walked by, he didn’t even see me.” Bokuto says.

         “Yeah he just stood there and let her scream. He really needs to get rid of her.”

         “Are you serious? She just screamed at him? I swear I will knock that bitch out for treating him like that. I’m going to corner his ass after practice on Monday and try to talk some sense into him. Maybe he needs to hear it from someone a little louder.”

         “Yeah you tell him kitty cat.” Bokuto cheers.

         “Oh I will. Don’t worry. Now let’s pick something to watch.”

            True to your word, there you were Monday after practice waiting for Kuroo to emerge from the locker room. Once he came out, you grabbed his wrist and dragged him along to the now empty gym.

         “Why did you drag me in here?”

         “Because we need to talk. Look I’m just going to say it, you need to dump that nasty bitch.”

         Kuroo sighs.

         “Look just because you don’t like her doesn’t mean I should dump her.”

         “That isn’t even it. She isn’t even a nice person. You deserve someone so much better than her. Someone who is sweet and caring like you. Someone who is smart and funny like you. Someone who will take care of you and treat you like the amazing guy that you are. Someone who will love you for you. And I’m sorry but that isn’t her. You deserve someone who makes you smile and happy every day not someone who screams at you and treats you and all of the people you care about like shit. You’d be so much better off without her Tetsu.”

            Kuroo listens to all you have to say. You were right of course. He knew this. He knew it before Kenma had even spoken to him. It had been nothing more than an experiment and it had failed miserably. Maybe that made him a jerk for using someone like that but he had gone into it genuinely hoping that he could find someone else he liked. He should have known that it would never work though, he was way too in love with you. Even if he had found a sweet girl who he liked he still would never have been able to be with anyone but you.

         This had all taken way too long for him to truly understand. He had just been way too worried, or maybe it was scared, that it would all blow up in his face and so he did exactly what Kenma said. He tried running from it instead of dealing with it and now here he was. His feelings for you had only grown more intense and it was just his sheer stubbornness that was preventing him from doing what needed to be done.

         He felt beat up and drained from this “relationship.” He needed to get out and he needed to tell you how he felt.

Your voice brings him back to reality.

         “Tetsu, I’m one of your best friends, I want you to be happy. And I’m not the only one who’s worried about you either. All the rest of your friends are too, Kenma, the guys on the team.”

         He knew it was true that you and Kenma and everyone else were concerned about him. He knew it was time to end this before it got even worse and it was already terrible.

         “Even Bokuto is worried about you. He doesn’t even see you as often as the rest of us but he knows you’re not happy.”

         Bokuto, yes he must have gotten together with you by now, he thought as he remembered all the laughs and flirtation that went on between the two of you. He told himself he could be happy for you both, you were his friends, even if it also broke his heart. And yet he still felt the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe he still had a chance. It was that little bit of hope that was keeping the jealousy he felt simmering in his gut from rising up. That is until you blindsided him.

         “He agrees with the rest of us, how you deserve someone better. We were talking about it the other day when he came over my house.”

         His mouth went dry and he could hear his heart thudding in his ears. Bokuto had been at your house. Alone with you. He felt his stomach drop and his heart clench as his mind wandered, led astray by the jealousy that he’d only had a tenuous grip on.

         What had the two of you been doing in your house? Cuddling? Kissing? Had he touched you? Had the two of you done something even more?

         He couldn’t control it, the jealousy had taken over and his anger surged. He was more angry at himself than anything else, he’d lost his chance because he had been too chicken to tell you his true feelings. Unfortunately, he let it come out and he directed it straight at you.

         “Is that all? Why are you even here? Just to lecture me? Shouldn’t you be under Bokuto somewhere instead?”

            Your mouth drops open at his words. Had he really just said that to you?

         “What the fuck did you just say?” You feel your pulse quicken as your own anger rises.

         “Oh I’m sorry, is it Kenma’s turn then?” He replies in a mocking tone.

         Your anger surges and before you even realize what’s happening, your fist connects with your best friend’s face. You didn’t even register the pain in your hand when you shoved him after.

         “I came here because I care about you and I’m worried about you and that’s what you say to me? Go to hell Kuroo.”

You turn and run from the gym refusing to let him see the tears that had begun running down your cheeks.

            Kuroo regretted it all as soon as he said it. Regretted it even more when you punched him in the face. Who knew you had such a vicious right hook? But the fact that you called him Kuroo instead of Tetsu hurt him more than any punch to the face could. You hadn’t called him that since you first met when you were kids. He had fucked up badly and all because he couldn’t be honest with you or himself. This whole situation could have been avoided.

         He knew he deserved all of it though, including the black eye you’d given him. That had been three days ago now and he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of you since. He ended up dumping his “girlfriend” that night and it was like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He would have felt happier than he had in a month if he hadn’t said what he did to you.

         He should never have let it go on for as long as he had, maybe he could have gotten his chance with you. Instead he was lamenting the fact that he had hurt the one person he loved more than anyone, the one he had never wanted to hurt. What a fool he had been.

         Laying on his bed, he stares up at the ceiling when he hears a familiar yet less cheery than normal voice enter the room.

         “Hey” Bokuto says as he stands in the doorway and leans against the frame.

         “What do you want?” Kuroo asks in a somber tone.

         “What did you say to her bro? She was so pissed but I think she was more sad than anything.”

         Kuroo feels his heart clench at the thought that he had made you sad. Your anger he would gladly take. But your tears? He couldn’t handle that.

         “It doesn’t matter.”

         “Look I know she went to talk to you about, uh, gf/n. Right? Anyway, she’s just worried about you and so are the rest of us. She isn’t a good person for you, she’ll just drag you down. You deserve b—“

         He cuts Bokuto off.

         “I deserve better than her? Yeah well unfortunately the one who’s best for me is with you.” Kuroo says in a dejected tone.

         Bokuto furrows his brow in confusion.

         “What are you talking about?”

         “You know who I’m talking about, you’re always flirting with her and shit. Congrats, I’m happy for you. Just make sure you treat her well.”

         “Wait, do you think y/n and I are a couple? Just because I say flirty stuff to her? That’s just for fun, it’s not serious. Besides why would that bother you…oh I get it now. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

         “What difference does it make? You can stop lying to make me feel better. I know you spend time at her house, she told me herself that you were there the other day. I’m sure you two got really close while you were alone together.”

         “Dude, seriously? We watched movies and I wasn’t alone with her. Kenma was there too, you can go ask him yourself. I’ll just wait for you to come apologize to me afterwards for being such an idiot. Don’t worry I’ll forgive you because I’m a great guy like that.” Bokuto tells him before flashing a confident grin and leaving Kuroo’s house.

         After Bokuto leaves, Kuroo goes rushing over to Kenma’s house and bursts into his room where he finds him playing a game. Kenma glances away from the screen at Kuroo’s entrance before looking back at it.

         “You were at her house with Bokuto?” He asks, slightly out of breath from running over.

         “Wow, you’re so dumb Kuroo. I thought you were supposed to be so smart. Yes I was there with Bokuto and you should have been too but you blew her off again and went out with your “girlfriend” instead.”

         “Shit! I can’t believe I forgot about that.” Kuroo says as he sits on Kenma’s bed and puts his head in his hands.

         “Yeah, well, you were preoccupied. Where is the bitch anyway?”

         “How should I know? I dumped her three days ago.”

         “Well that’s good at least. Honestly you should have just told y/n that you loved her from the start, geez.”

         “I know but I was too scared that she might reject me and then never want to talk to me again.”

“You know that she would never do that, she cares about you too much.”

         “I know that I should have dumped that girl after you talked to me too but I didn’t like how easily you saw through me and I didn’t want you to know that you were right. I really am dumb.”

         Kuroo lets out a sorrowful sigh.

         “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me, Kenma?”

         “Of course she will but you better beg for her forgiveness and finally tell her the truth.”

            Two more days passed and Kuroo had apologized to Bokuto for being an idiot and Bokuto forgave him just like he said that he would.

         You, however, had expertly evaded all of his attempts to get ahold of you and he was starting to wonder if he’d ever even see you again let alone talk to you. He still hadn’t caught a single glance of you, you wouldn’t answer his calls or respond to his messages, when he went to your house you would ignore him.

As he left his tenth message of the day for you, he made his way over to Kenma’s house. When he entered his friend’s room, he was greeted with his first glimpse of you in nearly a week.

         “Sorry Kenny, I have to go.” You say as you get up and head for the door but before you could leave Kuroo catches you by the wrist.

         “Wait chibi-chan.”

         You just look down and shake him off before disappearing out the front door.

         “She told me what you said to her. You fucked up so bad Kuroo. You totally deserved that black eye.”

         “Yeah I know I did. But how am I supposed to talk to her and apologize if she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me?”

         “I don’t know but you better figure out something before you lose your chance for good.”

            Tears roll down your cheeks as you water your garden. You didn’t know what else to do after you fled Kenma’s house. You weren’t even sure how you felt anymore, aside from sad at the whole situation. Sad about what had happened between you and Kuroo, you knew he couldn’t have meant what he said he was just upset but it still hurt you, and sad that he was dating someone so awful. He was far too kind, thoughtful, and caring to be with someone as vile as that girl. Most of all you just missed him, your best friend, the sweet goofy guy that you had fallen madly in love with.

         You swipe at your cheeks to rid them of the tears when you hear that voice, the one that you loved so much.

         “Hey chibi-chan, can we please talk?” Kuroo asks. Closing the gate behind him, he approaches you.

         You stop watering and look at him.

         “Are you even allowed to? What would your “girlfriend” say?”

Just as you are about to put the hose down and go into your house, locking him out, his voice stops you.

         “I dumped her. You were right, you all were. I was just being stubborn or stupid. Maybe both.”

         “Definitely both. I’m glad you started thinking with your brain again instead of something else.”

         Kuroo laughs to himself.

         “Yeah, funny thing is I never even kissed her. Forget about anything else.”

         “Wait. Are you serious?”

         “Yeah. There’s only one person I want to kiss and it wasn’t her.”

         Before you can process what he just said, he rushes on.

         “I am so sorry kitten. I never should have said what I did. I didn’t mean it at all. I know you’re not like that.” He moves in front of you and gets on his knees. “Please forgive me, I’m begging you. I wouldn’t be able to handle losing you.”

         He looks up at you with pleading eyes and remorse written all over his face.

         “You hurt me when you said that shit Tetsu.”

         He felt some relief at hearing his name, at least he wasn’t Kuroo anymore.

         “I know I did. Let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything. You can punch me again if you want, which by the way where the hell did you learn to hit like that?”

         You couldn’t help but laugh at that.

         “You didn’t mean it?” You ask even though you already know he didn’t.

         “No, of course not.” He says before mumbling under his breath, “I was just being stupid.”

         “What was that?” You ask having not quite caught what he just said.

         “Nothing. Please forgive me chibi-chan. I need you in my life.”

         You let out a sigh. You knew he was being genuine and you loved him too much to not forgive him.

         “Well lucky for you, I don’t want to lose you either. You’re too important to me.”

         Kuroo’s face brightens.

         “Does that mean you forgive me?”

         “That depends. Are you back to being my Tetsu? Or are you still the jerk that you’ve been for the past month?”

         “I’m your Tetsu, I promise kitten.”

         “Hmm..” You pretend to be lost in thought looking at him before a mischievous grin breaks out across your face.

         Kuroo raises an eyebrow at you and then you’re spraying him with the hose you still have in your hand.

         “Oops, my finger slipped.” You laugh as he shakes his arms to get some of the water off.

         “Oh you’re going to pay for that.”

         You let out a little shriek when he rises to his feet. You drop the hose and run.

         Kuroo chases you around your yard, both of your laughs echoing off of the nearby trees. It doesn’t take long before you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, lift you up, and spin you around. This causes the both of you to fall onto the soft grass. You land on your back and Kuroo somehow manages to land on top of you, using his forearms to brace himself so he doesn’t crush you.

         Hovering above you, he stares deeply into your eyes with a serious intensity.

         “I want to kiss you so badly. I have for a while now.” He glances to your lips before returning his gaze to your eyes.

         Your eyes widen with his confession, your heart racing in your chest.

         “So what’s stopping you then?”

         A big smile spreads across Kuroo’s face and then he’s pressing his lips tenderly against yours.

         You lose yourself in the kiss, lips parting slightly allowing him to slip his tongue inside your mouth and begin a dance with yours. Your one hand finds its way into his hair while the other one rests against the back of his neck. Your heart pounds and your mind races. How many times had you imagined what his kiss would feel like? A countless number it seemed and yet the real thing was so much better than anything you had ever imagined.

         You could feel all the love and care he was pouring into this kiss and you did the same. It seemed like hours and yet seconds at the same time when he separated from your mouth.

         “I’m so in love with you chibi-chan. You fit so perfectly in my arms and I know that it’s where you belong. I want nothing more than to hold you close each and every day. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was afraid that I might lose you if you didn’t feel the same. I’m a dumbass.”

         “Oh Tetsu, I’ve been in love with you for a while now and I thought the same damn thing as you. So I guess we’re both dumbasses.” You let out a chuckle and he does too.

         “I guess we are, but that doesn’t matter now. Will you be mine chibi-chan?”

         “Nothing would make me happier.”

         “Good then I’m going to hold you close every day. You’re mine and I’m yours from now on.” He says with a smile.

         “Always and forever, my Tetsu.” You say with a smile before he captures your lips once more in another loving kiss.

#kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu!! #haikyū!!

[babbling-idiot]

Pinhead Headcanon

Requested: "Hello! I was wondering if I could request a Pinhead x Trans Male Reader? If not is fine, have a nice day/night!" -By Anon

Warning: non really

(Hey anon! So obviously I dont know a whole lot about the trans community and the people. I'm not very educated about it, but I tried by best with this and I hope you like it!)

So, not to be weird but pihead is not a guy who thinks so much of what you look like on the outside, it's more about the inside that matters

I know cliche but it's true

Hes not very caught up with stuff now a days, like peoples pronouns. We all know hes from a long time ago and at that time they didnt really respect it all that much

Also being with a man back in his day, was usually frowned upon

It's sad but it's true

Anyways.....

Back to the present.

Again he doesnt know about the pronoun stuff so youd have to explain it to him once or twice for him to understand it completely

The other thing that I believe is that when he was alive and human. I like to think he was a very open sort of person. Like date "anyone because he wanted too" kind of guy.

I could see him as a bisexual but the more I think about it the more him being pan makes a little more sense but it never said anything about that in the movies so I'm in a pickle

Now to get to some relationship stuff

He loves you, he really doesnt (not trying to say it weirdly) care whats in your pant or whatever people say

Your a man? Well those people will have that planted firmly in their minds by the time pinhead is done with them

You like to wear mens clothing, not a fucking problem. Give him your size and he will get some clothing for you. Hopefully in your size because he may or may not have stolen most of it from his victims house. Most of it....

Like a said earlier he loves you, no matter what, would rip someone's spine out for you if they upset you in someway, but when you have your days when you feel down. If you get depressed because of something someone said, he hates it.

Not you, he hates the person and is also pissed off at you, kinda.

He doesnt understand why you, the most strong human person hes met, would get upset over some lowlifes comment.

They dont matter babe.

"My dear, sweet y/n why do you let this disgusting things words hurt you like this?"

He may seem like hes, calm and collected, but hes not

He is on fucking fire right, he wants to get angry at you but cant because he knows that your just sensitive to certain hateful comments. He understands this and will try, and I mean try his hardest to make you feel better

Which usually ends up with you two cuddling up together much to his dismay. He "hates" it but we all know under that scary and emotionless face that he likes it.

But if it makes you smile and feel better by the time he looks down at you, hes perfectly fine with doing this more often.

One time he even went out of his way to try and make you something. He tried to make cookies, he was getting the hand of it a bit and when he got to a certain part he just went down hill.

You heard some clattering in the kitchen went in there and saw the mess he made, you were on your knees laughing your ass off. Not only was it everywhere it was all over his face.

He looked like a toddler that had just been caught raiding the cookie jar. He just looked so ridiculous with all the stuff on his face

But what I'm trying to say is, is that he would do anything just to make you happy. Even making himself look like a dork in front of you.

(Hey again, so I hope you like it and if you did requests are always open. Have a wonderful day and stay safe out there in the world!)

#pinhead headcanon #pinhead x reader #pinhead imagines #pinhead #hellraiser

[prydon]

oh i adore ur writing, do u take prompts by any chance? if u do, would u ever consider writing a fic inspired by the recent drunk juno and smitten peter art? thank u, have a nice day 💞

thank you for liking my writing!!! :D tbh i haven’t considered myself enough of a fic writer to take prompts in years, but i loved that art and i love writing jupeter so much that i just had to give this a go.

so here you go! inspired by this WONDERFUL art by @honeyjarr. you can read it on ao3 here or down below! 

set post-man in glass but pre jupeter being in an established relationship. CWs for alcohol consumption, brief reference to sarah steel being sarah steel, minor injuries, and non-explicit talking/joking about sex.

----

Nureyev had never seen Juno Steel drunk before.

For all his insistence that he was ‘getting drunker by the second’ back in his apartment on that fated night when Nureyev had gifted him a name and kiss, Nureyev knew he had been far from truly drunk, then. Juno was a broad man, and one with a long history of drinking. Unlike Nureyev, he held his liquor well.

Now, on board the Carte Blanche, he had been trying to cut down on his alcohol consumption. It was part of his recovery, part of leaving behind the mess of poor coping mechanisms and bad decisions that used to make up Detective Juno Steel.

So when Buddy had pulled out the bottle, it was only with assurance from Jet and Juno that they were both okay with it- and when Juno had asked her to pour him a glass, he did so with the promise that he wasn’t using the alcohol to deal with any bad feelings that ought to be handled another way.

“Rita and I used to get drunk sometimes and watch the lowest-rated streams we could find,” he said. “It was…fun.”

Rita nodded enthusiastically. “Mistah Steel would always start yelling and throwing popcorn at the screen!”

“Very well, then,” Buddy said. “I trust your judgement, Juno.”

Nureyev kept one eye on Juno as he sipped his own drink, curious. What kind of a drunk was Juno? Sobbing? Angry? …Handsy?

He folded his hope for the latter away.

Nureyev seldom ever drank, and never on the job. It was too risky. Drinking meant losing your inhibitions, losing control over your emotions, and if there was anything that Nureyev desperately didn’t want to lose, it was that. His persona was perfectly crafted. He couldn’t risk letting a bottle of wine or liquor crumble it.

He was already tipsy after his first glass, which was embarrassing. He intended to stop there- to perhaps ask for a refill, but only pretend to sip it before surreptitiously dumping it. As soon as the second one was poured, however, he found himself actually drinking it.

Something about these people made him feel safe enough to allow some loss of inhibition. That realization terrified him, but he kept drinking nonetheless.

Juno had almost finished his third glass, and only now seemed to be feeling the effects of it. He was talking more loudly than he had been before, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. He shot Nureyev a glance and the thief took another sip, mostly just to hide the blush that was creeping up his face courtesy of both the alcohol and the sight of Juno, who was looking handsomely disheveled with his hair mussed and his sweater slipped down around his shoulders.

After Jet excused himself to bed early, they somehow ended up in a game of Never Have I Ever, which Nureyev had never heard of but Juno insisted was a staple among schoolkids in Oldtown.

“All right!” Rita said. “Never have I ever…done it in a public place.”

Nureyev raised an eyebrow. “If by ‘it’, you mean sexual intercourse…” He took a drink, and then nearly spat it back out when he saw Juno drink, too.

“What?” Juno said innocently. “You drank.”

“You’re both gross,” Vespa growled at them.

“Really? In all your life, you’ve never once given in to the heat of the moment?” Nureyev asked, trying to distract himself from his own brain, which was currently insistent on conjuring up artist’s interpretations of Juno on a park bench, or in a theater, or-

“It’s private! You do it inside!”

“Sometimes you just don’t have many options!” Juno protested.

“Ugh, whatever. Here, I’ll go next…”

Nureyev was very, very bad at the game, as it turned out. What could he say: he was an adventurous man, and one who’d lived a rich life. He wasn’t going to apologize for that. It didn’t hurt that Juno was drinking almost as often as he was, either. He carefully filed away all of the lady’s responses to the various statements, mentally marking some as being in desperate need of further follow up.

Juno Steel had never swum in the ocean.

Juno Steel had set a cop car on fire.

Juno Steel had participated in a foursome.

It was all very important information. Nureyev only hoped he’d actually remember it tomorrow. That was seeming less and less likely, the tipsier he got. He tried to take small sips throughout the game, but by the time it had ended, he knew he was gone. He’d regret letting that happen once he was sober, of course, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I think that’s enough for this evening,” Buddy said after a while, seeming to sense that both Nureyev and Juno were looking rather worse for the wear.

“One more!” Rita insisted. “Never have I ever…almost fallen out a window ‘cause I was chasing after a love letter.”

“Rita!” Juno exclaimed. “I told you that in confidence! Plus, that doesn’t count. It’s targeting! That’s…against the rules!”

“There ain’t no rules, Mistah Steel!”

“Ugh, fine,” Juno said, and drank.

Nureyev couldn’t help being curious, and even- ridiculously- jealous. Who had written Juno a love letter? Who had Juno cared so much about that even he, acrophobic as he was, had been willing to nearly jump out a window to save a note from them?

By all means, it could have happened decades ago. There was no reason to be envious. Nureyev had realized that he was prone to envy when it came to Juno Steel, however, and the alcohol was likely just heightening the emotion.

“Mistah Ransom’s got a funny look on his face,” Rita commented.

“Yeah, ‘cause he knows it was his letter,” Juno grumbled.

“Really!? Mistah Steel, you never told me that!”

“…Didn’t come up.”

Nureyev froze, feeling something warm spread through him. Ah. “You…kept my note? I didn’t realize.”

“Don’t have it anymore. It got lost somewhere along the way. It’s been…a hectic past few months,” Juno said, sounding genuinely upset by the loss. Then he frowned. “What, Ransom, did you really not realize Rita was talking about your note?”

“I…”

A wide smile spread over Juno’s face. “Oh, my god. Your expression a moment ago…were you jealous of yourself!?”

Nureyev felt himself turn beet red. “N- no.”

“You were!”

Juno burst out laughing. Unlike his usual laughs, which on the rare occasions that they surfaced were quiet and restrained, almost as though he didn’t believe he was deserving of laughter, this one was loud and unburdened. It was a full body laugh, and it lit Juno up so beautifully that Nureyev could almost forget that it was at was at his expense.

Nureyev could guess, then, what kind of drunk Juno was. He was the kind whose current predominate emotion, whatever it was, was exacerbated by the alcohol. When he was sad, he’d end up crying into his drinks. When he was angry, there would be yelling and picking fights.

Right now, Juno was happy.

Even just the flickering, uncertain smiles he had shot Nureyev during their mission to retrieve the map had been enough to nearly bowl the thief over, and now here he was. Smiling a smile big enough to cut the moon in half.

“You know, one time Benzaiten won an award for having the Galaxy’s Best Smile. Can you believe that?!”

Nureyev had never known Juno’s brother, of course, and all he knew of him now came from those little glimpses that Juno gave him when he felt safe enough to voice them. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Benzaiten had deserved the accolade, though, if he had indeed had the same smile as Juno.

Juno definitely had the best smile in the entire galaxy. In all the galaxies, surely. And it made Nureyev feel emotions of an enormity that he had never before experienced. He wanted to live in that smile. He wanted to make a home in it. He wanted to lean forward, grab Juno by the face, and kiss him in front of everyone. He wanted to feel that smile against his lips.

It took every ounce of self restraint he had not to do so, and he gripped his glass, begging the last sober vestiges of himself to keep him from acting on any ridiculous notions.

He didn’t kiss Juno, thankfully.

He did do something else, though.

Crack.

“Oh. Dear,” he said. “These things aren’t very sturdy, are they?”

Before he could even realize what was happening, his glass had shattered to pieces in his hand, and his nice clothes that had surely cost the person he’d stolen them from several thousand creds were drenched in alcohol and littered with shards of glass.

“Nur- Ransom!” Juno exclaimed, immediately concerned, and in the moment all that Nureyev could think was how sad he was that the smile had vanished from the lady’s face. “What the hell happened?!”

“I believe I broke the glass.”

“Christ! Do you have the grip strength of a goddamn metal vice?” Juno’s voice sounded shocked and more than a little bit impressed. Nureyev couldn’t help feeling rather pleased about the latter. Then, suddenly, the ex-detective was back to looking concerned. “Ransom, you’re bleeding.”

He looked down at his hand. “Ah.”

“We- we need to get this cleaned up. Get you cleaned up,” Juno said. He swayed slightly as he made his way to Nureyev’s side to worriedly inspect his hand. If his drunkenness had been boosting his happiness before, it was now boosting his anxiety and fear.

“I’m all right,” Nureyev insisted. “Just a cut. Barely even hurts.” He didn’t want Juno to worry. He just wanted to see that smile again.

Vespa let out a long groan. “Ugggggggh. You two are the worst. I’ll go grab the nearest first aid kit. Ransom, Steel can get you your bandaid. I’m going to bed. You got this, Steel?”

Juno nodded. “I’ve patched myself up enough times to know how.”

“Great.”

She was back in a moment with the kit, handing it off to Juno before dragging Buddy off to bed.

“Good night, darlings,” Buddy said as she was pulled away. “Rita, I think you’d best leave them be, too.”

Rita frowned. “But what if they need my- Oooooooh. Okay.” She waved and winked comedically aggressively at Juno. “G’night, Mistah Steel and Mistah Ransom! Mistah Ransom, I hope you feel better soon!”

“Good night, Rita,” Nureyev said, feeling vaguely lightheaded. It wasn’t from the wound- that wasn’t nearly bad enough to warrant such a response. If he had to guess, it was from Juno being so close that he could feel his breath. From the soft, reverent way he was currently cleaning the cuts on Nureyev’s hands.

Juno looked up to watch Rita go. “What was that about?”

“No idea.”

Juno’s next words were softer and slightly slurred. “…Are you mad at me?”

Nureyev stared at him, completely lost. “What? Why would I be mad at you?”

“I was…I was laughing at you. Then you broke the glass. Did you break it because you were mad? Ma did that sometimes. I- I shouldn’t have laughed. Shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry-”

“Hush, Juno,” Nureyev said. “I’m not angry in the slightest. Really, it was rather funny. And I’m touched that you went that far just to rescue my note.”

“Then…why?”

“Why did I break the glass? I suppose I underestimated my own strength.”

“Why were you gripping it so hard, though?!”

What could he tell Juno? He studied his hand, not wanting to admit the truth. He couldn’t very well say, I found your smile so beautiful that if I hadn’t held onto something as hard as I could, I would have surely lunged forward and kissed you right there.

He looked up to find Juno staring at him, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“I…did not mean to say that out loud,” Nureyev said. “Apologies, Juno. I seem to be rather drunk.”

“You don’t say.” Juno snorted. A glimmer of a smile reappeared on his face, to Nureyev’s delight. “That’s really why, though? You wanted to kiss me?”

“Well, yes,” Nureyev said, flustered. “You have a very…nice smile.”

“Well, I’m not stopping you.”  

Juno suddenly looked embarrassed, almost shy. Hopeful, too.

Nureyev had lost the ability to think coherent thoughts.

“Oh. Okay,” he stammered.

He gently took Juno’s face in his freshly bandaged hand as he’d imagined doing not much earlier, and pulled him into a deep kiss. The lady’s lips were as soft and warm as always. They still tasted like drink, but also something so purely Juno that Nureyev was certain he could have gotten drunk on that taste alone.

He shifted, moving closer. Juno mirrored his actions, shuffling across the carpet to reach him, and then-

“Ow!”

Juno swore and broke away, to Nureyev’s dismay. It took him a moment to figure out what was wrong: there was still broken glass on the carpet.

“Are you all right?” Nureyev asked.

“Mm. Just pricked me. We should really get this cleaned up.” He hesitated. “On second thought, picking up glass while drunk might not be a good idea. Let’s just…mark it off so no one steps on it and then go to bed. We can deal with it in the morning.”

They did just that. Nureyev hated that even though Juno had drunk much more than him, he was the one leaning on Juno for balance as they walked back to his room. He couldn’t stop thinking about that smile. He wondered what it would take to make Juno smile like that while sober, and decided that whatever it was, he was going to figure it out.

When they reached the door to Nureyev’s room, Juno paused.

“Make sure you drink some water before you go to sleep,” he said. “And don’t use your right hand more than you have to, so it can heal.”

“I know, I know.”

There was an awkward but companionable silence for a moment. Nureyev wanted more than anything to invite Juno into his room to stay the night, but he knew he shouldn’t. They weren’t there yet, and besides, that wasn’t a step that he wanted to take while under the influence.

“I can’t believe you really broke a glass because of me,” Juno said finally, smirking.

“Oh, shush. It’s your own fault. If you hadn’t…looked like that, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well, I’m so sorry. In the future I’ll refrain from ‘looking like that’.”

“Please don’t,” Nureyev said immediately.

“…Okay. Then I won’t.”

Nureyev moved to open his door, then hesitated, chewing his lip. “Juno…there’s something I need to ask you.”

Juno immediately knit his brow, his shoulders tensing. “What is it?”

“About the time you had sex in a public place-”

The ex-detective groaned loudly and gave him a good-natured shove. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Could you at least tell me about the foursome, then?”

“No! God, I am never playing Never Have I Ever with you guys again. Good night, Nureyev.”

Nureyev grinned. “Good night, my dear.”

#asks #the penumbra podcast #jupeter #peter nureyev #juno steel #my writing #i'm working on several other writing projects rn #so if others send prompts i can't guarantee they'll get done #at least not as thoroughly/quickly as i got this one done lol #but you're welcome to send them and i'll at the very least save them for when i do have the time/inspo to write them!

[mcheang]

Chloe actually uses her brain

Miraculer alternate ending

“Weren’t you with Ladybug yesterday?” Lila looked confused.

“Of course Ladybug was with me yesterday! Because Sabrina got akumatized! So either you’re lying or your magic dance summons an akuma.”

Lila sweatdropped. Chloe chooses to use her brain now?

Lila put a hand on her heart and feigned shock. “I’m not lying! But maybe the magic dance was only meant for me after all. Ladybug only showed it to me.”

Chloe cocked her hip. “Ah yes. Your utterly ridiculous dance. Tell you what. If your dance really works, why don’t you show it to us all now and summon Ladybug.”

Lila flushed. “You know exactly why i perform that dance in private, Chloe!”

Chloe gave a fake yawn. “What’s the point of boasting about your connection with Ladybug when you don’t have any proof? At least people have seen Ladybug visit my roof when I use my Bee signal. But you? Ladybug has never visited you in public. And I highly doubt she thinks such a charitable person as yourself is worthy of a miraculous. You’re no Rena Rouge. You’re just a wannabe fox heroine.”

Lila’s face grew redder. “How dare you? After I tried to help you?”

Chloe raised her eyebrow. “I know you’re from Greece (if Chloe can confuse Asian cultures, why not Greek and Roman?), but your French can’t be that bad. You didn’t help me. You sabotaged me. And rest assured, I intend to return the favour. Sabrina told me your Mother works for the Italian embassy, doesn’t she? I think I’ll ask Dad to invite them all for a nice dinner and she can tell the whole tale about how Ladybug saved you.”

Lila panicked. Her Mother cannot get involved, everything will be ruined if she does. Quickly composing her face, Lila shrugged it off. “If you please. But she’ll just confirm whatever I’ve been saying.”

Chloe smirked. “We’ll see.”

And she walked off, unwilling to let the liar get the last word. Sabrina followed, not giving Lila another glance.

Lila stewed. She had to change Chloe’s mind. But how?

Sabrina!

Later in the morning, once Chloe had gone to the bathroom during a class break, Lila approached Sabrina. “Hey, Sabrina.”

Sabrina jumped, looking nervous to see Lila close by. Chloe would not like to see her BFF talking to the girl who humiliated her.

Lila saw this and was just as eager to make this quick before Chloe returned. Feigning a carefree attitude, Lila asked what Sabrina was doing that afternoon.

Sabrina frowned. “I’ll be helping Chloe prepare the dinner arrangements. After that, I’ll help Chloe prepare for the dinner.”

Lila gasped. “You mean you don’t even get to attend?”

Sabrina shook her head.

Lila put on an apologetic face. “I’m so sorry, Sabrina. I didn’t mean to ruin your afternoon with my advice. I wish there was something I could do.”

Sabrina gave Lila a look. “Well, you could actually perform the dance in public, say during lunch time? If Ladybug shows up just for you and Chloe sees it, she’ll have to admit you’re telling the truth.”

Lila just smiled at Sabrina, promising nothing.

For the rest of the morning, Lila was frantically trying to attract an akuma. Her own alarm and panic was not enough.

Lila told Rose a lie that Prince Ali has a fiancée and she was one of the first to know. Rose was disappointed but not surprised. She knew she hardly had a chance with Prince Ali romantically. They hardly saw each other. Juleka was happy to cheer Rose up.

Lila asked Mylene how her tree planting event had gone. Lila sympathizes that Ivan lied to Mylene rather than trusted her with the truth. Did he think Mylene wouldn’t understand? Mylene admits she had been upset with her Boyfriend but they had already hashed it out.

Lila can’t put her frame/accuse-Marinette plan into action yet. There isn’t a test at the moment.

Lila tries to rub it in Max’s face that he got beaten by Marinette. But Alix jumps into their conversation and admits it’s nice to have another female winner in an event stereotyped for males. Max doesn’t dare argue in the face of that statement.

And Lunch has arrived. Coincidentally, an akuma appeared on the other side of the city. Sabrina gave Lila another look, silently promising that one way or another Chloe will avenge herself.

(Now, in case you’re wondering, Lila wanted the akuma for herself, to become Volpina and cast an illusion of Ladybug again. But too late)

Lila tries to get her Mother to stay at home by feigning to be grievously ill enough to be sent to the hospital.

The Doctors will immediately point out Lila has no broken bones, but Lila forces herself to vomit in class and claims this was a regular occurrence ever since she decided to go on a diet. She had even suffered hair loss.

“Is that the excuse for your hair-don’t?” mocked Chloe.

Lila’s Mother does make an appearance at the hospital but the Doctors are baffled because Lila looks perfectly healthy.

Lila’s excuse: makeup

In any case, the blood work needs some time to be finished. The doctor’s advice was to just let Lila try to eat dinner and sleep early. (I’m just basing off what I read in Kitchen Princess volume 2)

Sadly, Lila’s Mother won’t stay even if her Daughter is suspected to have an eating disorder. She asked their neighbour to look after Lila while she attends a mandatory dinner.

Lila wants to scream. If her plan had failed, she would have tried something else to sabotage the dinner (set off the fire alarm) but she can’t leave under the neighbour’s watchful eye.

So while Chloe asked Mrs Rossi her opinion of Ladybug, Lila did have one bit of good news.

The doctor had suggested feeding Lila what she liked to eat. Knowing she will be grounded very soon, Lila indulges herself on lasagne and rich chocolate cake.

She goes to sleep and pretends to continue so when her Mother slams the door open.

After dismissing the neighbour and thanking her, Mrs Rossi checks on Lila to see if she was indeed asleep before deciding their confrontation could wait till morning.

That dinner was the most humiliating event Mrs Rossi could remember. Not only was she the only one to believe Ladybug was incompetent; but the Parisians had been insulted that she had badmouthed their heroine. Their offended faces turned to incredulity when they heard her faulty evidence from her own Daughter. Then that Chloe girl told her that her own Daughter was said to have been saved by Ladybug and that they were BFFs. After that there came the theory that Lila was playing truant since the school hadn’t shut down, as Chloe could very well attest to.

The next morning, Lila tries to delay the inevitable by feigning exhaustion. Her Mother strangely lets it go as she announces she is off to work.

Lila tries to suppress the hope that maybe something went wrong with Chloe’s plan, like she couldn’t attend because she had another appointment.

The reason behind Mrs Rossi’s departure is because she wants all the facts before she confronts her daughter. She had called an emergency meeting with the principal and Ms Bustier. Imagine her shock and sadness to learn her daughter changed her parental contact information and her excuse for truancy. Mrs Rossi clears up the matter for the faculty and all agree Lila will be in massive trouble. Detention sounds like a lenient punishment for forging signatures and email fraud. But Lila’s truancy means she will have to stay back a year. She won’t graduate with the class.

Meanwhile, at class, Chloe boasts about Lila’s true nature with video evidence. Let’s just say the class are upset to learn that their friend had called Ladybug useless. Alya is shocked and Lila’s phone is exploding with texts demanding explanations and pleading for it not to be true.

Lila reads it all but doesn’t answer. Her whole world is crumbling before her eyes. Why hasn’t an akuma come for her then?

The akuma wasn’t attracted by Lila’s dull acceptance and rage, her emotions weren’t as strong when she knew this was coming.

No, the akuma was attracted towards sweet, innocent Rose, most sensitive of the girls. Because Lila’s betrayal really stung her.

Alya apologized to Marinette for not believing her. It makes the whole class realize Lila had been taking advantage of them, and makes them recall their discussions with her yesterday. Had Lila been intentionally trying to upset them?

Going further back, they analyse everything Lila had told them. Promises she had not yet fulfilled. Her implication that Ladybug doesn’t care about the earth. Yeah, the class idolizes Ladybug and while they didn’t really believe Ladybug was apathetic about the earth’s issues, they had dismissed it back then. Now, they are furious, especially since a lot of them have become heroes.

In all the chaos, Rose becomes akumatizes into Princess Fragrance. She will hold Lila on trial, and then decide her punishment. Luckily, Adrien and Marinette led the charge out of the class once they saw Rose transform.

Rose is stopped before she reaches Lila but her akumatization and reason for it make the news.

Before the day is over, when Mrs Rossi returns to work, she is told she has been called back to Italy because she had been sacked/demoted for her incompetence, ignorance and for humiliating the Italian embassy.

As Mrs Rossi packs her things (one of them a tiny plant), her despair, shame and rage against her Daughter summons a second akuma. She turns into Mother Nature.

If Lila was the bad seed, Mrs Rossi was the one who watered the tree. Mother Nature’s powers allow her to prove she can raise beautiful things.

She is defeated.

Mrs Rossi accepts her punishment and prepares to move back to Italy.

Lila is still staying in Paris. Her Father had been in another city but is also still a diplomat stationed in France. He will take over his wife’s station. Mrs Rossi can’t look after Lila and find a new job at the same time.

In addition to her school punishments, Lila will be getting a nanny, no allowance, grounded. Mrs Rossi knows Lila will face worse punishments once she returns to school tomorrow since the doctor confirmed Lila was fine. (Medical fees paid over nothing irked Mrs Rossi further)

At school, Lila is left to sit alone. Nathaniel decided to sit next to Ivan since he needs some closure.

Thanks to Marinette insisting the class not get worked up over Lila, the class ignores her but Lila notices she is glared at on her way to her desk.

Marinette and Alya throw a party for Chloe, under the excuse that it is to celebrate her time as Queen Bee now that she is retired. Alya had wanted to honor Marinette too but Marinette declines because she doesn’t need to be the center of attention.

Chloe was annoyed by the reminder that she can no longer be a hero but basks in everyone’s thanks for exposing that liar.

Adrien can’t argue because he has just learnt how much Lila had intentionally tried to hurt their class, and Chloe needs to be cheered up after Miraculer. Like after Oniichan, Adrien avoids Lila when she tries to hurt the people he loves. (Seriously the boy needs to stand up for the love of his life. Lila has badmouthed Ladybug in front of Adrien several times, and he has not defended her. Even after Oniichan, he still greets Lila cordially in Miraculer! Argh! 😠 also...why leave Ladybug alone with Lila when she was clearly fine?!)

Lila can’t even summon an akuma when her round-the-clock Nanny stays outside the classroom door and is there to walk her home for lunch. It’s a shame, because she really could have used an akuma after seeing the party. But her nanny was instructed to keep akumas away since Lila had been akumatized at least twice.

With the class ignoring her, Lila has no chance to make new ‘friends’ or get her old ones back. Not when she has to return home immediately for lunch or when school ends. Even during group projects, Lila has to communicate from home.

The class makes their hatred of Lila known in gym.

Oh, and now that Lila had been publicly announced a liar, Gabriel has no use for her. He doesn’t reach out to her anymore and Lila knows she has been fired.

Lila’s stay in Paris is assuredly miserable. And to think she had done all this because she wanted Adrien all to herself and tried to humiliate the competition.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #lila salt #miraculer fic #ml salt fic #miraculer alternate ending #lila karma #lila bashing #lila is exposed #lila gets exposed

[c4pricornc4ts]

Who Would Ever Want to be King? Chapter Two

Read chapter one on tumblr here or read both chapters on ao3 here!

Tubbo meets a moobloom, Tommy is kind of an asshole. 

At some point Eret must've dozed off because he wakes up to Tubbo almost on top of him and poking him gently, blue eyes framed by messy brown hair looking down at him.

“Good morning?” He laughs before leaning forward to check on a still sleeping Tommy. The sunrise was starting to fill the room with golden light, he hoped it wouldn’t wake the injured boy. Head injuries always lingered, at least the side effects do.

He replaces the bandages on Tommy’s forehead while Tubbo watches apprehensively. He was bouncing slightly which was shaking the bed.

“That can’t be good for Tommy” Eret murmurs, before deciding he needs to get Tubbo to stop. “What’s on your mind?”

The boy stops bouncing, he freezes like a deer in headlights. “I don’t know?” He tilts his head and looks apologetic about it.

“What do you think about breakfast?”

“What about Tommy?”

“We’ll make him some too.” The king walks over to the door, turning to wait on Tubbo to climb down the bed and join him. Both were still in their pajamas, but that could be fixed later.

They decide on pancakes, Tubbo insisting on getting all the ingredients out himself. Except the eggs. Eret didn’t want to clean up a dropped egg right now. Or ever really.

Tubbo’s watching Eret mix everything together, his head pressed against the wood and his arm laying across the table as far as he could reach. “Where do you get all this? It’s not exactly like you have a market around here.”

“I farm for myself. It’s not too difficult to feed one person.” He puts another pancake on the stack and pours one more.

“Will we make it difficult?” He whispers.

“Not if I put you two to work.” He waits for Tubbo to complain at even the mention of work but the boy seems completely nonchalant and just plays with his sleeve.

By ‘work’ Eret means feeding the cows and collecting eggs from the chickens. And even though the definition of ‘work’ for a kid raised in the middle of a war must be a lot more dangerous and draining, Tubbo doesn’t argue at all.

“I don’t think Tommy can do much yet.” He sits up in his chair as Eret brings over two plates of pancakes and a jar of syrup.

“You’re right. Which is why me and you will go out today, Tommy needs to rest.”

“What will we do?” He’s eating very messily but he supposes they could talk about manners a different day. For now he just hands him a dish towel.

“How do you feel about mooblooms?”

Tubbo drops his fork and yells with excitement. Eret flinches at the noise but smiles nonetheless.

After Tubbo brings Tommy a slightly smaller portion of breakfast, (As Eret was fairly confident he wasn’t going to be up for eating today and just didn’t want to tell Tubbo no to giving his friend something.) They head through the wooden door that leads to the courtyard.

He calls it a courtyard but really it’s much bigger than a courtyard and houses a lot of animals and plants. He tries to keep it at least a little nice, evidenced by the hyacinth hanging from the columns. They were all the same deep blue color, and everywhere he could hang them he did.

Tubbo walks right up to the cows who have free range of the yard. Eret lets him play around with the dandelion covered cow as he knows that she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“What’s her name?” Tubbo calls to him from where he’s getting water out of the well.

He picks up the bucket, pouring the contents into the watering can. “They don’t have names Tubbo.” He doesn’t mean to sound so blunt but he’s pretty inexperienced with people.

“Well I think she looks like Daisy. Can we name her that? Please? I think she’d really appreciate it if she had a name.” He has his arms wrapped around the cow’s neck, and his head is buried in her side while she eats grass like nothing is happening at all.

Eret decides not to comment on the fact that it’s a bit silly to name a cow covered in dandelions a different flower name. It didn’t matter that much anyways, and he’s gotta admit, she does look like a Daisy. “Sure, I like it, ‘Daisy the Moobloom’. Now can you go get some hay for them? She and her friends need to eat too.”

He points to the bales of hay in the back of the cow’s shelter and Tubbo hurries to get some. Eret finishes watering all the flowers and is moving on to the crops and Tubbo is laughing as all the cows surround him trying to get some hay when they’re interrupted by a door opening.

“What are you two doing without me? I don’t want to be alone anymore. It's really, really boring.” Eret looks up to see Tommy leaning over his bedroom balcony, his blond hair covering most of his face as he looks down.

“Tommy, you fell! You’re supposed to be bored because if something exciting happens and then your head will hurt again!” Tubbo shouts up at him, on his tiptoes as if that’ll help his voice carry.

Eret thinks Tubbo’s voice didn’t need any help, the boy was very polite but he was also very loud. He’s thankful the boy is though, or Eret might not have found them in the woods.

“My head is fine!” He whines dramatically.

“I really don’t think it is Tommy, you were bleeding and shit.”

“Language!”

“Sorry Eret! You were bleeding and STUFF.” He corrects himself.

Tommy runs back inside and moments later is out in the courtyard himself. Eret’s impressed he found the door that quickly, but who knows, maybe Tubbo had explored the castle after Eret went to bed last night.

“You really should rest Tommy, you were out cold last night.”

“I don’t need another adult in my life telling me what to do. If I wanted that I would be with Wilbur still.” He brushes past Eret pointedly knocking into his shoulder.

“Well, if your head starts hurting again you tell me okay?”

“Whatever.” Tommy dismisses him before going and trying to jump the chicken fence, keyword trying. The blond seems to go still and doesn’t even try to finish pulling himself over. Eret drops the watering can and rushes over to catch him.

“Alright that’s it you’re going back to bed.” Eret drags him to his feet and leans over to support the boy’s weight.

“No I-I’m fucking fine y-you bitch.” The king bites back a smile at the boy’s weak attempt at an insult while concussed. He supposes he should be more upset with all the attitude he’s been shown but really, it’s worth having some company.

They keep walking towards the doors back inside, and Tommy keeps digging his heels in the grass and trying to turn back. Looking at Tubbo like he’ll never see the other again. Eret sighs, he wasn’t heartless enough to separate them if Tommy was going to look that broken about it.

“Tubbo, I’ll finish up out here. Can you go sit with Tommy for a bit?” The boy looks so happy with the animals he really hates taking him back inside. But he had a feeling Tommy wasn’t going to stay in the bedroom unless Tubbo’s there too.

He passes Tommy to Tubbo carefully since Tommy was a bit taller than his friend. “I don’t need to go inside. You’re being ridiculous.” He argues the whole way but never once tries to stop Tubbo physically. Eret supposes the arguing was more of a defensive thing.

Eret finishes up with the animals and spends the rest of the day checking the castle over after the storm last night. He goes in before dinner and prepares the room next to the one Tommy and Tubbo have taken over. The whole time he doesn’t hear a word from the other room. Hopefully they’re both resting and haven’t just run off.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done that. And Eret can’t really think of why people do, he’s really just trying to help.

He washes their clothes and tries not to fall asleep when he hangs everything up to dry. The sun had been mostly covered by clouds, making the whole castle overcast. Maybe he should go out and buy some lights. The problem is that would mean finding a market, which means finding a village and villages well, those have people. More people than the king wants to be around.

He starts a fire under the stove, it’s perhaps a little early to start dinner but who’s counting? He reaches for the steak he has stored away but pauses when he remembers how enamored Tubbo was with the mooblooms.

Chicken it is then.

“Don’t you ever get tired of only blue flowers?” Eret jumps and turns around, holding out a wooden spoon. He sets it down on the counter next to him when he sees it’s just Tubbo. He had to get used to extra people. Or Tubbo had to stop coming up behind him. They both make a mental note to work on it.

He turns back around, stirring the contents in the pot. “Do you think they look bad?”

“Well, they look nice really they do! It just feels… sad.”

He wants to just tell the boy that’s the point, they’re supposed to be sad. But he can’t bring himself to talk about it.

“I saw pink flowers in the woods, I could plant them here if you want.” Tubbo sounds hopeful, trying to pass off wanting pink flowers as something for Eret only.

“I’d love that Tubbo. But not tonight alright? If Tommy sees you out there he’ll want to go too.” Tubbo makes an excited noise behind him and climbs the counter to Eret’s right. Leaning over the pot to look inside. Flinching when the steam hits his face.

Eret covers the pot and nudges Tubbo away, worried his hands would get burned. “It’s chicken and vegetables, I hope that’s alright.”

Tubbo nods quickly, and sits further back on the counter. Content to be near the stove fire as it gets colder in the castle. And the king is perfectly happy to have company. Even if said company almost falls off the counter several times before the soup is done.

Tubbo keeps talking about what he wants to name every cow as Eret pulls out a ladle and dishes out three bowls of the chicken soup. Placing them on a plastic tray before interrupting Tubbo’s rant. “We’re going to eat with Tommy, I need you to knock for me okay? My hands are... “ He tilts his head towards the tray in both his hands. “full.”

“Can we eat on the bed?”

Eret nods and laughs and starts walking up the castle steps towards the bedroom. Tubbo knocks on the wooden door. “Tommy? We brought dinner, are you awake?”

“Go away.”

Tubbo exchanges a confused look with Eret and tries to open the door. After a few attempts, they realize it’s locked. Eret didn’t even know his door still did that.

“Tommy please? What about me?” Tubbo sounds a little hurt that his friend would treat him so harshly especially without any reason.

The door unlocks with a click and is opened just enough for tiny hands to grab Tubbo by the collar of his shirt and yank him in the room. Tubbo squeaks in surprise and the door slams right in Eret’s face.

Eret keeps staring at the door, confused at what just happened when the door opens yet again and Tommy grabs two of the bowls before dashing back inside. He hears Tubbo whisper through the door. “He said he doesn’t wanna eat with a grownup. I’m sorry Eret but you fit that criteria I think.”

Well, he guesses he’ll go eat alone. Not like he hasn’t done that before.

Neither boy comes out of the room the rest of the night, so Eret tells them he’s next door before just settling in for the night. His books we’re all in the occupied room so he opts to just go to bed early.

For the second night in a row, he’s woken up by a scream. He watches as someone throws his door open and then slams it closed, leaning their whole body against it and panting heavily. The king sits up and tries to wake up enough for his eyesight to clear. “Tommy?”

“P-please don’t let Wilbur take me. I’m sorry I’m such a-an asshole.” The boy’s voice wobbles, and he sounds like he’s about to cry.

The words prompt Eret to jump out of bed and go pull Tommy away from the door. He wants to say it’s a bad dream but if the blond was this scared, maybe Wilbur really was here.

He remembers Wilbur being a good man, a leader who always had photos of his son and talked about his brothers from a different realm often. He never thought anyone would be closing doors in his face. Though, he never thought he’d betray his country either.

He sets Tommy on his bed and checks the hallway. There’s no one out there. It must have been a nightmare. He feels his arm being grabbed and turns back towards the bedroom to a very nervous Tommy trying to get him back in the room.

He obliges and closes the door, figuring out how to lock it tiredly while Tommy clung to him.

“Tommy, no ones out there. And even if there was, you’re safe here. I wouldn’t let anyone take you.” He’s holding the boy, surprised that he’s not being pushed away or sworn at.

“What about Tubbo?”

“I'll protect him too.” He confirms, gently carding his hands through the boy’s messy hair. Something he remembers people doing to him long ago.

“I’m sorry.” He says between sobs, and Eret just keeps whispering “It’s okay.” back.

They stay standing together like that till Eret is too tired to hold them both up and sits up against the headboard with some difficulty since Tommy does not want to let go.

Tommy is only occasionally sniffling when Eret starts to drift off. Barely even noticing the bed dip when Tubbo goes and curls up next to the pair.

Eret wraps an arm around Tubbo too before finally going back to sleep.

#eret mcyt #eret #tommyinnit #tommy and tubbo #tubbo #dreamsmp #fanfic #c4pricornc4ts

[faecaptainofdreams]

Story time! The start of this story has a bit of a theme song, because i just always think of this: www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyGSe7… Sad and awful as it looks, this actually has a majorly happy ending! Major thank you to my friend Sumi-Sprite for collaging this for me! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When Walter is 22, he goes on a very dangerous mission with Lance. While they wait for backup (which Lance is willing to accept most of the time now on account of personal growth), the duo storms a chemical lab, where the "final battle" takes place. I don't have a lot of details worked out, but long story short, they succeed in their mission (with several casualties as a result of what comes next), but fire and blow-outs in the lab lead to a very terrifying situation. The men find themselves in a space with only one oxygen mask for emergencies. Lance forces Walter to wear it,  but even after being taught compromise, the latter is very stubborn. As Lance begins to lose consciousness from being stuck inhaling smoke and various chemicals, Walter takes advantage of this. He shoots him in the neck with his own tranquilizer (a familiar scene, no?), and as Lance is passing out, Walter gives him the mask instead. Lance passes out from the tranquilizer, and Walter slowly begins to suffocate until he too, is rendered unconscious. Lance wakes up in the medical bay at the H.T.U.V. Delirious but suddenly remembering the mission, he starts to panic and call out for Walter. Not a few moments later, the younger of them reveals he's in a bed right beside Lance's, groggy with an oxygen mask strapped to his face, an IV in his arm and an EKG hooked up to him, but he's smiling and reaching out for Lance. Lance takes the boy's hand firmly and says "You scared me." Walter answers with "You scared me first...!" He sleepily explains that backup came and rescued them and brought them back to the agency, where they've apparently only been for a short while. In better shape than Walter on account of the latter's sacrifice, Lance gets up and lays beside him, jokingly threatening a "quadruple fire" if he ever does something like that again. Walter very softly smiles and says "I'm not sorry." When Marcy eventually shows up to visit them after hearing the news, she finds them laying there in the bed together and jokingly asks if she's interrupting something. "Nope, just two grown men cuddling after they almost died, nothin' to see here," answers Lance in a similar tone. Marcy informs them that most of their targets were saved and are in custody (some of them being in the hospital), but a few of them died from the fire and chemical blast. Walter is sad to hear it, but accepting of it, and glad that not every life was lost. About an hour or two later, he's stable enough to be off of the oxygen and other attachments. With all the smoke and chemical inhalation, the medical staff advises giving Walter a bronchoscopy to check for potential damage to his lungs. Such a procedure often only requires conscious sedation with a numbing of the nose and throat, but when they get him to the operating room, Walter panics at the thought of being awake while having a scope down his throat; after having nearly suffocated to death just hours ago, the thought of being awake and the fear of suffocating again is too much to bear (even though he would be fine). So instead, they decide to give him a general anesthesia and put him under for the procedure. It's just safer for everyone this way. When it's over and he's beginning to wake from the anesthesia, Walter is wheeled back to his room on the bed, and is happy to see Marcy and Lance waiting for him. But anesthesia is a funny thing, and as he's wheeled in, he's singing the Disclaimer Song in a very loopy fashion. Once settled, he chooses not to finish the song. This conversation ensues: ------- "Lance: You're not gonna finish the song? Walter: *mildly sassy* Ffffhhh, youknooww... I sing...ALLLL the tiiime, anndiiiffinishh all of them, anndd it'ssfuunn, buut... Whyy issitt aalwaayys me...? Why'd's WalterrBeckkett onlyy siing??? YOUU finishth'sonng... Lance: *"well shit" face* Wow, all right then, I'll finish the song. ♫Don't try this at home, if you do, you might--♫ Ey, aren't you gonna sing? Walter: ...Mmm givinng youaheadd starrtt..." ------- He joins in eventually. There is a lot of talking about various things, and lots of Marcy and Lance laughing to themselves at the rambling and singing. Oh yes, more singing. Lots of singing. Lance records some of the rambling, including an entire conversation that begins with Walter casually asking if they'll have to "take his lungs out." After being told no, that he's perfectly fine, he says it would be hard to breathe without lungs, and then regales his company with the thought of the lungs being replaced with balloons. Specifically, the left one would be blue, and the right one would be red. Why? He doesn't know, it's not his call, apparently. At the thought of them popping if he took too deep a breath, a laughing fit on Walter's part ensues. A little while later, this conversation happens: --- "Walter: Whenn I'mmbetterr, 'm gonna drriiveyou'round in the e-tron... Lance: You wanna drive me around? Walter: Yeaaah... Ohh, waait... Imight craash... Lance: Naaahhh, i think it'd be worth the risk. You can drive the car. Walter: Buutt youuloove that carr... Lance: Yeah, well... I love you more. Walter: Hmm..... Whaat...? Lance: *softly* I said I love you, Walter." --- Lance has told him this before, but in his drugged up state, the blatant expression of love swiftly turns the tide of the mood from funny to pitiful. Walter bursts into tears and tells Lance he loves him, too. And Marcy. And Killian, and Joy, and Lovey and Jeff and Crazy Eyes, and Terrance even though he ignores him, and August (OC) and Ramsey (OC [sorta]) and Shannon (OC) and that he thinks it's mean that people nickname Joy "Joyless," all while bawling his poor eyes out. Endeared, Marcy and Lance try to calm him down. But Walter reveals that he hasn't forgotten his conversation with Lance when they first woke up in that room together. He says he's sorry for scaring Lance, that he just didn't want him to die because he "doesn't want to be alone again," but that he understands Lance has the same fear and he just couldn't win. Somewhere in the rambling mess of emotions, he mentions fear of Lance "dying like his mother." Basically, every subconscious or pushed-down negative thought and feeling he's had since the mission comes blubbering out in a heap of drunken tears and sadness. Seeing how very real his distress is, his company is quick to try and ease his mind and offer him comfort. Walter asks if Lance really is going to fire him again, to which Lance says no. He then asks if Lance is mad at him, which earns another "no." Lance says no one is mad at him, that he just needs to close his eyes and try to take a nap. After a few minutes of quietly crying to himself with his eyes closed, Walter comes to a terrifying conclusion... What if he never stops crying?! Of course, Lance almost bursts out laughing, but a death glare from Marcy forces him to keep it to himself, lest he risk further upsetting Walter. It may sound ridiculous, but for someone who's been anesthetized, every feeling is very real. Marcy comforts him, tells him no, he's not going to cry forever. It's not long before the tears slow down. They don't stop, but they slow down. [fun fact: crying is reported in 40% of patients who wake from anesthesia, be it for a presented reason or for no reason at all. Very little is known about why this occurs, though it's suspected that the stress and fear from whatever they had to be put out for manifests itself in that drugged-up state. This is referred to as "the boo-hoos."] But it's late, and Marcy must go home. She and Lance talk off to the side, and the lady gives her man a kiss to remember her by for the evening.~ After Marcy's departure, Lance decides that after everything they've been through and with how upset Walter's been, he will sleep in the bed with him. He reclines him, crawls in, and holds him tight until morning. Walter wakes up around 1 in the morning, mildly confused, but Lance tells him to go back to sleep. Happy that Lance stayed with him and choosing not to question this unexpected all-night cuddling party, he submits without a word. By morning, everything is fine, and the anesthesia has worn off. Before the lad can even put his clothes on, Lance just HAS to show him the video he took of him while he was all loopy. Walter is embarrassed and cringes through it, but also laughs at some parts. It's a happy ending. "Okay but for real, don't ever do that again."        "No promises." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------- This movie is something else. Lance, Walter and Killian have all experienced trauma and loss, but in different ways. Walter and Killian are the extremes; one copes with loss through love, wanting desperately to let people in and let others know they aren't alone. Killian has no way to cope, and expresses his pain through hatred and a desperate longing to make the one who hurt him feel what he's felt, and then end it all in his own death. Lance is right in the middle. He has acquaintances, he talks to people, he cares, but he holds everyone at arm's length. He pretends everything is fine, he acts cold and aloof, "too cool" for playing on a team or working with others. But really, it's a fear of letting others in, because life could take it all away again. He still bears a lot of empathy, but also exercises carelessness on criminals. He and Killian are not so different, but with Walter's help, both men learn to open up (we can see Killian's expression for redemption in his final scene in the movie, we know he was a little touched that Walter saved him. Also consider, Killian didn't know Walter survived that fall at the time). So now that they're partners and each have someone in their lives to love -- multiple people now, in fact, it means feeling desperation to keep them close. It means taking a bigger risk, it means work. After everything they've been through, no, Lance is not ashamed to hug and hold and love on his little nerdy white gay son. He's not afraid of intimacy anymore, no matter the form. He'll take what he can get, because tomorrow is never a promise. Would you die for the ones you love...?

#Spies in Disguise #Walter Beckett #Lance Sterling #Marcy Kappel #Unus Annus #kind of #i mean i meme their song all the time #disclaimer song

[thatmysticaltuxedocat-rp]

Beneath the cut is basically an untitled drabble. More often than not, my writing is a freewriting exercise. I rarely use actual plots.

This one is me venting and kinda... a downer. Angsty. If you're looking around tumblr for fluff or sweetness it is NOT here.

Also this is a stand alone. It doesn't fit with the usual headcanons I write with, e.g: there is no monochromatic siblings, tuggoffelees or magic.

The one thing Mistoffelees was scared of above all things, was the others knowing him. The real him.

When he was found just over a year ago by a confused Alonzo out of the junkyard by himself for the first time, he never imagined he would end up with a home, with friends, with family. At first this had been heaven. Although the little kitten couldn’t yet talk- something Munkustrap later decided was a selective mutism as they all became aware of Mistos painfully shy nature- the others were kind and friendly, making him feel... welcomed. Misto couldn’t bear to tell anyone later on that his silence was due to not being around any other cats properly until Alonzo had found him. He suspected some, like Jellylorum or Jennyanydots had an inkling. If they did, they didn’t say anything. That was probably for the best, Misto had quickly decided. It would bring forth all kinds of unwanted questions as to why such a small thing was alone in the streets of London. It had at least given him time to listen to the others before having to officially introduce himself. Even when they didn’t think he was listening, or thought he was much too young to understand what was really being said, Misto was listening and carefully storing the most important bits of information.

This became imperative to Misto being allowed to stay, or so he figured. Here and there, the tiny tuxedo had heard talk of a recently banned magical cat. Now any other would probably assume this was ridiculous. A magical cat indeed, magic was the stuff of stories and fairy tales. There was no cat that could disappear in a puff of smoke only to turn up miles away or bewitch others with other worldly hypnotism. Misto, however did not scoff or dismiss it. He knew those things were real. Because he himself could do strange things no others could. It had started not too long before he was found and anyone who he came across who learned of this gift immediately chased him away, scared by these strange and potentially dangerous abilities. In the warm den with the gossiping queens, Misto made a silent vow then, to never allow anyone to know what he could do.

Now almost a fully grown tom, about to reach maturity and belonging to a community, Misto knew this little piece of information had pretty much saved him. From then on he did all he could to hide who he really was. He kept his coat the dullest possible black he could, adding much more white along his arm and legs, as he had observed the other cats were hardly one solid colour. Most importantly. he figured the name Mistoffelees felt... too grand. Like he would stand out, be expected to have an impressive talent. So he fashioned himself a new identity, with a duller, much more forgettable name: Quaxo. Quaxo, did indeed have a talent, but a much more ordinary and widely accepted talent of dancing. Though the others rarely saw it. Quaxo didn’t dance with others. He barely stayed around long enough for them to play with him when they were kittens, or really get to know him as they grew. Nobody had any idea where Quaxo would go, but he would always turn up again unharmed. And this disappearing didn’t affect anyone else so they generally let him be.

He couldn’t deny, it was a lonely existence. But it was necessary. He would always need time to be himself, to let the illusions of a dull background character in the day to day stories of the junkyard continue. The less he was perceived, the less chance there was of Mistoffelees being discovered.

Quaxo couldn’t stand the thought of letting anyone down. He would twist himself into all kinds of mental shapes and directions in an attempt to keep as many happy as possible, even at the cost of his own sanity or health.

The worst part though, was he just wasn’t good enough, whatever he did. He readily agreed to anything asked of him, he wouldn’t argue when he was dragged into some event or task, wanting to do it to the best of his ability. But more times than not, his best just wasn’t good enough. He felt like he always made things worse more than anything. That he did things wrong, that he just upset others. Perhaps it was his shy nature, causing him unable to communicate properly, or ask for help when he needed it. But others had their own problems... right? Why should they be burdened with his? He had taught himself gradually how to pull it all inside, lock it up tight and make sure nobody ever saw his true thoughts or feelings. Not if it would cause others to feel sad or down or even angry. Whenever he accidentally let a tiny bit of his true feelings out he felt incredibly guilty for days after. Had he ruined their day? Had he ruined the relationship he had with whoever bore witness to the display? They probably hated him now! He had mastered a further mask in addition to Quaxo hiding Mistoffelees, to hide how he just wanted to cry sometimes, how he wanted to scream at himself, couldn’t he do anything right?? Or even useful?? He had developed a very carefully constructed smile. He had spent a while studying others smiling. How it wasn’t as simple as turning the upper corners of your mouth up. How he had to use his eyes too, or stand taller, not fold in on himself. If he was truly happy to be there he would look eager and involved. Sometimes, he felt maybe the sure he would say in agreement sounded stretched and forced. However if the others didn’t seem to notice like he did. Maybe they didn’t care. That suited him just fine. It was perfectly fine, everybody only knew this fake Quaxo,who seemed to have come into existence for others requirements. Quaxo, who simply and conveniently disappeared when he wasn’t needed. Like a tool that could tidy itself away in the cupboard and save anyone the hassle of bothering with it beyond it’s initial use. A tool that maintained itself too, nobody needed to bother with the upkeep. It would simply appear when needed, shiny and new and go away again when they were done with it.

Done with him.

This was the life Quaxo had carved for himself. It was fine.

He was fine.

He was fine.

He was perfectly fine.

#ooc #venting #free write #mr mistoffelees #mister mistoffelees #Mistoffelees #Quaxo #cats fanfic #what even is my life #why even is my life #Why can I never do anything right?

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (VI)

Chapter 6: Orange Blossoms For A Bride

And here we go again! New chapter!! 1000% of fluffy fluff!!! Here again, so much cuteness, so much cuteness…

I hope you like this chapter :) Let me know!

Word Count: 2609

You were beyond panicked by now.

Like… way, way beyond panicked.

You had 150 bouquets and compositions to prepare, on your own, for the next day. And the delivery for the flowers, instead of happening 48 hours before the wedding you were to decorate, had arrived 10 hours before.

But in these ten hours, you needed to make these bouquets, organize the rooms, give the bride her own bouquet, decorate the church, decorate the venue, decorate the tables, decorate everything.

It was the first job that Mary had entrusted you with from A to Z. It was your baby. And you couldn't fail. Because if you did, you would get fired. And there was no way in hell that you would lose this job, so by any means necessary, you had to pull through this mess and emerge victorious.

But if that wasn't already a catastrophe, your colleague Joshua, who was supposed to help you, had just called sick. Food poisoning. He was agonizing in his bathroom…

Wonderful.

There was no way you could do everything on your own…

There was only one option left: you needed to call for help.

Sandra wasn't available for the evening, being out of town because of another of Mary's projects, but she had agreed to work on her day off anyway to help you prepare the ceremony. You only needed to find help to make the bouquets during the night with you.

So, you called your two best friends to the rescue.

Jasmine mumbled something about you owing her a big favour for making her spend the night up when she had to work the next day, but she agreed without any convincing needed. You were lucky Harry was in town as well, and he didn't hesitate to drop whatever plans he had to head to Mary's flowers to come to your rescue.

When he passed the front door, Jasmine was just taking her coat off. He was slightly out of breath, and had clearly been running.

"Harry! Thank you for coming!"

"Normal," he mumbled under his breath, taking his jacket off as well, before greeting Jasmine. "So, what do we do?"

"We have to make bouquets. A lot of them," you answered. "I'm gonna show you how, and then you'll have to do it too, okay?"

"Okay," both of your friends nodded in unison.

"How many bouquets are we talking about?" Jasmine asked while she and Harry followed you to the back of the shop that was now filled with hundreds of flowers.

You took a deep breath, before announcing the news.

"150."

"WHAT?!"

This time is was Harry who was staring at you with wide eyes.

"150?!"

"We have 9 different types of bouquets to make, not counting the one for the bride, I'll make this one myself. And we have… 6 hours to do that, and then I'll have to start decorating the church."

Jasmine took a look at her phone, it was almost 23:30.

"So… none of us is sleeping tonight, huh?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question, or more of a rhetorical one, at least.

"You can leave whenever you want, I'll take the help you can give me though."

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry shook his head, nudging Jasmine in the arm and glaring at her for her remark. "Of course, you can count on us."

To that, Jasmine had nothing to answer but a roll of her eyes.

They sat with you around the large wooden table at the centre of the room, and you walked them through the first composition, leaving the first bouquet on display for them to copy it with ease.

"We'll all make the same ones, so… if you hesitate, ask me," you instructed, before reaching for more flowers to start a second one.

Harry could hear in the way your voice was shaking and how your eyes seemed unfocused, almost glassy, that you were sustaining an unhealthy level of stress. He spotted the empty box of biscuits, and wasn't surprise to find that you had been eating some of the stress out of your system.

And it made his heart ache to see you so scared and upset.

He had barely gathered the flowers he would need that you were already starting a third one. He noticed how your hands were shaking, how your entire frame was shivering under so much adrenaline.

He rested a soothing hand on yours, his long fingers wrapping around your own in a delicate hold to make you stop your rushed movements for an instant. You looked up at him with eyes full of questions.

"You are panicking," he explained with a voice deeper than usual, sweet and warm and that calmed you down in an instant just by the sound of it, he didn't even need to add meaning to his words. "You need to slow down. We're here, and we're going to help. But you have to calm down, or you'll make mistakes and that won't be any good either. Okay? Just… take a deep breath..."

You obeyed, and inhaled sharply.

"…And let it out."

Once again, you complied, letting the air leave your lungs.

"Again."

You took a few more deep breaths, feeling your heart-rate slowing down.

"Better?" he asked, leaning to catch your gaze with his.

You nodded, and indeed, under his palm, your hand had stopped shaking.

"It's going to be alright. We're going to do it, the way you planned it, and you're going to show Mary how amazingly talented you are. Okay?"

You nodded, ready to believe him.

"Okay."

"Good."

Harry sat down around the table again, and started his own bouquet.

He did stop after the fifth flower though and discreetly turned to Jasmine.

"Which one after the peony again?" he asked with a sheepish expression on his face, whispering because he was afraid his question would make your stress level skyrocket once more.

But it didn't. His question made you laugh actually, and you explained how to make the bouquet once more.

Harry was right, after all. You were with your friends and they were ready to help you. Everything would be alright.

Jasmine fell asleep on her chair around 3 am. It was almost five now, and outside the sky was still inky and lit up only by the moon. It was a starless night above L.A as clouds covered their light.

Harry had a hard time keeping his eyes open, but fought his fatigue for you. You still had some work to do, but it seemed that you would manage to complete all the bouquets that were due for the wedding.

You yawned for the fifth time in twenty minutes, and Harry got up to make some more coffee.

"You should sleep for a while," he told you. "You're going to need your strengths for the actual wedding too."

"I'm fine."

Harry couldn’t refrain a smile – a smile he barely noticed appearing on his lips – and shook his head a little. You were always so damn stubborn…

He handed you a cup of fresh coffee instead, and you thanked him with a bright smile, despite the dark circles forming under your eyes.

"Thanks. You can rest though, if you need to. You look exhausted."

"I'm fine," he imitated you with a cheeky smile, making you roll your eyes.

As you took the cup from him, you noticed the dozen or so of little cuts and scratches that ran all over his hands.

"What…?"

But he hurriedly took his hand away, as if he were a little boy caught red-handed stealing sweets.

"'s nothing. I'm just… not so used to handling thorns on roses, that's all."

You looked up at him with a sad expression, your eyes watering.

You were tired, you were stressed to the point of absolute fright, your body was now only working up on caffeine and adrenaline, and you were on the edge of breaking. And Harry knew it. Any little push in the wrong direction would make you fall for good.

He shook his head.

"I'm okay, it's just a few scratches, that's all."

"I think I'm really tired," you explained in a weak voice, drying your eyes on your sleeve.

"We should take a break," Harry whispered, not willing to wake up Jasmine who was snoring softly on the chair beside him.

"No, we need to finish this. I will finish this. You take a break. You should take care of your hands."

But instead of complying, he took the flowers away from you, and displayed his hands in front of you instead.

"Let's make a deal. You help me clean up this mess those bloody roses did, and we'll count that as taking a break. What do you say?"

You sighed, defeated.

"Alright, you win. Hang on, I think there's some first aid kit somewhere."

A couple of minutes later, and you had moved to the shop, settling around the counter so you could talk without disturbing Jasmine's sleep.

You started by washing his cuts with some disinfectant. He hissed a few times at the stinging sensation, and every time you apologized with a sheepish expression painted all over your features that he found absolutely adorable, and perhaps he hissed a bit more than necessary just to see that little wince of yours.

You didn't speak for a while, you were focused on your task, and also on an effort to slow down your heart as you held his hand in your palm, his rings cold against you but his skin soft and comforting.

It's only when you started to apply colourful plasters all over his hands that Harry heaved a sigh and started to speak again. His eyes were lost on the plants and flowers neatly organized across the large shop. And you knew every one of their names, and their meaning, and how to assemble them perfectly, and how to make them last longer, and how they smelt and how they felt under your fingertips, and how the petals sounded as they fell to the ground…

This shop was your life, in a way. These flowers that would bloom for only a few days were the centre of all your focus and love. You nurtured them, and arranged them in bouquets so they would bring people joy. He had seen you handle them so many times by now, he knew how delicate your hold was with them, how fond the smile on your lips was when you looked at them.

You deserved better than to stay up all night so that someone else's name would be praised for your hard work though.

"You still haven't told me how you're going to call it," he said out of the blue.

"Huh? Name what?" you asked him with a confused frown.

"Your flower shop. When you get it to open, your own shop, how are you going to call it?"

"Oh… Uhm… I don't know yet."

"Yes, you do," he replied with a crooked smile. "You just don't want to tell me. That's alright."

You shook your head.

"It's just… It's not going to happen any time soon anyway, so… no need to think about it too much."

"On the contrary! You should plan ahead! Besides, I'm sure you've already decided about everything. You just… won't tell me. And that's alright, it's your dream. If you feel like keeping it to yourself for now, then you should."

But the truth was, you didn't want to keep it to yourself, not anymore. Harry was here now, and it had changed everything in your life. Or well, not everything but… still… everything…

You didn't know how to explain that feeling, you just knew that you were a better person and a happier one too thanks to him.

And you wanted to share your dreams with him, you really did. An unspeakable part of you knew that it was because you wanted him to be by your side when it would come true.

"Yeah," you chuckled, shying away a little. "I guess I've planned a few things…"

You heaved a sigh, giving up.

"Sunflowers and peonies."

"Huh?"

"That's what I want to call my shop. Sunflowers and peonies."

You were avoiding his gaze, focusing on placing a plaster covered with tiny kittens on his thumb instead, but if you had looked up to look at him then, you would have found the most tender smile on his lips.

"What's the meaning behind it?" he asked in a soft, deep voice.

"Peonies are my favourite flowers, as you already know," you giggled a little, growing shyer again, but his smile only broadened. "And my mom's favourite flowers are sunflowers. So… it would be a little bit like having her with me all the time. Plus, they're happy and full of sun, perfect for California, don't you think?"

"It's a lovely name."

"Thank you."

"What else have you planned?"

"I… I want a pink door… but not like a Barbie kind of pink, a pastel one, light and happy. I want blue and lilac windows, and the walls white. I want a little table and a couple of chairs before the store to make it feel like a home. And I want flowers all over the place. And stalls of them outside. And I want the name of the shop written on a slate to rest on the white counter…"

You heaved a dreamy sigh, your eyes lost in the distance but your fingers still resting against Harry's large hand. You hadn't noticed that he was holding your hands in his now.

"It sounds lovely."

"Yeah… but… there's much to do before I can have that," you shook your head, the thought bringing your feet back to Earth.

"I could help."

You finally looked up at him, silently asking him what he meant.

"I mean… I could help with the money you need to get started…"

But you seemed angry and hurt at his proposal, and took your hands away from his.

"Don't say things like that," you replied.

"Why not? I have money, and I believe in you. Why not use it to give you a little push."

"I don't want your money."

"You almost say that as if it was dirty money…"

"That's not what I meant. But that's still a no."

"I just wanted to be useful," he replied a little too harshly, and you winced at his tone.

You heaved another sigh.

"I know, but I… I don't want your money. I don't… You're my best friend…"

"That's why I'm offering," he interrupted you, but you shook your head.

"I don’t care about the fact that you have money, or that you're famous, or any of those things. And I don't want to give anyone an argument to say that I do. I just… You're my best friend because of who you are, not because of your career. And I don't want to be in your debt. I don't want that side of you in our friendship. Do you understand?"

He gave you a small smile.

"Yeah… yeah, I think I understand."

"I'll get my own loan, and I'll get my shop, eventually. But I'll do it because I've worked hard for it, not because my best friend is rich. Maybe, in a few years, my answer might be different. But for now, I want to try to do it all on my own."

"I get it. I won't offer again."

"Thank you."

You exchanged a brighter smile again, until Harry would nod at his hand that still laid on the counter.

"You forgot a plaster on my pinky."

********************************************

Tag list: @ponycake27​ @horsesreign​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @jbluevelvet​@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss​ @stuckupstucky​@snek-shit​ @suchatinyinfinity​@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi​@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters​ @staringmoony​@madamrogers​ @cronias13

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles series #harry styles imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #series

[brieflygorgeouss]

things i forgot to tell you (ch. 8: that it’s about time)

The thing is — Eliott is fucking unreal.

Lucas has known that for a while. It’s not news to him. Eliott Demaury is ridiculous, and a nuisance, and so beautiful it is sometimes almost painful to look at him, at the unexpected flush on his cheeks that appears at the smallest of compliments, at the blinding curve of his smile. It makes Lucas’s life very difficult, you see, and yet somehow simpler at the same time. How Eliott shows up, and suddenly hardly anything else matters. How whenever he turns his eyes to Lucas, Lucas can’t help but look back.

He shouldn’t be thinking things like that at 2 PM on a Tuesday, and yet.

They are in the campus cafeteria, at a corner table where the sunlight is coming through the windows, tucked away from the noise and any unwanted attention. The bright yellow walls make the place look both lively and half-empty all at once. The giggling of the other students here carries over but is faint, the squeaking of shoes on the linoleum makes Lucas think of black shoe marks on wooden floors.

Lucas has shown up to the sight of Eliott already there, stole a moment to look at him. At how his head was bent low, his hair coloured dark gold, messy, scattered and wispy like sand. At how he was biting down on his lip in concentration. At how he hunched over a tattered notebook that got abandoned the moment Eliott raised his head and caught a glimpse of Lucas from across the room. Eliott pulled him onto the seat right next to him as soon as Lucas got close and pressed a delighted kiss to Lucas’s temple, muttering, ”You’re early,” voice bright, as if Lucas lit the syllables up with his arrival, just with his presence. The tips of Lucas’s ears felt tingly with warmth, then, at the thought of it.

Now, they’re supposed to be studying, technically. Eliott should finish copying his classmate’s art history notes, and Lucas has a lab report he should get on, the materials all shoved into his backpack without care. But then he gets distracted by the low neckline of the shirt Eliott is wearing, makes a jab at it, and Eliott pretends to get offended, and it is, somehow, what they settle on — pretending to do things they’re supposed to do, and really just mingling in each other’s spaces and talking about anything, whatever. They’re good at that.

So Lucas teases him about being old-fashioned enough to still write his notes down in notebooks instead of on his laptop, and they talk about their respective days, how the bus Eliott took in the morning was too crowded, how Lucas showed up late to class, but somehow nobody noticed. Eliott pushes his chair closer to Lucas’s, knocks their knees together under the table, reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from Lucas’s forehead, unprompted. His tattered art history notebook gets pushed away. When Lucas shoots Eliott a curious glance, it is only answered with a shrug.

”Now that you’re here,” Eliott says, a smile pulling at his lips, ”I won’t be able to focus anyway.”

And, yeah. Lucas gets that.

Apart from getting sad over the most ridiculous things, you see, Lucas is okay. Over the last few days, he’s taken whatever it was that was curling in his mind, the strange eruption of longing that appeared whenever he thought of Eliott at all, and tucked it away. Pressed in-between other matters like some people do with flower petals tucked in-between book pages. There is nothing to get sad about, he thinks. Eliott is still here for now, isn’t he, even if he isn’t to stay or to keep or to settle. Lucas would be only complicating things if he started getting upset about matters that should remain simple. Eliott is here, next to him, and, well — doesn’t that mean something?

Lucas will take whatever he can get. It has to be enough.

So here it is — Lucas presses his leg to Eliott’s, bumps his shoulder into his, his eyes catch on Eliott’s lips, and he doesn’t turn them away even when Eliott notices. Eliott only reaches for Lucas’s hand in response, twines their fingers together, and it is another simple thing, how Lucas doesn’t shy away from it. They are in a public place, but Lucas doesn’t care, really, and if the way Eliott leans closer is anything to go by, then he doesn’t, either. They are both too distracted by other things.

Eliott’s fingertips are stained with ink, and his shirt is wrinkled. The pattern of it something weird, something Eliott would like and Lucas would never buy, swirls of clashing colours mixing in a way that looks very artsy. For a moment, Lucas just looks and looks.

It is a strange setting to think about it here, but Lucas does anyway — he takes the image of Eliott in, his hunched shoulders and his smile and his strong wrists, his long fingers, and he thinks that Eliott looks like a mirage, here, bracketed by bright-yellow cafeteria walls and surrounded by sunlight, but is also somehow the most real person Lucas has ever met. 

It is just a realisation. Not an earth-shattering kind, but only a thought. It sinks in fast and then stays under the surface of his thoughts like a stone thrown into the water. Lucas thinks about it as Eliott holds his hand, and then thinks about it when he, purely on a whim, leans in closer and presses his lips to Eliott’s just because he can, just because Eliott is close enough to do so. Some part of Lucas has been thinking about it all day, ever since he got late to that morning class or before that, even, ever since he woke up and made himself a coffee and wondered if Eliott has already had one today or not yet. Another part didn’t know he wanted to do it until he already was.

It’s quick and easy and sweet. When Lucas moves away, he’s met with another wide smile.

”What was that for?” Eliott asks him, sounding surprised and content and everything in between. 

Lucas tells him, ”Nothing,” and then, quieter, ”I just felt like it.”

He isn’t ready for it when Eliott kisses him in turn, at that, instead of an answer. The curl of his lips is pleased. Lucas feels it against his own mouth. 

They end up leaning towards each other like neighbouring tree branches, almost blending together. Lucas thinks, for a second, that it must look funny, here in the cafeteria where they’re tucked into a corner, trading touches and kisses when they should be doing anything but. He wants to tell Eliott about it, just to see what his reaction would be like, or what he would say. Something silly, probably, guessing by the way his hand has settled on Lucas’s knee, how his eyes don’t leave Lucas’s face. Something sweet.

And then he hears, ”Yo, guys!”

Basile materialises out of nowhere, surprising enough for Lucas to flinch in his seat. Yann and Arthur show up right behind him, arguing over something, storming the scene Lucas has build in his mind, tipping it over, snapping him back too reality. Lucas is too unfocused to catch what they’re saying, at first, because he can feel the rush of blood in his head, tries to wipe whatever weird expression he might be wearing off of his face. Eliott’s hand on his knee feels heavy, warm. His leg is still pressed to Lucas’s under the table. They’re sitting very close.

Lucas doesn’t move away.

”What are you doing here?” he says, and it comes out irritated rather than strange, like he thought it might. He licks his lips. There is a ridiculous, quick thought in his head, a voice that wonders, can they tell we were kissing, does it show on my face, but he pushes it away. Eliott, when Lucas risks a glance at him out of the corner of his eye, looks perfectly fine. So.

”What are you doing here?” Arthur slides into the seat next to Basile, raises his eyebrows at Lucas with a glint in his eyes. ”Meeting without us like this, that’s so rude.”

Eliott sends him a funny sideways glance. Meeting without us, Lucas thinks to himself, then thinks to all the other times he and Eliott met on their own and feels himself flush. 

”Eliott was just…showing me something,” he says, trying to sound aloof. Neutral. He sweeps his gaze across where the boys have crammed into the seats opposite from Eliott and him, where Basile is rummaging through his backpack as if in search for something and Arthur is shrugging. Yann just looks…curious. There is a searching glint to his eyes that Lucas is very familiar with and has seen before and decides to now ignore. He bites at the inside of his cheek.

”Showing you something,” Arthur repeats, musing. ”Like what? The colour of his eyes?” He smiles like he’s telling some kind of a joke. ”Is that why you’re sitting so close?”

Lucas opens his eyes to make a retort but gets stuck in the middle of coming up with one. By his side, Eliott snorts. 

”Lucas was checking out my shirt,” he says, which doesn’t help at all and also barely makes sense, but Arthur just smiles wider and takes it in stride.

”Don’t ask him for fashion advice, dude,” he says, then makes a vague gesture at nothing in particular. ”He has no taste.”

”Fuck you,” is everything Lucas says to that. Under the table, Eliott’s fingers skim up and down his thigh as he giggles over Lucas’s head. Lucas would be lying if he said it had nothing to do with the rush of blood in his head, even when Arthur laughs and Yann rolls his eyes next to him. On the peripheries of his vision, he can see Eliott smiling wide.

Lucas thinks, as he kicks Eliott in the shin, but very lightly, that if it takes being made fun of for Eliott to smile this way, then so be it.

And then Basile is dropping his backpack to the floor and says, a little too loud for the cafeteria setting their in, and very triumphantly, ”Listen, I have news!”

He throws something to the middle of the table. It’s a piece of paper. Eliott picks it up before anyone else can, and Lucas leans over his shoulder to get a glimpse. ”A party invitation?”

Arthur snaps his head up. Basile grins.

It’s something a friend from one of his classes is throwing, he tells them, shoving his phone into Arthur’s face to show him something on the screen that makes his and Yann’s eyes glint. A birthday party, half of the campus invited, free booze and a huge house and everything else the best parties usually consist of. His expression, as he talks, is one of mild excitement that is quickly starting to lean into frenzy. The last time Lucas saw that on Basile’s face was when he dragged them to this one party in high school that ended in Lucas losing the weed in someone’s living room and then having to beg Imane to give it back when she found it. It is not an experience he would like to relive, but he listens anyway because the guys seem excited. Basile keeps mentioning all the girls they could meet there, says it looking right at Lucas, and Lucas has to quirk an eyebrow and tell him, ”Basile, I’m gay,” for him to shrug and say, with an air of regret, ”Ah, yeah, that won’t work on you.”

It’s not a bad idea, though. The guys seem eager, and Eliott gets roped into it, too, fairly quickly, even though Lucas knows he’s not a huge fan of parties in general. But Arthur keeps whining at him to ”stop being so boring, dude, come on!”, and so he agrees with a laugh, all the lines of his face smooth and mellow with amusement.

”Alright, I guess I’ll tell the guys. I mean,” he says, then bumps his shoulder into Lucas’s where they’re still sitting almost pressed together, when either of them still hasn’t moved away, and adds, ”if Lucas is going.”

Arthur snorts at that. Yann raises his eyebrows again, but it looks more amused than anything else.

Lucas just flushes with warmth.

Eliott might be joking, you see. He’s probably playing things off, teasing like he likes best, and Lucas knows it all, knows it’s probably that. But the comment still makes him feel warm all over, unexpectedly so, like the sun coming out on the first day of spring. When he glances over at Eliott, what he finds in his eyes just looks sincere, if a little challenging. Bright. Like it matters at all if Lucas is going, like it wouldn’t be the same if he wasn’t there. It’s so weird, how Eliott can just say it out loud with such ease, like it’s nothing, how he can let it all show on his face. In a split moment, Lucas thinks back to how he pressed his lips to Eliott’s not so long ago, just because he could, here over his tattered messy notebook, ignoring other people’s voices filtering the room, hidden in the corner, tucked away. Now, the same urge is back. It curls in the back of Lucas’s head, and he turns his eyes away from Eliott’s face to smother it, but not before he presses his leg firmer against his.

”When is it?” he asks.

”Saturday night, dude,” Basile tells him, his voice turning dreamy as he adds on a sigh, ”We’re gonna get hammered.”

And, just like that. Shit. ”Saturday?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. ”What’s up, Lu?”

Lucas licks his lips. ”I can’t do Saturday, guys,” he says. He shuffles in his chair, suddenly nervous, doesn’t know why himself but also maybe he does. It’s stupid, but it’s there. The party doesn’t matter, he can go some other time, but the mention of the weekend reminds him of something else. And so, the urge to press his lips to Eliott is gone in a blink, as something else takes its place and twists around Lucas’s throat. It takes him a second too long to finally follow up with the substantial part. ”I’m meeting my dad.”

He’s meant for it to sound unfazed. It doesn’t quite reach the mark.

”Wait, what?” Arthur says, eyes widening. Lucas can feel Yann looking at him, too, sharp and surprised, and just like that, the atmosphere shifts from light and normal to—this. Eliott is looking at him with his eyebrows raised. Lucas swallows again, then shrugs.

He gets it. It’s kind of big news. He wishes it wasn’t, but that’s just how things work for him. After he’s told his dad ”alright, let’s meet” over the phone, staring at his rumpled bed sheets on a what felt like pretty unreal Saturday morning, his dad decided to go with this — a dinner over the weekend, somewhere nice, 8 PM. I’ll meet you there, he’s said after giving him the address, and then, I’m looking forward to seeing you, son. And Lucas had ended the call, then, still a little unsettled and a little angry, but it took him another ten minutes before he could put his phone away instead of staring disbelievingly at the black screen of it, thinking, he called me son.

So, yeah. It is kind of a big deal.

They’re meeting. It’s written in Lucas’s phone calendar and also into the back of his head, somewhere he couldn’t forget even if he tried. They’re going to meet, the first time in months, on purpose and planned and not accidental on a street corner or rushed or bitter or anything else. Lucas is still torn halfway between being angry about it and feeling stupidly hopeful, and he can feel himself leaning towards the latter already, slipping into it like it’s a swimming pool and he’s not quite sure how not to drown yet. He’s trying his best to not sink under it, but he’s also partially there already. See, he has made the decision the moment he answered that call.

That’s why he’s so nervous, maybe. Hope is a scary thing.

”Are you serious?” Yann’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. There is a frown etched between his eyebrows, now, that Lucas has come to associate with those kinds of situations. Yann is not a huge fan of Lucas’s father, to say the least. Not after he’s been there for Lucas through it all, picked up his calls at 3 in the morning when Lucas couldn’t sleep because his parents kept yelling at each other downstairs, hung out after school with him just so that Lucas didn’t have to go back home yet, let him sleep over every other night. Yann was the one to openly call Lucas’s father an asshole back when he first left, let Lucas cry into his shoulder, kept talking about everything and anything, just to distract him even though it wasn’t working and they both knew it.

Yann’s kind, is the thing. Too kind for Lucas, sometimes, but he’s grateful for all of it anyway.

”He called me a few days ago,” Lucas says, shrugging, hoping it would maybe make Yann’s solemn expression soften. ”Said he wanted to meet. I don’t—We’re just—” he stutters, because he doesn’t want to say I miss him, here in front of everyone, doesn’t want to say, I want my family back. ”We’re just meeting. It’s not much.”

Yann still looks thrown off. His jaw is set in a way that Lucas recognises and doesn’t particularly like. But he still catches his gaze and holds it, tries to tell him, it’s fine, and you’ll see, and, I should have told you sooner. Yann’s going to want to talk about it, and Lucas will have to suffer through it, and they’re going to work this out. Not that there is much to work out anyway.

He waits a heartbeat and then one more, until Yann clicks his tongue but nods. Lucas takes a breath.

”You’ll have to go have fun without me, guys,” he says, means to dilute the atmosphere where it has grown slightly uncomfortable. He’s not sure if it works.

He doesn’t expect it, when he looks at Eliott, to see genuine disappointment, then a hint of something else. 

”Sucks,” Eliott mutters under his breath, quietly enough for only Lucas to hear him. He bumps his let into Eliott’s under the table, where the guys can’t see, hopes it comes off as I’m sorry. Eliott kicks him, lightly, in retaliation, but there’s no real force to it. Lucas counts it as a win.

There is a strange moment, then, that passes between them all. Lucas squirms a little in his seat.

Then, Basile clicks his tongue.

”Who cares if Lucas goes, anyway,” he says, a little too loud, too brash. He flicks his gaze to Lucas and raises an eyebrow, as if in a challenge. But Lucas can see the sparks of something in his eyes, how he’s exaggerating just a little. He’s joking, Lucas knows, to put Lucas at ease. Not to make things weird, or to keep the subject of his father at bay. It wouldn’t be a good setting for this type of conversation when Lucas hasn’t been able to even process it all himself, when only Yann knows the ugly details, when Eliott has only heard bits and pieces of whatever Lucas let slip out from time to time. ”Your loss, man.”

For a second, Lucas feels stupidly grateful. 

”Fuck off,” he says on a laugh, rolls his eyes and doesn’t miss the smile Basile sends him, followed by an unpracticed wink.

He smiles back. The conversation moves on.

 *

 Yann doesn’t pick up the subject of it until later, until he and Lucas are sitting in Lucas’s living room, kicking each other’s asses in video games in the late afternoon. It’s just the two of them, which doesn’t often happen these days. But Eliott said he had to meet his parents, and Arthur had a date with Alexia, and Basile didn’t finish classes until the evening, so they’ve all split up. Eliott has ruffled Lucas’s hair in goodbye, and Lucas had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from stepping closer and doing something utterly ridiculous, like pressing a kiss onto his cheek.

Lucas is happy for it, though, in a way. For a chance to get Yann alone, all to himself. He’s been splitting his time between work and school and Eliott, mostly, with friends only as a side gig, and has forgotten, a little, how familiar it feels to let Yann beat him at Fifa, yell obscenities at him when he cheats and fight over the last slice of pizza. 

He’s busy trying to decide on which character to choose in Tekken when Yann, from where he’s sitting on the floor, nudges his leg. ”Hey, Lu.”

Lucas hums. ”Yeah?”

The city, outside the window, is bustling. Lucas can hear the cars speeding by, someone’s laughter far away, three, four seconds of some R&B song that’s too loud before someone turns the volume down and it fades into the background of the street sounds again. Lisa and Mika, back from their out-of-town trip, are arguing in the kitchen over something that Lucas doesn’t even want to pay too much attention to.

Yann presses a pause on his controller and then ignores the sound of protest Lucas makes at that. ”Listen,” he starts, then sprawls more on the floor, tilts his head so that he can look up at Lucas curled up on the couch. The set of his mouth is suddenly firm. ”What do you think he wants?”

And, see — Lucas doesn’t have to guess who he’s talking about. They’ve been through this enough times, by now. He only thinks, gripping his gamepad tighter, that’s a good question. 

He’s thought about it, too, is the thing. That morning, after he'd gotten out of bed and then stared at himself in the mirror for a little too long, kept staring at his reflection and pointlessly listing things in his head. Their eyes were the same, he’d thought to himself, and the arch of their bottom lips, and the set of their eyebrows in irritation, the lines of their faces in surprise. It didn’t make sense, to think all this, but Lucas did anyway, for a long while, because there was no-one in the apartment to interrupt him, and when he finally did turn away, flicked the lights off behind himself, it was with a thought of, why did he call?

”I don’t know,” he tells Yann now, shuffles on the couch until the springs of it whine in protest, gets a leg under himself. ”I think I’ll have to go and see.”

Without missing a beat, Yann says, ”You think it’s about money?”

Lucas shakes his head. 

”I asked him if that’s what it is,” he says. ”He said it isn’t, and that it has nothing to do with my mom, either. I think he doesn’t want…anything.” A shrug. ”It didn’t sound like he did when we talked.”

This last one, admittedly, is a hope that Lucas has. It first sprouted up right after he pressed the ”end call” button, but now has grown bigger. Lucas isn’t proud of it, but it’s there — a small belief that this time, maybe it will be different. That his father will show up on time, ask him, how have you been doing, say, I’m glad to see you. Lucas should be too old to believe in things like that, should put it back on the shelf right next to all the other fairytales he’s grown out of, where all the dreams from his childhood rest unbothered, but there he is anyway. It’s too tempting to give into, this daydream of a rebuilt family.

Yann hums. Lucas meddles with the controller still in his grip, flits his gaze to the tv screen where the blue square of his temporarily selected character is frozen stuck on the creepy tree guy. He moves his eyes to Yann when he hears him sigh, only to find that Yann is already looking back at him.

”Listen, just—” he starts, and then something else flashes on his face, something sharper right there next to kindness and concern. ”Just be careful, okay?"

Pity, Lucas pinpoints. Or something close to it, anyway. It pulls some kind of string inside Lucas’s chest, pulls until his throat tightens.

It’s a little weird how Mika’s voice fades a bit in the background and how the looped game music gets quieter. Lucas grits his teeth, then takes an odd, short on oxygen breath. Yann seems a little ridiculous from the angle Lucas is looking at him, sprawled on the floor, in his yellow turtleneck that cuts away sharply against the colour of the carpet, but Lucas doesn’t think it’s funny at all, really. It’s not amusement that makes the place behind his sternum feel unpleasantly warm, that suddenly makes his throat feel weird.

”Does he really have to have some ulterior motive,” he says, not expecting to hear irritation in his own voice, but it’s there, a flash. In a sudden moment of clarity, his own voice sharpens up in his ears. ”Is it really so hard to believe that he’d want to see me just to see me, and nothing else?”

The lines around Yann’s mouth harden. Lucas wants to close his eyes against the sight of it but doesn’t.

He knows he’s being idiotic, in a way. Some small part of his brain is aware of that. What Yann has said, and the brief look of pity changing his features, those things all come from a good place. Yann is kind, Lucas knows. Yann is just looking out for him. It’s what he’s been doing since they were seven years old, silly kids stealing pencils from each other, forced to sit at one desk from the very first day of primary school. They have each other’s backs. And Yann doesn’t like Lucas’s dad at all, and he’s been there when his father asked for money, and when he sent Lucas’s mom off, when he ignored Lucas’s texts or called him a disappointment, or showed up in his life out of the blue just to disappear again mere days later. Yann is worried. Some part of Lucas is grateful for that, still.

But then, there’s this — it stings a little, that it’s so hard to believe his father would want to see him just for him. It’s difficult to bear, how Yann can shoot him a single look and all of Lucas’s tentative hopes go careening down. He’s built this weak, hesitant thing in the corner of his mind — the image of his father saying sorry, the premise of them starting to build their fragile relationship back up, back until Lucas could call him dad again, and it wouldn’t feel bitter. Lucas wants it to happen. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be possible. It is, he thinks, a good thing to believe in.

But then Yann comes and tears it down, every small, hesitant hope that Lucas has and it’s—

”It’s not hard to believe, Lucas,” Yann tells him, now, reaches a hand and nudges Lucas’s leg again, as if in reassurance. ”If he just wants to see you, then great. High fucking time.” He holds Lucas’s gaze until Lucas feels the tension start to fade away, until his jaw relaxes. ”But he’s done that shit before, and I just don’t want you to get hurt again, alright?” A moment passes, as if Yann’s waiting for an answer that Lucas is not giving. And then, Yann rolls onto his stomach and doesn’t look ridiculous anymore, but only concerned instead. Lucas feels his sudden irritation diminish. ”You have a big heart and a lot of love to give, and you sometimes give it to the wrong people. So I’m just saying.”

Lucas looks at the frozen tv screen again, squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again. It helps a little. 

”Okay,” he mutters, takes a breath, repeats, ”okay.” He rolls his eyes, tries to play it off as a joke, maybe, do something to dilute the tension, make it go away. It doesn’t quite work, but Yann lets him get away with it, when Lucas says, ”A big heart and a lot of love to give? Where did you get that from?”

”Nowhere,” Yann shrugs, but his expression doesn’t change. He makes a vague gesture at nothing in particular, his gamepad held loosely in his hand, like he’s considering something, but it only lasts a few seconds. Then, he goes on, ”And I’m serious, you know. You and Eliott, for example. When I say you have a big heart, that’s what I mean.”

And.

”What?”

Yann shrugs again, like he didn’t just verbally punch Lucas in the face. ”I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, but there’s something going on between you two, I can tell. Not that it’s my business.” He raises an eyebrow, doesn’t sound accusatory, but more curious instead. ”You’ll tell me if you want to, right?”

For a head-spinning second, Lucas doesn’t know what to do with himself.

”Yann, I’m—” he tries, then gets stuck. It’s a little unreal, how Lucas blinked and Yann has managed to go from the subject of his dad to the subject of Eliott, somehow, as if the two of them had any connection to each other at all. Lucas doesn’t like the image of Eliott and his father blending with one another, how they stand so close in his thoughts now. He shakes his head to try and get rid of it. ”What are you talking about?”

Yann clicks his tongue. 

”I’m not stupid, Lu,” he tells him. Something like mirth sparks up in his eyes, but the set of his mouth is still firm. ”I’ve seen the way you look at him. How you two are acting in general. And you don’t have to tell me anything, but,” he cocks his head, ”if you want to tell me, you can.”

Lucas feels something grow heavy in his chest.

There it is again, he thinks. The feeling. The words. First Claire said it — friends don’t look at each other like that — and now Yann. I’ve seen the way you look at him. It’s weird, but it also isn’t. Lucas doesn’t want to think about what it could mean.

A couple weeks ago, he might have said, what are you talking about, there’s nothing to tell. But now, it dies in his throat. He licks his lips instead, weighs his options, only realises he’s nodding when it’s already too late.

”I know,” he says, and it comes out weak, but Yann doesn't point it out. ”It’s just. It’s complicated,”

”That’s alright,” Yann tells him, and Lucas wonders, very briefly but profoundly all the same, if he’ll ever stop marvelling at just how good of a friend Yann is. Everything he can see on his face is the very same thing he remembers always being there, no matter how much he fucked up, how many lies he’d told over and over again. That’s what made him like Yann so much back when they were seven, that’s what made him his best friend, what made this stupid, hopeless infatuation sprout up behind his sternum, once. This. Not demanding answers, but being ready for them if Lucas decides to share them, one day. Concern. Flicking from kicking Lucas’s ass in video games to heartfelt conversations like it’s only natural, like it’s nothing, like Lucas can tell him anything and anytime. ”Just—again, just be careful, okay?”

A big heart, Yann has said. A lot to give. 

It’s not exactly true, Lucas thinks as he looks at him, here in his living room, amid everyday-like, all-round chatter that’s coming in through the window. Lucas has barely anything to give at all, too tangled up in himself, too caught up in things he doesn’t understand, things he deliberately pushes down. He doesn’t deserve the attention Yann gives him, the kindness painted in bold strokes on his face. 

But that’s a passing thought, has nothing to do with his father, with Eliott, with everything Yann is warning him against. So Lucas swallows it down.

And then, whatever response he might have made is pushed aside when Mika barges into the room, demanding to let him play now, throwing himself onto the seat next to Lucas and prying the controller out of his hands. Lucas protests loudly, but it goes unnoticed. 

They unpause the game. Mika loses to Yann three times in a row, and Lucas keeps making fun of him all the way through.

 *

 ”So,” Claire asks, twirling a strand of hair in between her fingers, ”how are you doing?”

The question doesn’t make sense, considering the timing of it. It’s late afternoon in the middle of the week, two hours until they close, and they’ve been stuck together on this shift for four hours straight. Lucas is here for the usual stuff — count the till, smile at strangers, occasionally venture out into the maze of shelves to find the most ridiculously titled book and then send the picture of it to Eliott — while Claire is supposed to do inventory. Which, she’s not doing. She’s opted for slumping next to Lucas by the cash register instead, trying to come up with more and more elusive ways to kill time.

Not that Lucas minds. The bookstore is dead tonight, quiet and peaceful, and the last customer that came in here almost 40 minutes ago was an old lady asking about the nearest subway station. So they’ve gone through straightening the book stacks in the sale section, then counting the money in the cash register, then playing Candy Crush on Lucas’s phone, and then Claire has blessed Lucas with a story about how her little brother got drunk for the first time last weekend, then about how there’s this girl in her gender studies class that is apparently so hot she can’t stop looking at her every time she sits in the back and catches a glimpse of her in the front of the lecture hall. Lucas told her that it's creepy and that she should stop before she scared the girl off with her blatant staring. Claire has just flipped him off in response.

Now, though, it seems she wants to hear something from Lucas, rather than talk herself. He has a feeling he knows what she wants him to say.

Still, he answers the earlier question with, ”I’m fine,” busying himself with playing with his phone case, tracing the edges of it. ”How nice of you to ask.”

Claire hums under her breath, lets go of the strand of hair. It falls prettily across her cheek. She then opts for drumming her fingers against the counter, one-two-three rhythm. Her nails are painted bright red, and Lucas’s eyes catch on them. ”And your boyfriend?”

And yeah. There it is.

”Claire,” he says on a sigh. His eyes flick from her nails up to her face and then back down when everything he sees in her expression is a challenge.

”Lucas,” she mimics his tone of voice, then clicks her tongue. Lucas shoots her a look, but she dismisses it with a shrug. ”Alright, fine, not a boyfriend. Your friend, then,” she says, supposedly giving in, but the tone of her voice suggests the opposite. Her hair is loose, today, and curly, and she flips it over her shoulder with a sharp gesture. ”It was very rude of you, you know, to kick me out so quickly when you brought him here last time. What if I wanted to meet him?”

Lucas shoots back, ”What if I didn’t want you to meet him?”

”But why!” she says, raising her eyebrows at him, flattening her palm against the counter. Her rings click against the wood. ”Come on, I bared my heart to you and told you about my embarrassing crush, and you give me nothing, that’s unfair!”

Lucas makes a helpless gesture at her. There is something very weird about how Claire’s nosiness amuses him in some bizarre way that makes this godawful, boring shift actually somewhat interesting.

”And when did I ask you about your crush?” he says, just to rile her up. 

She tells him, ”You didn’t. I volunteered this piece of information.”

Lucas drags a hand over his face, but it is mostly so that she can’t catch the small smile pulling at his lips. Claire is fun, sometimes, when they’re not arguing over who has to take the Friday shift next week or mop the floor in the backroom. She’s smart and has a sharp tongue and is stubborn as hell, and Lucas can’t help but think, at times, that she is very similar to Imane. And it’s not that he doesn’t like her or that she might say something insensitive, but just…well. It would just be so weird.

Lucas shakes his head. ”I don’t want to talk about Eliott with you.”

Claire makes a noise. ”Oh, his name is Eliott, then?”

She sounds like a child that got their Christmas present too early, pleased and excited. Lucas thinks, idly, that maybe it was a mistake to give her anything at all, but he mutters under his breath, ”Yeah.”

”That’s pretty. Suits him,” Claire says immediately, approving. She then jumps up to sit on the counter right next to where Lucas is still standing. Her eyes are shining excitedly. ”So, what does he do? How did you meet?”

Lucas is briefly torn between laughing and not saying a word more until the shift ends and he can go home, just so that he can spite her. In the end, though, he only shoots her a long-suffering look. ”At a party,” he says, then circles back to the first question. ”He’s an art student.”

Claire swings her feet in the air, tilt her head. ”Is he any good?”

”He is,” Lucas tells her, nodding before he’s even aware of it, then the words, somehow, just keep rolling off his tongue. ”He paints. Draws, too. He’s told me about all the theoretical stuff, like what the techniques are called, but I don’t remember. But yeah, he’s…” he licks his lips. ”He’s really good, actually. He hangs some of the paintings in his apartment sometimes, or lets me watch when he draws, or sends me photos of them and stuff. They’re all beautiful.”

It’s easier than Lucas expected, to talk about Eliott in a setting like this one, late in the evening, under the yellow lights and in between stacks of books. Eliott himself barely fits in here, is too pretty, larger than life, but the idea of him is manageable. This, Lucas can share — Eliott’s passion for art, the hipster side of him Lucas always makes fun of but actually finds sort of charming. 

He doesn’t think about the last time Eliott was here, even though Claire has brought it up, and doesn’t think about how he felt, what they talked about, all those things. Now is not the time.

”Does he draw you, too?” Claire asks after a second of pause, smiles slyly. Lucas is too busy thinking about other things to snap at her for it.

”He draws everyone,” he says. It is not a confirmation but also not refusal, and they’re both aware of that. Claire nods like she is satisfied, though, and Lucas shrugs and lets it be. 

And then Claire says, ”So, you’re friends,” and then, not waiting for his answer, ”but, you see, you don’t really talk about him like about just a friend.”

And Lucas—has heard that before. Not from her, but from Mika, a similar statement in different circumstances. For a second, his life seems as if constructed of echoes, of one deja-vu stacked on top of another. It reminds him of something. 

There is a moment, flimsy and vague, when he doesn’t know what to make of that, isn’t sure if he should stick to the old pattern of repeated we’re just friends or move onto something else, come up with something more convincing, with something he would believe himself as well. Eliott is a friend. Sure. But then Lucas thinks about how much he likes to kiss him, how they buy each other coffee, how Lucas has told him things he hasn’t told anyone else, really, and — doesn’t that mean something? Eliott is not his to have and not his to keep, but—

”Hey, Claire,” he asks before he can change his mind, ”when you said, back when you first saw him. When you said, ”friends don’t look at each other like that”, what did you mean?”

Something in Claire’s face changes, then. As Lucas looks at her, her smile transforms from sharply sly into a softer kind, and some sort of tension leaves her frame. Suddenly, they don’t seem to be joking around anymore. Claire lifts her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and the glimpse of the red of her nails suddenly reminds Lucas of the movie poster Eliott has hanging on the door of his closet, of the colour the tips of his ears turn when Lucas tells him a compliment.

”I meant that you looked like I’ve never seen you look before,” she tells him, and Lucas snaps his head up to see her look down at him with something like recognition in her features. And then, she says, ”Enamoured. That’s what I meant.”

 *

 Lucas goes home that day with a heavy feeling in his chest, unable to pinpoint the reason for it.

Not like it’s anything new, he thinks as he gets on a bus after he’s said goodbye to Claire and watched her shuffle away in the direction of the subway station. The bus is empty, save from two girls sitting next to each other, whispering something between themselves in-between bursts of high-pitched giggles. Lucas sits in the back, two rows behind them, thinks, it is nothing new. He is familiar with the feeling, familiar with how to make it go away. He is just tired after work, he tells himself, and maybe a little tired of himself in general, like he sometimes gets, a little sick of his fuzzy thoughts and muddled feelings and the vines that squeeze around his heart and don’t want to let go. 

The girls sitting in front of him sway when the bus takes a turn, leaning into each other in their seats. One of them presses a kiss to the other girl’s cheek, throws an arm around her shoulders to bring her closer, and the girl goes. Lucas hears another giggle and turns his eyes away.

Eliott has texted him today, have a nice day at work! when Lucas, on his way to the bookstore, told him about how he was going to spend the afternoon slaving behind the counter again. Lucas has responded with, thanks, i hope your day will be more fun. There was a flickering second when he considered saying something more, admittedly. Like, i finish at 9, how about you pick me up, or can i come by later. Or, i miss you. Just that. Lucas thought about saying that, too.

But it’s not something to throw around so carelessly. Lucas doesn’t think he has any right to say things like that at all. Not when he’s aware of their time together slowly running out, not when he has Eliott today but might not have him tomorrow when they aren’t much more than a set of rules strung together and an array of emotions Lucas is too afraid to name. It is inevitable, what he’s feeling. And yet.

The bus jolts to a stop, then, and Lucas gets up. As he passes by, the girls in the front lean into each other, faces pressed close and hands clasped together. Lucas catches one of them mutter something that makes the other roll her eyes, then press her lips to the girl’s temple.

He gets off.

 *

 Then, on Friday, from the moment he wakes up, he is nervous.

It shows in how little he eats for breakfast and in how he can’t sit still through his lectures and in how he keeps tinkering with his phone and shuffling in his seat until a guy in front of him turns around and shoots him a scathing look. But he’s stressed. It’s Friday. He keeps looking at his phone and at the minutes ticking away on the clock and keeps thinking, despite himself, with a weird mixture of excitement and tension staining the thought, I’m gonna see my father today.

It is very surreal. Lucas feels like he has to keep repeating that to himself; otherwise, the whole premise of it will disappear into thin air. It’s today. Who would have fucking thought.

”Lucas, relax,” Eliott tells him when they meet for their usual coffee, and even that isn’t enough to mask Lucas’s jitteriness. Eliott has kissed him on the lips right outside the Sciences building, and Lucas has just smiled into it like a fool, and nobody paid them any mind anyway, and now they’re here, fumbling through the door with their coffee orders in hand. ”Everything’s going to be okay. You’re going to do great.”

”You talk like I’m going to a job interview,” Lucas tells him, but it makes him smile. Yann has texted him in the morning, said, it’ll be alright, lu, and if not, i’ll kick his ass myself, and then the boys started sending him stupid gifs in the group chat, and it all made Lucas smile as well. ”Which, I’m not.”

”I’m trying to be supportive,” Eliott says. He has offered to pay for Lucas’s coffee, earlier, also trying to sell it off as a sign of support, which Lucas has declined to accept and which made the barista chuckle at them warmly. ”You know?”

Lucas says, ”I know,” and then, softer, ”thank you.”

They part ways not too long after that because it’s just how it is, and Lucas kisses him goodbye because he is stressed and foolish and so very grateful. Eliott only leans into it, brings him closer and lets the kiss linger. 

Lucas would think, if he weren’t too preoccupied with other things, about how it makes him feel larger than life and full of embers, how it makes the garden in his chest grow and shiver and bloom. About yesterday’s, i miss you, at the tip of his fingers and in the back of his throat. 

As it is, though, he doesn’t say it. He gets home and tries to tamp down his nerves by watching some mediocre tv show with Lisa in the living room, then tries to find a nice outfit for tonight, which takes him much too long and is way too difficult for such a seemingly easy task. He fends Mika off when he peeps into his room and immediately invites himself in at the sight of Lucas’s disembowelled closet and tries to help.

”You look so boring,” Mika tells him later when Lucas comes out into the hallway in a button-up and black jeans, to which Lucas responds, ”Screw you.” Mika grins. It makes Lucas feel a little better, somehow.

On the bus, his palms get sweaty, and his head feels loose on his shoulders, light with excitement, with nerves. He keeps looking out the window and bouncing his leg, tapping a rhythm against his knee.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way, the reasonable part of his brain reminds him, but it’s too late to stop it now, too late to stop being hopeful when he gets to the restaurant his dad told him to meet him at, and the place is nice and big and a little high-class, with the gleaming silverware and neatly folded napkins and tall wine glasses and instrumental music. It’s filled with women in high heels and men with slicked-back hair and shiny watches around their wrist. Lucas gets a table for two, and as a waitress leads him to it, he’s silently glad he wore a dress shirt and a coat, and not just his usual jacket like he considered doing. 

Lucas is a little early, and his dad isn’t here yet, so he sits down and waits and plays with the edge of the tablecloth, then realises what he’s doing and opts for fiddling with the silverware instead. His phone is silent where it’s laying in the table screen up. So he waits.

Five minutes pass, and then ten. He unlocks his phone, checks the time, locks it again, just to do something with himself, watches the minutes tick away, go from 20:00 to 20:05. Another waiter passes by, asks what he’d like to drink, and Lucas says, ”Thank you, I’m still waiting for someone.”

The waiter nods and leaves. Something coils at the bottom of Lucas’s stomach. 

The minutes pass, another five, another ten. 

And then, over twenty minutes in, he gets a text. His dad doesn’t even call.

Lucas should have never expected any different. He knows what he’s going to see even before he sees it, but opens the message anyway, and his dad writes, Lucas, I can’t make it today after all, and Lucas thinks, of course. He catches himself nodding through the curt explanation as he reads it, something about work and a deadline and something else, thinks, more out of habit than anything else, it’s okay, it’s fine. I understand. 

He should be angry, a part of him thinks. He should call and yell at him, or block his fucking number once and for all, tell him to go fuck himself and let it be the last thing he’ll hear from him. He should be angry, and he is, for one blazing second, but then the fury tapers down into something smaller, into this — humiliation, and disappointment, and resignation. Somehow, it burns in his throat more than the anger did.

His dad doesn’t even say i’m sorry. The message only ends with, I hope you didn’t leave the house yet.

Lucas waits for something more, for a short, pathetic moment. He keeps looking at his phone screen as if a follow-up message could pop up on it any second, but there’s nothing. He waits for more, but it doesn’t come. There’s no, we can reschedule, or, do you have some time next week, or, I was hoping to see you, son. Nothing. 

He stands up from his table with a loud screech of his chair against the floor tiles, ignores the heads turning towards him, only keeps his eyes low and gets outside because he doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself more than he already has, and then sits down on the stairs, with the phone still in his hand, and suddenly feels like he’s about to cry.

What was he expecting. What the fuck was he hoping for. This is what always happens, it’s what happened back in high school, not long after his dad first left, and then again in third grade, and again and again, later. Every once in a while, his father remembers that Lucas exists, makes a half-assed effort to make amends, then seems to change his mind halfway through it as if reminded that Lucas is not worth any of it after all, not really, and Lucas is there anyway, always, nodding through explanations and holding back tears and shaking his head to himself and saying, it’s okay, dad, even though it isn’t. Even though it never is.

He should have known. He just never learns.

His hands are shaking, just a little. He has to blink rapidly to keep the tears away, tells himself his eyes are just watering from the wind even though it’s not true at all. Of course your dad doesn’t want to see you, a part of him says, the same cunning, too-honest fraction of his brain that told him the same thing the last time this happened, and the time before that, why would he want to see you?

He grips his silent phone tighter, and then something weird happens. Or maybe not weird at all, really, but just this — his brain short-circuits and something rises in his chest, and suddenly Lucas can’t help himself, because there is this one person he wants to hear right now, just one, and. And he calls Eliott.

He waits for a solid while, long enough to start thinking Eliott won’t pick up, but he does eventually. Lucas hears, immediately, a commotion on the other end, and some laughter, and then Eliott is half-screaming into the receiver, ”Yeah?”

Lucas closes his eyes. They went to that party, fuck. He forgot.

“Eliott, hi, sorry,” he says, and it comes out weird, with his throat being too-tight and his chest feeling like someone kicked him there. “I just wanted—”

“Lucas,” Eliott says, as if only now realising who he’s speaking with, and Lucas tells himself the way something in Eliott's voice brightens up is only his imagination. “Wait, I’m going to go somewhere calmer, Jesus, it’s so loud in here—“ and then, a moment later, the music and the chatter get muffled, and Lucas can hear a sound of a door closing shut. “Okay, I’m back. What’s up?”

Lucas licks his lips.

“Sorry, I just—” he says, breathing in and out, “I forgot you were at that party, I shouldn’t have called, it’s nothing—”

“No, no, it’s fine, what are you talking about,” Eliott interrupts. He sounds like he’s smiling. “You can call me whenever you want. The party’s cool, but I miss you anyway, so.” And then, after a second of silence, “Wait, weren’t you supposed to meet with your dad? Is everything alright?”

He curls his hand into his jeans.

“Yeah, it’s—“ he says, and he’s expecting the words to be difficult, but they aren’t. Something in his chest keeps hurting. “He. He didn’t come, actually. So.”

His voice does something strange halfway through the sentence. He hopes it doesn’t carry over the phone.

He hears Eliott take a breath.

“Lucas,” he says, then, and the smile seems to be gone from his voice. “Lucas, I’m so sorry.”

Lucas licks his lips. Me too, he wants to say for a too-long second, I’m sorry, too, although it doesn’t really make sense. I feel like an idiot, he wants to say, and almost does. I’m so stupid, Eliott. I’m so, so dumb. 

”I don’t know what I was expecting, you know,” is what comes out of his mouth in the end, and he even attempts a laugh but misses the mark a great deal. Eliott must hear, this time, catch the oddness of it, but doesn’t point it out anyway. Lucas shrugs on instinct, then realises Eliott can’t see him, lets his shoulders slump. ”I—it’s not like it’s the first time this happened. It’s not like I’m surprised, really.”

But he is, is the thing. If he is being honest, with himself at least, if not with Eliott, he is surprised, despite all. Lucas isn’t sure why he thought this time around would be any different, but he let himself hope anyway, envision tonight’s scene as if it happened already, was a memory instead of a wish. It’s just—he’d wanted it so, so much. To have a family again, even a broken one, a scraped-for part of it, whatever he could get. For a very brief while, he thought his dad wanted it, too.

He was wrong, apparently.

”I just—” he hears himself say, then, into his phone, into where Eliott’s still silent on the other end but where Lucas knows he’s still listening, ”I thought it would be different this time. I was hoping something would change. I don’t know.” And then he presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, doesn’t know if it’s to stop his eyes from watering or to just do something with himself or both, and says, like he thought earlier, ”Fuck, I just never learn. I’m so goddamn stupid.”

On the other end, Eliott clicks his tongue.

”Don’t say that,” he says, something stern sparking up in his voice. That’s not what Lucas was expecting to hear, but here it is, almost tangible, coming from miles away. ”Don’t say that, Lucas. It’s not your fault, okay? None of it.” And then, a couple of seconds later, when Lucas doesn’t respond, Eliott continues, softer this time, the edges of his voice rounded instead of jagged, ”There’s nothing stupid about hope. If anything, I think it’s brave.” He takes a breath. Lucas takes one, too. ”It’s not wrong to miss your family.”

It feels like a punch and a caress all at once. For a second, Lucas shakes with it.

It’s the first time in a very long while that he hears the words out loud, and the sound of them does something strange to his heart, loosens all his joints, makes him feel like he’s about to fall apart. Lucas has been aware of it, you see — he’s thought it in the comfort of his own head, told his mom I miss you on multiple occasions and in multiple different settings, shrugged it off when Lisa had asked, once, a couple years back, aren’t you going back home for Christmas? don’t you miss your parents? He’d laughed it off, back then, barely looked at her while answering, said, not really. there’s not much left worth going back to.

But now Eliott says it and. And he’s right.

”I’m sorry for calling,” he tells Eliott in response, hushed and out of place but good enough. Lucas has to say something, you see. Anything. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t, so he just chases the subject, because everything is. Too much. ”I’ll be—fine, you can go back to the party, I just needed to talk to someone,” he gets out, but it’s not quite right, so in a surge of foolishness he corrects himself, quieter, on an exhale, ”I just needed to talk to you.” 

Three seconds pass, then more, and Lucas listens to his own breathing, to Eliott’s, where he’s still on the other end. Always there, Lucas thinks to himself, even when Lucas called him in the middle of the night with shaking hands and splintering voice, even when Eliott was supposed to be having fun and Lucas ruined it. 

And then, from the other end of the line comes, ”Where are you right now?”

Lucas takes in a strange breath. 

”You don’t need to come here, Eliott,” he says, although his voice caves in somewhere in the middle. He pushes through it, only half-aware of what he’s saying at all. ”Sorry for interrupting your party, you can…we can hang up, and you can go back, I just wanted to call you, but it’s not a big deal, it really isn’t, I’m gonna just go back home and go to sleep, I think, it’s not like I have anything better—”

”Lucas,” Eliott cuts in, and it shuts Lucas up. He presses the heel of his palm to his eyes again, bites down on his lower lip to keep other words from slipping out, something else careless, reckless. There’s some rustling on Eliott’s end, then a sigh. Eliott’s voice digs into the space between Lucas’s one rib and the next, makes it difficult to breathe. ”If you really think I’ll just hang up and go and leave you on your own when you sound so sad, then you’re out of your mind.” He pauses, then, and speaks again with all the words bathed in warmth. ”I mean, unless you want to be alone, of course, but I—” Eliott hesitates, cuts himself off. When he picks up again, it’s in a different place than where he left off, but Lucas doesn’t mind, only sits and listens.

When Eliott takes a breath, he takes one, too. It helps, in a ridiculous way, to think that he can match his breathing to Eliott’s, as simple as that.

”Let me take you somewhere,” Eliott tells him, a spark of something new in his voice, something Lucas doesn’t want to get too hung up on but that sounds like resolve. ”I can come get you, and we’ll go do something fun, just you and me, just us. This party sucks anyway, without you here,” he says, and Lucas isn’t ready for the way it makes him feel, for the fireworks of affection that erupt in his chest at the words. He huffs a breath into his phone, and Eliott must catch it because he adds, hopeful and wonderful and everything in between, ”Come on, let me take you out. What do you say?”

Lucas knows he’s being selfish. He knows that.

But he still curls into himself, sitting there on the front stairs of the restaurant, runs his fingers through his hair and says, ”I’d like that, actually.”

”Alright,” Eliott tells him in response, and here it is again, the sound of his voice lit up with a smile. It’s nice to hear. Lucas thinks that if he could choose one thing and bottle it up and keep it just to himself, it would be this. ”Okay. It will be fun, I promise. Text me the address, and I’ll be right there,” he adds, tripping over the words a little, in a hurry tinted with something like relief. Right before he hangs up, he says, ”It’ll be the night of your life, you’ll see.”

In some unbelievable, miraculous way, it makes Lucas smile.

 *

 He doesn’t move an inch from the stairs for the next fifteen minutes.

It’s a little cold out here, but Lucas doesn’t mind. He sits at the top of the stairs, watches the cars drive by, how the white and red of their lights cut against the hues of the night. Behind his back, inside, he can hear people laughing, and the soft music playing, the occasional murmur of a stray conversation.

For a brief, brief second, between one car driving by and the next, Lucas allows himself to imagine a scenario, some other place in some other time, a universe where things are different. A setting where his dad never stood him up, where he showed up, and they spent the evening struggling through awkward conversations and sending each other hesitant smiles and building something up from the ground, slow and flimsy but real. Where Lucas is a part of the indoor crowd rather than the pathetic outside exception. 

But it’s a quick thought, there and gone. He gets his phone out of his pocket to distract himself from it, stares at the time, types a message to Yann, a short, you were right, sends it before he can change his mind and then silences his phone. 

Lucas sits and waits and waits, and then sees the exact moment Eliott rounds the corner and something about it grips his heart, then doesn’t let go.

Eliott looks out of breath and almost as if he run here, his hair wind-swept, his jacket askew on his shoulders. In the meager light, his face looks flushed and carved with the shadows. He spots Lucas on the stairs, and his eyes widen, and then Lucas blinks, and suddenly Eliott is there crouching in front of him, taking his hands in his own. His skin is warm. Lucas hasn’t realised how cold his hands must have gotten until Eliott laces their fingers together. 

”Hi,” Lucas speaks before Eliott can, because the sight of him pulls him out of his head, makes the stinging behind his eyelids diminish. Eliott is really here. Just for Lucas. Here, holding his hands, crouching in front of him, looking like he wants to say something that would maybe turn Lucas’s world upside down, or perhaps only make him laugh. Lucas licks his lips. ”It’s nice to see you.”

Eliott smiles, soft. ”You, too.”

They only look at each other for a moment. Lucas imagines the warmth of Eliott’s hands travelling up his arms, up his shoulders and nestling itself right beside his heart. That’s what it feels like, a little, with Eliott right there, his face flushed and his hair wild. It doesn’t take away the weight of disappointment Lucas can feel in his bones, still and heavy like lead, but it helps. Eliott brushes his knuckles with his thumbs, squeezes Lucas’s fingers in his.

”Let me just say,” he says, a little hesitant like he’s not sure if he’s allowed, but saying it regardless, ”that he’s a fucking asshole.”

Lucas breathes in, then out.

”Can we not talk about it,” he asks, thinks, you’re right, I wish you weren’t, but you’re right. He’s had enough of thinking about his father for tonight. Yann will ask about it later, Lucas is sure, and he’ll tell him, and if Eliott asks then maybe he’ll tell him, too, but the truth is, tonight Lucas is tired. It comes to him suddenly and lodges itself behind his sternum and in the back of his head. He wants to push tonight away, sleep it off, let Eliott take him somewhere and take his mind off of it. Anything. ”Let’s talk about something else.”

Eliott seems to get it, somehow.

”Of course,” he says, then squeezes’s Lucas hands again. His eyes are warm. ”I promised I’d take you out somewhere fun, didn’t I?”

”You did,” Lucas nods. Eliott stands up, and he lets himself get hauled up along with him, too, looks up at the play of light and shadow on Eliott’s face. ”Let’s go.”

Eliott leads him down the street, doesn’t let go of his hand, and Lucas follows.

 *

 They go to an art gallery, of all the places Eliott could choose. Lucas blinks at it when they get there, at the vaguely familiar shape of the building, transformed by the night around them, then blinks again.

”Eliott,” he says, half-convinced it is some kind of ill-fitted joke, ”what is this.”

Eliott, who is already pulling him forward by the hand, opening the door and dragging Lucas inside, just shrugs his lack of enthusiasm off.

”Remember when I told you about this art show I was helping set up?” he throws over his shoulder, leads Lucas through a hallway and some big grand door, with a skip to his step like he’s suddenly either nervous or excited. ”That’s where we are.”

”I thought you said it was gonna be fun.”

Eliott snorts. The sound of it pulls weakly at the corner of Lucas’s mouth, and then Eliott turns around, and the sight of his face only tugs Lucas’s lips up further, up until he is almost smiling. Eliott’s raising an eyebrow at him, his eyes wide and hopeful, his hand still warm in Lucas’s own.

”It is going to be fun,” he says, squeezes Lucas’s fingers like it could help him get the message through. ”You’ll see. Alright?”

If it was a different scenario, Lucas would maybe roll his eyes at him, or make a weak jab about being a pretentious artist or something. As it is, though, with the shadow of disappointment still settled into the corners of his mind, he only shrugs. ”Whatever you say.”

”Alright,” is everything Eliott says to that, as if it’s enough, and takes Lucas inside.

It is an art show. An exhibition, if Lucas has even seen one, with people walking around idly or chatting away in small groups, swaying to some quiet instrumental tune that is coming from somewhere. The music spills all over the room that then stretches into the next room and the next, all strung together like a necklace. There are glasses of wine on the table in the corner and before Lucas notices, Eliott snatches two of them, then pushes one into Lucas’s hand with a wink.

It is precisely like Lucas would imagine an art show to look like, but also isn’t. The art pieces, in big frames, hang all over the walls, stand all over the rooms, tucked into corners and displayed in the centre and plastered all over the doorways, big and bold and colourful or small and simple and shy. It’s an art show, and Lucas doesn’t know how to behave at those, but the atmosphere here isn’t like what he’d expect, not like what he’d imagined whenever Eliott would tell him about those kinds of things when Lucas would lift his head up from where he was resting it on Eliott’s chest as he drew and say, how did the last one go? Lucas had envisioned, on autopilot, a big, pristine room, brightly lit and intimidating, full of ideas and concepts he didn’t understand. And meanwhile, it is this — wooden, squeaky floor, arched doorways, dimly lit room corners, people gesturing at a sculpture to his right, a group of girls giggling in the back, an older man leaning over a painting, squinting to see the details of it. It’s different. Nice, even, he thinks when the music changes to something jazz-like and swingy and he catches a middle-aged woman by the window saying, delighted, ”Oh, I love this one!"

When he shifts his eyes to Eliott, Eliott is already looking at him.

”See?” he says, smiling like he’s pleased with whatever he can see on Lucas’s face, whatever it is that is showing in his eyes. ”Told you it’s fun.”

Lucas lifts one shoulder in a shrug. The wine sways in his glass. ”I wouldn’t call it that.”

Eliott only winks at him again. He seems…happy, for some reason. Happy even though he’s missing the party all his friends are at, happy even though Lucas had taken all his plans for the night and crumpled them up like a piece of paper, forced to come up with something new. Lucas doesn’t understand it, but it is comforting, the sight of Eliott like this, eager and charming, or just the presence of him, really. When he takes Lucas by the hand again, Lucas lets him.

”Come on, I’ll show you my favourites,” Eliott tells him, makes a vague gesture to the room stretching in front of them, then pulls Lucas into it, and Lucas goes.

They sway from painting to painting and from sculpture to sculpture, and Lucas lets Eliott press him into his side and talk into his ear, brush his lips against his temple as he does so. Eliott says, what do you think this one means, and this one, and this, doesn’t make fun of him as Lucas reluctantly comes up with terse responses, gestures at sculptures and motions at installations, makes up more and more ridiculous explanations until Lucas can’t hold off a smile. And see, Lucas thought it would be weird or boring, but instead, it’s this — Eliott’s arm around his waist, the sharp taste of wine on his tongue, the sound of people talking in hushes voices, the occasional clink of a glass. Lucas lets himself melt into it. Become a part of the scene.

”Is any of your stuff here?” he asks when they stop in front of another work, a sketch of something that looks like two people in the rain, their silhouettes blurry. Lucas wants to reach out and trace the contours of them with his fingertips. He only leans further into Eliott’s side instead.

”No,” Eliott tells him, a hum. ”I only helped set it up.”

Lucas tilts his head to catch his eye. ”Meaning? You helped pick the frames or what?”

Eliott huffs out an amused breath. His hand smoothes up and down Lucas’s arm, goes back to his waist. ”Some of them, yeah,” he says, and Lucas isn’t sure, for a moment, if he’s joking or not until he adds with a shrug that Lucas feels all against his side, ”I also picked the wine.”

Lucas swirls whatever is left of his wine around the glass held loosely in his hand. ”It’s kind of disgusting.”

”Thank you,” Eliott tells him in response, then leans down and when he presses his lips against Lucas’s temple, the curve of his smile is as unforeseen as it is sweet. ”I did my best.”

Lucas has, perhaps, drank a little too much, because he suddenly feels warm, in the nice, pleasing way he’s familiar with. Or maybe it’s just Eliott — the way the floor squeaks under their feet as they walk, how he drapes himself around Lucas’s shoulders, tucks his face into the crook of Lucas’s neck, as if it could help him see things from Lucas’s perspective, make their viewpoints merge together. It is a nice thought, and Lucas kind of wants to tell Eliott about it, say, isn’t that funny, but then Eliott is twisting around him, and Lucas realises, belatedly, that someone is calling Eliott’s name, and then this someone is already standing right in front of them, a wide smile on their face.

It’s a woman with wild, dark hair and red-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and a heavy-looking purse hanging from her arm. Eliott straightens up at the sight of her, but he is smiling, too.

”Eliott!” she says, sounding excited and surprised all at once, ”I thought you said you were busy tonight!”

”Yes, um,” Eliott shrugs a little, as if sheepish. ”Change of plans.”

”A wonderful one, too,” the woman says, winking. The red of her glasses reminds Lucas of the red of Claire’s nails, as does the excited glint in her eyes. She looks genuinely happy to see Eliott here, somehow, but then Lucas thinks, ridiculously, that who wouldn’t, really. Then, the woman’s gaze flits down to him and something in her face changes, as if she didn’t notice him wrapped in Eliott’s arms until now, like it’s a surprise. Lucas smiles when she says, ”Oh, hello.”

”Hi,” he nods. Eliott smoothes a hand over his shoulders.

”Lucas, this is one of my professors, Yvonne,” he starts, and Yvonne waves at him, grinning. Eliott opens his mouth to say more, but she interrupts him.

”Do you like the show?” she asks, as if Lucas has any idea about art whatsoever. He doesn’t look like he does, he thinks, not with his already empty wine glass and wrapped in Eliott’s arms, bickering with him and contemplating the curl of his lips when he should be contemplating the art pieces. 

But he still says, ”Very much,��� and Yvonne’s smile widens. ”Eliott is showing me around.”

”That’s lovely,” she preens at him, then looks over at Eliott again where he’s standing over Lucas, his hand warm on his shoulder. She raises her eyebrows at him, as if in a unique form of approval, and says in a low voice that Lucas can hear anyway, ”I like him more than that girl I saw you with the last time.”

Eliott’s hand stills on his shoulder.

”Oh, no, we’re not—” he splutters, ”He’s not my—well—” and then Eliott cuts himself off. For a second, Lucas stiffens. The back of his neck feels suddenly, uncomfortably warm. He can feel Eliott’s eyes on the side of his face, all of a sudden heavy, and he looks down, at his shoes and at the empty glass in his hand, thinks that maybe he should get more alcohol. 

Yvonne chuckles, oblivious. ”Oh, well, sorry!” she tells them, fiddles with her bag. ”Anyway, it was nice seeing you here, Eliott! Have a nice evening, boys.”

Lucas lifts his eyes just in time to catch her wink in goodbye, and then she’s gone.

A weird second passes between them. Lucas shuffles on his feet a little, just so that he doesn’t look as stiff as he feels, uncomfortable. He sees Eliott lick his lips, lift a hand to his hair, and the tips of his ears are red, but maybe that’s from how warm it is in the room, or from the wine. And, oh. Right.

”Do you want some more?” he says, raising his own glass. The sentence comes out a little rigid, but it’s passable. He watches as something shifts in Eliott’s eyes, how he blinks, and something settles into place.

”I thought you didn’t like the wine,” Eliott tells him, but passes him his glass anyway, then trails after him when Lucas strides over to a table in the corner and switches the empty glasses to full ones. Lucas shoots him a look that he hopes comes off as sly.

”I don’t,” he says, then proceeds to take a sip of it without any further explanations. Eliott smiles, shakes his head as if exasperated, sighs, ”I see,” and raises his glass with a chuckle before lifting it to his own mouth. Something inside Lucas’s chest slides into place.

He won’t let this night turn into something difficult. That’s what he decides as he turns back to Eliott and takes him by the hand again, twines their fingers together, looks at how it makes Eliott smile and relax. This night is theirs. He is not Eliott’s boyfriend, but he is, somehow, here anyway, and that’s going to have to be enough, for him and for anyone else. He and Eliott are not anything, but here, separated from the rest of the world by sheer proximity to each other and getting tipsy in each other’s arms, they are also everything. Lucas will take it, and make use of it.

The wine, as awful as it is, also works wonders. It melts the surroundings away, makes Lucas feel loose around his joints, takes his worries and disappointments and chases them away, out of his head. Lucas gets generous with his laughter, because it’s easier to smile when Eliott is always there to smile right back at him, and he gets lightheaded, dizzy with the sight of it.

They loop around the room, then end up in a dim-lit corner where Lucas feels as if he’s in a painting himself. Some kind of low, pleasant music is still spilling around the room. He misses the moment when Eliott places his hands on Lucas’s hips and makes him sway to it.

”Eliott,” he mutters, trying to resist, because it is technically a public place, and isn’t that weird, but it’s difficult to fight with Eliott when he’s sweet-eyed and warm and steady, so Lucas lets himself be pulled along, in the end, swings in place to whatever tune is playing, can’t help a quiet laugh that escapes him. ”Eliott, what are you doing?”

Eliott tugs him by the belt loops until they’re pressed flush together. Lucas hears him hum under his breath.

”I like when you say it,” Eliott tells him, apropos nothing and like it’s a secret, and Lucas blinks up at him in question. ”My name. Makes me feel real.”

He is bright-eyed and prettier than all the art in the room. ”Do you not feel real otherwise?”

”Sometimes I don’t,” Eliott tells him, a shadow of something there on his face and then gone. Lucas thinks back to dark rooms and lips pressed to temples, for a moment, to humming silly melodies and heavy gazes. But it only lasts a second. He blinks, and the images disperse from his mind, and then he’s pressing his lips to the line of Eliott’s jaw, muttering, ”That’s okay,” and Eliott is smiling again, pressing the curve of it into Lucas’s hair, then leaning down to catch his lips.

Like this, swaying to the low tune of music, surrounded by art, wrapped in a boy’s arms, Lucas’s head swims. Eliott is warm and here and his, and Lucas’s chest swells with it, makes him sigh into the kiss, makes him smile. He understands, minutely, in his own way, what Eliott means about not feeling real, because, see — this scene doesn’t feel real, either. The world is swaying around him, or maybe it’s just Eliott, and Lucas wouldn’t know, and it’s okay. How could he know, when Eliott is all he sees anyway.

Eliott presses his lips to the corner to his mouth, once, twice. And Lucas—

Lucas could fall in love. Lucas might be in love.

In his dizzy, tired mind, it is a harmless thought, there and gone. He thinks about it and then decides to put it away for later, for tomorrow, for a more suitable time. Not now, because now, all he does is this — he presses his lips to Eliott’s cheek and to the hinge of his jaw, anywhere he can reach, and says, ”Come on, let’s go home.”

 *

 The night air, when they get out, sobers Lucas up a little. Along with the noise of the city, it is a quick way to come back to reality, make the world stop swaying, pul him out of the bubble. Or, it would be, rather, if it wasn’t for the way Eliott takes his hand and tucks him against his side again, or how he lets Lucas kiss him under the lights on street corners whenever he pleases, tilts his head into it and cups Lucas’s face. They take their time. Lucas doesn’t care if anyone sees, too focused on other things, pulls Eliott in once and then again and again, later, can’t stop himself from thinking, look all you want, look. 

 ***

 They stumble into the apartment already reaching for each other’s mouths, and Lucas presses Eliott to the front door as soon as it closes, then wastes very little time getting rid of Eliott’s clothes right there and then. Eliott shrugs off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor, kicks off his shoes, and then there goes his shirt, then more, layers and layers until he’s only in his underwear, where Lucas can press him into the door and run his hands all over him as he pleases. 

He’s fucking gorgeous. Tall and lean under Lucas’s touch, beautiful everywhere Lucas looks. He mutters it out for Eliott to hear right before he reaches up for another kiss, and Eliott just pulls him closer in response, shivers when Lucas runs his nails along his ribs and then reaches lower, and Lucas wonders, for a dizzying second, if it’s from the cold or from what he is doing. If the way Eliott’s grip on him tightens is anything to go by, it’s the latter. It’s a heady feeling, being able to do that, still, even after every single time he’s done it in the past. They kiss and kiss, pulling at each other, pressing skin into skin, until Lucas feels giddy with it.

”Why are you still in your clothes,” Eliott mutters against his lips after a while, after Lucas doesn’t know how long or how short, after he’s skimmed his hands up and down Eliott’s spine, after Eliott’s hands started working on his belt. Lucas smiles, helplessly, at the image he realises they must be making — Eliott only in his boxers, Lucas himself fully clothed, making out in the entrance of the apartment like they’re in a hurry, ridiculous and impatient and silly. He can’t help a smile he feels pulling at his lips.

”Clearly, you’re not doing a good job undressing me,” he starts and then has to make a pause when Eliott presses a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, the column of his throat. ”We should work on that.”

Eliott nips at his skin, tugs at his shirt then pushes his jeans lower on his hips. ”Okay.”

Lucas bites on his lower lip. The breath ribbons out of him. ”But maybe not in the hallway.”

”What’s wrong with the hallway,” Eliott says, low and pressed into where Lucas’s neck meets his shoulder, where Eliott has pulled down the fabric of his shirt to get to it. Lucas huffs out a breath, smoothes a hand up and down Eliott’s shoulder blades, but before he can get out a response, Eliott is already pulling him further into the apartment, saying, with a smile, ”Alright, alright, come on.”

So they stumble from the hallway to the bedroom, barely looking where they’re going, too wrapped up in each other, giggling when Lucas knocks his shoulder into the doorframe and when Eliott bends down to press a fleeting kiss to it as if to minimise the pain. They fall into the bed, still smiling. Lucas, a little tipsy and loose around his joints, generous with his laughter, lets Eliott take his shirt off and then more, revels in the heat of his skin on his own, moves into it, touches in turn.

Eliott fingers him until Lucas is trembling and cursing under his breath, until his head is swimming with pleasure, only stops when Lucas digs his fingers into his shoulders and gasps out, ”Eliott, I swear to god.” Eliott smirks at him, then, the smug bastard, like he’s pleased with himself, and Lucas wants to snap at him for it, or maybe kiss him stupid, but then Eliott is flipping them over, hovers over where Lucas is now out of breath on his back, and then it’s Lucas’s turn to smirk, aching and impatient, when Eliott scrambles to the nightstand to rummage through it.

When Eliott pushes in, Lucas bites down on his shoulder, tries to keep the moan trying to claw its way out of his throat down. For a moment, Eliott holds himself very still. His heartbeat, where Lucas can feel it against his palm pressed to Eliott’s back, is wild. And then Lucas presses his lips to Eliott’s heated skin, breathes in and out against it, tilts his hips and tries not to feel too delighted by how it makes Eliott’s breath stutter. And, like that, they move together, push and pull and shift until Eliott builds up a rhythm, unhurried and spine-tingling, and until Lucas feels dazed with it.

They keep it slow. Heavy. Lucas moves his mouth from Eliott’s shoulder to his neck to press hot, open-mouthed kisses there, smoothes a hand down Eliott’s spine, then back up, lets Eliott make his head spin and voice shake. He feels laid bare in more ways than one, with the slow pace Eliott’s keeping, with how he braces a hand on the pillow and leans in and nibs at Lucas’s earlobe, seems pleased with the sound Lucas makes at that. Eliott is flushed prettily, and his eyes are dark. They’re a tangle of limbs coloured orange in the light of the bedside lamp, Lucas’s head thrown back, thighs pressed to Eliott’s waist, Eliott pressing his hips steadily to the bed, tangling his fingers in Lucas’s hair, tilting his head how he wants it so that he can bite at the hinge of Lucas's jaw, then soothe the sting of it with his tongue. Lucas feels every drag of him, full, tilts his hips into it on instinct until it makes his toes curl. 

The heat in his stomach coils, a burning ache. The rush of blood in his head is loud, then louder when Eliott finds his lips and kisses him, open-mouthed and hungry. The desperation of it is a stark contrast to how they’re moving and shifting together, how Eliott keeps the pace almost lazy although Lucas tries to guide it in a different direction.

Lucas gets lost in the kiss, opens his mouth to it, flutters a hand from the line fo Eliott’s jaw to the nape of his neck, twists his fingers in Eliott’s hair until he makes a sound into Lucas’s mouth, until the movements of his hips grow stronger. The bed creaks, once and then again, stupidly, and then Eliott parts to catch his breath, quietly mutters, with a frown etched between his eyebrows, ”I swear to god,” and Lucas finds himself laughing, just a little, kind of breathlessly.

Because, god. Everything is—so real with Eliott. Every little thing — this, and how heavy his touch feels on Lucas’s waist, and how Lucas lets the most embarrassing sounds slip out when they’re like this, lets the silliest thoughts curl in his mind, the most wonderful things bloom in his chest. How they stumbled on their way to the bedroom, bumped into the doorframe, almost knocked down the bedside lamp because they were too busy with each other to care about anything else. How easy it was to kiss the smug grin right off of Eliott’s face, lean into his mouth, pull him down. Eliott is painfully real. Lucas feels real, too, with him. Like this, with the bed squeaking, tangled in the sheets and in each other.

”If we end up on the floor, I’m sorry,” Eliott says, then, and he’s smiling, too. The movements of his hips falter minutely but don’t stop. Lucas feels every drag of him, tangles his fingers in his hair to hold onto something. 

”That’s okay,” he says, then a pleased sound escapes him. “The floor sounds great, too.”

”Great”, Eliott snickers, and then reaches for Lucas’s hips to bring him closer again, just like that, and Lucas wraps his legs tighter around him. It slightly changes the angle, suddenly lights something at the base of Lucas’s spine up. He arches into it on instinct, a bone-deep shiver, tightens his hold on Eliott’s hair, makes a stifled sound that barely sounds like him.

He can feel the curve of Eliott’s smile where it gets pressed to the hinge of his jaw, then to behind his ear. “Good?”

And everything Lucas can say is, ”yes”, low and a little helpless, because he knows Eliott is teasing, but it’s just the truth, and it rolls off of his tongue on its own. “Everything feels good with you.”

He doesn’t expect it when Eliott’s hips stutter at that, and when he curses silently, and when his rhythm picks up, at last, like he can’t help it.

“God, Lucas,” he hears at his ear, and then Eliott nips at his earlobe, breath hot and mouth wet. His fingers are digging into Lucas’s waist, holding on, holding down. With the next push, when they both shift into it, Lucas shudders. “God damn it.”

Lucas is aware that there are probably some sounds spilling from his lips, and that he’s gasping, but he doesn’t care. Eliott’s movements are strong and growing quicker, and when Lucas runs his hand down his back, he feels the muscles working under his skin. He tries to meet Eliott halfway, palms at his ass to urge him deeper, but his pulse feels liquid, and he can feel his heartbeat in his throat, and the fire spreads along his spine until he’s moaning at the ceiling, punched out broken noises with Eliott’s every other thrust. He’s getting close. He can feel his legs quiver, and when Eliott reaches for one of his thighs and presses it to the bed, the other one still hooked around his waist, Lucas trembles. 

“I’m—close,” he gasps out because he can feel himself nearing the edge, and his head is swimming with pleasure, and he feels lit up from the inside, his every nerve, “Eliott, Eliott, I’m—“

“Okay,” Eliott murmurs, low, and then wraps his fingers around him, starts jerking him off in time with the movements of his hips, and Lucas bites on his lips in an attempt to stifle the moans that claw out of his throat at that, presses his mouth to Eliott’s temple and throat and anywhere he can reach to quiet himself down, but it doesn’t seem to be working, “Alright, baby—“

“I like when you—do that,” Lucas says senselessly, right into his skin, because it just escapes him and because it’s true, “I like when you call me that, it’s—oh—“ his hands flit along Eliott’s back, fingers dig into his shoulders, and he’s nearing the edge and then teetering on it, right there in the space when you would do anything, say anything, and then he’s gasping, “Do that again, say it again, I’m—“

“Baby,” Eliott gasps, his hips stuttering, “Lucas, sweetheart, you’re so good—“

And that’s all it takes. That’s all it takes.

Lucas comes arching off the bed, digging his fingers into Eliott’s shoulders, strung tight on a whimper. The wave of it takes him under. For a blinding moment, everything’s just this — the room, the bed, the two of them tangled in each other, how Eliott’s the only steady thing, the most real thing, how Lucas holds on and clings to him, desperate. And then Eliott’s gasping, too, and Lucas drags him down and holds him through it, listens to every single sound Eliott makes, caught in his throat or punched out, smoothes his hands down his spine, leaves trails of heat in his wake.

 ***

 After, when Lucas comes back to himself and catches his breath, Eliott drags him to the bathroom to clean up, and they end up wrapped around each other under the spray of hot water. Eliott soaps them both up, mock-complaining about always having to do all the work himself, and as the suds swirl around their feet, Lucas threads his fingers through Eliott’s wet hair and pulls him down for a kiss, lazy and deep and gratifying, until his mouth is buzzing with it.

If they weren’t so tired, maybe Eliott could push him against the tile wall and fuck him again, until they both would be panting, until the sound of it would echo against the walls.

As it is, though, Lucas just arches up into the kiss, shivers when Eliott bites down on his bottom lip and licks into his mouth and smoothes his hands down the curve of his body.

 *

 Later, they putter around separately, brushing their teeth and putting on makeshift pyjamas, and the quietness of the night creeps in through where Eliott has creaked the window open just a little, then settles over the apartment. It’s late. Eliott gives him a pair of his sweatpants to wear and then giggles at the way they’re pooling a little around Lucas’s toes. Lucas makes a rude gesture at him in response, but then Eliott just wraps his hand around his fingers and pulls him towards the bed, unfazed.

Lucas goes.

He climbs in, and Eliott immediately pulls him close, gathers him in his arms, flutters his fingers along the hem of Lucas’s shirt but doesn’t dip under it, then kisses his mouth. Out of all the kisses they’ve passed between them tonight, those are the most innocent — just presses of lips, whispers of breath. Sweet and soft and easy.

Eliott tastes like toothpaste and smells like fresh laundry, and his skin is still warm from the shower. As Lucas kisses him, once, twice, then again, he thinks idly that he must be all those things, too. He’s wearing Eliott’s clothes, loose around his neck, comfortable, worn in. He’s used his toothpaste and his shampoo, the one that smells like oranges. There is a toothbrush at the sink in the bathroom that is his. It’s a nice thought. It washes over Lucas like sunshine.

He doesn’t even realise that he’s smiling until Eliott makes a small sound against his lips and mutters, ”What’s so funny?”

Your face, he wants to say at first, mocking, because that’s what they do, but it fades away as quickly as it came. Eliott brushes it away with his fingers when he smoothes his thumb along the curve of Lucas’s brow, maybe, or when he skims over his temple. Lucas is left sinking into the mattress, in the middle of the night, tilting his chin up to kiss Eliott some more, his top lip, bottom lip, the corner of his mouth.

”Nothing,” he hums. ”Just—thank you.”

Eliott huffs out a breath, as if amused, a low sound. ”I don’t follow.”

”For today,” Lucas adds, equally quiet. He nudges closer, smoothes a hand along the line of Eliott’s shoulder where he can barely see the contour of it in the dark. ”For coming to see me, and for taking me to that show, and, just—” A breath. He can feel the smile on his lips grow softer, as if settling into his features. ”I was having a pretty awful day, but then you showed up and made it—so wonderful. I don’t know.” And then, because he can’t help himself, because something warm is coiling being his sternum and he is, for once, deciding not to fight it, ”I’m just happy, I guess.”

Eliott’s lips brush his cheekbone, his hand playing with Lucas’s hair. He says, with a note of mirth in his voice, and with a note of something else entirely, ”Art shows make you happy, then?”

”No.” Lucas says. ”You do.”

Against the shell of Lucas’s ear, Eliott’s fingers twitch a little, then. They’re pressed together so close that Lucas can feel the rise and fall of Eliott’s chest, the hitch in his breath, how it stumbles out of rhythm for a second. The muscles of his shoulder, where Lucas is still resting a hand on it, stiffen. Lucas blinks up at him instinctively.

Eliott’s eyes are a maze. Something burns bright in them, but Lucas can’t interpret what, and then something shifts in Eliott’s features where Lucas can barely see them, a subtle change, and suddenly Eliott looks like he wants to—say something. Like he’s uncertain, if the way his jaw tenses and his throat works is anything to go by. Lucas’s smile gets smaller, just a fraction, and then Eliott still isn’t saying anything, so Lucas starts, quietly, ”Hey—”

And then the tension ribbons out of Eliott between one breath and another, and he’s tilting Lucas’s chin up again and kissing him before Lucas can get another word out. It’s long and lingering, and Lucas opens up to it, leans in when Eliott tilts his head, lets himself get swept up in it. He makes a weak attempt at saying something again after a moment, wants to ask if everything’s alright, wants to ask what that weird moment of tension was, but Eliott just cuts him off with another kiss, and Lucas lets the premise of it slip out of his grip in the end. It's okay. He’s happy and warm, and his head is loose on his shoulders, heavy from the fatigue of the day. He’s getting kissed into the mattress by the most beautiful boy. He’s tired, and content, and a hundred other things. 

”We’ll talk tomorrow. Tomorrow, okay?” Eliott mutters to him like it's a promise od sorts, and Lucas takes it, nods in agreement and turns to him again because talking can wait. Tomorrow is good.

They break apart, then sway back into each other, and Eliott kisses and kisses him like he can’t help it, until one press of lips melts into another, prolonged. They search for each other in the dark, noses bumping, lips catching over and over.

Lucas doesn’t remember falling asleep, but it happens.

 *

 The first thing he wakes up to is the sound of someone showering. 

The second is the fact that he’s sore all over.

Lucas stretches out, pushing his face into the pillow, but the reality seeps into his mind like the light peeking through the blinds. The bedsheets around him smell like fabric softener and oranges. The sky outside the window looks pale-pink, so it must be early. It’s not his apartment, he thinks idly as he turns and squints at the ceiling, so it must be Eliott’s. That’s Eliott in the shower. He’s humming a song that Lucas can barely hear, something off-tune and recent, something about you and me, what do you think?

For a long, blissful moment, there is nothing in Lucas’s brain but this — the sound of the shower running, the hum of Eliott’s voice, distant, the warmth of the sheets pooling around his waist, the citrusy smell of the pillow under his cheek. All this. Not much else.

But then the haze starts to lift up from around his thoughts, and in his drowsy state, he lets them in, one by one. They ripple the surface of his mind until it's no longer lake-smooth. He thinks about how he and Eliott fell asleep kissing yesterday, about how he held Eliott close, about stumbling into the apartment together, stumbling through the city streets, prior to that. The lights, the uneven sidewalk, holding hands. Then, more — the art show, the disgusting wine, the sweetness of Eliott’s smile, swaying in his arms, thinking about being in love.

Being in love.

Lucas jolts awake so violently that it feels as if someone just punched him in the gut. 

Fuck. Fuck, shit. He sits up and presses the heels of his palms to his face, but it does very little to keep his head from spinning, and even less to stop the memories from flooding his mind. All the things he did, all the things he said, careless and foolish and—and fucking stupid, dumb. He said i just needed to talk to you and everything feels good with you. He said you make me happy. He pulled Eliott out of his party and spent the night wrapped up in his arms, staring at his smile and listening to his laugh, and then kept kissing him on street corners until they ended up here. They fell asleep kissing. Lucas doesn’t remember the last time he felt like he did last night, light-headed with emotion, safe, larger than life. Enamoured, it flashes in the back of his head.

He’s in love. He’s in love.

Oh no.

The realisation bleeds into every other thought in his head. For a second, the world tilts on its axis. Lucas’s chest gets too small for his lungs, and it’s suddenly difficult to take a breath, and he feels cold, winded. He’s in love with Eliott. He’s in love with Eliott even though he shouldn’t be, even though that was never supposed to happen, it was why they made the rules, but Lucas did not listen, and now he’s here, in Eliott’s bed early in the morning, and he’s in love. His throat feels tight, like an onset of panic settling in. Everything fades for a second, then sharpens back up.

And suddenly, he can’t do this. Lucas can’t stay here, he can’t, he can’t—face Eliott, not now, not here in the light of the day where everything he’s feeling must be showing right on his face, unguarded and neon-bright. The thought of facing Eliott seems, suddenly, too scary, with the brand new realisation still settling into his mind, curling around his heart, around his ribs, everywhere. He’s terrified, just like that, of it all. His breathing turns shaky, uneven, scared. His hands tremble minutely where they’re pressed to his eyes. No. No, Lucas can't—Lucas can’t do this, no. It’s too much.

The sound of the shower cuts off. Lucas curses under his breath, heart leaping into his throat, something hot and dangerous spiking through his veins. Eliott is going to come out of the bathroom any moment, he’s going to step into the room and see, everything right there on Lucas’s face, all the things they did not agree on, all the things Lucas should have kept under control and didn’t. 

This was never supposed to happen. Love was the territory they have both agreed on leaving uncharted. And yet.

What the fuck have you done, he thinks to himself, cold all over, afraid, and that’s not what being in love is supposed to feel like, but right now it does. What have you done.

He makes a decision, and the rest follows.

It takes Lucas less than a minute to scramble out of bed, wrangle himself into last night’s jeans and make a run for it. His shirt is thrown carelessly right in the threshold, his coat by the door in the hallway, his shoes kicked off hastily. He manages to put the shirt on, then grabs the coat and the shoes in hand and then he’s out the door, into the stairwell, tumbling down the stairs. His head is spinning. His legs feel wobbly, but he doesn’t stop until he’s out the front door of the building and on the sidewalk, thrown into the crisp air of the too-early morning.

Lucas is out of breath and shaking, and his eyes keep stinging as if he’s on the verge of tears. He isn’t, but not like it makes a difference, given how his hands are trembling, how big of a mess his head is. I’m in love, he thinks, and his heart stutters out of rhythm. Then, he thinks, I have to go.

He hurries down the block, ducks into some stairwell to call an Uber, waits for it to arrive with his forehead pressed to the wall, forcing himself to take even breaths. He knows what a panic attack feels like. It is not quite that, yet, but it could be.

His phone feels cold in his grip. His inbox is an apocalypse. Lucas has 4 missed calls and 8 unread messages from Yann, 3 messages from Basile, 2 from Arthur and 2 from Mika. He doesn’t read any of them. If he has to think back to yesterday right now, he might get sick. It’s too much, with the harshness of the disappointment that his father caused, with the incredible night that Eliott, sweet and kind and wonderful, pressed into his hands like a gift, with how it has now all turned into a disaster solely because of Lucas himself. It’s too much. Lucas pushes it away, down, down.

Then, his screen lights up.

It’s an incoming call. From Eliott, his phone tells him. Eliott is calling. Lucas’s throat tightens again, and his heart slams against his ribs. He looks at the name flashing on the screen, for one, two, three seconds, helpless.

He declines the call.

Then the Uber pulls up, and Lucas goes home and takes a long, hot shower, presses his hands to where he knows the marks on his neck are blooming, tender and new, and tries very hard to think of nothing at all.

 *

 Later, in the days after, he wonders if Eliott knows.

Lucas has not called him back. Eliott has not called again and didn’t text him, and it feels strange, this sudden silence he caused himself, and Lucas sits with the phone in his hand, clutched tight, can’t help but wonder if Eliott knows. If he’s seen and realised. 

It would make sense, he thinks. It’s not like Lucas was subtle about it at all. Now that the realisation has hit him in the face that morning, he sees everything with ridiculous clarity. He’s in love with Eliott. He’s been for a while. He doesn’t know when it started, but now it’s here, blossoming, unwanted and uninvited but real all the same. It was never supposed to happen but somehow did, and now everything Lucas feels is stained by it — the fear, the surprise, the uncertainty. All those things.

Eliott must have seen. Right?

In the evening, as Lucas sits on the couch and stares mindlessly at the tv screen where some kind of brightly-coloured show is playing, his mind going hundreds of miles an hour, Mika perches next to him and corners him with, ”Okay, what’s wrong?”

He and Lisa have been giving him weird looks all day. Lucas keeps pretending not to notice. He’s too wrapped up in his thoughts, too busy going in circles in his own head, replaying everything that happened last night, this time with a filter of all his new feelings added onto it. If it was a different time, Lucas would push Mika away and snap at him, say, what’s your problem again, what do you want? But it isn’t. Lucas takes a breath.

”Mika,” he says, because he’s tired, and confused, and doesn’t know what to do, ”if you were in love with someone you should not be in love with. What would you do?”

Mika shifts on the seat next to him.

”Oh,” he mutters, as if surprised Lucas isn’t growling at him as his first reaction. Then, he clears his throat. ”Well. Is this about someone in particular?” 

Lucas shifts his eyes to him. Whatever Mika sees in his face has to be enough, because he nods.

”I would. I mean, I don’t know,” he tells Lucas, shrugging. Lucas feels his gaze at the side of his face where he has turned to the tv again. He turns his phone over and over in his hands. ”Are they aware of it? This person?”

Lucas licks his lips. ”I’m not sure.”

”Well, then I would tell them, first of all,” Mika says, as if it’s that easy, but it doesn't make any sense. When Lucas shoots him a sharp, incredulous look, he frowns. ”What?”

”I can’t do that,” he says. 

Mika shifts again. ”Why?”

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen, Lucas wants to say. Because we had rules. Because it was supposed to be just sex and nothing else, because we’re friends, because we were friends and then I ran away this morning, and maybe we’re not even that anymore. Because I don’t want Eliott to leave, but that’s what’s going to happen once he knows. Because he might know already, and I’m terrified.

In the end, he says nothing. There is too much in his head to put into words, all the feelings lined with now ever-present I love you that Lucas has been too foolish to see. 

A moment of silence passes. Then, Mika leans in to catch his gaze. 

”Lucas,” he says, and something in his voice had gone soft when Lucas wasn’t paying attention, round around the edges. Mika’s face is earnest like Lucas rarely sees it. ”If it was the other way around,  and if someone was in love with you, wouldn’t you want to know?”

And, the truth is, he would. 

 *

 After three days of no contact between them, Lucas gets a text.

hey, Eliott writes, are you on campus today?

Lucas is. He’s spent the morning sitting pointlessly in class, staring out the window. It is difficult to focus. His mind hasn’t gotten quiet the past few days, and he’s been thinking and thinking and thinking. About what Mika said, about being a coward, about whether Eliott knows. About whether he should.

He’s tried the words out loud, once, when everyone was asleep, just to see how they fit on his tongue. I’m in love with you, he whispered into the night, then closed his eyes and did not imagine what the outcome could be.

He writes back, after ten minutes and with an uncertain grip on his phone, yeah.

do you want to get a coffee? noon?, comes the response, almost immediately. 

Lucas answers, yeah. sure. And that’s that.

Because, see, Lucas feels scared and unsettled and ashamed, just a little, and he might be stupid, but he isn't a fool. There is a part of his mind that keeps replaying everything that happened, from the very beginning, and this is what he sees, when he lets himself — Eliott kissing him first, Eliott saying, it’s never much fun without you, Eliott telling him things he doesn’t tell most people, listening when Lucas did the same. And maybe it’s just how Eliott is, on some level, affectionate and kind and genuine, but maybe—

Maybe it’s not just Lucas who let himself get too far. 

It is this sliver of hope, and not much else, that makes him go to the coffee shop, sit down at a table by the window and wait, with his heart in his throat and mind spinning. He keeps thinking, I’m in love with him. He keeps thinking, does he know, and then, also, should he know. It is everything he’s been thinking about for the last few days. And Mika told him to make sure Eliott knew, and…and maybe Lucas could do that. Maybe all of Eliott’s smiles, all his kisses and small gestures and kind words really meant something. 

It is a foolish thing to believe in. But it’s there.

 *

 Eliott shows up five minutes late, striding in through the door with his cheeks pink and his hair tousled by the wind, his bag hanging from his shoulder, paintbrushes peeking out of it. Lucas looks at him as Eliott waits for his coffee at the counter, clutches his own paper cup in his hands, and then Eliott is coming over, sitting down in the squeaky chair opposite to Lucas, lets his bag drop to the floor.

”Hi,” he says, sounding like he always does. Lucas feels, for a strange second, breathless.

His mind goes, within a moment, to the last time they've seen each other, and how it was all filled with touches and intimacy and kissing until Lucas could not keep his eyes open anymore. The memory sends a shiver down his spine. Lucas feels the tips of his ears go warm, clears his throat as if it could change something.

”Hi,” is all he says. It comes off awkward. The air between them is packed with something, or maybe turns that way when Lucas shifts in his seat, nervously bites down on his lip. He swallows, flicks his eyes to Eliott, but Eliott is busy stirring his coffee and during sugar into it and then stirring again, so he’s not looking back at Lucas. It is, maybe, for the better.

For a moment, everything is quiet except for the generic background sounds of a coffee shop. It’s horrible in a brand new way, like failing a test for the first time, like spraining a joint. There were no awkward silences between them, never, before the whole thing started and after, too, but now they sit opposite each other, and this silence is awkward. It makes Lucas’s skin crawl with something.

Eliott fidgets with his cup, takes a sip of his coffee, then asks, too casually, ”So, how are you doing?”

”Good,” Lucas says. It comes out clipped, so he licks his lips and tries again. ”Good. Sort of busy. You know how it is sometimes.”

”Sure,” is the answer. Eliott nods, as if to himself. ”Sure, yeah. I’ve been busy, too. With the stuff for classes, and all.”

Lucas nods, too. For a moment, they’re mirroring images of each other, huddled over coffee, flicking uncertain gazes in each other’s direction. Eliott always has some project going on, he knows, or an essay to write, something that Lucas wouldn’t know how to even start. He wants to ask about it, like he would if the air between them wasn’t so packed with unease. Lucas wants to get up and slide a chair over so he can sit next to Eliott instead, bump their shoulders together, brush his hair away from where it’s falling over his forehead.

The urge rises in his chest like a tide. He wonders, minutely, if what he’s feeling shows on his face, all the ridiculous, burning things. 

Lucas lifts his cup to his lips, and the coffee burns his tongue a little, but at least it’s an excuse for the silence that’s still there. He glances at Eliott, sees him shift in his seat, as if gearing up for something.

”Listen, I—” Eliott speaks, then. Lucas puts his cup down. Eliott sounds very casual, light, but he keeps his eyes down, darting around everything that is not Lucas’s face. It makes Lucas feel silly. He’s afraid, in some ridiculous, twisted way, suddenly, that the moment Eliott actually looks at him, Lucas will say something stupid. Like, I love you, maybe, because it has been curling in his head like smoke from the moment he let himself think it at all. I’m in love with you, I’m in love. Everything in his head is screaming the words anyway. He can feel them clawing their way up his throat. But then Eliott goes on with, ”There’s something I’ve been meaning to mention.”

”Yeah?” Lucas says. In a surge of hope, he starts thinking, maybe I could tell him, maybe he wants to talk about that night, maybe I could say something. He sees it, for one second, the blinding premise of it — he tells Eliott, I fell in love with you, and the world around him doesn’t fall apart. Nothing falls to ruins. It’s right there on his tongue, and then he lifts his eyes to Eliott’s, finally, and licks his lips. ”I wanted to— there’s something I wanted to talk about, too.”

Eliott nods. He’s playing with the rings on his fingers, Lucas sees, keeps turning them, tracing the edges with his thumb. But he is smiling a little, in the way Eliott is usually smiling a little. He looks normal. He looks fine.

And he says, ”I just think that maybe we should stop the whole friends with benefits thing.” And then, shrugging, ”you know?"

And Lucas.

Just looks at him.

The world slows down, kind of. For a very uncomfortable second, he feels himself freeze. He takes one breath, then another, but the air seems to be short on oxygen, somehow, because his chest feels tight. Something clutches his lungs, presses into his sternum.

”Oh,” he hears himself say. 

It comes out hollow. If Eliott catches it, it doesn’t show on his face.

”I kind of feel like things could get a little weird,” Eliott goes on, sounding far away, then normal again, ”if we keep fooling around like that. I mean, everything is already kind of strange, you know? And I don’t want that. We’re friends, and that’s much more important to me than some sort of convenient hookup or easy sex or something. So, I thought, maybe it’s time to stop with that.” He shrugs again, and it’s a little stiff. Then, he blinks at Lucas, friendly and nice, and Lucas just looks. Eliott’s expression is just what it always is. ”I mean, we weren’t really good at sticking to the rules anyway, right? It was fun and all, but. Yeah.”

Lucas feels winded for a blank second. Like someone punched him, maybe. Like something is lodged in between his lungs. 

Every thought he had in his head is now, somehow, gone. For the first time in days, his mind is quiet. The reminder of, I love you, as well as the inkling desire of saying it out loud, hot and liquid and burning in his throat, goes out like a candle.

His ears are ringing a bit. He says, incredulously, ”Yeah, we—we really weren’t ever good with the rules, I guess.”

”Yeah, so, anyway,” Eliott says, then takes a long sip of his coffee, blinks and keeps his eyes closed for a little longer than necessary, ”that’s all. Is that okay with you?”

Lucas wraps his own hands around the cup. ”Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he says, barely aware of his own voice, too focused on thinking, why, then, wait, then, I wanted to tell you something else. But the idea of it seems idiotic, suddenly. To tell Eliott about love when he’s just asked Lucas to go back to being just friends.

And—and anyway, he has probably figured it out himself already. It slides into place like a piece of a puzzle, and Lucas understands, just like that. Eliott probably knows. He knows, doesn't he. He knows, he’s seen everything on Lucas’s face and is now trying to—to let him down gently, or to salvage whatever it is that’s left of their friendship. Eliott is wonderful like that. That’s what this whole thing is, Lucas realises — ending a relationship that never even took place.

That's it. That's it. Eliott knows. Lucas thinks about it, and pieces of evidence appear in his mind on their own, like a slideshow, one by one. The way he hesitated when Yvonne implied they were together, back at the art show, how he said, no, no, we're not. The way he went tense and strange when Lucas told him, you make me happy. How he pushed the subject away, off onto the next day, kissed Lucas silent because he didn't want to listen to it, to whatever pathetic thing Lucas might have said next. In the morning, if Lucas had stayed, he probably would have heard the same thing he's heard just now. Hey, Eliott would have said, and Lucas realises it with a sharp pain of shame, burning, last night was pretty weird, dude, don't you agree? Let's not do that again, what do you say?

It was all there. That's it.

Something in Lucas’s chest curls into itself, burns, then fades out. He thinks, right. 

He clutches his cup so that his hands stop trembling. And then, with his throat tightening, in a surge of something he doesn’t want to think about, he lies, ”Actually, I was going to suggest the same thing.”

On the peripheries of his vision, he sees something pass over Eliott’s face, then, a shadow of an expression. But then he blinks and forces himself to look at Eliott again, and Eliott looks like he always does. Slightly nervous, maybe, but Lucas gets that. His eyes are a little dull, but maybe it’s from being tired, or something else entirely. Lucas wouldn’t know. 

Whatever it was that he saw, it must have been a trick of the light.

”You were?” Eliott hums, casual, and it’s Lucas’s turn to shrug now. The inside of his chest feels like crumpling paper, or like it’s about to cave in on itself. 

But he still says, ”Like you said. Things were starting to get weird, and we don’t want that. So.”

”Cool.” Eliott licks his lips. ”That was easy.”

”Mm.”

They’re silent again, both busy with their paper cups and coffees and whatever else. Lucas’s ears are still ringing a little. He’s cold all over, in a weird, disengaged way. His mind is quiet. It’s like those videos about the North Pole they used to watch in class back in high school, only ice and air and emptiness. That’s what he feels like. His coffee is still burning hot on his tongue, but he barely registers it.

”Well,” Eliott says after a moment. ”I should probably go.”

Lucas says, ”Okay.”

”Good luck at work today,” Eliott says because he knows Lucas is working tonight, because Lucas told him, in what suddenly feels like a different lifetime or a dream. ”I’ll see you soon? Maybe tomorrow?”

”Sounds good,” he says.

”Great.” Eliott throws his half-full cup of coffee into the nearest trashcan, then picks his bag up from the floor and hovers awkwardly. For a second, they both must be thinking the same thing. Normally, this would be the moment they kiss. When Eliott would cup Lucas’s face and Lucas would lean into it and smile, and they would kiss until Eliott was almost late to class, until he’d press one last peck to Lucas’s cheek with a sweet, text me later.

But. That’s over, apparently.

”Okay, then, I’m off,” Eliott only says as a goodbye, doesn’t even step closer to Lucas, only smiles when Lucas tells him, ”See you,” and leaves.

Lucas follows him with his eyes all the way to the door. Eliott steps out, doesn’t turn around, closes the door after himself, and that’s it.

Lucas keeps his eyes trained in one spot. He holds very still for what feels a very long while.

Then he gets up and leaves, too.

(my ko-fi)

#elu fic #elu #skam france #skamfr #elu fanfic #things i forgot to tell you #my writing #im going to sleep im lowkey dying #this is such a long chapter kill me