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babyybitchhh · 3 years

Text

Arlong x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4,609

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, monster fucking (?), size difference, over sized genitalia and the buckets of cum to go with it, oral sex, fellatio, eventual consent

A/N: After consulting with my editor in chief, we agreed that the fishmen probably feel a bit like dolphins - firm to the touch but stupidly smooth, a bit clammy - so that's where my descriptive inspiration for this one came from. Y'know. Just in case anyone ends up wondering what the fuck I was smoking while I wrote this. lol And as always, please enjoy! : )

♥♥♥♥

Arlong was not what you would consider a nice man.

There was something mean about him, and undeniably so, but the way he crowds you against the wall late one evening still manages to catch you off guard. You’d thought you had already seen everything his cruelty had to offer. Foolishly, you’d believed that there was a certain line even someone like him would not cross.

Regrettably, you’d been wrong about that.

“W - what are you doing?”

“Don’t be coy.” He mutters while he idly, possessively toys with a strand of your hair between his webbed fingers. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this.”

The cloying stink of booze on his breath hits you all at once and you wrinkle your nose in distaste. You don’t mean to do it. You regret it almost instantly but Arlong doesn’t care for the why or the how, or the rushed apology already forming on the tip of your tongue. All he sees is the discomfort etched across your expression and his demeanor responds in kind, becoming surly and aggressive in the same moment.

With a rumbling grunt, he steps into you and bodily shoves you against the wall. The amount of force in just that simple gesture has you quailing under the imposing weight of him even as you start to shirk away. You think to bolt for safety a little too late and his clammy hand takes advantage of that split second indecision to grab your chin, forcing your head up to look at him.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Hm?” He curls himself over you, bracing his other arm high above your head on the wall so he can lean close and get in your face. You’ve never felt quite so minuscule as you do standing there, frozen to the spot and horribly dwarfed by the towering fishman who’s hacksaw nose was mere inches from yours now.

With each passing second, it was becoming exceedingly hard not to panic.

“Am I not to your liking? Is that it? You’ve really never thought about this before?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You aren’t sure what to say. You don’t know what it is he wants to hear.

Arlong doesn’t wait around for a proper response, though, and instead trails smooth, rubbery fingers down your neck to your shoulder, and then further still to grasp your wrist. You put up no resistance when he pulls, unceremoniously directing your slack hand to the front of his shorts and you jolt at the firm weight pressing up into your palm.

Sucking in a stilted gasp, your eyes go wide at him. “I - I haven’t - -“

“No?” He cuts across you with a faintly disappointed sigh. “Not even a little? You’re not at all curious?”

You whimper, shaking your head when he squeezes and manually forces your hand to close around the stiff outline in his pants. It was big and still growing, as evidenced by the eager twitch it gives at your touch. Shame immediately washes over you when your pussy clenches, the blood in your neck pounding as you try to turn away from him.

“Of course not, w - what would I have to be curious about?”

“You ever seen a fishman’s cock before?”

Your ears were starting to burn. “Nuh … no. Please, Arlong. I don’t - -“

“Come on. I’m sure you’ll like it. There isn’t anything else like it in the whole world, y’know. One of a kind.”

Same as before, he doesn’t give you a chance to sort through your thoughts before taking the incentive. His unoccupied hand drops from the wall and tugs at the waistband of his shorts even while he wrests your twisting hand where he wants it to be. You struggle wildly now, adrenaline fueled fear making you desperate and jerky, but he’s much too strong to break free from. You were trapped.

Horrified, you screw your eyes shut before you can catch a glimpse of what’s hanging between his legs. You’d never seen one before - not a fishman’s, and you would have preferred to keep it that way. The hushed rumors you’d overheard about encounters between people like Arlong and humans such as yourself were nothing kind, after all.

But with very little effort on his part, he clamps your hand into place and you go stock-still at the sensation of porcelain smooth, velvety skin under your fingertips. It doesn’t feel half as repulsive as you’d imagined it would. And, you’re surprised to find, it doesn’t look anywhere near as unnatural as you’d assumed it to be when you apprehensively crack your eyes open and glance at it.

What you had in your hand was just a cock. Nothing more and nothing less.

Albeit a rather large, hefty cock that was a slightly darker shade of blue than the rest of him but still by all accounts a normal looking appendage. If it hadn’t been for it’s unusual color and the staggering size, you could have easily mistaken it for a human’s.

Embarrassed, you flounder for something to say. “It’s … it’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

Arlong snorts and displaces a few of your wispy flyaways with the resulting puff of air, making you shudder between him and the wall. “Don’t try to bullshit me. S’not polite.”

“I’m not.” You insist, shyly forcing your gaze up to meet his. “I expected something different, that’s all.”

“Like what?” He murmurs as he leans his weight into you, not so subtly pinning you under him. You swallow hard, hesitant to say it. But either by virtue of being mildly intoxicated or genuine sincerity on his part, you felt a strange sort of inclination to be honest with him.

“Frankly, I thought it would be more monstrous.”

Arlong manages to catch you off guard again when he outright laughs at that. “Give it time. I’m not fully hard yet.”

Your eyes go big as saucers. “W - wha - -“

He laughs again, somehow even louder this time, and you start to quake with renewed vigor as his cock does indeed continue to twitch and grow in your hand. You couldn’t believe that it would get any bigger than it already was but the proof was right in front of your face. It was still filling out, becoming increasingly more weighty in your palm, and that knowledge terrified you far more than you were willing to admit.

“Don’t look so scared.” He coos, anything but sympathetic when he notices the obvious disquiet casting a shadow over your face. His suddenly good mood did not bode well for you at all. “You said it was nice, didn’t you?”

“Well … well, yes, but - -“

“Here. Let me show you something.”

Releasing his hold on you, Arlong clamps his moist palm down on the back of your neck and unceremoniously steers you forward, away from the wall. You don’t even think to fight it. And how could you when your fate was already sealed? You’d given him an inch by conceding that his cock was not entirely disagreeable and now he was taking a mile.

It was your own fault, really.

“Wait - hold on.” You stammer, panic suddenly creeping into your voice when you realize he was making a beeline with you for the nearest chair. “I didn’t mean it like that, Arlong! I just - -“

“You just what?” He sneers. “Felt like teasing me some more? Thought it’d be funny to tempt me with that pretty little mouth of yours again?”

You sputter in red faced affront. “I never - -“

Cutting you off yet again, he forcefully shoves you down onto your knees. Hard.

You seethe at the splintering pain racing up your legs as he pivots around you to plop down on the waiting seat, his ever present grip on the back of your neck quickly dragging you closer. Arlong’s anticipation for what was coming next was almost palpable, the eager excitement in his motions clear as day. In a last ditch effort, you try to twist away from him but he holds firm even as he works to tug his shorts the rest of the way down with the opposite hand.

“I know you’ve thought about this.” He says it again, breathy now, as if repetition would somehow make it true. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. There’s no need to hide it.”

Whatever biting insult you were going to spit at him catches in your throat and momentarily chokes you when he gets his pants down over his knees, cock springing up in all its full glory. You outright stare, your mouth going dry. Mind blank and pussy aching with phantom pain.

You weren’t sure what he expected you to do with it. He was far too big to fit in any human orifice, surely; but if he was at all concerned about the logistics involved he certainly didn’t show it.

Casually kicking his shorts off, Arlong plants his feet firmly on the floor and shuffles his long legs wide open to welcome you in. The heavy sway of his hanging nutsack seems to taunt you, silently promising a steaming hot load that you weren’t prepared to take. You audibly gulp down your nerves as he pulls you closer, right up against him until the sinfully smooth shaft of his cock is pressed tight against your cheek. It was hard to breathe through the potently masculine musk assaulting your nose and even harder to come to terms with the way your cunt gushes in response to it.

Why was this turning you on so much?

“Arlong … please!” You mewl, helpless to stop it when he relentlessly rubs his cock against your face as if to scent you. “Please listen to me. I never intentionally tried to tease you. I’m sorry …”

“Liar.” A sharp thwack against your cheek accompanies this accusation, the fleshy head of his dick leaving a sharp sting in its wake. “You want me. Just admit that. If you do, your punishment for being such a flirty slut won’t be so severe.”

You bristle at that, trying once again to recoil from him, but he merely pinches your neck even tighter to keep you in place. All you can do is watch in mounting horror as he takes his cock in the opposite hand and starts to pump it, slowly, as if to coax it that last little bit harder. The prominent vein running along the underside visibly throbs for you while he does it, pushing against the thin layer of skin in a rhythmic beat which probably would have flattered you under better circumstances. You hadn’t thought he’d get this worked up over you.

But, to be fair, you also hadn’t expected Arlong to be interested in a human woman in the first place.

“Like the view? You’re going to be a good girl and suck it for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Dazedly, you watch the steady up and down motion of his webbed hand until you eventually find yourself nodding along with it. You felt vaguely like an idiot for consenting to this but there was no denying how tantalizing he looked. For better or worse, you were willing to take the risk.

And that seems to amuse him a great deal, his raspy laugh misting over you even as he adds a twist to his pumping motion, tugging at the foreskin in the process. Scandalized surprise rushes to the forefront of your mind when you catch your first peek of the glans and realize it’s a blue so dark and rich it was almost purple. It’s such a stark contrast from the rest of his uniquely pigmented skin that you immediately want to see more of it, and you lean forward to get a better look with nothing short of rapt fascination. You’d never seen anything quite like it before.

“You’re that interested now?” He murmurs knowingly, snickering faintly under his breath.

“Only a little …”

“Liar.”

But Arlong’s tone holds no real bite this time, and he graciously gives you what you want by rolling the meaty tip back to tuck it behind the ridged glans. The blunt head is just as impossibly smooth as the rest of him, his skin entirely free of pores or blemishes, and so firm that you aren’t sure if there will be any give to it. You’re immediately reminded that you and him were not the same, the differences between you two as glaring as ever.

Without missing a beat, you decide you no longer care.

Reaching up, you carefully take him in hand and a thrill runs through you at the sensation. He’s every bit as silky as he looks but when you experimentally squeeze, it becomes apparent that he’s also relentlessly stiff. You’d thought, maybe, it was just the muscle bound parts of him that were as unyielding as they appeared to be but even this area was so densely padded with fatty insulation that it offered very little cushion. It seemed, then, that the only truly soft spot on his body was probably his ballsack.

Tentatively, you rove your gaze up to look at him. “Can I really?”

“I’ll be pissed if you don’t.”

You scoff, trying not to smile, but when that fails you lean up to drag your tongue along the throbbing vein and hide the curl of your mouth. A triumphant sigh puffs out of him, the hand on the back of your neck relaxing slightly, but he makes no move to completely let go of you yet. The weight of his palm spurs you on and you go up a little higher to flick at the glans, pleasantly surprised at the taste of him. Salty and strong, yet not repugnant. It was a heady flavor, one you’ve never sampled before, and you can’t help but wonder if this is how all fishmen taste. It was strangely intoxicating.

“There’s my good girl. That’s it.” He goads you, leaning back into the chair so he can fully appreciate the sight of you on your knees for him. “Is it as good as you thought it’d be? All you had to do was ask and I would have let you do this a lot sooner, you know.”

Resisting the urge to snap at him to shut up, you use your grip on his cock to angle the tip towards your face. The narrow slit in the center of that purple-blue bud winks at you, oozing a fresh bead of slick precum that glistens faintly in the overhead light. Sticking your tongue out, you lap it up with a hunger you hadn’t expected from yourself and a fresh wave of bitter salt swarms your tastebuds. You moan, very quietly, against the glans before sealing your lips around it.

Arlong’s lean thighs give the faintest jolt in response, his pelvis lifting just enough to nudge his dick a little deeper into your mouth. You allow it, for the time being, far too caught up in the exquisite taste of him to worry about his propensity for being a bit pushy. It was in his nature, after all.

But when you try to take more of him on your own, it quickly becomes apparent that your earlier estimation of him had been right on the money. He was much too large to comfortably fit and you only make it a few inches down before your jaw starts to scream in protest. You pull back to suckle on the spongy head for a moment, laving it with your tongue before deciding to try again. The progress you make is negligible at best, your lips straining around his girth as you furrow your brows and noise a muffled sound of frustration around him.

“Don’t try to force it, sweetheart. You’ll just hurt yourself.” He chuckles, the hand on the back of your neck sliding higher to curl around the curve of your skull. His palm is massive in comparison and you feel your cheeks start to warm when he condescendingly pats your head, tutting at you. “You’ll have to practice hard if you want to take it all someday.”

The heat inside your gut sparks anew as your eyes snap up at his face. He smirks right back, razor sharp rows of teeth glinting dangerously and reminding you, once again, that he was a real threat. An apex predator of the most deadly kind, and you were knelt at his feet sucking his cock like a good little pet. You should have been ashamed of yourself. You probably were going to be ashamed of yourself, later, when the carnal high faded and your senses returned.

For now, though, you’d already made peace with your fate and you pointedly give his cock a rough tug. That only makes Arlong’s lascivious grin widen, though, and you’re left with no other choice but come up off him with a wet, smacking pop to give your jaw a break.

Tilting your head back while you suck in a much needed lung full of air, you pull his cock to your open mouth and set it along your tongue. He hums appreciatively at the visual while you pump the length of him with your hand, letting more precum ooze out of him and onto your waiting palette. A faltering groan rises in the back of your throat at the taste, so heady and potent that it makes your mind spin dizzyingly fast. You couldn’t get enough.

“Heh. I take it you like it then?”

In lieu of an answer, you seal your lips around him and lean forward again, glancing up at Arlong through the fall of your lashes. His stilted sigh of approval rushes straight to your cunt, and you give a needy little squirm as he drags webbed fingers along the side of your face to touch at the pulled taught corner of your mouth. Rubbery palm skirting along your cheek, he reaches further back and then clamps down on the nape of your neck so he can pull you somehow even closer to him.

You’re pressed flush against the chair by the time he’s satisfied, neck straining to accommodate the length of his cock. Your unoccupied hand comes up to brace against his thigh when he starts to guide you through a bobbing motion, the stuffed full schlucking noise of your mouth almost unbearably loud in the otherwise quiet room. It sounds borderline obscene to you but he appears to enjoy it, resting his head against the back of the chair and sighing up at the ceiling with unmistakable pleasure coloring the exhalation.

Your pussy clenches at the sight of Arlong enjoying himself so much, enjoying what you were doing to him, and you offer the glans another enthusiastic suck in return. His fingers twitch against your neck and squeeze, just this side of painful. But he does a good job keeping himself in check, and you put a little more effort into pumping the part of him that your lips can’t reach by way of thanks. He could all too easily rip you in half - in more ways than one - so you appreciated the restraint he was showing.

He doesn’t even seem to notice the change in your hands pace though, his mouth running on drunken autopilot now that he’s let his guard down. Now that he’s fully given himself over to the wet warmth of your maw, he was uncharacteristically eager to heap his praises on you and you were more than happy to soak it all up.

“My good, good girl. Yeah, you like that cock, don’t you, baby? You love it. I can tell. You’ll never want another human to fuck you after I’m done. I’m gonna’ ruin you, you know that? So damn good for me …”

The tingling warmth that spreads through you makes it hard to think straight, your vision starting to swim as if you were looking through a foggy fish eye lense. You never thought he’d talk to you that way. Didn't think he could stand your kind enough to regard you as anything other than a nuisance to tolerate for the sake of his own goals. It may have just been the booze talking, you knew that, but you were still rather pleased by this turn of events anyway.

Your jaw was beginning to ache in earnest, though, and you whimper around his cock as you drag your hand down off his thigh to squeeze in between Arlong’s legs. Gently, you caress the heavy weight of his ballsack, delighted to find that it was just as soft and vulnerable as you’d suspected it would be. He hisses at the contact, hips lifting off the seat of the chair again, but he does it a little too roughly this time and you gag.

Seething through clenched teeth, he readjusts his hold on the back of your head, gets a better grip and slowly thrusts up into your mouth. The careful way he does it surprises you slightly, but you don’t get a chance to linger on that thought for very long because he immediately repeats the motion without giving you a moment to adjust and your eyes start to mist up. He doesn’t quite reach your throat like this, your lips already stretched to their limit and unable to accommodate any more of him, and yet that doesn’t stop you from choking with each drawn out flex of his hips. You were going to be sick at this rate.

Sucking in a faltering wet breath through your nose, you try to brace yourself for his next upward stroke. You weren’t sure how much more of this your gag reflex could take, or your poor jaw for that matter. Being on the receiving end of Arlong’s praises wasn’t worth it if you just ended up spewing your guts all over him, ruining everything in the end. Plus, you were pretty sure he’d just redact everything he’d said if it came down to that. You were damned either way.

Deciding it was best to take a moment and regroup, lest the unthinkable happen, you try to pull off him but the hand on your head keeps you firmly in place. You let out a muffled squawk, as confused as you were terrified of what would happen if he kept going like this. But he doesn’t seem to share any such concerns, and your gaze frantically shoots up at his face when he just keeps shallowly pumping into your mouth. He wasn’t even looking at you, though, his eyes closed and turned up at the ceiling.

“That’s it. Just a little more. I know it probably hurts, sweetheart, but just endure it a little bit longer for me, okay? I’m getting close … I’m getting so close, baby. Can you feel it? I’m gonna’ give you such a big load … ngh, you’ll never be able to swallow it all, but that’s okay. Just … haah, just keep it in your sweet little mouth a bit longer, okay?”

You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, your cheeks burning hot as reflexive tears streak down your face. Abandoning his balls, you dig trembling fingers into the meat of Arlong’s inner thigh as a painful reminder that you were working on borrowed time here. But he seems to enjoy that, the groaning burst of air that puffs out of him in a sudden rush sending sympathetic shockwaves racing down your spine. Your panties were soaked at this point, uncomfortably clinging to your sticky cunt as you rock forward in a fruitless bid for relief. It was all you could do just to keep your lunch down, though, and you were far too lightheaded to even consider slipping your hand between your legs to rub circles into your clit. It wouldn’t take much to send you over the edge, either.

Even through your clothes, you were sure to cum quick - but how could you possibly think about that right now when he was still thrusting into your mouth at such a staggered pace that you felt as violated as if he’d properly fucked you? It didn’t make sense, how he had such a powerful effect on you when he’d barely even touched you so far. Almost like he had some sort of potent aphrodisiac at his deploy.

Could this possibly be a fishman, thing or was it just an Arlong thing?

“Oooh yeah, baby, right there. Right there. Your mouth feels so damn good. Are you ready? I’m gonna’ give it to you now … fuck, I’m cumming, baby, I’m cumming!”

With a feral, animalistic grunt, Arlong thrusts up off the chair and shoves his cock as far into your mouth as it will go. You sputter around him, frantically noising as your throat constricts and heaves against the pressure. In the same moment, he gives a full bodied shudder and hot, thick ropes shoot out of him to pool at the base of your tongue. Your eyes promptly roll back as you choke around his bubbling semen, face wet with tears and snot, and perspiration, but he doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming out of him, flooding your mouth until you’re sure you’ll drown in it.

So blissfully numb by the time he finally pulls out, you almost don’t notice the absence. It’s only when a fresh string of ejaculate plops heavy against your cheek that you realize he's cumming on your face now, and you obediently stick your tongue out to catch the salty discharge. He doesn’t seem to be aiming for your mouth, though, and you’re left with no other choice than to sit there and let him paint your face white until the pulses gradually slow to a stop some moments later.

The last bit oozes out of him, achingly drained from the bottom of his balls it would seem, as he squeezes it from the base up with an accompanying guttural moan. You let him push your head back down without protest and lap up the sticky bead, much to Arlong’s heaving pleasure.

He was still panting from the exertion, trying to catch his breath, and you were still struggling to swallow the excessive cum in your mouth so you could breathe at all. An odd sense of peace settles in the aftermath and you think maybe, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, maybe he wasn’t quite as mean as you’d pegged him. Someone inherently cruel wouldn’t have been so mindful of your physical limitations, right?

You’re pretty sure that’s not how it usually goes, anyway.

Gathering yourself to the best of your ability, you glance down at the front of your shirt only to outright grimace. You were absolutely coated in sheets of fast drying cum, and you weren’t so sure it wouldn’t stain. Dammit.

“So, uh. Do you always cum buckets, or was that all just for little ol’ me?” You venture to ask, not the least bit surprised when your voice comes out a raspy mess. You’d definitely need some warm tea after this.

“It’s a fishman thing.” He says rather flippantly, clearly unconcerned. “You’ll get used to it.”

Your head comes up in stark surprise. Well. That certainly answered your earlier question.

“Y’know,” you say, speaking cautiously slow. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re planning on doing this again, boss.”

Arlong actually has the audacity to smirk at you, his pale eyes dancing with what could only be mischief, and a not entirely unpleasant shudder promptly races through you in response.

“Again? We haven’t even finished the first time, sweetheart.”

#arlong #arlong x reader #one piece #self insert bullshit #my writing

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coldmilkcreamery · 3 years

Text

lux in tenebris

~ 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 ~

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: jung jaehyun x male reader 🌹🥀

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4182

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: set in the 1960’s, your relationship with Jaehyun blooms as you navigate a time when homosexuality is unacceptable.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝘀: hinted homophobia (but never shown)

𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 🌙

𝗮/𝗻: because valentines is jaehyun’s birthday !! hbd to my first bias <3 this story is so so fluffy, which is so unusual for me because i’m an angsty writer 🥴 also, i thought of this story while listening to ‘put your head on my shoulder’ !! every time i would write a part, i would listen to it <3 this is the longest story i’ve written, surpassing memories (which is also a jaehyun one btw, i think this unintentionally proves my dedication to him) !! i hope u guys like this because i’ve worked the hardest on this 🥺 happy valentines everyone ! <3

> 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 <

(some time in the 1960s~)

Everybody thought they were friends. The class-skipping, the after-school hangouts, the dinners at Anka’s Diner—everybody thought they were friends. And truly, they were.

But is that really all they were?

“So…” Jaehyun asks as they walk down the halls of Neo High, “Anyone approach for Valentine’s yet? I bet you’ve gotten more than three people to ask you out by now.”

Y/N chuckles, lightly shoving Jaehyun as the latter chuckles as well. “Man, stop it. No one asked me out. And who are you to say that? Star athlete, 6 pack abs, Jaehyun of the Neos, I'd say… 6 girls?”

“7, actually.” They both giggle as Jaehyun continues, “But… I shot all of them down.”

They both near Y/N’s locker, Jaehyun leaning on the ones beside as the former opens his and gets some books out. “Why? 7 girls… neat.”

“I have my eyes on someone else.” Jaehyun says, looking up, blushing at the ceiling, glad that Y/N’s locker door is obstructing the latter’s view of his face.

“Lucky girl.” Y/N says, nonchalantly as he closes the door to his locker. “She’ll say yes, don’t worry.”

“Sure hope they do. So… I'm guessing you're still on the make? You know, looking for a date?” Jaehyun says curiously, unknowingly hoping for a certain answer.

“I told you no one asked me out. And honestly, I’m fine with that. It's a Saturday on the 14th—maybe I should just stay home and listen to the radio.”

“Aww. That's fine little man.” Jaehyun says as they begin their trek towards their classes. “Maybe you could go out with me…” His voice softens, not wanting to alert those around them, “If you can't find anyone.”

Y/N chortles, smacking Jaehyun on the shoulder once again, “Kinda gay ain't it?”

“Nothing wrong with it.”

“You think the people around us’ll say the same?”

Jaehyun hums in acknowledgement as he fixes his tie, replying, “Okay then. Well, see ya’ later alligator.”

Y/N smiles as he sends the boy a wink, entering his classroom as the latter walks to his.

They both knew it. It was mutual knowledge. But unspoken. It was unspoken knowledge. The sly touches, the flirting—they both knew it.

But neither have made a real move yet.

“If you had one thing you could do right now, without being interrupted—without any distractions,” Jaehyun says, lying down on Y/N’s bed, throwing a baseball up in the air as he asks, “what would it be?”

“Hm.” Y/N ponders, pausing the movement of his pencil over the créme sheet of paper, placing it down. “Maybe…” he looks out the window, observing the orange to black ombré, “Moongazing. I just love the moon. The stars too.”

“You always talk about the moon.” Jaehyun stops throwing the white ball knitted with red fabric, catching it on one hand as he sits up. “What’s so bewitching about it anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N continues writing, the graphite marking the pages as it produces the only sound in the room apart from their voices. “It’s… calming. Not to mention, the twinkling stars look pretty too.”

“Twinkle twinkle little star…” Jaehyun sings softly as Y/N chuckles, throwing a pillow at the former.

“If you don’t believe me—”

“I do. I’ll take you for your word.” Jaehyun replies almost instantly. “I always do.”

“Neat. Now flake off. The sun is setting. You live three streets away, and I don't want you walking in the dark alone.” Y/N gets up from his seat at the window, turning to face Jaehyun.

“Walk me home then.” Jaehyun replies, a smirk on his face.

“That would mean I would be the one walking home alone in the dark, you dork.”

“Alright, alright.” Jaehyun replies, getting up from Y/N’s bed to give him a long, warm hug. Their bodies separate as Jaehyun blows Y/N a kiss, walking out the bedroom door, getting a snort in return.

The marmalade sun hides itself on the horizon as Y/N looks out the window, waving to Jaehyun as the latter walks out their front yard, beginning his journey home.

Oh God, was he falling.

It was getting increasingly difficult to resist. The sneaky flirts, the clever comebacks—it was getting increasingly difficult to resist.

And maybe he should stop doing so.

“Baby~” Jaehyun sneaks up on Y/N, whispering the words as the latter stiffens in surprise before smacking him lightly in the face.

“Dude. You gotta stop saying shit like that.” The boy sitting on his assigned chair replies, looking up at Jaehyun who is now seated on his desk. “Why are you here anyways? Don’t you have class soon?”

“You do.” Jaehyun replies, pointing at Y/N before pointing at himself, “I don’t. My first subject isn’t ‘till 9.”

“Hm.” Y/N mumbles as he looks back down on the sheet of paper with two unanswered math problems waiting to be solved. “Well, I forgot to complete this last night because I was too pre-occupied with English, and there’s five minutes left ‘till my class starts so I really gotta finish this.”

“Maybe you don’t.” Jaehyun replies, a plan already devising itself in his mind. “Do you maybe wanna… go to the park?”

Y/N looks up, a smirk forming on his face as he observes the same smirk on Jaehyun’s. They hold a stare for about five seconds before Y/N shoves the gray sheet of paper into his backpack, not caring if it was getting crumpled. In laughing fits, both boys run out the hall and eventually out the school too. Slowing down from their marathon-like sprint, they don't notice that they have their fingers interlocked. Y/N realizing this, he quickly untangles them as he straightens his uniform, Jaehyun unconsciously bummed out.

“Well,” Y/N says, looking up at Jaehyun who was already staring at him, “lead the way, my good sir.”

Jaehyun bows as he jokes, “Why of course, Milady. I’ll have you back in school by 9, just in time for your second subject.”

Both giggle as they skip to the grassy park, unknowingly spending the whole day out of school.

Maybe it was something in the air. Something they inhaled, passing their airways as it made its way to their heart, freeing them from their icy restraints. Maybe it was something in the air—or maybe something in the grass. But it made them both come out of their shells.

What took that damned O₂ so long to enter their lungs?

“Oh shit.” Y/N realizes halfway through fawning about a low-graphic, black and white but new cartoon that had just come out. He looks down on his right wrist as he scoffs. “You said you’d get me back in school by 9.” He says, annoyed, looking up at Jaehyun, “It’s 9:05”.

Jaehyun chuckles innocently, planting his palm on the back of your shoulder. “Well… if people see us here in the park when we’re supposed to be in class… we’ll get detention for skipping.” He says, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, totally didn't know that, Jae.” Y/N says, facetiously.

“Well… we could go to the movies? Or the fair…” Jaehyun brings his lips closer to Y/N ears as he whispers convincingly, “Or both.”

The flustered pulls away, hands pushing Jaehyun towards the opposite direction. “Fine. But I didn't bring my wallet today.”

“What do you want me to do about that?” Jaehyun replies, a look of sarcasm cascading his face. Y/N rolls his eyes before staring straight into Jaehyun’s, cracking his knuckles. Before he could get a word out, Jaehyun already surrenders. “Okay, okay! Calm down dude.” He chuckles. “But on one condition.”

“I’m listening.” Y/N replies, crossing his legs.

“Be my Valentine. For tomorrow.”

“W-”

“Dude, you don't have a valentine, I don't have a valentine—”

“Because you turned them all down!”

“Okay fair enough.” Jaehyun admits, “But it's not like I can ask them out again, it would be too humiliating for big ole’ Jae, wouldn't it?” He pouts, sticking his bottom lip out as he stares into Y/N’s eyes.

Y/N contemplates, sighing after a minute as he replies, “Fine.”

Jaehyun jumps in glee as he cheers, acting like a kid whose parents agreed to buy them ice cream.

“Just take me to the movies already.” Y/N sighs yet again, scratching his head as the taller calms down, bowing facetiously.

“Of course, Milady.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

The popcorn was exceptional. Splendid indeed. The pop of flavor just made everything fall into place. The popcorn was exceptional—maybe that’s why Jaehyun held the bag so cautiously.

And soon enough, that won’t be the only thing he’ll be holding—and eating, too.

“Mmmh.” Jaehyun moans as he sips his pop, taking a handful of popcorn right after.

“Dude, stop! We haven't even gotten in the theater yet and you're already devouring everything.” Y/N whines, upset. “By the time the movie starts, we’ll have nothing!”

“Chill,” Jaehyun replies, taking one last sip from his straw before he smiles at Y/N, “we can just buy another one.”

“You’re just wasting money.” Y/N groans, not wanting Jaehyun to spend any more.

“Okay, okay.” He replies, sealing his popcorn as they wait to be let in the theater.

Was it the popcorn in the theater? Something that gave Jaehyun the courage. Because Jaehyun had not been this bold 6 months ago. Was it the popcorn in the theater—or was it the soda pop?

It didn't matter. What he was going to do with his newly-found virtue did.

In the darkness, the mono-colored movie played as the bag of popcorn was set in between the boys.

“Remind me why we decided to watch a romance movie again?” Y/N brings his lips closer to Jaehyun’s ears as he whispers, not wanting to disturb the rest.

“People say it’s a good movie.”

“They both die.”

Jaehyun peels his eyes away from the screen to stare at Y/N, a look of disbelief washing over his face. “You just spoiled the movie for me.”

“Everybody knows the story of Romeo and Juliet.” Y/N replies, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I don’t.” Jaehyun whispers, looking back at the projected movie, correcting himself, “Didn’t. I guess I do now.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t know though.” Y/N remarks, grabbing popcorn from their shared bucket, staring at the movie playing.

“Now I do, and…” Jaehyun looks at Y/N once again, his cheeks burning as he braves and says, “I guess it’s a good thing we’ll both be Romeos tomorrow.”

Y/N lightly chuckles, trying to ignore what Jaehyun had just said, keeping his eyes glued to the movie.

Unsatisfied with Y/N’s reaction, Jaehyun slips his fingers past the bucket of popcorn and onto Y/N’s, resting on the armrest. With the sudden weight and warmth on his hand, Y/N tenses—but doesn’t look at Jaehyun. Rather, he watches the movie intently, silently hoping he doesn’t give in.

Jaehyun leans closer to Y/N, lips right next to his ears as he whispers, “I’m cold.”

And he gives in.

Their fingers interlock in the dark of the theater, the sounds of dialogue from the movie filling the enclosed space up. No one can see them—it’ll be alright.

Jaehyun always found rings cute. A cheese ring, a metal ring, the ring around Saturn. Jaehyun always found rings cute,

But his greatest wish was to put a diamond one around Y/N’s finger.

“This is a scam.” Y/N retorts, hands crossed. He stares at Jaehyun as they stand in line for a hoop game on the board walk’s carnival, a few minutes after their exit from the theater.

“There’s no harm in trying.” Jaehyun replies, his eyes on the prize—a teddy bear the size of a toddler.

“That’s like saying ‘There’s no harm in getting scammed’, Jae.”

“Well,” Jaehyun cheekily replies, smirking as he blurts, “there’s no harm in getting scammed for you.”

Y/N looks at Jaehyun in disbelief as the flirt grabs 3 round hoops, preparing to land them on the moving bottles. Much like Y/N’s prediction, the first hoop falls too early and too far from the bottles, the second slides off after nearing and the third one flies too far and hits the stall owner. Jaehyun cringes as the owner painfully smirks, the feeling of victory of scamming another customer engulfing the latter’s mind, accompanied by the feeling of pain from the metal object recently hurled at his stomach.

“At least we have consolation candy?” Jaehyun’s face agonizes, embarrassment taking over.

“At least we have consolation candy.” Y/N repeats, grabbing a handful as he smiles at the owner and makes a 180°, leaving the booth. Jaehyun follows behind, hands in his pocket as he looks around the fair.

“Oooh,” Jaehyun interests, “What about that one?” He says, pointing at the game with a man in his 20’s trapped inside a container with water below, fate depending on his partner’s aim at the target.

“How about no?” Y/N replies, chuckling shortly after, “If you like water so much…

how do you feel about the beach?”

Tonight was the night. It wasn’t the 14th—it was the day before. But Jaehyun was more than confident enough to make a move. Tonight was the night—and nothing could go wrong.

Or so he hopes.

The tangerine sun meets the navy water once again, its center resting at the edge of the coast. Both boys walk down the beach, hands in pockets as they keep their feelings in.

“Pretty isn’t it?” Jaehyun perks up as he stares at Y/N breaking the silence. “The sun setting.” Jaehyun nods as Y/N continues. “It’s a shame that it’s disappearing soon. Give it a few minutes more and there won’t be a trace of orange on the sky.”

“It’s just how it is.” Jaehyun replies.

“Exactly.” Y/N gleams, the wind blowing on his shirt. “As much as I love seeing the sun, and as much as I hate seeing it go, I see it as a good thing too.”

“What do you mean?” Jaehyun replies, sparkles in his eyes as he stares at Y/N, only the calm waters and the sun’s secant behind him.

“I see it as, ‘if you love something, you have to let something else go’, or something of the sort.” Y/N chuckles, his hands still in his pockets, “I love the sun so much, but if it means seeing the night sky again, I’d give it up every single day, every single time, every single chance I get.”

“You must love the moon and stars so much, huh.” Jaehyun awes as his skin glows under the dying sun’s radiating tint.

Y/N nods as both boys settle down on a spot by the ocean, watching the sun submerge, darker and bluer hues taking over the early evening sky. They sit there for a few minutes, staring at the ocean waves, thinking about their current situation. As they contemplate, the sky has completely changed, from warm hues into cooler and darker ones, the moon showing itself first.

“There you go.” Jaehyun chuckles, laying his back on the sand as he points up, “Your favorite.”

Y/N follows the direction Jaehyun’s finger is pointing at as he looks up at the indigo atmosphere, a faint, glowing crescent standing out. He beams as he appreciates the moon’s presence, basking in it. “Thank you for today, Jae.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget about tomorrow okay?”

Y/N nods as he gets up, dusting his shorts off from the sand. The other gets up as well, doing the same as Y/N watches.

Just as the latter is about to leave, Jaehyun speaks up. “Wait!” Y/N faces him once again, a sparkle on his eyes as he wonders why he was called back. “I— I have something to say.” Jaehyun shivers, clenching his fists as he breathes in and out, preparing himself for his own confession. “For the longest time I’ve— I’ve looked up to you and I just wanna say,” Y/N raises his eyebrows, the sound of waves crashing onto the beach filling his ears, “I like you.”

‘I like you’. The words ring in Y/N ears, the syllables painting his eardrums with love. It seems great at first but then he remembers—the predjudice, the shame, the disgrace, the dishonor—and doubles back. “Y-you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.” Jaehyun says as he inches closer to Y/N, his hand grazing the latter’s cheek as he pulls closer. Their lips touch under the moonlight, the stars and benthics as their witness. The taste of strawberry fills Y/N’s taste buds, the savory flavor of intimacy filling his mouth. With the doting feeling of passion engulfing Y/N’s body, he kisses back. They move in sync for a few seconds until Jaehyun pulls away, the feeling of endearment filling his mind as he registers that he had just kissed Y/N—the one he's been pining for for the past few years. Of course, that feeling isn't long-lasting as he notices Y/N take a step back, fear in the latter’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Jaehyun questions, his words coming out as a mere whisper. Y/N doesn't reply as he takes more steps back, mortified. Jaehyun reaches his hand out—and that’s all it takes to send Y/N running.

He sprints the opposite direction, ignoring Jaehyun’s shouts behind him. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as his shoes hit the sand continuously, fear and disappointment fueling his run.

Jaehyun is left alone, under the moonlit beach, and instead of hearing his beloved’s voice, only the sound of waves fill his ears, sending him into full regret.

Was it like water? Sometimes everything would be blithe—calm, tranquil water, their insouciant selves enjoying the world. But sometimes it would be erratic too—the unpredictable waves engulfing them and their relationship. Was it like water—their love for one another?

Jaehyun just hopes it wouldn’t dry up.

“Thought I’d find you up here.” Jaehyun mutters as he closes the rooftop door, making a sound as it closes again. It’s been a few hours since the beach incident, the moon already glowing brighter. “Look, I’m sorry for kiss–”

“Don’t be.” Y/N replies, keeping his voice as stern as possible, despite already being on the verge of tears. “It was great, I just,” Y/N pauses, takes in the night sky’s view for the last time before he breaks down, and plants his eyes on Jaehyun, still by the rooftop door. “Don’t you think this is wrong?”

“What is?” Jaehyun replies, already knowing the answer he would receive.

“This.” Y/N replies, whining dejectedly as he gets up from his sitting position, facing Jaehyun. “This is. We’re both guys, we shouldn't be flirting, let alone kissing!”

“Why does it matter?” Jaehyun questions, stepping forward as he tries his best to keep his tears in.

“It just does Jaehyun!” Y/N yells back, the exact opposite of Jaehyun’s hushed tone, his voice echoing out into the night sky. “It just does.” He repeats, tears pooling on the corner of his eyes.

“If it does, then…” Jaehyun steps back, the feeling of woe engulfing him, “you never liked me the same way I like you.”

“No!” Y/N replies almost immediately, a tear already slipping out, painting his right cheek, “I, I like you Jae, I like you so fucking much. Every single moment we’ve had, every single moment we’ve shared—I relish every bit of it. I can’t stop liking you—I’ll never stop liking you. But,” Y/N pauses, “I’m scared.”

Jaehyun steps closer to Y/N, pulling him into his embrace as the latter cries out onto his shoulder, tears staining his t-shirt, “Don’t be.”

“But I am.” Y/N replies, sniffing as he tightens his grip on Jaehyun’s body. “I’m scared of everything—What if people talk bad about us, behind our backs? What if our parents kick us out? What if we get expelled? What if—”

“Shh.” Jaehyun shushes, his hand rubbing Y/N’s back slowly, the strokes calming the latter down. “Stop thinking about the ‘what ifs’, just focus on me.”

“I’m sorry, I know I overthink a lot.” Y/N mumbles, pulling away from their embrace as he looks Jaehyun in the eyes, the moonlight shining on them. “I’m just… scared of the darkness that awaits, you know?”

“I get you.” Jaehyun replies as he stares at Y/N, melancholic. “And I’ll do whatever it takes, okay? I’ll be your candle, your shining light, anything that’ll get you through the darkness.”

“Thanks.” Y/N chuckles, looking down, noticing the sand still on Jaehyun’s shoes. “But that still doesn’t change what people would think about…” He points to Jaehyun, then at himself, repeatedly, “this.”

Jaehyun hums as he guides Y/N to the ledge of the rooftop, sitting both him and himself down as they stare out onto the deserted school field below. “Remember what you said about the sun, just a few hours ago when we were down at the beach?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I’d give it all up. All of it. My status, my family, my friends—all of it…” Jaehyun says, peeling his eyes off the dark field below them and locking them with Y/N’s, passion fueling his words, “if it meant I could be with you. Because as much as I love them, if it means seeing you in my arms, I’d give them all up every single day, every single time, every single chance I get.”

Y/N forces a sob in, trying his best not to break down. “But why?” He replies, feeling tears pool again.

“Because I’m serious with you, dude.” Jaehyun replies as Y/N chuckles, the tears still in his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to tell you all this for a while now.”

Y/N snickers louder, he and his best friend’s intimacy overwhelming him. He takes in Jaehyun’s form, the moon casting its light down on him, and makes a desicion. “Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Fine, you can be my candle. Fine, you can be my shining light. Fine…” Y/N pauses, trying to find the right words, “Fine, I’ll give this—us—a chance.”

Jaehyun quickly switches moods from his dejected one to a grin from ear to ear, painting over his gloomy look. “Does that mean you’re still my valentine for tomorrow...” Jaehyun pauses, looks at his watch then looks back into Y/N’s eyes, noticing all the sorrow fading, “I mean later?”

“Yes, dude.”

“We have to stop calling each other that now, babe.”

“Ew. Too cheesy don’t you think?”

“Not at all. I think it suits you.”

Both men chuckle as they stare out into the landscape, a completely new bond between them formed.

“Since it’s Valentine’s Day already,” Jaehyun mumbles as he looks toward Y/N’s direction, “do you mind giving me a kiss?” Y/N stops his peaceful gaze on the stars as he locks eyes with Jaehyun, noticing the sparkles in his eyes. “No running away this time though.”

Y/N chuckles before he places his hand on Jaehyun’s cheek, moving closer and closer, feeling their taboo love get stronger and stronger. Their lips touch as he realizes that Jaehyun’s lips taste more like peaches than strawberries. With this thought in mind, he smiles into their kiss, the feeling of fear leaving his body as he feels his best friend’s—now boyfriend’s—lips on his.

Instead of the briny ocean water witnessing their love wither merely 6 hours earlier, it was now the magnificent moon and the stunning stars bearing witness to their young, requited love bloom.

Maybe it was the stigma. The thing that kept them apart for so long. Maybe it was the stigma—or maybe they were both just pussies.

Good thing they grew some balls.

“I think I get why you like the moon and stars so much.” Jaehyun blurts as the two lay on the beach once again, staring up at the glittered night sky, the valentine air floating out and about.

“And why’s that?” Y/N says as he looks up at Jaehyun, curiosity devouring him.

“It reminds me of a phrase in Latin.” He replies, smiling as the bijou stars twinkled at them, as if they were smiling. “It means light in darkness.” Y/N nods. “The moon, the stars—they paint the plain black sky and turn it into something stunning. I can’t look away from it now. Whenever I look up at night, I’ll always remember you.”

“Good for you.” Y/N chuckles, shifting his gaze from his boyfriend’s cheek and placing it back on the painting-like sky above them, miniature dots glistening on the canvas. “What’s that phrase again? If it sounds pretty, I just might get it tattooed on me.”

“Light in darkness,” Jaehyun stops, smiling back at the specs winking at them, “and in Latin,” Y/N looks up at Jaehyun, only to catch him staring back, stars in his eyes,

“Lux in tenebris.”

End.

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙: 02.04.21

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙: 02.13.21

236 notes · View notes

watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Dreams, Chapter 12

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 12

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2369

Summary: Finally starting to talk about the dreams encourages Sam to start trusting himself.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

In an ideal world, you would’ve been patient enough to let Sam bring it up next. But adding the layer of possibility of seeing Dean, really Dean, again, opening some channel to talk to him in your dreams, was sending you into a spiral that ironically was preventing you from sleeping.

You lasted a few weeks before waking up on a morning of early spring melt and waiting for Sam at the breakfast bar with your now-prized notebook. He came out of the bedroom as you were cutting a grapefruit for him and you passed over a cup of coffee.

“You seem, uh, chipper.” He was still blinking slowly like he always did for the first few minutes after waking up, fingers wrapping nearly all the way around the ceramic and bypassing the handle.

Waiting until he sat down on one of the stools and smiling at how short it looked compared to his legs, you put a bowl of yogurt and granola in front of him next to the fruit. Cheap bribery, but you were willing to try anything you had. “I’m hoping maybe we can, um, try to figure this out. I thought if we could make kind of a timeline then maybe we could—” you stammered, having run through this script in your head and still feeling your heart ram against your ribs as you watched for Sam’s reaction. He set the mug down and rubbed his face before resting his head in his hands.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I mean, yeah. I’ve been—I don’t know, I’ve just—”

“Sam, you don’t have to explain anything.”

His mouth tightened into a firm line and you could see his jaw flex before he picked up a spoon and started stirring the granola into his yogurt. “Where do you want to start?”

You’d had a small variety of dreams where Dean narrowly avoided death, but you and Sam decided the best place to start would be the dreams that were explicitly good. That left:

Sam hadn’t immediately offered what his dreams with Dean were about, and when you sensed that moment of hesitation you didn’t push. That privacy was the least you could give him, already feeling guilty at prying into his thoughts as much as you were.

“Well, what about those days? Did anything different happen on the days you had those dreams?” you asked, trying to change tack.

He raised his eyebrows and considered it for a minute. “The first time was obviously the, uh, the cupcakes.”

Remembering it made you smile a little to yourself and you wrote it down in the notebook. “And the next?”

“Uh, that Thursday.”

“Right, but what happened that day?”

Sam bit the inside of his lip. “Nothing, really.”

“Okay, well work sucked, that’s for sure. Maybe that was it, that you were more tired? Remember I fell asleep on the couch while you were in the shower?”

“If you weren’t covered in grenadine I would’ve left you there.”

“Can you imagine how sticky and gross I would’ve been in the morning? So work was shitty, I fell asleep on the couch, what else—”

“You folded my laundry for me.”

“What?”

He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “You, uh, you folded my laundry for me.”

“I always fold laundry.”

“No—not the laundry, my laundry. I forgot a bunch of my stuff in the dryer and you folded it while I was in the shower.”

“I really doubt me folding th—”

“We talked about it in the dream, it was the laundry.” Before you could pry, he took a big gulp of coffee. “So where does that put us?”

“Wait, I’m still on the laundry.”

“It was…I don’t know, it was just really nice. It felt like a really nice, normal thing. And it’s not—I mean, who cares, it was just laundry, about the lowest stakes favor there’s ever been in our lives, but it kind of hit me how far we’d come and it made me realize I’d fold your laundry too, you know? The big stuff we’ve already proven, right? But it’s little stuff like folding the laundry, that day-in, day-out, I’m-thinking-about-you—”

“Gummy worms,” you murmured.

“What?”

“I feel like that when you buy me gummy worms. Maybe you’re just doing that because Dean did or whatever, but there’s something about those extra things that add up. I get it.”

“I—yeah.” Sam gulped.

You started writing.

Spinning the notebook back toward him, you let Sam read and didn’t say anything for a long minute past when he was sure to have finished, even getting up to refill your coffee cups while he thought. You came back to the counter and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, unwilling to be the first one to speak.

Sam’s jaw tightened around nothing and he nodded slightly without looking up, vision trained on a blank spot of counter next to his bowl. When he finally tilted and met your eyes, his were so big and shiny, so Precious Moments that you almost would’ve laughed, almost would’ve smacked his shoulder and told him to stop manipulating you with those Victim’s Family Puppy Dog Eyes. But they were genuine and unmoving, electric with emotion in the morning light. You traced the angle of his jaw and slipped a fallen piece of hair behind his ear before steadying your palm on the back of his neck, hair warming your fingertips as you met his eyes, leaning an inch or two closer to Sam’s face and then he glanced down at your lips. He didn’t move at all as you slowly, carefully closed the distance between you until at the last second Sam wrapped his fingers around your wrist where it grazed his throat and turned into it, pressing his lips to the now-thrumming pulse there for an extended beat.

He opened and closed his mouth to try to explain, but you kissed his forehead in apology before he could say anything.

“I, um—thank you for going over these with me,” you whispered into his hairline, feeling his nod against you. You broke away from him, taking his empty bowl to the sink for an excuse to do something with your hands. “I need new scrapers to take off the popcorn ceiling, is there anything else I should get at the hardware store?” You knew it would be hard to hear you over the running water to wash the dish, but you couldn’t risk your voice cracking if you spoke louder.

Mercifully, he didn’t push. “Nothing I can think of, no.”

You left a few minutes later while Sam was in the shower, careening way too fast around the curves in the rural highways just to feel the weight of the Impala strain to stay on track. There were so many things coming together, so many sweet and comfortable aspects to your life, but it was so frustrating to have the two you wanted most to be just barely out of reach; the ability to be truly happy with Sam or to see Dean in your dreams both obfuscated by the self-flagellating remnants of Sam’s unimaginable torture.

And yet, impossible for you to be angry with Sam at all; it was yet another in a long stream of ways his life had been torn to shreds by external forces, yet another reminder of how unimaginably resilient he was to be standing at all. Screaming at the complete unfairness of it like a moody teenager in the privacy afforded by the car and the trees, you only had to wipe a few tears away in the parking lot before going into the hardware store.

Diane was working and had some helpful tips for dealing with the ceilings, as well as a picture of her new grandchild to show you before you headed back to the cabin. You had to bump the front door open with your hip because of the heavy paper bag of supplies, and when Sam heard you he walked over from the couch with a few long strides, taking it out of your hands. His hair was still wet, dripping an uneven collar around his shirt.

“Is this—uh, did you—do you only want this so we can see Dean again?”

You weren’t expecting to get into it again, at least not right away, and had to take a deep breath to soothe your surprise at Sam’s nervous energy. He set the bag down a little roughly on the kitchen counter as you followed him inside.

“Sam, of course not, Jesus. I mean, but I—but yeah, I want to see him again, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” He winced, pained even at the suggestion otherwise.

“I’m sorry I misread the moment earlier. I’m—I, I love you Sam; those days were the only real happy ones I’ve had since Dean died, and if being together means we get to—” and you were cut off by Sam’s hands cupping your face as he kissed you, firm and urgent with tight closed lips like he was trying to seal himself to your skin.

It was over as soon as it started, Sam holding your head as he pulled his own away and searching your eyes. “If it isn’t rea—” he stopped short, screwed his face together before continuing, consciously unclenched his jaw and smoothed the furrows of his eyebrows. “If we’re doing this, it has to be about us. I can’t—I just can’t build everything on some dreams.”

You nodded, stunned.

Sam kept looking between your eyes furiously like he was trying to communicate something you weren’t getting. You tried desperately to race through what it could be and came up short, your brain melting and swirling together inside your skull. It was impossible for you to tell whether he’d found what he wanted or not, but after a few brief seconds of shifting his center of gravity like he was getting ready to either be socked or start a sprint, his face tightened in frustration and he touched his forehead to yours. “Fuck, I’m—I’m not ready,” he growled, more to himself than anything as he shut his eyes hard. You waited for an explanation, your breath gone shallow and your cheeks fiery-hot under Sam’s hands.

He brushed along your cheekbone with a callused thumb and lifted your chin with featherweight pressure, your lips not a half inch apart from each other. You inhaled the citrus off his breath and held perfectly still until Sam finally kissed you again. It was softer than moments before but just as serious, the emotional weight of his lips so much more than the tender movement of them against yours. As kisses went, it was one of the most innocent you’d had—even more than your first kiss ever, middle school boy you’d thought was cute at the roller rink whose braces had caught on your lips—but if this was what Sam could handle it was enough for you, would have to be enough for you. You kissed back only as his mirror and broke away when he did feeling dizzy with complicated restraint.

“I’m almost there, I’m so sorry, I’m almost there,” he murmured, straight into the inches between you so you could let them soak in. “Please, I’m so sorry, I just—if it’s not real I can’t—”

You wrapped your hands around his where they held your head. “I know. I know, Sam, I know.”

Later you wouldn’t remember how you’d moved on to the rest of the day, rhythmically scraping popcorn texture off of drywall while listening to Bikini Kill. But it was a hug and a few tears in a chain of thousands between you, and that was part of it. Like Sam had said, those moments that meant so little on their own and added up over time. You both worked on different chunks of the ceiling and got through a good amount of it. The difference was remarkable, making the cabin look so much cleaner and more modern. After your shoulders got too sore to keep going, Sam threw together a bastardized puttanesca and you both tried really hard to lighten the mood over dinner, ending the evening feeling pretty close to normal.

When you climbed into bed, Sam leaned over so that his hair fell in a curtain around your face. The closeness took your breath away, and you cursed your body for betraying you like this, unable to focus for the scent of familiar warmth coming off of him and hypnotic color shift of his eyes. For a fleeting second of panic you wondered if he would ever feel protective and safe again or if these shocks of heat—spurred on by what, two chaste kisses?—were all you’d ever feel around Sam again, if you’d be able to sleep knowing how close to tipping over that boundary you were.

You could tell from the look in his eyes that he was going to apologize and stopped him by resting a finger on his mouth as he opened it to speak. He smiled against your hand, gentle and a little sad, before touching his lips to yours for the third time that day. It felt like some kind of healing burn; a cauterizing iron splitting you in half and reassuring you that scattered into pieces was the way you were supposed to be; giving you permission to crumble into dust, let yourself be swept away trusting that there was a plan for the place that every grain of yourself would land. There was no way to know precisely Sam’s intention, but if it was to send your mind unspooling like a cheap yo-yo about what that fourth, fifth, sixth kiss might feel like, he had succeeded.

“Thank you,” he whispered, holding your gaze for a moment before turning off the light and fitting himself like a puzzle piece along the curve of your back.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 13

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears. You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard. The best part? You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main. He might just love you.

alt summary. Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing. jeon jungkook

genre + rating. fluffy crack, smut. explicit.

warning / tags. long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish), eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch, oral (f receiving), fingering, enough sweetness you’ll get cavities.

reading. n/a. a three part one-shot.

word count. ~8400

part iii.

JUNGKOOK’S HOTEL ROOM Sunday, 3 May, 2020. 12:20 AM (LA), 4:20 PM (Seoul).

There’s nothing quite like the feeling after a show. How it crowds cavities behind his molars and sets his heart off on a marathon, exhilaration colouring his cheeks and stealing his voice. It’s something he’ll never get tired of - all the best parts of this journey presented on a silver platter.

Still, he thinks talking to you might be a close second.

“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,” you chide, playfully, with a mouthful of granola. It crunch crunch crunches in his ears, blocking the sound of his own laughter, ringing and half out of breath.

“I said I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy. Things have just been—” Crazy? Out of this world? Some kind of wonderful? “—hectic.” He all but throws himself across his bed, the luxurious hotel sheets soft against his still overheated cheek. It feels nice but steals the strength of his voice, muffling his words as he continues, like a runaway train with no destination in mind.

You laugh at him as you always do, mirth sprinkled over teasing like little treasures to be found among the vowels and consonants. “It’s fine , Jay.” The name - not his name - rolls off your tongue, dragged out by the giggles you can’t help. “I know you’re a busy guy. Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done, Jungkook thinks. You’ve been on his mind every day, in between the practices and the performances. A silhouette shaped like you - not that he knows how you’re shaped - existing in the recesses of his thoughts.

“Anyway, I finally stopped losing SR so it’s not all bad...”

He doesn’t register what you’re saying. Not at first, anyway. But when he does? He’s belligerent, the loudest shriek rocketing out of his chest as he dissolves into laughter. So you were a little bit better than him. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, sandbag.”

Your mockery shouldn’t have the dumbest smile spreading like wildfire but it does, the expression eating up every ounce of his exhausted self. He can’t fight it, glee working itself every which way until he’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his jaw aches.

“You’re mean,” he manages in between the teeth-numbing joy, chest heaving.

He’s certain you don’t mean it the way he takes it. “And yet you love it.”

God, if only you knew.

He wants to tell you so badly - wants to shout it from the rooftops until he’s blue in the face and without a voice. He thinks he’d have a chance, maybe, if your passed secrets at midnight and tender goodnights were any indication.

But he can’t, because he’s him and you’re, well, you, and really, it’s just his fault.

“Did you die?” You steal him out of his reverie, tearing him wholly from inside that overthinking head of his. It’s one of the things you’re best at (other than keeping him alive in Overwatch).

He sighs and it’s a wistful sound, softer than any other that’s passed between you since getting on the phone fifteen minutes ago. “I’m good, yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? I thought I might’ve lost you for a second.”

The playfulness has returned, rounding syllables in a way that’s very distinctly you.

“Yes, Mom .”

“Watch it or you’re grounded, young man!”

“Do you even know how old I am?” Probably not, because he doesn’t know that about you either.

For all of the secrets you’ve shared, these very basic pieces of information are ones you’ve never exchanged. They’ve always been held tightly to the chest, held hostage behind sharp gates of enamel. There was too much at stake when it came to these identifiers.

Sure, you’d told him about your greatest fear - losing one of your parents without being able to say goodbye - and sure, he’d told you his - not being good enough and letting the people he loves down even when he’s trying as hard as he can - but your ages? Where you grew up? Your real names? That was out of the question.

“Are you about to tell me you’re sixteen? Have I been friends with a high school student this whole time?” You’re chuckling at your own genius. He really doesn't think you’re that funny - low hanging fruit and all that - but he likes the way it sounds, curling out of your mouth like smoke.

“I’m actually twelve . Geez, get it right.”

You gasp, scandalized and as if you really believe him. It makes him choke on his own spit and he has to roll over onto his stomach, effectively trapping his phone between his chest and the bed as he struggles to regulate his breathing.

“I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

It’s a joke. Obviously , it’s a joke. He shouldn’t take it seriously.

And yet he’s fueled with the need to rebuff it, speaking before he has a chance to stop it, the words coming in a flurry. It’s a verbal snowstorm, locking the conversation in place - like Mei’s ultimate except he’s trapped in it, too. “I have something to tell you.” There’s no going back now.

For once, you’re not tearing holes in his confidence - not that you ever do with any sort of animosity. Your relationship was equal parts give and take, honey and vinegar coexisting in perfect harmony.

When Jungkook doesn’t immediately continue, you give him a little push. “Spit it out, Jay.”

“My name isn’t Jay.” A small, insecure part of him worries that that’s enough to shatter the careful friendship you’ve crafted. You - Jinny, the ineffable - remain surprisingly silent. He’s not sure whether that’s encouraging or disheartening. “I… haven’t really been honest with you.”

Already he can feel the nervous energy in his limbs, anxiety replacing the high he’d been on only an hour ago.

“I’m…” How does he start? “I’m not just… some guy.” Okay, that sounds bad. He’s backtracking. “I mean, I’m a guy. I’m normal.” This is going so poorly. His breath catches in his throat, teeth worrying incessantly over the soft cherry Chapsticked contour of his bottom lip. “I’m just not, y’know, your average guy. I’m actually like, uh...”

Jungkook has never stuttered this much in his entire goddamn life.

“My name’s Jeon Jungkook and I’m the golden maknae of Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

It comes in such a rush that you probably don’t hear it clearly. He’s introduced himself this same way for over half a decade and even it sounds strange to his ears.

When you don’t respond after what feels like an eternity, he’s left to his own devices, filling the silence with the erratic beating of his heart.

“Jinny?” It comes smaller than he means it to, uncertain and filled with hesitation. Still, nothing. He wants to toss himself off the 37th floor balcony so he doesn’t have to feel this way. “Can you say something?”

Your voice is far more measured than his own. You’re trying to be serious, he thinks. “I… kind of - sort of - already knew?”

Well, he hadn’t expected that.

“What?”

“I mean, the other members don’t exactly knock before they barge into your room screaming your name.” A beat. He can hear the laughter that’s threatening to knock your words into submission. “ And you posted a cover of a song I sent you.”

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit .

That was definitely his fault. It’d just been so good - living in his head and in his heart rent-free. “ Never Not’s a good song!” He retorts, like that’s an appropriate rebuttal.

“I know, doofus.”

“You’re the doofus!”

The two of you were back, glazing over the revelation like it was nothing more than a little bump in the road.

“Thank you for telling me, though.” He imagines you’re smiling - can practically hear it in your voice. Somehow, it feels different. Sunnier than usual, blinding in its intensity. “I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

“Would you have been mad if I didn’t?” Though he asks, he’s not sure if he’s ready for the answer.

“Of course not.”

“Really?”

You’re only a little exasperated when you reassure him. “Of course not. You’re still you - no matter what you do.”

Whatever best case scenario he’d imagined doesn’t hold a candle to this. He’s a million miles over the moon. You must be able to tell because he can hear you stifling sound, trails of laughter buzzing around in his ears like hummingbirds.

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean ‘what now’ ? Didn’t you hear what I just said?” There’s no venom in your words. “You’re still you, Jay.”

“It’s Jungkook.” There’s that unabashed need to hear his name. He hopes it isn’t too obvious.

“I know but that’s gonna be hard to get used to.”

“Is your real name Jinny?” He’s always wondered.

“It’s Yoojin. Jinny’s just my nickname.”

“Well, Jinny—” He says it dragged out and silly. “—want to come to one of our shows?”

“I live in Seoul.”

“So what?”

The second time sounds exactly like the first. He snorts. “I live in Seoul .”

"I’ll fly you to Osaka.”

It’s the first time he’s heard you genuinely shocked. It strips the usual mischief from your tone, draping it in lily white and baby’s breath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more. At least, not in a very long time.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

It sounds better than he could have ever imagined.

KYOCERA DOME OSAKA Thursday, 23 July, 2020. 10 PM.

Does he smell bad? Should he have showered first? Would you be grossed out?

These are all the thoughts running through his mind, chasing themselves in circles like a dog after its own tail. They revolve in a neverending merry-go-round, creasing worry into his brow and dropping his mouth into a little O-shaped pout.

“You ready, Jungkookie?” Jimin’s doing what he does best - draping himself across his maknae’s shoulders without a care in the world.

“Are you nervous?” Hobi’s swiping through his phone, dark hair a stylishly dishevelled mess around his angelic face. He’s still got traces of makeup around his eyes and his clip-on earrings glint under fluorescent light.

A hand lands hard on his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. “Of course he is.” Namjoon can read him like a book, shooting Jungkook his signature smile in the same instance he receives one.

“I’m not nervous!” The youngest chirps in a voice that warbles like a baby bird.

Everyone laughs at that and he can feel his ears burning around the edge of his baseball cap. It creeps over the shell and down his neck, descending blossoms of colour into the collar of his shirt.

“Shouldn’t you get going?” It’s Yoongi that reminds him of the time, the rapper only barely cracking an eye open as he taps the face of his steel-cased Audemars Piguet. He’s right.

Jungkook jolts out of his seat, scrambling to his feet - all four thousand dollars of his designer boots - and nearly knocks Jimin off the back of the couch he’d been precariously balanced on. The overeager bunny shouts an apology that’s lost amongst even louder laughter as he tears out of the room.

He’s going to be late .

He doesn’t think he’s ever ran so fast in his life - darting past bicycling seniors and tourists with all the grace of a boy in love. He somehow manages to find the entrance of the BIC CAMERA store without much hassle, rooting himself just left of the door when his phone screen registers 10:30 PM.

A little triumphant whoop! presses into the sponge-like material of his facemask in the same moment he catches sight of a waving hand.

He’s not sure whether it’s the mask or the sight of you that’s making it hard to breathe.

“Hi.” You sound exactly like you always have and yet six months of hearing your voice somehow doesn't prepare him for it. It hits him like a ton of bricks, crashing his resolve into the soles of his feet. There’s something about you that makes him squint - like staring directly at the sun. His heart stutters in his chest. He thinks, dimly, he can hear bells in the distance. It’s probably from a food stall, but he doesn’t care.

It’s the first meeting he’s always dreamed of, wrapped up in an adorable pink Cooky headband.

He’s scooping you into his arms before he can think better of it, twirling you around like the princess you are. It probably isn’t appropriate - you’ve only just met - but he can’t resist. You feel so good in his arms, weightless and yet entirely grounding.

The fact that you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck, easily reciprocating his onslaught of affection, doesn't go unnoticed. He tucks away this knowledge into the sleeve of his shirt for safekeeping.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. You’re back on your two feet, black military boots of your own on solid ground once again.

Standing so close, he can smell your perfume. Its notes of vanilla and cola and something powdery, reminiscent of babies and home. You’re smaller than he imagined, with narrow shoulders and wide hips. Like him, you look to be about 95% leg, faded blue denim hugging your thighs and falling loosely around the tops of your Doc Martens. Your top is long-sleeved but semi-sheer and he can make out what he thinks are inkings over your skin, little trails in greyscale and colour that draw his stare.

Stop being weird , he tells himself when he finally manages to refocus, tearing his gaze from the jasmine branches that traverse your limbs and training it on your eyes instead.

Bad idea, Jungkook.

He’s lost in the colour of your irises - an impossibly dark brown that twinkles under the awning lights - and the heart-shaped turn of your jaw. He’s all too distracted by the high contours of your cheeks, the turn of your button nose, the dusty pink that fills the shape of your mouth and fades prettily against your skin.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” The way your lips move should be a chargeable offence. They coax into a smirk that’s equal parts soft and vexing, singular dimple presenting itself with the motion.

God, he’s so in over his head. He can feel it in his bones.

So he laughs - because that’s what he does when he’s unnerved - and the sound is a pack of hyenas. It’s Lion King on Broadway, sweeping above the already boisterous cacophony of the entertainment district.

“Your laugh is even better in person.” You’ve said better and not worse and even though he’s a little self-conscious - a decidedly not Jungkook-like thing to be - he preens from the praise.

“Yeah?” Can you see the hearts in his eyes? He imagines they’ve replaced his pupils.

“Yeah. But don’t let that get to your head, mister.”

“Already has - sorry.”

You laugh in sync and it’s music to his ears - the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

The two of you fall into your routine in a way that feels effortless, the back and forth banter rivalling that of best friends.

You tease him mercilessly, picking up on all his little idiosyncrasies - how he stands at stop lights, pigeon-toed and adorable; how he jams his hands into the back pocket of his jeans in tandem with the tips of his ears burning bright red; how his laugh sometimes trips over itself and splinters like a kid going through puberty. He doesn’t mind any of it, truthfully, because it means you’re paying attention to him just as much as he is you.

Because he sees all of your little habits too - watches them unfold before his eyes in technicolour. You bite your own lip when you think you’ve said something particularly funny. You wiggle your head on your shoulders like a bobblehead when he says something snappy, equally biting remarks softened by the way you bob up and down. You don’t step on cracks, even if it means you’re straining those strangely long legs of yours to carry yourself a few inches further.

You don’t have any patience - something he’s known since the beginning - but that he realizes with a front row seat when you’re shoving a takoyaki into his face. There’s steam curling off it and the smell is intoxicating but he can practically feel the roof of his mouth burning when you’re relentlessly offering it to him. You’re not even deterred by the fact that he’s got a facemask on.

“Open up!”

Jungkook wants to say no - should say no, for the sake of his own health - but he accepts it anyway.

It sears white hot pain the moment it lands on his tongue, teeth buzzing uncomfortably as he bites into the dough. He’s sucking air in through his teeth, the cold barely doing anything to alleviate the sting. He probably looks stupid as hell.

Of course, you’re laughing at him, lips curled in on themselves as you try to choke back the sound.

“Too hot?” You coo, feigning surprise. You do feel a little bad - he can see it in the flex of your jaw, how your bamboo stick-wielding hand lingers in the space between you. “My bad.”

He chews once, twice - tries to keep it to a minimum because holy shit , does it hurt - before swallowing. It burns on the way down. “You eat one now.” He’s pushing the tray towards you, long fingers curled around yours as he all but tries to make you face plant into the plate.

“I don’t like squid,” you deadpan, lying through those neat white teeth of yours. You’d literally made takoyaki at home a few weeks ago. He’d dared you to put an entire wasabi ball into one and you’d done it.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

So it goes for the rest of the night, trading insults over street food. You share an ice cream-filled melon pan - well, he orders one and you eat all of it but a bite - and you scroll through your phone as he inhales a bowl of ramen. He catches you taking a picture of him when he’s halfway through slurping noodles into his mouth like a Hoover. You look a little sheepish when he swallows and levels you with a look that screams unimpressed.

“Is this okay?” You’re a little uncertain and it’s the cutest thing he’s seen all night, teeth catching your bottom lip. He wonders, briefly, what it’d be like to do that to you instead.

You beam when he reassures you. “Of course.”

“I won’t post it anywhere.”

He wants to tell you that’s okay, too, but he knows he shouldn’t. Instead, he simply returns your smile and goes about finishing his bowl of broth. You take a few more photos - of his face when he’s full-belied and satisfied, of the street where people mingle and mix, of the stupidly big moving crab sign across the way.

He wonders if you can feel it too - the connection that crackles between you like a livewire.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you return your attention to him in the same instant he’s glossing over the shape of your lips, the turn of your nose. “I’ll pay you back.”

Before he realizes what’s happening, your hand is on his. You don’t do very much, simply allowing your palm to rest over his, fingers curled around the seam of his thumb. It’s so much smaller - complete with neatly manicured lilac nails - that he stares down at it for a beat too long.

You start to pull away - he sees it happening almost in slow motion - when he flips his own, catching your wrist in his grasp. “No need,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you. He’s still too focused on the way your hands fit together like two puzzle pieces.

“We’ll see about that,” you return, equally as soft.

Everything feels a little fuzzy, like you’re wrapped up in cotton candy and cloud nine.

You must feel it too.

But then you’re standing and you’re not holding his hand any longer and he thinks maybe he’s imagining it all over again. It leaves him heartsick, reaching for your figure that’s already too far away.

“We should head back - I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Damn him and his poor planning skills. He should’ve booked you something later in the day. Why had he thought the 9 AM departure was the best idea?

“Right.” He lifts himself off of the wooden bench, returning his facemask to its rightful place as he closes the distance between you in four easy strides. He tries to ignore the way you smile at him when you’re back together, matching pace through the somehow still-packed streets.

There’s no playful ribbing now. The schoolyard mockery is replaced with a comfortable silence that sinks into his bones and brushes his hand against yours every time you have to squeeze past a gaggle of people that just won’t move. It’s familiar without being boring, satisfying the big fat crush that lives in his heart.

It settles even further when you do the same, head gentle against the curve of his shoulder.

“Did you have fun?” He finally asks when the familiar silhouette of the Conrad Hotel comes into view, your driver rolling to a complete stop right in front of the impressive glass structure.

You hum something that sounds like yes as he pays and thanks the driver in the softest Japanese before he ushers you out of the back of the cab. You’re smiling at him, heavy-lidded and with a tenderness he doesn’t expect. You must be tired.

“More than I’ve ever had.” There’s a certain truth to your words, whether it’s from your sleepy state or something else. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,” he reminds you, guiding you past the concierge with a palm on the small of your back. It’s intimate in a way he’s not really sure is appropriate but you don’t seem to mind, all too happy to be herded around like a baby duckling.

“Stop saying that.” There’s no weight behind your words - only sandman’s dust and starry-eyed affection. Jungkook’s heart plays a staccato rhythm in his chest as he steps into the lift behind you, crowded against the far right wall. Mozart would be proud.

Trapped in the small six by six area, his breath seems too loud. The roar of his pulse in his ears is deafening. He barely hears his own words when they stumble out of their own accord.

“I like you.”

Your laugh is the sweetest he’s ever heard. “I know.”

“You do?” He rounds on you in the same breath, your body mirroring his subconsciously.

“Of course I do.” You’re so confident he absorbs a little bit of it, stepping closer when you do. “I’m your safe place - and you’re mine, too.”

His hands are shaking when they crowd your face, thumbs gentle over the jut of your chin. “Can I kiss you?” Spoken like a child asking for a Christmas gift, full of wonder and hope.

“Hm.” The vibration of your sigh is felt through his fingers all the way down to his toes.

He decides for you, closing the distance with a roll of his shoulders.

Kissing you is unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined. It’s better than his wildest dreams. It’s soft and sweet and done with the utmost care, like you’ll break if he isn’t careful. You taste as good as you smell - the citrusy tang of your lip gloss reminding him of Lotte World lemonade and picnics on the Han River.

“I’m sorry.” It’s an unnecessary apology that gets lost against your lips - because he isn’t quite ready to let go of you yet. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re forgiven, I guess .”

When you speak, it’s kissing in its most basic form, mouth brushing over his with each enunciation. He wonders what it’d be like to have you sing a song for him like this. He decides he wants to find out as soon as possible. Needs it like he needs air - or more of you. Either or.

“Thanks.”

You laugh together and kiss again and again, repeating the motion like overeager high school students behind the bleachers. He grazes your forehead, pressing sweetness into the tops of your eyelids and you return the favour, sweeping delight over the sharp turn of his jaw and over skin not hidden by the collar of his button-down.

You’re so involved that you hardly notice when the lift doors slide open, revealing the empty hallway of the 33rd floor. You break away first, though it’s not without some resistance - both his and yours. He wants to keep you here with him as long as he can, because it feels like where you belong .

“I’ll see you.” A last kiss - lingering, longing, littered with words neither of you say.

And then you’re gone.

JINNY’S APARTMENT Saturday, 5 September, 2020. 2:45 PM.

You live in a nondescript apartment in a nondescript neighbourhood with trimmed hedges and a crisp white exterior. There’s a doormat - grey, a little frayed at the edges, polka-dotted - and nothing else. No sign on your door, just the number 134 stamped on the right-hand side, half a foot away from the window that looks into the open-air hallway.

You answer the door on the first knock, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like you’d been lingering just behind the frame, waiting for his arrival. Your hair’s shiny and freshly washed, damp at the ends where you haven’t wicked all the moisture away. You look comfortable - if not a little overexcited - bouncing from sock-clad foot to sock-clad foot in your low slung sweatpants and oversized tee shirt. He can see half a dozen plants just behind your bobbing head, his gaze bouncing between pretty ceramic and terracotta pots.

“I half expected you to live in a PC bang,” Jungkook states, drole and with that trademark grin of his, nose scrunched and eyes waning.

You counter him easily. “You haven’t even been inside. Maybe it’s all a front.”

He snickers at the thought, stepping over the threshold once you’ve taken a step back. It smells like cinnamon and sugar - he wonders if you’ve been baking - and he peers curiously around the apartment.

“It’s a candle,” you supply before he has a chance to ask, reading the question in his stare.

“You mean you didn’t bake me a cake?”

You offer an extended scoff in place of an answer, rolling your eyes as he unlaces his boots. “What for? Your birthday’s already passed.”

“It might not have.”

“It literally has. I know your birthday.”

Right. Because he’s him and that’s sort of common knowledge.

He chuckles to himself as he sets his boots aside, right beside where yours sit, near identical. He doesn’t need to say anything when he hears you sniff, Rilakkuma-tipped sock nudging his hand away from where it threatens to upend the piece of footwear.

“I had them before I met you.”

“Right.” It’s too easy to tease you - just as it’s too easy to rib him. This is how the two of you are. Schoolchildren with big crushes and near zero emotional maturity.

“Do you want a tour or are you just gonna be some weirdo with a foot fetish?”

He meets your stare then, both of your expressions ice cold. If looks could kill .

You crack before he does, though your laughter melds together like a perfect harmony, ricocheting off the art-covered walls.

“Fine, fine. Show me around.”

So you do - with gusto and great pride. It rolls off you in waves, tangible in the cascade of your hair over your shoulder and the way you beam up at him. You’re like a kid at show-and-tell.

You guide him into the living area - a small space with a comfortable, worn-in grey couch and probably more throw pillows and blankets than is strictly speaking necessary. There are framed pieces on the wall and it’s the contents that surprise him. There’s Mercy playing pool, bent over the table in a revealing Playboy bunny one piece; there’s D.Va in a hoodie and little else, bottles of soju littering both the back and foreground.

Where the walls are bare, there’s other stuff taking up the space. Artfully positioned floating shelves house succulents and cacti. A well-cared for Monstera sits in a far corner, taking up more space than it probably should. Nestled among its soil are little Animal Crossing Amiibos - Cyrus and Reese, to be exact. There’s an all-white cabinet with a glass front and some of the most random stuff he’s ever seen: limited edition Gunpla, a Taiko Drum, and your framed university degree (for accounting, to his great surprise).

“Is that a Widow bobblehead?” He spies it last, sitting on the cabinet that houses an impressive array of gaming consoles. You even have a VR headset, the cords neatly looped together and tucked away beside a maneki neko-shaped piggy bank.

“Maybe.”

“You really are a dork.”

“Says the bigger dork? Really?”

He could dispute that - easily - but he doesn’t, instead shrugging it off as he flops onto the couch, feet immediately kicking themselves up.

“What’re you doing?” You join him even as you ask. He’s a little disappointed by the polite amount of space you leave - just enough that you’re not touching.

“I’m tired.”

“I haven’t finished the tour.”

“Tour schmore .”

You scowl at him and it’s so charming that he wishes you were just a little closer. He’d kiss that look right off your face if it were up to him.

“What do you want to do then?” Where the stuffed animal comes from, he’s not sure. It’s more than a little ratty, soft brown fur faded from what looks like years and years of love. You hold it tight, clutched to your chest as you recline against the far arm.

“Watch the Runaway and Lunatic-Hai show matches?”

You level him with a look that very much tells him he is the bigger nerd. He doesn’t mind, though. He’s been wanting to watch these matches for months since it was first announced.

Unfortunately, you’d promised each other you’d only watch it together, so really, this was your fault.

You must suddenly remember that, because you’re biting back the words he’s sure were about to tear into him, swallowing them whole as you grab your PS4 controller and begin silently navigating through YouTube. He smiles, a little triumphant thing he knows you can see from the corner of your eye.

“Happy?” Resentment mixes with excitement as you return your controller to its rightful home and settle yourself once more against the too-many pillows.

“No.” Jungkook worries for your neck when you whip to look at him, brow furrowed and mouth blown out in a pout.

“Why not?”

He memorizes the way you look right now, framed against sunlight that spills through your windows and hugging what he assumes is your childhood teddy bear. It’s an immediate serotonin boost.

“Because you’re all the way over there.” He sighs, long and loud, head swinging in a dramatic semi-circle. He can hear you snickering despite yourself - could pick it out in a crowd of thousands, he thinks - and suddenly you’re beside him, distance closed in a heartbeat.

With you so close, it’s hard to think, his thoughts jumbled and tripping over themselves.

“Better?” You must know the effect you have on him, because you’re batting those goddamn eyelashes up at him, mouth dancing around his favourite sound in the world.

“Much,” he hums, unashamed.

“Welcome home, Kook.” The way you say it sparks fireworks in his chest. He knows you mean home as in the city of Seoul, but it feels like more and he likes that - just like how he likes you and this little piece of normalcy.

It feels good to be here with you, seemingly without a care in the world.

It’s distinctly different from anything he’s used to - even better than the long hours spent bonding on the internet. There’s no worry here, no nagging in the back of his mind, no concern that one of his hyungs will burst into his room. It’s just you and him and commentary on his favourite game.

That is, until it’s just him and commentary on his favourite game. He’d lost you somewhere along the way, roughly three hours in. He hadn’t noticed at first, far too focused on the big brain plays unravelling across the screen, but when you started snoring, he knew.

You just snored so damn loudly.

“Jinny.” He feels bad when he has to rouse you, the feeling in his right leg but a distant memory.

You don’t move. He wonders when the last time you slept was.

“Jinny,” he repeats himself, a little louder this time. There’s the beginning of stirrings, your head drifting from its position on his shoulder to nestle into the crease of the couch cushions. “Do you want me to take you to bed?”

It doesn’t immediately dawn on Jungkook how that sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” you mumble into the woven fabric, half-asleep.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You’re doing that thing you do when you’re impressed with yourself, teeth littering your bottom lip with indentations. It’s more distracting than it should be, paired with those bedroom eyes he’s not certain you’re in control of.

Get it together , he scolds himself. In his mind, the angel powerbombs the devil into submission.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No! Not yet.” You’re waving a boneless wrist in his direction, like you’re swatting away an irksome fly. It’s cute, in a frazzled sort of way.

“You want to sleep out here?” He knows you don’t - you’ve complained about it enough times when you wake up with kinks in your neck and soreness in your back.

“No!” A huff puffs out your cheeks, blows your grown-out bangs away from your face. You’re sitting up now, slowly but surely. There are creases all over your face - an ode to the couch. He has to keep from laughing right at you - bites it back with a bitten tongue when you sniff and card a hand over through your hair. “I have a gift for you.”

You say it so sweetly, he can’t help himself.

“Is it you?”

He’s honestly not sure what to expect once he’s spoken. He half thinks you’ll laugh, shove him away from you with a giggle and a roll of your eyes. He hopes you won’t, though - can feel every fibre of his being strung tight with anticipation and hope and the request of please, love me .

“Do you want it to be?” You’re looking at him with the strangest expression. He can’t read it at all, despite how easily he normally does. It’s white noise, static on a television screen.

Uncertainty grips him. “I do.”

“Then I’m yours.”

It’s music to his ears - the key to his heart. It strips away the doubt, turning it on its head.

He finally does what he’s wanted to for the past four hours.

When he kisses you this time, it’s different. It’s urgent but not rushed; he takes his time in exploring the softness of your lips, how they fall open under his careful ministrations. His mouth slants, coaxes you to give everything to him as his tongue passes tentatively over yours. You taste like lemons again - and a touch of honey.

It’s intoxicating and addictive and he chases the high it gives him, large hands finding purchase against the back of your head and the slope of your jaw. Fingers thread through your hair - gentle at first, then with more purpose. He maneuvers you how he needs you and peppers kisses everywhere he can reach. Your eyelids, your nose, your neck.

When he ghosts his mouth across your shoulder - mouthing hot over the soft cotton of your shirt - and finds that particular point where your pulse beats, you gasp.

He’d thought your laugh was his favourite sound but he realizes now how wrong he was.

“Do that again.” You say it together, in perfect sync.

Laughter blooms between you and he muffles his against your throat, nosing over where your perfume lingers most. He inhales once, twice, and holds you somehow closer, all but dragging you into his lap. “You’re my dream girl, you know that?” The words are surprisingly sweet, given the compromising position you’re currently in.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You thread your fingers just as he has, twirling through his just-on-the-right-side-of-too-long strands.

He moves to pull away, a scoff building in his throat, but you’re having none of it, capturing his lips the moment he’s made up his mind. You really could read him like a book. He wonders what you’re thinking now, starts running through possibilities when you bite down just so on his pouting bottom lip.

A not-so-subtle hint to get out of his own head.

“Stop thinking,” you hum, lending your voice to his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he returns in kind, tracing an apologetic tongue over the seam of your lips.

“Show me how sorry.”

You sound positively sinful and while it isn’t the answer he’d expected, it stirs something within him - from his chest to somewhere decidedly further south. He stifles a moan, caging it behind bared teeth as he becomes suddenly far too aware of how you’re making him feel.

“You’re playing with fire, baby.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like it was made for you.

“It’s fine - I have self-healing.”

It’s so fucking dorky but somehow, even that makes Jungkook groan. “Seriously - dream girl.”

And then he’s kissing you again and again, a devoted parishioner of your church. They’re this-side of innocent at first, little pecks that dot every sliver of available flesh. His hands roam in tandem with his mouth, flitting beneath the cropped hem of your top before gliding greedily across the tops of your thighs.

“Can I get the rest of the tour now?” He looks like the devil himself, all dishevelled dark hair and that heart-wrenching, lopsided smile.

You’re impatient though - always have been. “Straight down the hall. Last door to the left.”

It’s all he needs to know before he’s on his feet, rising with you as if you were featherlight. Your ankles lock around his waist, clinging to him like the cutest koala he’s ever seen. He doesn’t look away - frankly, can’t – as he follows your directions, gaze trained on your eyes and your lips and the column of your throat he wants to see blooming with roses.

“I’m crazy about you,” he announces, suddenly, as he nudges open your bedroom door.

“I know.” You say it a lot. He wonders if you really know.

By the way you kiss him, he thinks you might have an idea. It’s not enough, though. He wants to show you - needs to show you.

You allow yourself to be tossed upon your bed - soft grey sheets, no stuffed animals in sight, too many pillows again - and he hovers above you, curious. “Are you sure you know?” The question is punctuated by the drop of his knee, cotton of his black joggers a stark contrast to the soft linens.

You’re not sure if this is a game - he can read the question swimming in your eyes. “Maybe?” You’re upspeaking, which is something you never do. It’s disarming in a way that makes him want to hear it again, but with his name over and over.

“Maybe?” He echoes, brow quirked and mouth twisted into an expression that starts butterflies in your stomach. It’s like a switch has flipped. For the first time, he’s the heartthrob you’ve seen on stage, the one fansites rave about with fervour. A force to be reckoned with . “Let me make it clear then?”

It’s spoken like a question, though it begs no answer. You’d give him anything he wanted.

“Can I?” You don’t think you have it in you to respond - not when he’s looking at you the way he is, from behind dark lashes and with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. But he needs an answer - won’t go further until he has one.

“Yes,” you breathe in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own, far too airy and mellifluous.

He looks like a kid who’s had his heart’s greatest wish granted. There’s unbridled joy spilling into every crevice, streaming out of every pore as he lowers himself onto the bed. You’re trapped beneath him - knees situated comfortably on either side of your legs - when his hands find the shorn hem of your shirt, tugging gently at the offending article of clothing.

“Off,” he says simply. It’s gone before you can think twice. Your sweatpants and socks follow in quick succession - he snorts a laugh when he has to tug your socks off by the ears on either side of your ankles - until you’re left in only black cotton that covers hardly anything at all.

Jungkook sighs a sound that shoots straight into the belly of the beast, sparking warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, hands reaching to cover the places you’ve been self-conscious about since you were old enough to understand what bullying was. The modest swell of your chest, the tiger stripes along your hips.

Words are fitted with motion, hands of his own sweeping your arms away from your body. Long fingers curl easily around the dainty turn of your wrist. “Please don’t hide from me.”

You can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.

“Tell me about these?” He means your tattoos, of course. They’re intricate works of art that span nearly a quarter of your flesh, painting grayscale and colour over cream. There’s the jasmine he’d spotted the night you met, coiled around your left forearm and up to your bicep in stark ink. Across your stomach, from the top of your right thigh and over your ribs, are intricate peonies in shades of pink and red and green. Everywhere lines bloom, etched forever into your skin, his mouth follows. He can’t ingrain himself in the same ways but he tries, searing devotion in the form of kisses.

It tickles when he ghosts over your ribs with both tongue and teeth and it’s absolutely indescribable when he catches your nipple between enamel.

You make that sweet sound he so loves - a heady mix between a gasp and a moan - and he repeats the motion. You hardly realize he’s speaking when he does it for the third time and adds nimble fingers to pinch and pull the other into the same pebbled state.

“ Tell me.” He sounds like he’s laughing, trapped halfway down your body with his cheek pressed to the modest swell of your chest.

You’re not sure how you get the words out. “My mom’s a big gardener. She calls me her flower.”

“Her flower, huh?” The question is muffled among your humble cleavage.

“Did I stutter?” That earns you a sharp tweak to your nipple, the pain shooting pleasure through your limbs in a very unexpected way. You’ve never been one for pain but the sight of Jungkook staring up at you, head cocked and hands full - well, there’s a first time for everything.

“You want to be nicer to me,” he states solemnly, like he’s commenting on the weather or the 6 o’clock news and not palming your tits in his much larger hands and drawing out the sweetest murmurs of encouragement.

“I am nice to you,” you retort - or try to at least. You hardly get it out before it’s chased out by another one of those lovely sounds that Jungkook seems to be obsessed with.

“ Nicer , baby.”

As if to drive his point home, he straightens out, face suddenly dangerously close. He crowds you with his entire frame, mouth finding yours easily. It’s not the same sort of kisses you’ve shared all evening; it’s a display of dominance, a reminder that articulates more than he can say.

It’s also a distraction, you realize belatedly, with a gasp tearing its way out of your throat.

Capable hands have found their mark, digits sweeping beneath the seam of your thong. He lingers just shy of where you desperately want him, expertly trailing featherlight touches through your folds. He never goes further - doesn’t stretch where you need him most. He’s careful not to brush your clit, focusing instead on the way you’re coating his fingers.

The shit-eating grin never leaves his lips - which never leave your mouth. He swallows your whines in the same instant he’s pulling them forth, playing you like a fiddle without even really doing anything.

“Can you do that for me?” He coos against your neck, that damned voice of his dripping liquid gold into your ears.

You have to focus hard on what he’s saying because his touch is so distracting. “What?”

“I said—” It stings where his mouth connects, where his teeth nip and spill wine over porcelain. He’s painting the prettiest pictures, signing his name in the form of broken capillaries. “—can you be nice to me?”

You’d like to respond - really, you would - but he punctuates the question with the glide of his finger and you can’t do anything but arch into the sudden intrusion. It feels so good and yet isn’t nearly enough.

“Kook.” You’ve never sounded this whiny in your life. Even his name - one single syllable - hardly makes it past your lips without descending into a cry.

“Use your words , angel.”

If every nerve ending didn’t feel like it was on fire, you might’ve yelled at him. Instead, you can hardly form a coherent thought. You’re too far gone, standing on the edge of a cliff as he teases you open with slow, measured pumps of his wrist.

“I need—” He’s crooking the single digit within you, right against that spot that makes you see stars.

“What do you need? Ask nicely.”

“M-more. I need m-more .” A hiccup. “Please.”

“Like this?” You’re empty all at once and then suddenly far more full, the stretch of two fingers stealing the breath from your throat. “Or like this?” The pad of his thumb finds your clit with ease, sweeping over the sensitive bundle of nerves once, twice, three times. “Maybe like this?”

He repeats his earlier movements, curling his knuckles in a come hither motion that has you sobbing out his name.

“That’s right.” Ever the gentleman, he works you through your high, watching your face in rapt fascination as your first orgasm of the night crests and crashes over you, sending shockwaves through your system. He admires the way your mouth falls open - full lips rounding in delight - and how your eyes screw shut.

You’re the hottest thing Jeon Jungkook has ever seen.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple, never ceasing the slow drag of his fingers, the carefully measured flick of his thumb. Even when you’re trembling with oversensitivity, he doesn’t relent, choosing instead to reposition.

His weight is gone as he settles between your legs, knees folded beneath him. He only pauses his needy actions - almost doesn’t, when your hips roll in an apparent attempt to draw him back in - to strip you of your thong, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder.

“Give me another, okay?”

You aren’t given a chance to answer before he slips two fingers back where they belong and seals his mouth over your clit. The coil he’d snapped earlier returns, tension increased tenfold as he alternates between sucking hard and licking, dragging his tongue over and around his fingers. There’s too much stimulation. You’re obscenely wet and you’re certain you’d be making a mess, if not for the careful way Jungkook’s devouring you whole, licking up every bit of slick.

“Kook. Jungkook .” His name sounds like heaven coming off your lips. He replays it over and over in his head as he fucks his fingers into you, tapping a brutal rhythm against your g-spot. He can tell you’re close again - can read it in the way your jaw tenses and your breathing goes erratic, lungs heaving.

“Come on, baby. Let go.” The second orgasm hits harder, arching your back off the mattress as you fight to keep your knees from snapping shut. You come with a hoarse cry, legs trembling like a leaf with the effort. “That’s my girl.”

He’s upon you again, this time crowding your space as he settles all one hundred and fifty pounds of himself beside you. He anchors you in reality, preventing your boneless body from floating off by pulling you against his chest.

“You did so good.”

You accept his kisses readily, somehow managing to thread your arm around his neck despite the fact that you feel like you’ve just run a marathon.

Being wrapped up in his embrace is like being home - warm and familiar.

“I want you.”

He laughs and you can hear the sound rattling around in his chest. “You’ve got me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You sound a little petulant, like a child being denied their favourite toy.

“I know what you meant,” he retorts, squeezing your bare hip affectionately. “But you’re also exhausted, so get some sleep. Patience is key, remember?”

You pout up at him with your messy bedhead and sleepy eyes and he almost gives in right then and there. It’s nearly impossible not to, especially when you drag your hip across his, your ankle hooking his in a bid to bring the two of you somehow closer.

He doesn’t expect you to relent so easily but your yawn outs you, forcing itself past the cage you’re trying - and failing - to keep closed. “Fine.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be.” It’s an empty threat - you both know he won’t leave. “I still have to give you your present, anyway.”

He feigns surprise then, snickering quietly. “You mean it wasn’t you?”

You don’t have the energy to yell at him, so instead you dig your bony fingers into the vulnerable underside of his ribs. He squirms away from the feeling but never really goes far.

“It’s a Mercy bobblehead, you butt.” You yawn again, shiver running the length of your spine as you snuggle more closely against his side once more. Jungkook tugs your duvet up around your shoulders, tucking you in tightly. The action reminds you of why you’d bought the gift in the first place. “I think you might actually be my guardian angel.”

notes. the end of an era (and by era, i mean a fic). this honestly turned out to be my baby, so i sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it. i'll likely do some drabbles in the future, because i really, really adore this couple. as always, let me know your thoughts. xo

tag list. @letmebeyour-sun @teawithbucky

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

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Hi Steph, you’re amazing at what you do. I just want to know from a true connoisseur, which 3 fics do you think you’ve read and re-read the most number of times? As in, 3 ultimate comfort fics.

Hi Nonny!

Ooof, I’ve been asked a similar question here a couple weeks ago, but hmm, this is actually something I never really had to think hard about! EXCEPT CAN I GIVE YOU 5? Because 5 immediately came to mind. Is that okay?? OMG I’m so sorry. Plus 5 is a number I like better than three, sorry :P Another weird tic of mine.

No surprise which is my first, hahah:

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

It’s just such a joy to read every single time, and I never skip any parts at all. Start to finish EVERY TIME.

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

This was my first Parentlock fic I read and it’s why I now do read Parentlock. Still one of my favourites, and it’s short enough to read in one sitting. It’s just so sweet, and Sherlock is SO precious, and GAH I LOVE it. Another start-to-finish. Which then brings me to this one:

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

I REALLY like this fic because it’s Sherlock POV and it’s him learning about his feelings for John. THOUGH I feel bad admitting that lately, rereads usually start around Ch. 30, because I love John showing up all BAMFy in Ch. 34 and essentially tells the social workers to piss off. And Sherlock is RIDICULOUSLY adorably in love with John so much in this fic. I’ve reread the whole story enough to know what happens before Ch. 30, and all the smoopy stuff happens after that. BUT DON’T think I don’t love this story. I DO. A LOT. I just... Sometimes need certain parts of a story RIGHT now, and that one singular scene is one of them, and I always just keep going from there. :P

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w., 4 Ch. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice, Escort Service) – Clara's American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she's also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she's placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

I just really love this one. It’s painfully sweet and OH GOD I love how much they fall for each other and HARRY IS TWINSIES AND SHE’S AWESOME. Love it. It’s such a feel-good fic with a great ending. Love it.

And:

Corpus Hominis by mycapeisplaid (E, 47,709 w., 12 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Case Fic, Fluff, Romance, Frottage, Angst, Anal, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Spas / Massages, Shampoo, Jealousy, Fake Relationship) - John knows the human body intimately. He’s had plenty of opportunity for study as a doctor, soldier, and lover. There’s one particular body, however, he knows very little about. When Sherlock launches himself head-first into a new obsession and they get sent on a case in an unlikely location, the pair discovers each other’s bodies with confusing yet delightful (and sometimes hilarious) results.

THIS FIC. GUH. Just, the way John pieces together how much Sherlock pines for him is ACHINGLY beautiful, that all comes together in a really tender scene in a pool. It’s the pool scene we should have had. UGH. AND SHAMPOO. And best friend Lestrade essentially telling John he’s a moron, LOL. LOVE this fic. I’m SO glad I finally remembered this one was the one with the Shampoo and the spa day.

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THIS IS ABSOLUTELY not my only always reads. In fact:

Top 30 Read-Again Fics (March 2019)

Top 30 Read-Again Fics Pt. 2 (Sept. 2019)

And I could TOTALLY do another 30 EASILY. The second one, I remember whittling it down quite a bit, LOL. These are just the first five that came to mind right away. I could also add these five:

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w., 26 Ch. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Frottage, Nightmares, Sleepy Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Humour, Fluff, Dancing, Cooking, Happy Ending) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

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OKAY I NEED TO CUT HERE or I will go on and ON and ON. Hope this answers your question alright <3

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #read again fics #fave fics #Anonymous

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oneoftheextras · 4 years

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jealousy | villain aizawa x reader |two

masterlist | tip jar

Former student of his turned pro hero, he’s always had eyes for her at UA but never acted upon it. Once she graduates, she takes a role at Endeavor’s agency, and Aizawa can’t stand the thought.

words: 2.4k

warnings: +18, yandere and sexual themes, just creepy at this point

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A pounding in your head was no what you were expecting to wake up to, neither was the sight of a black padded room with glass doors.

To your shock you shot upright, making the pain in your head worse, you took in your surroundings trying to figure out what was going on, the floors, walls and ceiling were padded, like the type you see in mental hospitals. But one wall was made out of glass.

Shakily, you got to your feet, stumbling over to the glass like a new born deer and trying to find an opening. When that didn’t work, you took a few paces back and projected purple flames towards it. Still nothing.

Sucking in a breath, you ran towards it, throwing all of your weight into your shoulder in an attempt to shatter it.

“You’re just going to tire yourself out” you heard from the other side, as soon as you heard the deep rumble you remembered what had happened. The chase, the rooftop, the capture weapon.

Gazing down at your wrists, you could see the bruises it had left around them and your hands. It hurt to make a fist.

You watched as a figure came towards the glass, it was him again, “Let me out, Eraserhead” you barked, gritting your teeth at him. He was no longer in his black overalls but instead a pair of black jeans and a black v-neck top, that gave you an idea that you had been out cold for a while.

“Call me Aizawa-Sensei, like you used to” he smirked at you through the glass, putting one forearm against it to lean. Disgusted at his words, you threw another bolt of purple flames towards him, you watched it consume the glass and then slide down it. When the flames cleared you saw that he hadn’t moved an inch, not even flinched at the attack.

Desperately you conjured flames on the floor, walls and ceiling, trying to get something to burn, but all you did was make the room very warm, you were starting to sweat through your hero suit.

“You’re going to tire yourself out” he laughed watching your attempts as though he was watching a puppy chase it’s tail, you turned on the spot to face him again “This entire room-” he interrupted himself “This entire building is flame proof, I had it specially built for you” he smiled as though it was something you should thank him for.

You glanced around the room, taking everything in, this wasn’t something that was built over the weekend. “How?” you asked, coming closer to the glass so you could see the room beyond it “It took me a little over 4 years and a lot of help” he said casually.

“Wait, 4 years?” you repeated to which he just nodded, he was staring down at you, watching your features as they reacted to their surroundings.

4 years ago you were a second year student, he was your teacher, but he said ‘a a little over’ meaning you must had been a first year then. “4 years ago I was-” you started thinking out loud.

“Just joining my class at UA” he answered for you, your eyes stopped travelling around the room and stopped dead onto his, you wished you had seen some kind of humour in his face but he was serious.

“W-why?” you asked question you didn’t know if you wanted the answer to “I knew there would be a time when I had you with me, as soon as I saw your quirk I knew how much trouble it could cause if you couldn’t control it. May as well make your future home something you couldn’t burn down” he explained flatly, as though what he was saying wasn’t completely insane.

“I was your first year student, do you know how fucked up that is?!” you shouted, punching your fist against the glass. Immediately you regret your decision and winced at the pain it brought.

“It’s a little strange, I guess, but my intentions were pure, I wanted to build you a safe space you could practice your abilities. It was only when you were close to graduating did I see you in a different light” he raised his eye suggestively and you looked at him with disgust while you nursed your hand which you were sure was broken.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t have those types of thoughts about you until you were in your third year” he added, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. You couldn’t face him anymore, you turned your back on him and walked away from the glass, you hated what you were hearing but you needed answers.

“Why this? Why all of this?” you gestured to the glass prison you were trapped in, “If you were interested in me once I’d graduated, why not talk to me like a normal fucking person” you spat at him, he features turned defensive against the hatred in your eyes.

“This-” he mimicked your gesture of the padded cell, “-was because of you” he spat back, “Me?” you laughed angrily, as though you were clearly the problem here.

“Yes, you! You chose Endeavour over me” he accused you, pressing the tip of his index finger against the glass as he pointed at you. Baffled at his words all you could do was shake your head and shout out another “What?!” of disbelief.

He had made up an entire narrative in his head that never happened, “When you joined Endeavour’s agency I knew he would turn you against me, I had to have a back up plan, something in place where he couldn’t reach you” he slammed his palm against the glass startling you.

At your scared expression he seemed to calm down, getting closer to the glass again, “I needed to protect you until I knew for sure that you loved me too” he said as though that was something you said to a person.

You walked back towards the glass, looking up at his grey eyes, it was strange to think that if the glass didn’t exist you would be at a very intimate proximity to him, but you were contained. He flattened his hand against the glass, expecting you to do the same.

Crinkling your nose into a snarl and distorting your features to show your anger you shouted “I will never love you”, making sure to drag out ‘never’. His smile dropped and the look in his eyes frightened you, it was a mixture of obsession, pure evil and determination.

“We’ll see” he announced, pushing himself off of the glass and walking out of sight. It scared you more not being able to see where he was than when he was staring at you, something you used to worry about only with spiders. When you could see them you knew what they were doing, but they were up to God knows what when they were out of sight.

How the Hell had you gotten yourself into this situation?

By the clock hanging tauntingly on the wall opposite your cell, it had been about 6 hours since you last saw Eraserhead. Every moment you had used to try an escape, you were thirsty, hungry and exhausted.

Standing with your back flat against the padded wall, you aimed both of your palms at the glass and conjured your purple flames. You pushed yourself as hard as you could, watching the flames grow and lick the glass.

He said it was flameproof, but if you heated it up enough surely it would crack eventually.

Straining yourself, you slid down the wall. It was impossible, the more flames you produced the hotter you made the room, it was making you sweat through your tarnished hero suit and you desperately needed water.

Condensation was starting to roll down the steamed up glass, at least that way you could have some privacy. You unzipped your hero suit and shimmied it round to your waist, allowing your torso to breathe.

You must have passed out from exhaustion because the next thing you new you were opening your eyes to the sound of tapping. Brushing the sleep out of the corner’s of your eyes, you blinked the sleep away, that’s when you saw Eraserhead staring at you and holding a big cardboard box.

Hurriedly, you pulled your damp suit back up to try and cover you and regain some modesty. “Move into the corner” he told you, when you didn’t move he raised his voice slightly “Just do it”. Shuffling back until you felt the padded corner hit your shoulders, you waited to see what he was going to do.

You watched as he pushed a button on his side of the wall and a section of the glass slid into another making an opening, your legs twitched as your instincts told you to run, but you were too weak to fight him and you definitely wouldn’t be faster than him.

Eyeing him cautiously, you surveyed him as he walked into your space, placed the box down on the floor and gestured for you to take it. As he backed away and turned towards the exit, you subtly lifted your hand and flicked your finger in his direction, sending a small flame towards him.

His back was turned but he somehow managed to sense it, whipping his head around to scowl at you but it was too late, the flame had already landed on his top and was starting to burn a hole in it.

“Shit!” he cursed, leaping past the glass and slamming his hand onto the button to seal you in. Only when the door was closed did he pull his top up over his head and toss it to the ground, stamping on it to extinguish the flames.

You made no attempt to escape, you just needed something to cheer you up and watching him dance about had done just that.

He was furious. His eyes were glowing red and if his hair wasn’t tied up in a bun you were sure it would be floating too, although he was now topless too. “What the fuck was that for?” he scowled at you, picking up the ruined top and throwing it into a nearby bin, “Payback” you smiled trying to avoid eye contact with him.

He started to mumble to himself so you took the opportunity to inspect the parcel he brought in, you shuffled along the wall and towards it, trying to hide as much of your exposed body as you could.

Ripping the tape off the box caught his attention, he swivelled himself around and watched you intently, under other circumstances you would have liked to stop and stare at his toned abdomen and strong arms.

“I went to all that trouble to give that to you and this is how you repay me?” he scolded you, you ignored his words and opened the flaps to reveal what was inside. Spotting a plastic bottle your hands sprung for it, you twisted the cap off and sniffed it cautiously, it smelt like nothing so you assumed it was water.

You had to stop yourself from chugging the entire bottle at once, you took a couple of big gulps and then set it to the side, you felt instantly so much better.

Inside the box was some clothes, a few snack bars and other bits. You laid the clothes out on the floor in front of you, noticing that they were all your size including some pieces of underwear, you glared at him not wanting to know how he knew your measurements.

“I thought you would want a change out of your hero costume” he commented, inspecting your every move. At the bottom of the box was a blanket, you stroked it first feeling the soft fabric grace your finger tips and then picked it up to reveal the bottom of the cardboard.

You squealed and threw the blanket into the air when you saw what was left, “What the fuck are those?” you gasped completely shocked, you heard him laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“We have many different types of needs, I wanted to make sure I fulfilled all of them for you” he explained with humour in his voice. In your shock you had managed to kick the box away from you which sent its contents flying across the floor. It was a vibrator and other toys, but not just random toys. They were yours, from your home - the ones that no one other than you had known about.

“You’re sick” you shouted at him, “I think you’ll find I’ve been quite pleasant to you considering” he snapped back, “Do you know how much money the League of Villains have put out for your capture?” he barked.

You were speechless, you had no idea that the League was interested in you, or even knew who you were. Realising he’d caught your attention, he grinned “I could have just handed you over to them and let them interrogate you in whatever way they wanted” he was really trying to rub it in.

Crouching down to be at your eye level, he peered at you through the glass, “If you give me information on the Heroes plans and operations, I can prove to them that you’re not a threat and they’ll leave us alone and we can be happy” his voice had swiftly changed from anger to kindness, he was pleading with you.

“I will never help a villain, let them kill me” you shifted your body so it was leaning towards the glass to make sure that he could see how serious you were.

Running his hand down his face, he stood back up again leaving you to look up at him “I’m only going to ask this once, what are Endeavour’s plans?” his jaw tightened and he waited for you to answer.

You pushed yourself up off the ground unsteadily and strutted over to the glass, leaning your body against it and staring at him dead in the eye “I’ll never tell you” you spat, refusing to back down.

He shook his head lightly and moved his eye line to the ground, “I really didn’t want to resort to this” he muttered, when he raised his head to peer at your angry features his eyes were soft and for a second you believed him.

“Actually, I really did” he smirked and leaned out of sight, you heard a mechanical thump from over your head.

Taglist:

@mylife-demonstrates-murphys-law @hereticpriest @enagmaticether @anxiousgoddest

#aizawa x reader #villain aizawa #villain aizawa x reader #yandere villain aizawa #yandere villain aizawa x reader #jealousy #jealousy part 2 #smut #aizawa smut

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summonerscenarios · 3 years

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For sin night, how about Mc regaining most of their memories from the previous loops, and use that info to mess with people. One day, they're asked by a group if they recall memories of sex, and they respond yes. How would Hati, Tadatomo, and Suzuka respond to Mc 'subtling' winking at them when asked "Who was your favorite lover?" Bonus if they share a detail or two with them in private to prove themselves being serious(like a small birthmark or something)? Sorry if this is a lot on one ask

Had to leave Tadatomo for this one as I had no idea what to write for him but I do hope the other two were well worth the wait! It definitely made for an interesting scenario~! --------------

Hati

It was honestly pretty fun to regain more of your memories - at least the ones of past loops. The information that you’ve been recalling is select, not really providing much help in means of figuring out everything to do with the game and its main players; however, what you have recalled has given you the perfect opportunity to mess with others with the information that you know.

You’ve been able to recall more than a few embarrassing memories, all of which you’ve been more than eager to use to your advantage just to watch your friends to either blush up a storm or burst into laughter. It’s been a great way to lift the mood, though you’ve taken a few hits to your ego for the sake of getting people to smile again, which is exactly what you expect is going to happen this time around.

Aoyama guild isn’t exactly the best place to crack out the sex stories, which is probably the reason why it’s just a small group of you huddled around together off in a nondescript part of campus - it gives the lot of you some privacy, which is frankly all you need when the questions start getting asked. It’s entertaining watching their reactions, whether they flush bright red at the mere mention of sex, or crack in a few jokes at your expense to coax you into telling more, but you let your words get the best of you, confessing more than you probably would have under normal circumstances.

The question about your favorite lover comes out of the left field, and you genuinely have to stop to think about it. Some of the memories and faces are still blurry, whether that’s thanks to you being forgetful of what you’ve learned or something else you have no idea; however when you actually take a second to mull over the old memories that you have the first thing that comes to mind is a certain idol-adoring wolf. You don’t remember how the two of you even got together back in those loops, but the images are vivid. The kisses shared, the long nights behind closed doors, the marks left over the mornings after…

One of your friends notices you flush, teasingly asking you what’s got you blushing, but you don’t look over at them, instead automatically casting your gaze over to where Hati’s leaning against the wall, listening in on the conversation. The therian meets your gaze, seemingly expecting your next tangent about your greatest lover, and yet he’s instead greeted with a wink before you sigh and lean back against the grass, saying that you can’t say for sure even as you keep glancing over at Hati, trying to gauge his reaction.

The subject doesn’t get brought up again, at least not until everyone’s leaving to head off to their next task, and you’re getting ready to head off campus yourself when someone stops you, a hand catching your wrist as you stand back up. Turning around, you’re greeted by Hati, and he speaks before you can even ask what he wants.

“You’re not lying.”

The question catches you off guard, but after a beat of pause you shake your head, watching the conflict flashing across the wolf’s face - or maybe it’s embarrassment? But then he settles you with a firm gaze.

“Prove it”

“What?”

“Prove that you were telling the truth.”

For a moment you weigh his expression, trying to figure out if he’s being serious - but Hati’s not the kind to joke around like this. When you realize he is actually being serious you purse your lips, humming for a moment before you shrug.

“Alright, let me juuust~”

This time there’s no hesitation when you move in to close the distance, coming to rest chest to chest as your arms snake around Hati, sliding down his back and coming to grasp at his tail. The reaction is instantaneous - Hati’s breath hitches and his tail thrashes in surprise, though all too quickly it settles into wagging back and forth with increasing excitement as you run your hand down the length of the appendage. He makes no move to pull himself away, though he makes a choked noise when you purposefully press your fingertips into the spot directly above his tail.

“I don’t know about you, but that’s a pretty convincing argument” you’re biting back a chuckle when you catch sight of his expression, leaning a little bit closer.

“And of course let’s not forget how sensitive you are at the base of your-”

“I believe you!” Hati’s voice comes out in a strained yip as he guides your hand off of his tail, blushing hard enough that you can hardly believe this is the same therian that just asked you to prove that you’d slept together.

You have to admit, it’s cute watching him get this flustered - you’ll have to make sure to put that knowledge of past loops to good use more often.

“Well,” you’re smirking as you flash him another wink “If you need any more ‘proof’, you know where to find me~”

You don’t wait for his response before you turn away and focus back on collecting your stuff, though you can certainly feel the therian’s gaze watching you lean down with a newfound interest.

Suzuka

“You’re lying.”

You’re pinned against the wall with enough force to make you wheeze, and your hands fly up to the two hands buried into the collar of your jacket, trying to ease their grip even a little as you flash what you hope is a disarming grin.

“Come on, Suzuka - since when have I lied to you?”

Suzuka’s face is stern, but the scowl on her face is betrayed by the pink hue that’s taken to her cheeks as she retorts.

“Oh, I can think of a few times-”

“Look, birthdays technically don’t count as ly-”

Another shove makes your chuckle turn into grunt and you’re suddenly starting to regret your little stunt earlier.

It’s not like you’d planned for the topic to come up, but with more and more memories of past loops gradually filtering back into your head you’ve been recalling a lot of information about both yourself and your allies. Happy times, sad times, and, to your surprise, a few intimate times as well. They shouldn’t have been so surprising, really, especially since there’s so many people in Tokyo trying to jump your bones at any given time, but you’re still kind of conflicted seeing those same people walk around not knowing that the two of you had gotten so close in Tokyo’s past loops.

So you’ve tried to take it in stride, making light and joking about it where you can if it ever comes up - humors a good way to deflect a conversation you’ve found. But apparently, all it takes is some liquid courage and a particularly rowdy night at one of the Outlaw’s clubs for that humor to toss you straight into the deep end of honest conversations. The question had come up as a joke, with someone prodding enough for answers about your ‘endeavor’s in the past loop that you’d finally cracked and decided to spill. You’d left out names, deflecting with a few teasing remarks if someone tried to pry too hard, but when the question was posed about who your favorite lover was it had given you pause.

You weren’t thinking when your eyes flickered over to Suzuka, it was a knee jerk reaction before the question had even fully registered.You’d be lying if you said you didn’t remember it - you remember it quite fondly actually - and maybe it was remembering that experience that led to you sealing the glance you shared with a subtle wink as you hid your smile into your cup. The wink didn’t go amiss, and almost immediately you could see the shock on her expression, nearly choking on her drink as she slammed it down and tried to pass it off as nothing.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed, as when you’d looked away you’d caught Tetsuya watching you, and you don’t need words to realize that he’d spotted the exchange. However if he did he didn’t bring it up, instead stepping in to steer the conversation into another direction, giving you the perfect chance to slip away.

You’d have to thank him for that later - if you can get out of this confrontation in one piece.

“You’ve got some nerve pulling a stunt like that.” Suzuka growls, grip on your collar just barely loosening. “Honestly, like I’d believe that you and I were...w-were-”

She loses momentum, her face taking a slightly more redder hue than before as she tries to find the right words to keep berating you, and you take the moment to interject.

“Suzuka, I swear it’s the truth - look-”

You reach out your hand, hesitantly at first so as to give her the opportunity to stop you if she wants. When she doesn’t actively try to break your wrist, you eventually bring your hand behind her head, cupping the back of it just beneath her ponytail and flexing your fingers in a motion akin to a massage. For a second you watch Suzuka’s expression flicker, the anger from her face momentarily disappearing before her brows knit together and she lets out a shaky sigh. Her expression is a perfect mirror of the past loops when the pair of you were together, eyes closing for but a second as she leans just a bit more into your palm, and you find yourself feeling bittersweet as you remember those times. She was more relaxed then, smiled more, and you kind of hope that she can be like that in this loop too, even if it’s not with you.

“See, you told me about how sensitive this spot was,” your voice is soft as you address her, fingers massaging at that spot you’ve memorized with your fingers. “I used to do it all the time when we-”

In the blink of an eye Suzuka seems to catch herself and pushes herself out of your grip, cheeks taking on an especially ruddy hue as she sputters.

“I-I-!You-!”

You genuinely think that she’s gonna sock you - her fists balling up at her sides as she steps away, turns around, then circles back around on you. Her hand comes up, but instead of any kind of hit she jabs a finger into your chest, glaring at you as she mutters with red cheeks.

“Ask next time.”

And like that Suzuka steps away from you and turns on her heel to walk away from you; you lean back against the wall with a sigh of relief. However, you can’t help but grin as you turn to watch her leave, smoothing a hand through your hair and trying to straighten out the creases in your jacket as you call out to her.

“Next time~?”

She doesn’t dignify you with a response, only casting you a pointed stare before she slips round the corner and moves to rejoin the get-together, leaving you alone.

#differentpenguinpirate #sin night #nsfw-ish #housamo #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo imagine #housamo scenario #scenario #imagines #hati #housamo hati #suzuka #housamo suzuka #request #ask

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

Text

sherlock holmes reactions part six (aka me losing my mind over the final problem)

Hi, I am once again reminding you all that I've formed a parasocial relationship with the crackhead detective 👍 This made me overly emotional for the fact that he didnt even die

But like

hhhmmmmmmmm those were certainly an interesting 14 pages

Yeah, I already made a post about how the final problem relates to yuumori's final problem and how incredibly sexy it is but yes now I'd just like to relay to you how absolutely heart brocken i am over this lol I will eventually get to reading the post hiatus stories i just. I haven't emotionally recovered from this yet

Yelling below the cut somehow this reaction feels longer than the story itself. but it's about half cracking jokes and half sobbing so be prepared

I mean, starting off strong with "well yknow since i got married my and sherlock's Very Intimate Relations had to be modified and all but we hadnt seen each other in a while so it was kind of jarring to see him crawling in my second story bedroom window clutching Wounds and closing the shutters absolutely fucking wasted losing his mind over some dude named moriarty"

We've been over this but. Oh my god why are they gay

I just like????? Imagine how fucking bizzare that would be to just see your old homie crawl into your window bleeding on your floor and asking to exit the other way in case he's followed like "hey bro can we Talk i hope you're not busy" WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO, SAY HE IS? Imagine watson just like "no dude I'm fucking busy go get killed"

But legitimately. That's certainly something. And like, I see a lot of books starting like this lmao but. Holmes's stuff usually starts off kind of easily with watson going "yeah so lately ive been Experiencing Sherlock Holmes" and spend 20 minutes on exposition with them having a Conversation but no. mans just fucking escaped a hitman and went directly to his boyfriend's house having apparently Never Before In His Goddamn Life mentioned his actual nemesis to this guy. How the FUCK has watson never heard of him before.

And how sherlock starts talking about it isn't any less funny he's just like "UHHH SO THERE'S THIS GUY. THIS ABSOLUTE MAN. AND HES REALLY IMPRESSIVE I MEAN HES LIKE SUPER FUCKING SMART AND HES LIKE DOING CRIMES????? SO I LIKE. I NOTICED AS I DO BUT HE NOTICED THAT I NOTICED AND I MIGHT HAVE MADE A LITTLE FUCKY WUCKY DUDE CAN YOU HELP ME LIKE. FLEE THE COUNTRY" and watson's like my dear sherlock What The Fuck

Im also loving how he calls moriarty a "mathematical celebrity" awhi;grih;oaewhhta;ioh;iaewh;ii;oewh;eh;rg mans just. ok lol hes a Math Celebrity that had to quit his math teacher job because EVERYONE JUST KNEW HE WAS A CRIME LORD LIKE THEY TOOK ONE LOOK AT HIM AND WENT MANS DEFINITELY HAS BODIES IN HIS BASEMENT I DONT WANT HIM TEACHING HERE

But yeah, it was interesting to see what the big deal about og moriarty was... especially since the deal simply did not deliver. There was not really a big deal. It's like reading the first chapter of a book and immediately skipping to the climax. Everything is so hyped up and clearly having been building for years and you just get like NO CONTEXT. I swear Moriarty wasn't goddamn mentioned any time before this. He's just suddenly the big guy and watson has just never fucking heard shit about this guy.

What's so funny about this whole situation is that I just. Cannot objectively know anything about Moriarty at all because sherlock just... does not go into what this dude's alleged crimes even were, other than. The fact that he like. Does them. He's just really involved in crimes. How? Why? For how long? In what way? For what purpose? NO FUCKING CLUE HE JUST. HE JUST DOES. And there's nothing to really suggest that Moriarty was honestly a really evil guy. They're all like trust me he was just. he was just really bad but show absolutely No examples of being such. The most evil thing we saw Moriarty do personally was call sherlock stupid for letting him get into the apartment. And even then he immediately followed it up with complimenting him lol

yeah, my impression of Moriarty was like. I expected him to be worse, honestly. I expected him to be like a cartoon villain because he was kind of made out to be one and then he's just honestly a really polite and refined guy?? Mans strolls the fuck into 221B like hi shawty and it is Not like yuumori obviously man's holding a gun but like. What the fuck they are just. They have never met before but They Clearly Have and it's. its so weird

Like honestly I don't dislike og moriarty. He's really what william tried to be (and fucking failed, but beside the point) but like. Dude's so powerful and for what. He just walks into the apartment with No Pretense like why sherlock holmes is that a revolver or are you just happy to see me oh my goodness you are a dolt why would you hold the gun that way. disgusting. disgraceful. dreadful. Oh my god. I love him I'm sorry

abngnahhghifeah;iewh and Why does sherlock describe him like that hes like "MANS A REALLY REFINED LIZARD /pos" HIEHIFEHW:HGIHOEWFEEW FOR WHAT. FOR W H A T

baaaaaaaaghhhhhh but likeeeee they went STRAIGHT to "you know what I'm here for" "you know how I'm going to respond" "well then" "yeah" "mhm" "damn well it really do be like that sometimes" "ur really smart by the way" "im fucking aware let's kill each other as we both Thought in our Minds" "yes lets" AHDHDHDHDFS WTF THIS IS INSANE

But damn uh. mutual destruction my beloved this is very different from sherliam but im not. im not. opposed to it tucks hair behind ear

I just. Holy shit they really went "if you destroy me I will ensure that we both go down hand in unlovable hand" "I wouldn't mind that"

Annnnd I just noticed that the actual lines for this part kind of. that kind of happened in chapter 31 when sherlock was like i would Gladly die to take down the lord of crime and william was like. hahahah yeahNO NO NO NO

BUT SERIOUSLY THO IM LOSING MY MIND OVER HOW SHERLOCK SAYS THIS WHOLE THING TO WATSON AND HES LIKE DAMN SHAWTY HES LIKE THE REASON FOR HALF THE CRIME IN THIS CITY BUT HES SO NICE THO??? LIKE I EXPECTED HIM TO BE TOUGH AND EVERTHING NO HES JUST SOME POLITE PROPER UNDERSTANDABLE MAN WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE VERY DIABOLICAL shawty is having a Crisis

And then watson is like wowww that was cool you wanna spend the night and sherlock is like "UNFORTUNATELY BESTIE I AM BEING FUCKING TRACKED DOWN ID LIKE YOU TO NOT DIE WITH ME"

This bit gave me a Moment Moment because oh my god. Then watson is like "no shut up i'm coming with you i don't care" and i just had to Take A Minute because THEY SWITCHED PLACES AAH SHERLOCK IS TRYING TO KEEP WATSON SAFE NOW AND WATSON IS NOW MORE RECKLESS BC OF HIM AND. AHHHH

Completely random but. How sherlock still refers to 221B as "our rooms" to watson even though watson hasn't lived their in years........ shawty i am emotional.........

SO THEY GODDAMN FLEE THE COUNTRY TOGETHER BC WATSON SAYS THEY HAVE TO STICK TOGETHER AND SHERLOCK HAS A MOMENT WHERE HE'S LIKE YEAH NEVERMIND PLEASE GO HOME WATSON AND WATSON IS JUST LIKE. NO. AND HSERLOCK IS LIKE. DAMN OK I HAVE NEVER HEARD YOU SAY THAT BEFORE

But. Ok as funny as this is. They have this fucking Conversation on the train to switzerland where sherlock is like "I have not lived in vain" and watson is like "YOURE NOT DYING" and hes like "i have not lived in vain. like i said. this will not be a bad way to die" UHHHHHH DAMN SHAWTY

hhhhhh and it just Gets. it. it. it Gets. These fuckers get to switzerland and they stay in a hotel and then leave for reichenbach but watson gets this goddamn letter telling him that hes needed at the hotel to basically save this lady's life. And he doesn't. Like. he doesn't even want to go he's like FUCK IT SHE CAN DIE IM NOT LEAVING YOU but sherlock convinces him to go fULLY KNOWING THE LETTER WAS FUCKING FAKED BY MORIARTY JUST AS A PLOY TO GET HIM ALONE

AND THEN HE JUST. WENT ANYWAY AND WATSON HAD TO WATCH HIM JUST LIKE GODDAMN WALK OFF INTO THE SUNSET LIKE "LITTLE DID I KNOW THIS WOULD BE THE LAST TIME I WOULD SEE HIM BUT IT JUST. IT HAD THAT VIBE YKNOW"

God I just. Wow sherlock really did that huh. He really went and did that. And I went over it in the post about this compared to yuumori but it just RUINED me how watson just. Never saw what happened and there's just so little information about it that all they have is these assumptions and pieces that just suggest that these guys met up, walked up to the goddamn waterfall having a nice civil conversation about how talented and smart they both were at this and how they revealed their methods to each other and complimented them because of course they did

And they just sat up there talking to each other so long and Moriarty legit waited politely or even possibly was the one that suggested he write a letter to watson in which sherlock just went "damn lol moriarty's pretty nice actually anyway uhhhh sorry watson ily ✌" and just like. left it up there in his damn cigarette box

But just like. damn the insinuation that moriarty just sat there and watched while he wrote that entire goddamn letter, sealed it up, and then got up and went alright buddy let's go but it makes no goddamn sense if they wanted to actually kill each other and assure they themselves would survive I could name like 23 different ways they could have managed it so easily and they Didn't. they were really set on mutual destruction huh. There's no way they were even trying to do anything but Die Together at that point and that's Something huh

It absolutely baffles me how they could say that these guys had plummetted like, holding each other tho. Like. ok lol but How Do You Even Know

It was certainly a ride. But the fact that Watson had to actively try to think like Sherlock to figure out what happened in the scene was just. The cherry on top. Especially after they'd consciously started to switch roles in this i just. Damn.

In conclusion uhhhhhhhh gay people real I suppose

#rowan views moriarty #rowan's hyperfixation essays #sherlock holmes #*screams* THIS BOY GOT ME FUCKED UP. FUCKED UP

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parkertech · 4 years

Text

Tattoos & Tears - CHAPTER 3

a/n: on everybody's 18th birthday, they get a tattoo of their soulmate written on their wrist. for you, it's your best friend who you thought you got over. who even has a girlfriend of his own.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of drinking

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Blinking a few times, you frantically wiped your wrist up and down, back and forth, any direction that was possible. But it wouldn’t come off. The name wasn’t coming off. The name wasn’t coming off!

When you realized your fate was sealed and there was nothing you could do about it your hands flew up to the side of your heads as the tears started leaking out.

What the fuck were you gonna do?

What the fuck were you gonna tell MJ?

What were you gonna tell Peter?

Betty was just as silent as you, her mouth agape and staring at you in absolute shock. She snapped out of it when she heard you sniffle and saw how quickly your eyes and cheeks were turning red.

“Y-Y/N don’t cry-“ The beginning of her sentence only made you sob, before you were sliding down the bathroom door. You covered your eyes with your palms and you continued sobbing. Betty slowly sat down next to you and gently grasped your shoulders. She pulled you to her, your head laying on her chest. Your tears were seeping through her white turtleneck, but she couldn’t give a care in the world.

“W-What the fuck am I g-gonna do?!” Your voice cracking and how scared you sounded made Betty’s heart crack even more. The fear on her face didn’t make anything better. She usually knew what to do when you’re sad, but right now? She didn’t know what to do herself, other than help you pour all your emotions out. And that’s exactly what she did.

Neither of you knew how long, but you let out broken sobs and cried your entire soul out. Betty stroked your hair while whispering reassurances. Eventually, you brought back your breathing to normal, and moved away from Betty. Taking one last shaky breath, you leaned your head back while closing your eyes. Betty looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something.

“Betty...I’m in so much shit...” you laughed it off a little at the end, only because it was kind of your coping method. But she could see right through your act, and took your hand in a firm grip.

“Y/N...look at me...” you shake your head while a tear peaks through your closed eye and rolls down your cheek. Betty grips your hand tighter and yanks it a little. “Look at me, Y/N!” It’s more of a demand, and you finally open your eyes and turn your head to her. She could see how scared you were by just looking at her, and it made her face fall a little. You never were the weak one of the group, and seeing you like this? It just made the situation all the more serious.

“Y/N, I know it seems like this is really bad-“

“Because it is really bad!” Your sudden outburst made her flinch, and you stood up to pace around the room. Your breath was getting quicker, and everything seem to slow down more and more. Both of you knew what was happening, but knew addressing it was going to make it worse.

“Yeah, it is, but that doesn’t mean you can’t figure this out...” Betty said cautiously. You laughed sarcastically before turning to her.

“Figure it out? Figure it out?” Your voice got more and more angrier towards the end. “There is no, ‘figuring this out’, Betty! He’s supposedly my soulmate yet he’s dating one of my best fucking friends!”

“I know, I know! But think about it...you don’t even like Peter! Maybe it’s a mistake, maybe...” her voice was drowning out the more and more she negotiated. That familiar ringing came back to your head as you covered your ears and shut your eyes. Behind the ringing, sounded like something bending against its will.

“Are you even listening to me?! This doesn’t have to be a big deal!” Snap.

“IT IS A BIG DEAL BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!” Betty’s eyes went wide and she shut up immediately. At this point, you didn’t care what she said. You were too overwhelmed to feel anything other than embarrassment, humiliation, and guilt.

“I had a crush on him during Europe, and I saw him...kiss MJ on the London Bridge...” you admitted through sobs. “I-I didn’t want to get in the way of his happiness...so I just went M.I.A for a week and let it happen. I-I thought I got over it, b-but now it feels like the trip all over again, but so, so much more worse. And I know he doesn’t want me, because he’s with MJ and I know he loves her, and I just-“

A knock at the door makes both of you stop, and turn to it.

“Hey, Y/N you in here?” MJ’s voice.

“Brad told us you might be here.” Peter’s voice.

At the sound of his voice, you let out a quiet breath and covered your mouth, holding back a sob. Betty took a deep breath while taking a glance at you, before unlocking the bathroom door and opening it a tiny bit. Only to keep you out of sight and her in view. She faked a smile while observing MJ and Peter’s slightly concerned expressions.

“Hey guys! Y/N got a little drunk, and is kinda throwing up a lot...” Peter grimaced and made a disgusted face while MJ furrowed her eyebrows. She didn’t hear you throwing up...and why wasn’t Betty opening the door all the way?

“Oh...does she need help?” MJ peeked her foot through the door, trying to open it a little more. She knew that if Betty didn’t cooperate, something was up. Her suspicion was confirmed when she tried to close the door more.

“N-No! She’s like, really embarrassed and doesn’t want anyone else to see her like this...and you were kinda busy we heard, so yeah, I’m just here...helping her...” Peter was completely clueless and believing Betty, but MJ was still puzzled. Betty knew she was by the way she tilted her head.

Dammit, why did she have to be so smart and observant?

“Well, we’re gonna go, if that’s okay.” Peter speaks up. You sigh a little in relief. If you saw his face, let alone him with MJ, you were gonna break down all over again.

“Yeah, yeah! Goodnight guys!” Betty speaks a little too quickly and slams the door shut as MJ was about to speak. It’s her turn to let out the breath she was holding, before she walks over to you and hugs you tightly. You hug her back just as tight.

“We’re gonna work this out, I promise...” you don’t have any energy to argue, so you nod and bury your head into her neck. You wanted to believe her, but the possibilities didn’t really seem in your favor.

After Betty knew MJ and Peter left for sure, she got help from Flash to turn off the party. If it weren’t for Flash saying he’d move it to his house, people would still be there. You and Betty were laying down together in your bed. You were able to stop crying completely, but your thoughts were still going haywire. You were playing fake scenarios in your head where somehow Peter and MJ found out, and you could picture the absolute disgust on their faces, and the way they would leave you in a heart beat. It just made the ache in your heart grow more and more.

Betty announced that she was going to the bathroom, hesitant to leave you alone. But you reassured her you could be left alone for 5 minutes. As you were playing with the string of your sweatshirt, you heard a tapping at your window. It interrupted the silence, making you jump and turn to the window. Peter was there, with a bag in his hand and a concerned face that made him cuter than he already was.

Mustering up all your strength, you slowly stride over to the window, slowly opening it. Peter caught your red eyes, even though you were trying to hide it with a smile.

“Y/N, have you been crying?” Your face falls as you feel the tears come to your eyes. All you wanted to do was nod your head and throw yourself into his arms. But you couldn’t, cause he would ask what happened. And you didn’t have a good lie. You’re able to keep your tears down, thank god, and you shake you head.

“Relax, it’s from puking my brains out.” You added a little laugh to make your sarcastic humor seem more believable. Peter looked at you hesitantly before nodding.

“Well, speaking of that, I got you your favorites, and medicine for your morning hangover...” he handed you the plastic bag in his hands, and you took it, looking inside. There was your favorite candy, soda, some ibuprofen, along with a tiny Spider-Man plushie holding a heart he swiped from Delmar’s. You smiled at the little care package he made. It showed how kind and sweet he was, which was one of the main reasons you liked him so much. But you were always reminded that he was MJ’s by your subconscious.

“Thank you, Pete. This is really sweet...” You look back up at him, and realize how close your faces were. You sucked in a breath at the same time as Peter. You got lost into how brown his eyes were. Where they always that gorgeous in the moonlight? Peter cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” He mumbled. Peter could feel his heart rate speeding up, but pushed that thought down. After a few beats of silence, he spoke up again. “You know I care about you, a lot?” You nodded, but he kept speaking. “I’m serious. I know I’ve been busy with MJ-“

“That’s cause she’s your girlfriend. It’s okay, Pete-“

“No, lemme finish. That doesn’t give me a right to completely abandon you. You’re important to me too. You’re like my sister.” Ouch. Peter continues talking, but your brain is stuck on that one sentence.

‘You’re like my sister’

The words crushed your heart, and you knew if you kept standing there talking to Peter, your secret was going to be revealed sooner than you liked.

“Thank you, Peter, for the little care package. I’m kind of sleepy, and MJ’s probably waiting for you, so I’ll just see you tomorrow.” Your words sound a little harsh, and Peter is taken aback a bit. What did he do wrong? Why is she mad at me?

“Oh...yeah, you must be tired after all that...” you nod awkwardly. You could see the slight hurt in his face, and couldn’t fight the slight guilt you had. Of course, you had to fuck things up even more. You go to close your window, before Peter speaks out one last time.

“Who’s your soulmate?” You freeze at his sentence, and turn to him. He waits for your answer, while you come up with an excuse.

“It’s...Brad Davis!” Peter’s face falls, and it suddenly felt like he got crushed by a building. Brad? How the fuck could it be that asshole?

“B-Brad Davis...?” Peter stutters. He feels his hearing fade and his stomach sinking when you nod. “You mean the fuckboy of the school, Brad Davis?” Peter says it with such hate and venom, you’re shocked at it.

“Yeah...? Why?” Peters jaw clenched as he gripped the window ceil tightly, and tilted his head away from you.

“I don’t think you should go for him.” You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him slightly disgusted. What was he leading to?

“Why not? I don’t really have a choice since he’s my soulmate.” Peter clenched his eyes shut while his brain is filled with you and Brad kissing, you and Brad going on dates, you and Brad getting married, you and Brad being soulmates. The word seemed to disgust him, and his heart was filled with jealousy instead of his usual compassion.

“Brad, of all people though? Y/N, you know he’s a fucking asshole!”

“Whoa, Peter! Calm down, why are you acting like my parents?” Peter knew he was being a little out of line, but he couldn’t fight the sudden ache to beat Brad’s face in at the possibility of him being your one and only. He knew his intentions. He was the type to fuck and leave. It wasn’t a slim chance he’d change for you.

“Y/N, I don’t trust him. I don’t care what the tattoo says, stay away from him.” Who the hell does he think he is to be commenting about your love life? Especially with a girlfriend of his own? Instead of the misery you were in before, you were now annoyed and mad.

“Peter, like I said, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Peter could tell by how harsh your voice was that he went too far.

“No, wait, Y/N!-“ you closed the window and shut your curtains, leaving Peter guilty. “Shit...” me mutters. Without even thinking about it, he smacks the wall next to him angrily before going down your fire escape.

Why did he say anything? He should’ve just let you and Brad be happy! But he can’t be. Peter knows how Brad is, and the the thought of him doing that to you? Breaking your heart, manipulating you, all for a quick fuck? Yeah, he was not gonna sit by and let that happen. The thought of you being mad at him just made him more disappointed in himself.

But why was he being so protective? It’s your love life. He can’t control it, let alone all the men on planet fucking earth. It wasn’t impossible for someone to cheat on you. Cheating was common, nowadays. He would be there for you during your heart break, definitely, but still feel guilty. Even if he had nothing to do with it.

His thoughts were full of you during his walk home, and they were interrupted when he saw MJ sitting on his bed with her arms crossed. He walked her home, so he was slightly alarmed to see her there.

“Babe, what are you doing here? I thought you were sleeping at your place?” She raised an eyebrow at him, maintaining eye contact.

“I wanted to sleep over here tonight. But you were gone. Doing what exactly, Peter?” Peter furrowed his eyebrows at how suggestive she was being, but saved that comment for when it was needed.

“I was just at Y/N’s...why?”

“And why were you at her place?” Wait...was MJ jealous? And why was she being jealous?

“I was just giving her stuff to help her with her hangover tomorrow. Is that such a crime?” Peter said a little snippy. MJ was being a little too protective. This is probably how you felt when he commented about Brad...wait, not important right now!

“No...but somethings wrong with her.” Peter furrowed his eyebrows in even more confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Betty was acting weird when we came to check on her. So was Y/N.” Peter rolled his eyes at her before sitting down next to her.

“Babe, maybe you’re overreacting. Think about it, Y/N turned 18 literally an hour ago. She’d celebrate with drinks like every other teenager, maybe too much, which leads to puking. Maybe Betty was just sticking to her word.” MJ processed Peter’s words, and realized he was right. Neither of them were there to fully deny what Betty explained to them. And Peter wouldn’t cheat on her. He was to sweet for that.

MJ groaned and hid her face in her hands. “Jesus...I’m so stupid. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me...” she apologized meekly.

“No, it’s okay. You don’t think I’d do anything to hurt you, right?” She shook her head. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, okay?” She nods and closes her eyes, and Peter reassures her by planting a kiss on the top of her head. “We should go to bed, it’s late.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” MJ changes into one of Peter’s science pun t-shirts, and Peter changes into a pair of sweatpants with no shirt on. MJ turns off his bedside lamp, and squeezes onto his twin size bed. Peter wraps an arm around MJ from behind, and gives her one last goodnight kiss.

MJ was knocked out the second she was in Peter’s arms, but Peter on the other hand was stuck thinking about you. He found himself thinking about you a lot. He kept replaying earlier’s moments over and over. He kept replaying the confused yet hurt expression on your face, and he cringed internally. He prayed to god that he didn’t fuck anything up between you two. If anything, he would apologize for it at school, and everything would be okay.

Or so he hoped.

———————————————————————

a/n: okay, just wanna say that the amount of support and love i’ve gotten from this series so far has really made me feel so 🥰. i did not expect tattoos & tears to actually pop off like—y’all are INSANE. i just wanted to say tysm and ily all 🥺

Taglist 🏷 (requests are open!)

@marvel4geeks @ladykxxx08 @chloecreatesfictions @joyleenl @witchything

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #spider-man #spider-man far from home #spider-man homecoming #tom holland #spider man homecoming imagine #spider man far from home imagine #spider man x reader #spider man x you #ffh #peter parker x you

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babysizedfics · 4 years

Text

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 8: Sink and Float

[This is an age regression story]

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

Chapter word count: 11,750

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

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

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

oOo

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

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

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

‘Ten.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Dad?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Right.’

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

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

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

‘And can he really not speak properly?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I like that,’ Roman muttered.

‘What’s that, sweetie?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence reigned.

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

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

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

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

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

Warm fingers tightened further around his.

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

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

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

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

‘What if you and Logan break up?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hey!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oOo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Vee!’ Logan yelped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘N-nothing,’ Logan stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Like catching Moms when they swoon.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Is everything all right?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sob wrenched its way from Patton’s throat.

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

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

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

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

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

Patton slumped back into Logan’s arms in defeat.

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

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

Delighted, squeaky laughter echoed from the living room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tissue that Logan stroked over his cheekbone faltered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wrenched Patton from his dreamy state.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was immediately clear why Roman had called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Perhaps it was the separation anxiety.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman did not react.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do you wanna sit in Papa’s lap?’

A slight nod came in reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oOo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Dad, Dad, look!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil pointed at himself with a surprise in his eyes.

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

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

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

‘Wub!’

‘You love it?’ Patton asked.

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

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

‘Beshul?��

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

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

‘Wub Papa!’

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

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

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

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

‘Is that yummy, sweetheart?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Dad, can I have a kiss?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⤛ The End ⤜

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Bonus chapter

#agere virgil #Little Virgil #agedre roman #little roman #cg logan #cg patton #ts agere #sanders sides agere #little/big series #little/big series fics #little accidents big developments

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

Put Your Head On My Shoulder

[Wing AU; Tour!Verse]

Wing Chart

I did another art-writing trade with @spooner7308!!! They once again requested EB and Tour!Joan content for the wing au, so here it is! I think their dynamic is great

Also art-writing trades are open if anyone is interested! Just DM me!

Also also for legal reasons Jane is Lauren!Jane, not Carly!Jane, because Carly!Jane would NEVER. Though, if Jane really did what happens in this fic is up to interpretation hehe

Word count: 4880

TW: Blood, discussion of torture

-----------------------------

The frantic knocking at the front door roused EB from her half-dazed reverie on the couch. She peeled one of her large wings away from her face and squinted through the dim lamplight; she really had to change the light bulb one of these days. She should treat the electrical items in her house like she does with the ones at the theater, right? But there was no real motivation for her own personal things…

More knocking. EB grunted in annoyance, hoping it would just go away. It was probably some stupid solicitors trying to get her to buy some cable program or something dumb like that. Don’t they know not to wander into a vulture’s nest? She wondered if she could flash them to get them to go away and never come back… No, no. That would just throw her back in prison, and who wants to go down with public indecency due to nude tits and bare ass on their permanent record? It was already hard enough to get her current job as is. And that was very un-metal of her.

The knocking continued, and now it just sounded like someone was trying to bust her door down. She growled. How good could this fucking cable be? Unless it had free porn, she did NOT want to hear it.

But the salesavian apparently didn’t take the hint because they kept trying to break her fucking front door, and EB finally threw herself up with a roared, “ALRIGHT!!”

Stomping to the entrance of her small, dingy apartment, EB flung open the door and was nearly rapped on the chest by the person standing outside. She flared her wings and crest feathers, fluffing them up to look bigger, and snarled, “What the FUCK do you w--”

And then the words died off.

Because it wasn’t some degenerate annoyance trying to sell her shitty cable at all, but a small, stick-thin hybrid that would never in a million years be able to go door-to-door selling useless crap people.

And there was something attached to her head.

It almost looked like a diver helmet and bear trap were fused together. Two thick iron jaws were clamped firmly over her mouth, attached to a series of metal clasps and straps and hinges that branched out over the sides of her head, anchoring the thing to her skull. It looked heavy and very uncomfortable, and EB could see chipped and frayed pieces digging into the hybrid’s sensitive flesh. It was brown from age, rusted and pockmarked in dents and scratches, practically crawling with tetanus.

With a jolt, EB realized it was a jaw trap, and it was Joan beneath its abrasive metal grasp.

The jaw trap was never used on EB personally while she was being tortured before her execution. At the time, there had been only one existing in London, and it was mainly used for show, getting its own pedestal and everything like it was the king’s fucking crown. No, instead she owed her tortured pleasure to the end of fat dove fingers, which ripped out handfuls of her feathers until it looked like she was infected with Drop Feather Fever. And for a dove, a supposed “holy figure”, he was fucking BRUTAL and MEAN. She also got to get a taste of the merciless brutality of a tail chopper, which severed the bone, muscle, and tendons of her tail before she could even have another fucking vision--and her tail hasn’t even recovered from THAT experience, and it’s been over FIVE HUNDRED FUCKING YEARS!! And then there was also the whipping of the base of her wings, pulling out her talons, that one time they attempted to set her crest feathers in fire… God, she was starting to fall back into the darkness of those memories again.

Joan sniffled, and EB shook off the black vines trying to crawl through her heart and mind. Big, tear-filled grey eyes stared up at her, filled with so much terror and pain and distress. Joan looked absolutely shaken, like she was about to faint at any moment from pure horror.

EB grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside.

Was her apartment too dirty? There were definitely some cans on the floor and it smelled a lot like cigarette smoke. Didn’t Vespers have heightened smell? Or was that the Hydras? Wait, Joan was crossed with both-- Shit, what if the smell suffocated her or something?! Could that happen? Joan whimpered, bringing EB back to awareness once again. She sat the young hybrid down on the couch and retrieved her tools from her bedroom (what? she’s a technician! might as well have some on hand! now if she could just change that light bulb…).

“Hey, hey,” EB said when she heard Joan whimper again, and she was surprised at how soft her voice came out. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of that thing.”

She knew how dangerous jaw traps could be. Even though she hadn’t been around to ever see one be used, she did her research on the things that happened after she died. She read about the awful things Mary had done. The way she put the traps on hybrids, the Flightless, and even Vespers simply for existing and because she didn’t like them. How she would have them sprung for the stupidest reasons, ripping the jaw off or crushing the skull or tearing the face of innocent people because they disagreed with the things she said. And then what Jane did with her four hybrids…

Rage simmered in EB’s veins, but she did her best to cool it for now. She could get her revenge when Joan was not at risk of losing her entire fucking mouth.

EB brandished a screwdriver and began looking for a give, but there didn’t appear to be any gives on the jaw trap. It was made of very specific metal riggings and hinges and springs, which were attached with even more specific clasps and latches. It wasn’t like any normal device that she could just take apart.

This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.

EB gently twisted Joan’s head with her hands and began searching for a weak part of the jaw trap. The back had several hunks of metal attached to it, dozens of locks and joints that looked very uncomfortable to have dug into the head. She tugged on one lightly and the entire trap creaked dangerously. Joan let out a muffled scream and burst into tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” EB quickly swerved back in front of her. Glistening droplets ran into the grooves of the metal jaws clamped around her mouth; EB wondered if it was so rusted because of the tears of the victims who had to wear it. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you out.”

Joan sobbed again. Her breathing picked up, raspy and muffled through her nose because she couldn’t gasp out of her firmly closed mouth. Her eyes were wide and manic, like she was already seeing her own bloody demise playing out to her, and EB began to wonder if she had visions, too…

But EB would not let the hybrid die. Not ever.

“You’re going to be okay.” EB said firmly, but her voice still had a certain softness to it that was able to grab Joan’s attention. The hybrid looked up at her with so much desperation in her shiny eyes. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

Joan sniffled and nodded. Her panic attack had yet to be tamed, but at least she didn’t look like she was visualizing her own jaw being ripped off anymore. EB considered that a win for now.

“Turn your head for me, love,” EB said, and the pet name slipped out without her even thinking it through. Joan obeyed, tensing when the jaw trap jangled when her head moved. “Now sit still for me. Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

With careful claws, EB began analyzing the back rigging of the jaw trap with a surgeon’s eye. She poked and prodded pieces of the contraption with the gentleness of someone holding an extinct bird egg, knowing the risk if her talons slipped for only a moment.

There were two thick circular seals attached to either sides of the jaws, which seemed to be holding them closed. They were connected by taut wire rope that fastened onto the back, too tough to cut through with her claws, but maybe some bolt cutters or pliers could do the trick…

“Okay, hold still for me,” EB said, pulling a pair of pliers from her tool box.

Joan began screaming, startling EB and nearly making her stab her in the temple.

“What?” EB yelped.

Joan shook her head wildly, and EB had to grab her by the ears to get her to stop from hurting herself further. She screwed her eyes shut, crying harder, and made distressed noises that sounded like she was saying “no.” Upon closer inspection, EB realized her panic when she saw that the wires were tightened into their straightness by a gear--and her knowledge in tech told her that if she were to cut them without unlocking the seal, the trap would spring.

“Shit,” EB muttered.

Joan whimpered. Her wings, shaking so badly they may just shudder right off of her back, pulled close around her like she thought they could protect her. EB’s heart ached at her despair and she wiped her thumb under one of her eyes, brushing away the tears.

“Joan, pup, look at me.” She said softly. She unfurled her wings around Joan, and the hybrid tried to curl into them like she craved their warmth. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to get you free, okay?”

Joan sniffled pitifully and nodded weakly.

EB returned her attention to the back of the trap. She looked closer, carefully poking her claws through the cracks and creases in the metal. She eventually saw a sprocket and fastener near the center, slightly obscured by springs and links. She could tell that it was the key to unlock the trap, and was probably hard to get to for a reason, so victims couldn’t just reach back and set themselves free.

“Okay, Joan,” EB said, peering in at the fastener. “Take deep breaths. You’re doing so good. I’m going to get you out.”

She reached in and tried to twist the fastener, but it was much too tight for her claws to loosen. Which also made sense. And also made her angrier because a victim wouldn’t ever be able to get the trap off if they were forgotten about.

She took the pliers and stuck them into the small gap, grasping the fastener with the jaws. She began turning it, loosening it slowly but surely, and the jaw trap creaked, then clicked. Joan cried out as the entire thing shuddered around her head, but EB could see that the wires were starting to lose some of their tightness.

“It’s okay, love,” EB said, brushing one of her wings against Joan’s arm comfortingly. “It’s almost off. Just keep breathing.”

Slowly, carefully, the seals and riggings went loose and the entire trap seemed to go slack around Joan’s head, allowing EB to pull it off of the terrified hybrid.

The first thing EB saw were the purple bruises bloomed across Joan’s cheeks and lower jaw from the tightness of the trap, then the nicks and cuts from the frayed metal, and then her mouth full of blood.

EB had read about how jaw traps were sometimes so tight that they damaged the jaws of the victim, causing nerve damage and bruising. There was also a plate that went into the mouth, sometimes cutting into the tongue and gums, which explained why Joan’s mouth was all bloody.

Rage boiled up again, like pus from an abscess. EB clenched her talons, driving the black claws into her palms. She released her fists before they could break skin and jumped up to retrieve a rag from the kitchen, which she wet with warm water. She swiped some painkillers from one of the cabinets as well, knowing that Joan had to have been in pain, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

When EB went back to the couch and brought the rag to Joan’s face, Joan flinched away with a whimper. Her eyes were glazed and haunted; she reminded EB of the way she used to be after she had first been reincarnated.

“Hey, hey,” EB gently brushed Joan with her wing. “It’s just me. It’s EB. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“E-EB?” Joan squeaked. Her voice was raspy and hoarse…as if she had worn it out from screaming.

The anger bubbled back up, burning hot, like molten lava trapped in a cauldron. She fought to keep it from showing on her face, knowing it would definitely startle the poor hybrid in front of her if she did.

Joan’s face crumpled and she began to openly cry. “I-I was so scared!” She choked out. “I-I thought I was--” She trailed off into the frantic wheezes and whimpers of a spiraling panic attack.

“Hey, shh,” EB wrapped her wings around Joan, and Joan sunk into them. She was tiny in comparison to the feathery appendages, and EB realized she was curled in them like a chick would in the wings on its mother…and that EB had her hooded like an actual mother hen would.

EB internally snorted. Her? Being a mother hen? That was about as likely as her changing the lightbulb in her lamp, which was definitely getting dimmer by the second. In fact, she would probably be THE WORST mother hen! Absolutely terrible! Would probably actually sit on a kid instead of just hooding them!

Wait, wasn’t it nesting season?

EB shook out her wings and Joan flinched. She quickly calmed her when she made a noise of distress.

“Sorry,” She said, rubbing the hybrid’s head with one hand. She used the other to wipe off the blood on Joan’s face with the rag, making sure to be careful over the tender bruises. When she finished, she gave Joan the painkiller pill, and then Joan promptly balled back up in her wings.

As EB held Joan, rubbing her back with one hand, keeping her protectively wrapped in her wings, she let the anger finally march through her veins like a colony of army ants.

How could someone do this to a kid? She could understand in a way why she had been tortured, she had a blasphemous vision, but Joan was so young. And all she was was a hybrid. She just looked a little strange, and yet people hated her like she was a devil loosed from hell.

A growl curled at the back of her throat, coming out sounding more like something a dog would make rather than a vulture. Her feathers stood on end as she cupped Joan’s face, made her look up at her, and whispered, “Who did this to you?”

Joan’s big yellow ears swiveled around like a searching radar, then pinned back flat against her head. She looked away, hugging her wings around her.

EB let out another growl. She couldn’t have expected Joan to give her an answer; no fault of the girl’s own, she was much too timid and anxious to spill information.

EB gently deposited Joan from her hold and stood up, becoming very aware of the empty, cold feeling that quickly infected her wings. She quickly shook them out, as if they were crawling with spiders, but the feeling didn’t go away. She scoffed. Must be stupid nesting season shit. Not that nesting season affected her. She was METAL and TOUGH. And metal and tough birds do NOT become mother hens!!

“I’ll be back,” EB said, thorns edging her words. She picked up the jaw trap and was surprised that the metal didn’t bend within her tight grasp.

“Wh-where are you going?” Joan asked, stammering over her words.

“To get revenge.” EB stated bluntly, striding for the door.

“P-please don’t leave me!”

That made EB falter. She stopped at the entrance to the apartment, the door half open, her wings spread and ready for flight.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”

She hurried out. If she heard Joan’s reaction, then she wouldn’t be able to go on with her plans.

She hoped the little hybrid wouldn’t be mad.

Outside, EB leapt into the night sky and began flapping her way across the city. She pumped her wings furiously, soaring like a speeding jet through the stars. Her rage fueled her onwards, and she flew like--

(like that damn dove was on her tail feathers.)

Elizabeth grit her teeth through the pain. One by one, her brown feathers were plucked from her wings, leaving ugly bald patches and red marks across the tender pink flesh. She did her best not to whimper or whine, bit small noises of pain escaped her lips against her will.

“Oh, so now you’re quiet,” Chuckled the dove. He ran his claws over a handful of her feathers. His white wings were spattered in blood. “Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut about your fucking visions and you wouldn’t even be in this situation.” He flicked his wings and droplets of blood went flying. “Though, I guess I wouldn’t have gotten to have some fun with you right now. And I don’t expect a vulture to understand anything.” He raked his claws down Elizabeth’s left wing and laughed cruelly.

--like a demon was on her tail feathers. A demon. Not a dove.

EB shook her head and growled deep in her throat. She flew faster, beating her wings until her muscles burned with exertion.

(like how her back burned when the dove whipped her)

A cry of pain escaped Elizabeth’s lips when the whip came down on her bare back, slashing open a gouge down her tender flesh. Blood came pouring out, wet and hot and sticky down her spine. Her head spun- how many lashings has this been now? Five? Twenty? A hundred?

The dove’s laugh from behind her sounded like the cackle of a hyena.

“Still no new visions?” He asked. “I surely thought I could beat them out of you.” He leaned down in front of Elizabeth, and his face was dripping with her blood. “Come on, nun. Predict my future. Where am I gonna be in twenty years?”

“They don’t--work like that.” Elizabeth said through her teeth. The pain was sharp and radiating, burning like a wildfire through her back. Her wings were trembling violently and every shudder sent a new wave of torture vibrating through her nerves.

The dove laughed loudly, and Elizabeth winced. “Well, aren’t you tough?” He gave a gravelly chuckle and raised the whip again. “That won’t last much longer.”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!!” EB roared, wheeling around to swing her wings at something that wasn’t there. A sharp gust of wind caught her flight feathers and nearly sent her spiraling out of the sky. Sweat dripped down her face and she shook her head wildly, growling. With a whirl of brown and gold, she spun back around and continued her flight path.

She couldn’t remember the last time the memories of her past really came up. She was good at repressing them, beating them down into the darkest reaches of her memory so they could never come crawling back up. And if they did, she would fill her body with so much alcohol or smoke that her brain would drown in liquor and ash and become muddled enough to block out the memories on its own.

But she didn’t have time to drink or smoke or suppress anything. She just had to fly.

(because the dove had made sure she never would again back then)

Elizabeth glared at the dove as he curled around her. It was agony to stand, but she held herself as still as possible. The cuts along her back had broken open and were bleeding through her shirt.

“Tell me a vision, vulture.” The dove said.

Elizabeth growled, opened her mouth, then screamed.

The blade of the tail cutter sliced cleanly through her tail.

EB tucked in her wings and dove from the sky like a comet falling to earth. She opened them back up at the last moment and swooped down to the front stoop of the queen residence. She knocked furiously on the door, surely thinking she was splintering the wood beneath her fist.

(just like the way her bones had been splintered)

Tendons severed, muscles cut away, tail feathers docked, wings twin labyrinths of blood and gore. Elizabeth lied in her cell, shuddering in agony, staring listlessly at the wall. She couldn’t think straight at all anymore. Did she ever really have any visions?

The dove opened her cell down, rope in hand, and stared down at her.

“Get up, vulture,” He said. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

After twenty-two eternal seconds, the front door opened. EB shoved past a confused-looking Cathy and stormed into the house like a raging firestorm.

“JANE!” She roared. “GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!”

“EB, what is the meaning of this?” Howard asked, but EB ignored her.

Jane walked out of a hallway, eyebrows furrowed, and EB nearly tackled her right then and there.

“What’s going on?” The old world swallowtail Cimex asked. Her large wings were twitching nervously, and EB so badly wanted to tear into them with her talons and teeth.

“I am going to be asking the questions here,” EB said to her, fire licking her words. She brandished the jaw trap, and it looked so much more menacing in actual light. Jane tensed, and gasps went around the room. “Recognize this?”

Jane swallowed thickly. “Wh-where did you get that?”

“I think you know.” EB said.

Jane looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you snotty, pompous gnat!” EB snapped, enjoying the way Jane flinched. “You know exactly where this came from. You know what you did.”

“No, I don’t!” Jane said, glancing all around the room. “I haven’t seen one of those in centuries! I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“YOU FUCKING LIAR!” EB roared, making everyone in the room jump. “You--you put this thing on a fucking kid, you absolute monster! She came to me crying, thinking she was going to die! I know you’re fucking racist, but how fucking SICK do you have to be to pull this shit AGAIN?”

Jane took a small step back. All four of her hands were wringing in her shirt, like she didn’t know what to do with her arms while she was getting ripped a new one. Her face was ghostly pale, eyes wide in shock, and her wings had started to tremble.

“I-I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” She squeaked.

EB scoffed. “You’re such a fucking joke.” She said. “I knew you were illiterate and fucking stupid, but do I really have to spell it out for you? I know what you did to Joan, and I’m not going to let you get away with it.”

“She did WHAT?” Howard snapped to attention.

“What happened to Joan?” Aragon followed, unfurling her golden dragon wings. She shot an evil glare at Jane.

“She put this fucking torture device on Joan.” EB said, shaking the jaw trap for emphasis. It clanked loudly, the deadly jaws hanging limply. She stalked closer to Jane, ruffling up her wings to look bigger than she already was. The butterfly cowered beneath her, shaking from antennae to toe. With a voice that was dripping with venom, she said, “And you should know that when it comes to all equipment, tech, and machinery, whether it be used in the tour or not, my word is law. And my decree is that if you so much as think of bringing along another one of these wretched devices, then you have another thing coming.”

Jane went to reply, and EB slashed her across the mouth.

Driven backwards by pain, Jane staggered, wings flaring out in shock. Her hands flew to her jaw, pawing tentatively, green Cimex blood drooling through her fingers. Four long claw marks were carved across her lips and cheeks, and EB struggled not to smirk at how long the scars would linger on her face.

“Do NOT try and argue with me!” EB boomed, her voice resounding like thunder through the house. “I did NOT live through torture at the Tower of London to see this fucking thing be used in modern day!” She clutched at the jaw trap with both hands, imagining it were Jane’s head she was crushing between her talons. “You’re not going to hurt anyone everyone again, you fucking monster. Not while I’m around. And if you lay a single claw on Joan, if your silk so much as TOUCHES her, if your wings even BRUSH her, I will fucking kill you, and I will make sure it’s much worse than goddamn natural causes. I will make you feel real pain, you useless baby-making trophy.”

And then she pulled the jaw trap apart, looking Jane dead in the eye as if to say, “THIS is you.”

Silence fell around the house. Jane was frozen, shaking madly, but her petrified expression was more than satisfying for EB.

Was this what the dove felt when he tortured her?

Come on, little nun, tell me my future. Don’t make this all be worthless…

Raising her chin haughtily, EB threw the broken jaw trap at Jane’s feet, fluffed her wings at her, and then turned and walked out.

She took to the sky instantly, and began flying home. She swore she had a boost under her wings as she flew, making her stronger and faster.

She felt powerful.

EB was home in record time, landing smoothly and instantly darting into her apartment.

Joan was curled on the couch where she left her, wrapped up in a cocoon made of her own weird wings. Her head popped up when the door shut, and her grey eyes were rimmed with thick rings of red.

“I told you I’d come back,” EB said.

Joan threw herself at EB, and EB caught her in her wings. The hybrid dissolved into tears once again, sobbing so hard it sounded painful. EB tried to maneuver her back to the couch before she collapsed, but she ended up scooping her up instead. She ignored the weird nagging sense of worry tugging on her brain when she realized how light Joan was, even for an avian of her size. Because she will say it again: she was NOT affected by nesting season!!!!

“Shh, shh, shh,” EB murmured, swaying Joan in her wings. “It’s alright. I’m here now. I’m sorry for leaving you, but I had to take care of something.”

Joan sniffled and whimpered something completely incomprehensible, but EB couldn’t really tell if it was because she was crying or because she was also Scottish, and who could REALLY understand Scottish avians?

“It’s okay, love,” EB held her tighter, feeling stubby little half-chewed claws grip onto her shirt. “I won’t let you go. Everything is alright now. Everything is alright.”

Joan cried steadily for ten more minutes, and EB was surprised that she had that much left in her. But after the storm of tears was over, she was reduced to weak hiccups, slumped against EB’s chest in clear exhaustion. Her shiny grey eyes were clouded with fatigue, and she barely had the strength to even lift her own wings. EB stroked down her crest feathers, clucking.

“Let me get you some water before you die of dehydration, little creature,” EB said affectionately. But when she tried to get up, Joan made quite an adorable whine (don’t tell anyone she thought that, though, or she will fucking rivet you a new anus) and mustered up enough strength to wrap her wings around her stomach and hang on her with her dewclaws. “Uhh. Pup? You gotta let go. I need to get you some water.”

Joan buried her face against her chest and shook her head.

“What, do you want to come with me to the kitchen or what?”

Joan looked up at her, eyes glistening like a newborn baby bat’s, and EB had her answer.

Carrying a hybrid hanging onto her like a baby koala might have been weird if EB hadn’t have read something that said Vespers liked hanging on things because it was “true to their bat nature” and also liked being swaddled by wings because it made them “feel secure” and “reminded them of their mother.” Not that she looked that up because she liked Joan, though! Well, she DID like Joan, but she was just looking up things about Vespers because she was interested in the other tribes, that’s all! Nothing for Joan’s sake! She was just curious!

Oh, who was she kidding? Maybe she could let her persona fall just this once. After all, Joan gave her a reason to change that goddamn light bulb. And when did a little nesting season instincts ever hurt anyone?

#wing au #dont tag as ship #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #six the musical au #EB #elizabeth barton #tour joan on the keys #tour jane seymour #tw: blood #tw: torture #put your head on my shoulder

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faulty-writes · 4 years

Note

Can you write a scenario for todoroki with his s/o where whilst both are each fighting many opponents on a frozen lake or something, the s/o is taken off guard as a new opponent slam into them and breaks the ice. They both fall through, the s/o manage to beat them but isn’t quite able to breach the surface for air before they lose consciousness. Todoroki, upon getting them out, has to try and resuscitate them, it all seems for naught until finally s/o breathes and coughs up water, etc

[Requests: OPEN]

[Tall order. Haha. Sounds like a good challenge, I hope you enjoy it. Sorry if I’m not too good at angst, it’s not really my strong point.]

Blood dripped down your nose, landing onto the frozen lake beneath your feet. The mission had gone haywire, it seemed Shigaraki had an army of wannabe villains that decided to ambush you, and Shoto thought a useful escape would be freezing over the nearby lake. It had been somewhat successful and the bonus of the situation was that you at least got to hold Shoto’s hand as he glided along the ice, almost like a figure skater. But as usual, the blissful moments in your life came crashing to an end.

A powerful force caused the ice to crack in half and you had no choice but to let go of Shoto’s hand as you floated away from him. Fear quickly consumed you as villains began to charge at your boyfriend, however, the spectacle was short-lived as you began your own battle. Fighting on ice wasn’t the ideal setting as you found it hard to get your footing and your combat skills were now thrown off. It was hard to land a hit when your feet slid too far or too little from their proper placement. Thus you ended up with a few injuries, mostly due to your own carelessness.

But these villains, given how pathetic they were. Collapsed eventually and you stood there panting, despite the shivers that coursed through your body. Damn, being surrounded by ice caused your body temperature to drop and though your heart was racing you just wanted to collapse to your knees. You reached up, wiping the blood off your forehead. The red substance now smeared across your fingers, you groaned and looked at your now messy hand before you heard a scream. You gasped, your eyes wide as you watched the body of Shoto fly above you.

Your hand reached out, “Shoto!” you cried out your boyfriend’s name before trying to kick off the ground. Your shoes slid, but eventually got enough traction and you had to watch as Shoto’s body collided with the ice. It was surprising it didn’t break, but his body did roll and you wondered for a moment if he was unconscious. You were so busy focused on Shoto that you didn’t see the oncoming enemy until it was too late. A surge of pain ran through your back when you felt the brunt force of the villain slam into you.

Your face collided with the ice before it cracked violently. You gasped and before you could get to your feet, you fell through the ice. You wanted to scream when the cold water hit you causing a shiver to run down your spine. Your eyes tried to focus, eventually, the water cleared up enough for you to see a rather large villain coming your way. More than likely he was the one that slammed into you and broke the ice. Though it was hard to see in the darkened water, you could tell he was smirking as he swam towards you.

Out of all the things, UA could have taught you, fighting underwater would have been helpful. Your moves were slowed on the ice but underwater? You might as well be hopeless, either way, you knew you had to get out before you froze. Despite your fear, you tried to fight the best you could. The villain pulled out a knife and you swam back, forcing your body to lean over. The knife still nicked you and you could see your own blood begin to float in the water. You panicked and looked around before glancing up at the icy tomb that sealed your fate.

You looked at the villain, his face twisting in anger. You shook your head and took off swimming to the surface, you looked over your shoulder almost happy to see that the villain was following you. When you reached where you wanted, you placed one hand on the ice. The surface just above it and you knew Shoto’s ice was thick so there was little chance it’d break from the villain’s knife.

Waiting for the right moment, the villain’s eyes were trained on you. ‘That’s right, come here.’ you thought and moved just before his knife came at you and embedded itself into the ice. Now it was your turn to grin, ‘Not so tough without a weapon are you?’ you thought before placing both hands on the ice and bringing your feet up.

Even underwater, your kick had some effect. You saw bubbles erupt from the villain’s mouth and quickly grabbed his leg. Your own kicking the water to spin him around in his moment of pain, you swam behind him. One arm wrapped around his throat and your hand clasped around your wrist as you applied pressure. The villain kicked and squirmed as you two floated in the water, but you continued to apply pressure, cutting off his air supply. Your own lungs were burning by the time you felt his body go limp and released him.

You watched the now lifeless body float in the water before you hunched over, your hands clasped over your mouth as bubbles escaped. ‘AIR!’ you screamed inside your head and quickly came to realize you had floated too far from the opening the villain created. You panicked, though you could see a faint amount of sunlight illuminating the water far off. You squeezed your eyes shut, kicking with all your might as you became lightheaded. ‘No, I can’t faint now! Focus, fight it!’ your voice rang in your head and your hand stretched out to your destination.

More bubbles escaped and you felt your heart give one last pump, a dull ache coursing through your body and you felt a small moment of bliss as your vision turned black. The last bit of air gone and much like the villain, your body floated there in the cold water. Your hair swaying this way and that and your hand was still outstretched as the water delicately carried you. Not many could say they died in a lake. But unknown to you, Shoto had woken up. His shoulder was bleeding and a painful ache coursed through his ribcage.

He grunted as he stumbled over to the rather large area of distorted ice. He could see the lake water ripple and he leaned over, looking at his own reflection before he gasped. “Y/n!” he cried out, but he was only greeted with silence and the unconscious bodies of the villains that were scattered around or so he thought. He turned on his feet when he heard laughter, “W-Who’s there?” he demanded, “Show yourself!” he snapped, taking one step forward. “Over …here ….kid.” a weak voice said and Shoto turned his head, seeing a rather bloody villain raise their hand.

“You’re looking for your little ….partner …” the villain said, a line of blood seeping from their mouth. Shoto remained quiet, his hands clenching as he tried to suppress his quirk. “Where ...are …they.” he hissed, almost wanting to use his fire to roast the villain that dared mock him. Another laugh came before the villain pointed a weak bloody finger towards the cracked ice. “They fell through, I …can’t say if they’re alive …heh heh. But …better hurry.” Shoto’s eyes widened and he took off running, without hesitation, he jumped into the water.

It didn’t take him long to find your body floating and his heart sank with fear, he quickly grabbed you by the waist. Keeping you close to him as he swam back to the surface, gasping for air before he laid your body against the ice. “Y/n …” he said, a fearful tone in his voice as he reached down to cup your cheek, feeling how cold it was. His heart was pounding as he leaned over, pressing his ear against your chest. Praying to hear your heartbeat, but there was nothing. “Y/n …” he said once more as panic set in.

“N-No …n-no, you can’t …” he tried to deny the idea of you being dead and tilted your head back, opening your mouth to make sure there was no obstruction in the way. He then placed his lips against yours, sharing his oxygen. He placed his hands on your chest, giving five compressions after that. Alternating between the two and pausing in between to see if he had started your heart again. But he heard nothing, “C-Come on, y/n!” he growled, tears starting to stream down his face as he performed another set of compressions.

He checked for your pulse again, “C-Come on! D-Don’t do this!” he begged before blowing more air into your lungs, your lips still cold. He sniffled, allowing his tears to flow as he didn’t want to stop. “Don’t give up on me! Damn it!” he growled as he pushed down on your chest, “Don’t leave me!” he begged, all his life he felt like he was alone and then you came, even though he had tried to push you away. You stayed with him through everything, you couldn’t just leave him now. No. He choked out a sob, pressing his lips to yours once more, in one last effort to get you to breathe.

But it was no use, you remained there. Dripping with water and lifeless. Shoto covered his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as his tears grew violent. Staining his cheeks and falling to the frozen ground below. “Y/n …” he whimpered and grasped onto your shirt, burying his face into your chest as his warm tears continued to flow. “I-I’m so sorry, I ….I c-couldn’t …” he choked out, “I l-love you …p-please …” this couldn’t be happening. “I c-can’t lose you …” he whispered, silence filling the air apart from his sobbing.

His fingers were trembling, turning white as he refused to let go of your shirt. This couldn’t be the end, it just couldn’t. He clenched his jaw, reeling his fist up before slamming it against your chest. About to scream out when your body jerked which caused him to jump back. His eyes widening as you coughed up a massive amount of water. Gasping for air, you struggled to turn your body around. Coughing violently, your heart was racing and your body was shaking. “Y-Y/n?” Shoto spoke in disbelief, tears still trailing down his cheeks. You coughed once more before your arm gave out and fell to the icy ground.

“Y/n!” Shoto exclaimed as he grabbed your shoulders and flipped you onto your back once more. He scrambled to hold your hands, which were still shaking along with the rest of your body. “Y-You’re alive I …I w-was …I t-thought …” he tried to find his words but shook his head, a smile coming to his face as he stared down at you. “Please …don’t scare me like that again,” he said as he gently held you close, trying to warm you up before the proper authorities arrived.

#todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha reader insert #bnha requests #Anonymous

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cryxmercy · 3 years

Text

Backdraft || Mercy & Arthur

When: A couple of weeks before New Year’s Eve. Immediately following this. Where: Arthur’s office @ the University. Who: Mercy and @arthurjdrake

TW: one mention of preventing potential head trauma, but no actual head trauma; possible memory loss tw (for a few brief moments of confusion)

Sometimes the simplest solution is not the right one.

By the time Mercy had driven the distance from the house to the University, she’d managed to pull her scattered thoughts into some small semblance of order. She could still feel the unsettling pins and needles sensation across the skin of her arm, and her anxiety thrummed like a swarm of angry bees, but the former had at least faded a bit as she’d distanced herself from the cause. For now at least.

She didn’t linger too long in the parking lot, but also tried not to look hurried as she made her way towards Arthur’s office. As always, she entered without knocking, except this time she closed and locked the door before settling heavily into the chair opposite his desk. Mercy sat there, legs crossed, foot shaking up and down as she worried her lip with her teeth.

“How’s marking?” she asked after a bit, indicating the enormous pile of papers on his desk (and promptly avoiding the real reason for her visit). “Want some help?”

Arthur reclined in the aged leather chair a crisp winter breeze stirring some of the coursework papers stacked in piles upon his desk. His eyes tracked back and forth across each line of text as he read, still and quiet save for the lo-fi music drifting out of a bluetooth speaker on the shelf. Occasionally the stillness was broken with a reach for his fourth freshly brewed cup of coffee, a sip before its return to the ornate coffee mat off to one side of the desk.

The process was methodical, reading through the coursework before a second read through was taken with pen to paper marking addendums or eliminations of unnecessary or particularly insightful details. And then the tedious task of checking each citation list for formatting errors - the most boring part of the process admittedly.

It wasn’t surprising for Mercy to arrive unannounced and deposit herself in the chair opposite and Arthur didn’t look up initially though the click of the lock was different. A flicker of his eyes followed, a quick track from the door to Mercy and then back in a fraction of a second until he finished reading and set the paper aside. “Honestly I’m actually almost done with them,” it wasn’t entirely true but it was clear as day she was skirting around something. “I’m surprised you came down. I’m almost done for the day to be honest.”

Mercy wasn’t bothered when Arthur didn’t immediately look up from his marking. It wasn’t as if her presence was anything unusual at this point, even if her behavior was slightly out of the ordinary this time. His decline of her offer to help was acknowledged with a distracted hum instead of Mercy’s usual sarcasm or witty retort, and although the rest of what Arthur said wasn’t phrased as a question, they had known each other long enough to know when one was being asked.

This time it was Mercy’s gaze that flickered towards Arthur before sliding over the papers on his desk, and then to the other neatly stacked piles of letters and correspondence that sat here and there. She even glanced towards the rubbish bin, but there was nothing that caught her eye. Best get on with it then.

“A letter came for me today.” At first, it sounded like nothing unusual. Everyone received letters in the mail on occasion. It was the addendum to that statement that made all the difference.

“A Black Letter.”

Arthur knew it was simply a matter of time, he didn’t need to probe or ask to know that eventually an answer to why she was here would present itself. He waited, giving her time to process and search for the words she wanted to put together, and as expected it came not much later. A letter. Not all that strange but he was sure there would be something that set this mail apart.

The scratch of his fountain pen stilled with the further clarification; a dark blot staining the paper as the ink bled out his hesitation. The stark proof of his conflicted thoughts and feelings towards this revelation laid bare.

Firstly: relief over the simple fact he hadn’t received such a notification himself. Wasn’t apparently still bound to a contract he too had signed and agreed to.

Secondly: ire that Mercy was still beholden to a contract signed such a long period of time ago which was somehow being seen as something she was beholden to act upon. It was nonsensical and illogical and made his blood steam in his veins.

The ink continued to run for several long moments before Arthur finally retracted the pen and set it aside, cracking his knuckles individually as he finally looked at Mercy across the desk. “What do they want?”

A small furrow appeared in Mercy’s brow as she watched the ink blot spread across the paper. Further proof that Arthur hadn’t received a letter of his own. If he had, he would have already been aware of the fact. So she knew he had to be relieved. Why wouldn’t he be? He was a different person now, wasn’t he? The man that had signed that contract so many years ago now had long since died and been reborn. Many times over.

Unlike Mercy. Who was as she’d always been. And always would be.

But even so… surely there was a statute of limitations on such a thing? Surely she wasn’t beholden to a contract signed nearly half a millennium ago. Surely there was some mistake.

The ache in her arm told her otherwise.

So Mercy waited as Arthur absorbed the information. All the while, a voice in her head whispered ‘See? It doesn’t matter what you do… or who you try to be… how you try to live… you will never find peace… you will never be free…’

Fingers pressed against her temple as she forced the voice into silence. As she did, Arthur asked his question, to which Mercy could only shake her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t touch it yet.” Her hand flexed. “I thought you might’ve-” But she stopped short, letting out a sharp huff of air. Mercy set her jaw, her next words coming far steadier than she herself felt. “But I don’t suppose you would’ve. That’s good. That’s-” She nodded once, flexed her hand again. “- good.” And it was. She wouldn’t wish this on Arthur. Not ever.

A bit of silence followed, until finally Mercy seemed to deflate.

“I don’t want to read it. I don’t… want anything to do with it.” She looked up at him finally, her eyes full of shadows. “I’m tired, Ren. I’m just… so fucking tired…”

Absentmindedly Arthur started to lightly pull at the sleeve of his jumper, worrying the fabric in thought now that his pen was out of his hand. It was an old habit, one that seemed to transcend lifetimes. To fiddle with any one of the many little knick knacks scattered across his desk and failing that stretch the sleeves of his jumpers into paws when his brain started to work overtime.

His eyes fixed on the letter, wondering just what the contents might pertain to. What they would want after all this time. Surely their contracts were done. Null and void to the dusts of time. But apparently not. How many more times would this happen across their lives? Something from centuries past cropping up to haunt them with living nightmares. “No it isn’t,” the words came out sharper than intended and a scowl marred his expression “no it isn’t good. This” he punctuated jabbing a finger at the letter “isn’t fair.”

The silence that followed was deafening and Arthur’s scowl only deepened the more he looked at the letter.

“Then we burn it. We get rid of it. No letter no message.” It wasn’t that simple. It never was, but he had to suggest it at least.

Mercy’s eyes drifted to Arthur’s hands, watching the familiar habit with a mixture of fondness and worry. Her thoughts moved in the same vein as his: how many more times would their past come back to haunt them? How many years - how many lifetimes - would they have to live before they were allowed to simply… be? Obviously 400 years didn’t mean that particular quota.

It wasn’t until Arthur spoke that Mercy looked up again. Her frown deepened, and for just a moment she wanted to explain that she’d meant it was good that he hadn’t received a letter as well. But Mercy knew Arthur was perfectly aware of what she’d meant. So his anger wasn’t surprising. Part of Mercy was even glad for it… needed it even. But only because it solidified what she already knew: that they would find a way through this. Together.

“No. It’s not.” Mercy’s scowl grew to nearly match Arthur’s as she watched him stare at the letter.

The suggestion of simply burning the damn thing gave Mercy pause. Had they tried that before? Gods it had been so long ago… But the letter was still sealed. So whatever ‘contract’ lay inside was still inactive. Perhaps with enough of the right sort of fire, they could be shot of it.

“It’s worth a try,” Mercy said. Though it was never that simple, was it? “We should go home. The firepit on the back porch should work fine.” Mercy stood, knowing Arthur would never be able to concentrate on his marking now, and feeling a wash of guilt - and the stirring of old fears - that couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry, Ren, I- I thought this was behind me. Behind us.”

There was something to be said about his tactile nature, a need to always have something on his person to keep his hands occupied and distracted. On the occasions he didn’t have any such object or item to fiddle or fidget, his fingers often sought out other alternatives. Such as his jumper, though it was typically the rotating dial on his iron plated watch. Today in his distraction though the cotton stretched over his fingers as he proceeded to rub his scruff lined chin idly with his thumb. “No,” he agreed, echoing her own words in his contemplation of the scenario, “no it’s not.”

He released the sleeves with a final huff and leaned forwards, snagging the letter and bringing it up to study intensely while Mercy answered. Why couldn’t they burn it? Surely that would be enough. If the letter wasn’t opened. If it simply… ceased to be. Perhaps it would buy them time to figure out what they needed to do in the interim. “Don’t be sorry,” his eyes flickered up from the intense stare he was currently directing towards the letter, the intensity of his expression easing into something softer. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Without another word his attention returned once again to the thick folded parchment, the wax seal pressed in to hold it shut and the intensity of his focus narrowed to a pinpoint. He imagined each particle of the paper vibrating at an infinite frequency beyond what the eye could see, gradually building in frequency. He thought of the countless firesides the two of them had sat beside, sometimes in jovial jest and others in sorrowful grief, the warmth of drink in their cups and laughter in the air. But each fire began with a spark and he willed that spark to ignite here. To burn the very paper in his hands.

What Arthur failed to notice was the creeping drop in temperature, the heat being drawn forth and consumed, much as stars are crushed in the void of space. Infinite and precise, but where typically a flame would spark, curling the edges of the paper into a burning cinder his brow furrowed.

Nothing.

No spark.

Absolutely nothing.

There were few things in the world that could unsettle Mercy quite so abruptly as a Black Letter. Once, it had been a means to an end. A way to serve a purpose. A way to put her unique ‘talents’ to good use. Or so she’d thought. So they’d both thought. Arthur had been there too, right alongside her. Looking for something to help make sense out of so many lifetimes come and gone. And they had done good things back then, thievery and subterfuge aside. They had saved lives in keeping what wasn’t meant for humans out of their hands. But the altruism had eventually turned to something else. Something greedy and wicked that she and Arthur had been bound to regardless of their personal feelings.

But they had fulfilled their contracts centuries ago. The agency was long disbanded, and the other creatures they’d worked with were long dead, barring perhaps a scant few that had been fae or undead. It simply made no sense.

Mercy was silent again as Arthur picked up the letter. She tensed, expecting something to happen, but the letter remained quiet. Only when his gaze softened as he turned it towards her did some of that tension ease. Her expression followed suit, softening the tightness around her eyes, but she remained standing once their decision had been made.

She’d seen Arthur do this thousands of times, and it still never ceased to amaze her. Yet in the countless lifetimes they’d spent together, Mercy had never seen him call forth the flames… and fail. Until today. The thought rested on her tongue that perhaps the letter simply couldn’t be burned. That perhaps whoever was sending it knew Arthur was with her and that he would try to destroy the letter. Perhaps it was simply charmed against phoenix fire.

But Mercy never got the chance.

The air she sucked into her lungs burned. Not with fire, but with ice. Mercy frowned deeply at the sensation, but it was so sudden and so frigid that it set off a violent coughing spell that left Mercy gasping for air - both hands braced against Arthur’s desk - before her healing factor kicked in. “Arthur, what -” She coughed again, and her breath rose in a white cloud as the temperature continued to drop. “- what’s happening?”

It was sudden and without warning that the snap-frost hit; sucking the very essence of warmth from the room and layering the windows in a thin striated pattern of ice crystals. It was a blast of energy, too much for his body to cope with and where typically he might’ve been able to absorb it at present it was too much. The overload caused a wrack of shivers to shudder through his frame where he sat his senses fried from the force of sudden adjustment.

The soft flutter of paper falling through the air broke the silence, brushing the wooden floor and vanishing under the desk forgotten for the moment and rather unimportant by most accounts in the moment. These strange bouts of power fluctuations had been growing increasingly more sporadic, first around the house but now any attempt to summon a flame practically short-circuited him for several hours at a time leaving him weak and so very cold.

He shuddered unable to support himself even sitting as he was and half slipped out of the chair, a rag-doll without a spine. Dark eyes slipped shut, eyelashes fluttering in sync with the chatter of his teeth and the rattle of his fingers “I- I-” but nothing more came, dissolving in a short cloud of cold breath.

The sluggish attempt of his supernatural constitution did little to help while attempting to pull himself back into the chair, trying to kickstart an engine that had presently flooded itself. All Arthur could groan, in a deep, grating rasp is “fuck.”

The black letter was all but forgotten as Mercy watched Arthur start to crumple under the magical blowback of whatever had just gone horribly wrong. Her own breath still rose in a white cloud, but her supernatural healing factor was quickly pushing back at the cold. The same should have happened to Arthur, faster than Mercy honestly, but to her horror, it didn’t.

“Arthur- Woah! Hey…” She bolted around the desk, trying to catch him before he could crack his skull open. He was trembling so badly that for a moment Mercy thought he was having a seizure. “Sshhh, it’s alright… don’t try to talk...” Then his eyes started to close. “No… no, hey. Ren… Hey! Stay awake…” she said, taking his face in her hands. Gods above, but he was so cold. “Just… don’t move, okay? I’ve got you.”

She held him close, trying to warm him as best she could until whatever the hell this was passed. She tucked his arms beneath her jacket and sweater as best as she could manage with Arthur barely able to help. Then she pressed her palms to the sides of Arthur’s neck, over the great arteries that pulsed just beneath his half-frozen skin, in an attempt to keep the blood flowing to his head warm. She was shivering a bit herself, but she was still far warmer than Arthur. Though for how long?

Having spent the majority of her 1200 years with Arthur, Mercy knew how to care for all manner of things that had afflicted him over the years. But this was a first. So Mercy was at a loss. Other than trying to keep him warm. She would have to call for help if this didn’t let up. But the list of people she trusted was short. It contained two, maybe three people. Thank the gods she’d locked the door earlier. The last thing they needed was someone walking in right now. Arthur groaned, and Mercy rubbed a hand down his back.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked gently, hoping to keep him focused on staying awake if nothing else.

As a general rule of thumb, Arthur prided himself on his resilience. The ability to withstand bad things when they happened; riding them out until they reached the other side or at least long enough until a semblance of light shone through. Right now there was naught save the bone-deep chill that had shot through his body in an instant. One moment he could recall being sat at the desk and the next he’d felt so tired and then there was a voice. Familiar yet distant.

The hands felt like searing points of heat against his skin; which itself was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Too hot. It was too hot and frantically he attempted to push her hands away, writhing and fighting between tremors of his muscles.

Arthur could swear the room was closing in on him, the walls growing increasingly confined and constricting. Or maybe that was just his airway, it was hard to tell in the mounting panic that was sinking into his current state of consciousness. The air rushing in and out, faster and faster until his head began to spin, every frantic blink causing the room to shift first to an office, then a library, a bar and eventually a dark cell. The sudden shock to his system had him scrambling, reaching for whatever was nearest (Frey’s arm if he had any recollection or understanding in his panic).

Each breath felt more laboured than the last, struggling to fill his lungs as he clawed and gasped. Please. Please. Oh Gods make it stop.

Mercy didn’t understand. She didn’t understand any of it. Other than it was all wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Only the scar on her hand throbbed and flared as it always did when Arthur was in distress, though the fact brought little comfort.

She didn’t know her touch was hurting him, and could only assume that in his bleariness he was confused and frightened as he seemed to fight against her hold. But then as suddenly as he’d been trying to push her away, something shifted, and he was grasping for purchase instead. His clawing, scrambling hands seeking anything to hold onto, anything that would hold him steady as the world spun out of control and he started to panic. Sucking in lungfuls of air that would never be enough to satiate his shell-shocked body’s desperate need for oxygen.

“Breathe, Aren…” Mercy said, holding onto him as best she could without making anything worse. “Breathe for me…” She clasped his hands and pressed them to her chest as she spoke, hoping the deliberately slow rise and fall of her breathing would help him slow his own. “Breathe in…” Inhale. “Breathe out…” Exhale. Mercy would’ve used her power to try and influence his psychological state, but her Fury magic had never affected him. So she didn’t waste her energy. “Breathe in… breathe out… I’ve got you… you’re safe…” Mercy would repeat the mantra as long as she needed to. As long as it took to bring him back to right.

The panic was instantaneous as shock began to set in, bewilderment at his own sheer inability to control himself. The room dropped several more degrees as Arthur’s body shuddered. He was left gasping to try and draw in much needed air while utterly unable to stabilise its core temperature that was steadily beginning to creep higher and higher steam rising in the cold air of the room before it would plummet just as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “W-What’s g-going on?”

In an instant he was plunged into the memories of a similar time of panic, an alternate dreamscape, a different time - in aid of a friend that had ultimately been for naught. For that friend was long since gone. Yet it was a time that he’d felt water for the very first time without pain, only to realise his inability to swim and almost drowned in the process.

So he clawed and grasped at the only anchor that existed in the moment, the only anchor that had ever existed across all of time until with time his mind began to quieten once more and the white noise began to fade into the rhythmic instructions of a familiar voice.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe.

Several more minutes passed until the room gradually warmed, Arthur’s breathing growing calmer until he could turn his face into her arm. Another full minute came and went before he was wracked with another bout of shivers before weakly attempting to push himself back into a sitting position. “What happened?”

Mercy opened her mouth to tell him… something… anything… that might explain what was happening. But the truth was, Mercy had no idea. As long as they’d known one another, something like this had never happened. Was it the letter? Had trying to burn it caused some… critical disruption of Arthur’s magic? But no… there had been episodes of his powers malfunctioning - for lack of a better term - for a bit now. Whatever it was, it couldn’t continue indefinitely. Mercy’s breath shuddered as the temperature dropped again, but she ignored it. She would be alright, despite the way the cold made the few scars she had ache miserably. As for his question… “We’ll figure it out, I promise… but right now you have to try and breathe, okay?”

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours until Arthur finally seemed to stabilize. When he was breathing normally again - or as close as he was likely to get at the moment - Mercy fell quiet. She stayed by his side, gently stroking his hair and then pressing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature when he shivered. When he tried to sit up, she gave him a bit of space, but kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Again, came his question. This time, Mercy was honest. “I don’t know. You tried to burn the letter, and then...” She frowned, but eventually relayed the short version of what had happened.

“How d’you feel?” she asked, though it was clear he did not feel great. Not one bit. “Does anything hurt?”

Arthur blinked slowly, his head throbbing with each breath he took to fill his lungs and he rolled his tongue across his teeth, the parchment dry space of his mouth an uncomfortable sensation as he listened to Mercy talk. He wanted a drink and yet the very thought of having anything made him feel like his stomach would turn over on itself. There was little else he could do but sit and try to do as instructed.

“No,” he answered the question after a few moments of silence, his voice cracking when he chose to speak and he had to close his eyes for a moment to fight against the wave of sudden nausea that overcame him. “I-” he shivered again pulling his jacket tighter around his body “cold and sick.” Certainly not fit to stay here, eventually he opened his eyes looking tiredly at Freyja. “can we go home, please?”

Mercy frowned, unable to keep the concern from her expression. That nothing pained him was a small blessing at least. But the fact did nothing for the tight knot of fear that twisted in her gut. Or the helplessness she felt as Arthur shivered, his normally heated skin terrifyingly cold and pale. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him sick or hurt, but this was different. “Of course…” She took off her scarf and tucked it gently around his neck. “Of course we can go home.”

As she buttoned his jacket so it wouldn’t slip loose, Mercy refused to think about what might happen if he had another episode like this. Or gods forbid… one that was worse. Instead, she turned all her attention to the here and now. To taking Arthur home and making him better. Everything else - the letter, Arthur’s marking, and the growing ache in Mercy’s arm - could wait.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #p: arthur #p: backdraft

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