#why he always looks tinie in sweaters it's devastating

[macsimagines]

Ahhh you write for them wonderfully? You’ve gone above and beyond my expectations and I appreciate all you’ve done ♡

I hope that you’re not too busy and that I’m not pestering you too much; may i request the same Yan! Shin/Izana/Ran trio stalking their darling throughout the city on their day off? Like them following and observing as their s/o runs errands, goes to appointments, etc?

Thank you for the love and thank you for your patience with me. Ive really enjoyed writing your requests

Yandere!Shinichiro

Was devastated when you told him he couldn't go with you. "My bad Boo, but you're too distracting and I really need to get these errands done today."

He took such great offense to that. What's so distracting about constantly having a hand on your ass and his tongue in your mouth- ok. Maybe he can be a smidge attention diverting...

But its ok! He can still be with you, just in a far off corner where you can't see him. Its almost nostalgic, it's just like back in high school before you two were dating.

Loves the way you're doing your errands though. Look at his baby go, being all domestic at the grocery store. Takes pictures on his phone because its just too cute the way you read all the store labels.

You end up catching him in the frozen foods section. "Hey there, sweet thang... Come here often?" Cheesy pick up lines and his stalking aside, at least he's cute right?

Yandere!Izana

What in the hell? You chew his ear off about how you never get to spend time together and how he always blows you off and now that he finally has a day set aside for you, you can't even spare him a second?

"Sorry baby, I've got a really important appointment today and I can't miss it." "Are you shittin' me? An appointment for what?" "....hair."

You must think you're real slick if you honestly believe that he'll fall for a lie like that. He knew this was gong to happen. Obviously you're planning on leaving him.

Like he'll let you walk away, its his own fault, as if you can leave him alive, he should've paid more attention to you, you're not going anywhere but in a fucking body bag, please don't go.

He follows you, he wants to catch you in the act. Did you meet someone new? Are you trying to just dip out of town while his guard is down?

Izana does catch you. At an appointment. At a maternity clinic. So you did lie, but this is a whole other monster than what he was ready for. Could this mean...

Waits outside for an hour and can't even enjoy the shocked look on your face. All he wants are answers.

"Well, Y/N?" With shaky hands and tears in your eyes you hand him a picture of an ultrasound. He can barely make out the tiny blob in the photo but suddenly he knows why you were so moody and trying to blow him off.

"I'm sor-!" Izana isn't one for PDA, but before you can get even a single apology out he's embracing you in a tight hug. This is the best possible outcome.

Yandere!Ran

Well ain't this a bitch? He wakes up at the crack of dawn, 12pm, and you've already left the apartment? Only leaving a note; Enjoy your day off baby! Running errands, be back 2nite!

Bullshit! He took the day off for you, and to sleep like the dead, but mostly for you! Ran had actually planned to take you out shopping then drop by that nice restaurant you like so much for dinner.

This will not stand. Using the app he had installed on your phone, he bought it and pays the bill he can put whatever he wants on it, he tracks your location all the way to the market.

He's going to surprise you and drag you home. You can't just take off like that. Who is he supposed to spoon when you're gone? His pillow? Pathetic.

But then he sees you. So cute in your skirt and sweater, holding a basket of all that fresh produce he knows use when you make him his food. You take such good care of him.

Ran really does want to be mad but how can he when you're just an angel....

When he finally confronts you he does try hard to front like he's mad. "You could've woken me up..." he pouts. You just pat him on the head. "Big baby. Want to help me pick out some fruit? I'm thinking of making a parfait for dessert?"

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere manjiro sano #yandere mikey sano #yandere izana kurokawa #yandere izana #yandere ran haitani

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦

In celebration of the @infamous-if update today, I thought I would provide you all with a look at my various OCs for it! I decided to be extra and create a different main character for the four ROs I liked and play through with each of them (which if you know me at all is very on brand since I am indecisive as all hell), but honestly I love these babes too much to let them live in my head so now I'm gonna tell you all about them! I probably won't make actual intro posts for any of them (unless you guys want me to, wink wink), but for now enjoy these little rambles, and feel free to ask any questions about them you want!!

WILLOW HARRINGTON:

— Stage name is Willow Rose; she/they Seven ship.

— Lead singer of a country band called Whiskey Moonbeams; their music is kind of nineties country singer-songwriter vibes, with a bit of a modern female country kick on some songs.

— Used to be dating Seven, and voted to keep him in the band when The Vote happened; she's never stopped loving Seven and was devastated when he left and broke up with them, which makes pretty much everything about the Battle of the Bands situation a bit awkward, especially when she picks Soft Violence to ride on the bus with.

— A total sweetheart, very humble and compassionate and always tries to keep the peace (even when it hasn't always worked out well in the past), but also intensely shy and awkward.

— Honestly kind of freaked out by the idea of being famous and would rather stay playing tiny gigs for the rest of their career if she could get paid enough for it, but goes into Battle of the Bands because they would follow her friends everywhere.

— Mainly dresses in an academic style, sweaters and Peter Pan collars and the like; Rowan loves to call them "Professor".

— A complete bisexual dork who has at least a fleeting crush on all the romantic interests (except for Orion, because to her that would be kind of weird), but their heart has always belonged to Seven and she really hopes that going on tour together can be an opportunity to get back to what they were.

— Honestly they and Seven are going to be the most amazing exes back to lovers dynamic ever and I cannot wait to futher explore it!

ASTER ZHOU:

— August ship.

— Lead singer of a pop group called Painted Roses; their music has a lot of Little Mix vibes, with the occasional bit of pop rock influence a la Olivia Rodrigo's Guts album.

— An insatiable flirt of a lesbian who's always down for a nice hookup (and definitely not afraid to flirt with a guy if it will get her something) and is used to people falling for her charms pretty quickly, so when August joins the band and Aster realizes that they're going to be a little bit different she takes it as a challenge and turns the seduction levels up to eleven, only to realize at some point that, oops, feelings have gotten involved.

— The type of person who covers all of her sad and negative feelings with jokes and is literally terrified of being vulnerable, since the only person she was ever really vulnerable with was her former bestie Seven and then he left and will barely look at her anymore, so she doesn't trust anyone else, not even her other friends, really, to stay if she lets down her walls. But even so, she feels everything really deeply and has a habit of holding desperately onto old memories; it's why she refuses to cover her tattoo of Seven's initials but still keeps it hidden. (That's really why August intrigues her so much; they're cool and unaffected, or at least they seem to be, in a way she never could be.)

— Despite all that inner angst, though, she is still a chaotic, impulsive gal who lives to push Orion's buttons and would kill for her bandmates or anyone else she cares about, despite being shit at giving advice or talking about feelings.

— Craves to be famous more than almost anything; she wants her name up in lights, to perform her songs in front of a packed stadium of screaming fans, almost as much as she needs air.

— Always dresses very cute and trendy, with crop tops and cute skirts, but also usually wears looser clothing when on stage since she always has dance routines that go with her songs.

— She and August getting together is going to be so long and a bit awkward, but they will get together and it will be amazing, I can assure you.

ATLAS LEE:

— He/they Orion ship.

— Lead singer of an alternative rock band called Back Alley Idols; they're very Fall Out Boy-esque with a bit of Green Day and Nirvana mixed in.

— This poor thing falls in love with Orion within about ten seconds of meeting him, but not only is Atlas absolute shit at expressing his feelings properly, they struggle a lot with self-loathing, undiagnosed and unmedicated anxiety, and substance misuse (he's not a full-blown addict but they do use alcohol and drugs as a coping mechanism and to self-medicate which is. Not Great) which he knows Orion disapproves of, so they’re kind of in a self-destructive cycle of feeling like he’s always letting everyone down because of their bad habits but then turning to those bad habits to stop feeling bad and… yeah, it kind of sucks for both of them.

— However, he does eventually genuinely try to get sober and try and become a better person for Orion, and it’s hard but it works, and once Atlas is better they can finally admit their feelings for each other and get together like they’ve been longing to do.

— Seriously, Atlas is such a sopping wet cat of a person; they’re super insecure and anxious and doesn’t like himself at all and is always worried about doing something that will make their friends hate him, which usually just leads to them messing up even more (a prime example being picking to ride with Underground Wastebasket for the tour because he was desperate not to ride with their ex-girlfriend Seven, which then just got Rowan pissed at him for a bit), but they’re also really sweet and genuinely care about people and would do nearly anything for the ones he loves, so their friends and Orion love him and will protect them at all costs.

— Legitimately terrified by the idea of being famous and having everyone’s eyes on him all the time; it’s really only because of their voice that he’s the lead singer of Back Alley Idols, because they sure as hell don’t have the personality for it, and he only agreed to enter Battle of the Bands at all because their friends were so excited when the band got the opportunity.

— Always dresses very casually, but with a little bit of style - although style is subjective, and Rowan loves to tease him about all the patterned cardigans they wear and how they don’t really dress like the lead singer of a rock band.

— Like any MC, he doesn’t have a good relationship with their parents, but for him it’s in part because coming out to them as bisexual didn’t go very well, and to this day they still don’t know Atlas is genderqueer.

— I am genuinely so excited to get further into their and Orion’s relationship, because they’re just a little messy but so sweet and caring and I love them lots <3 <3.

ANA DELGADO:

— Stage name is Birdie Sage; any pronouns, Sebastian ship.

— Lead singer of an alternative folk band called Fae Forest - they’re very much a mix between Hozier, Florence + the Machine, and Marina and the Diamonds.

— Thinks Sebastian is super cute pretty much immediately, and finds him interesting with how out of place he is at the Battle of the Bands audition, so they have a bit of fun flirting with him in the matter-of-fact and calm way they have of letting people know they’re interested, but the more they meet up with him and Maya and spend time with them, the closer they get, until finally they have to confront the fact that the plain intrigue they had for him at first has blossomed into full-blown feelings.

— Ana is very practical, honest, and like August, doesn’t always show what they’re really feeling. Orion adores them for this, predictably, but it kind of frustrates the rest of the band sometimes, and this doesn’t always make Ana feel very good about themself. It’s just they way they see the world, through a lens of practicality and the most proper decisions to be made (they probably get it from their parents, they think), and though they can be friendly and cheerful with people, there’s still usually a level of disconnect from the person in their mind until they’ve known them for a while. And they can never turn that off, at least not fully, and they hate it sometimes.

— But despite all this, they have a genuine and sweet bond with their friends/bandmates, and even Orion; these are people who understand how Ana’s mind works and who they’re comfortable enough with to genuinely smile and joke with, who they’ve almost never seen like bugs to look at under a microscope the way they can’t help but view everyone else at first. (And since Orion’s mind works relatively similarly, they have a really good and mutually respectful dynamic going on.)

— Very indifferent to the idea of fame; they really want to share their music with the world, and they understand that fame will be a result of that and they can’t deny it has its perks, but they’re also not very excited at the prospect of winning BOTB and getting super well-known.

— Dresses in a very bohemian style: long flowy skirts and peasant blouses and homemade jewelry, the works. Pretty much exactly how you would expect the lead singer of a band called Fae Forest to look.

— Absolutely adores Maya from the first moment they take a picture with her, and wants nothing more than to be a good stepparent to her and take care of her when they realize they have feelings for Sebastian. They didn’t even realize they wanted kids before, but Maya changed that.

— Seriously they and Sebastian are the most adorable couple ever and honestly I will definitely write some actual stuff about them someday because I adore them already!

ALRIGHT, THAT’S ALL!! IF YOU WANNA ASK ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THESE BABIES, FEEL FREE TO SEND THEM IN!!

(Tagging @xoteajays because she’s the one who got me into Infamous in the first place, @ginevrastilinski-ocs because I know she likes it, and @luucypevensie because I tag her in basically everything at this point. <3)

#oc: willow harrington #oc: aster zhou #oc: atlas lee #oc: ana delgado #infamous ocs #infamous mcs #infamous oc #infamous mc

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy birthday, dean winchester <3

"Cas?"

Dean knocks once and opens the door a little, only enough for him to stick his head through. At first sight, Cas is sitting at the edge of the bed, holding his phone. At second, he's smiling.

"Dean," Cas looks up, smile broadening. He's so beautiful. "Would you like to come —"

"Nah," Dean grins back. "Not right now. Heading to bed." He leans his head against the doorframe, and winks. "Kind of a long day."

It was Dean's birthday.

And the rest of the Winchesters had planned the hell out of it.

There'd been Winchester Supreme breakfasts (for everyone, which yes, meant that Sam had had a tiny aneurysm) a midday Scooby Doo marathon (venue: the Deancave) a party in the evening with balloons and actual birthday pie, and karaoke after dinner. Jack had gotten him one of those 3-in-1 boxed board games (Monopoly was the only thing on the cover he recognized), Sam and Eileen, a leather journal because "you can finally start writing your own story, chuck-free," and socks, and Cas had apparently been responsible for the (friggin' awesome) pie, and had then surprised even the other three with a ridiculously soft, green cardigan during gift giving.

Dean had not just gotten to spend time with all of his family — and he's talking Jody, Donna, the girls, Garth, Charlie, everyone — but actually gotten to see all of them hang out after so long, and be happy, and celebrate, under the same roof — it'd been so perfect, it feels like a dream even in hindsight.

There's really no way to describe it except as one of the best days of his life.

"I believe it was." Cas says, eyes twinkling. His eyes flit back to his phone, and Dean's follow — his breath hitching in his chest when he sees a picture of him in the pink, polka dotted birthday hat. (Garth's idea, though really, everyone's.)

Cas had been —

He'd been smiling at Dean.

"Yeah." Dean feels a little winded. "Awesome, though."

"Goodnight, Dean." Cas looks up again, wearing the same, happy smile. It does things to Dean, really.

Makes him feel the same kind of way Claire and Donna (and later, upon Claire's insistence and everyone else's cheering, Kaia) partnering up to sing a way too dramatic cover of Jingle Bells at him (in January) did. Or Eileen and Sam Night-Moves-ing him, giggly together on 'stage' in a way they'd definitely deny having been the next morning. It was the kind of feeling you get when you're really happy, and there's (finally, finally) no reasons not to be.

And all of it, reconjured by a single gummy smile.

It's sometimes kind of staggering how stupidly in love he is.

"'Night, Cas." Dean manages, a floaty feeling in his gut, and he closes the door. He stays right there, though, hands clenched into fists and breathing slow.

His head's a whirlwind of feelings, insides fluttering like they decided to pick up from the example of the butterflies that at this point, he's stopped trying to control around Cas.

It's like somehow, suddenly, he's been cut loose. All these years, all the repression — all the not-yet's, and he-can't's — all of it, it feels like it's fading. Cas makes him happy. Cas smiles at awful pictures of Dean, and then smiles up at the real Dean like he doesn't even have to hide it anymore (then why does Dean?) and bakes him pie, and saves his life, and buys him sweaters that match his eyes and proceeds to point it out — and makes him happier than he's ever been.

Cas is family, and Cas is home. And he's the love of Dean's life, and maybe he doesn't have to keep it in anymore — because he sure as hell can't.

Like he's floating on a cloud, and the chains binding him are rendered needless, and fall to the ground, it suddenly hits Dean.

Dean Winchester's free.

The enormity of it sinks, or tries to, as he licks his lips. Force of habit. There's still the faintest taste of sugar. And maybe he's just really drunk and can't tell, but there's really nothing holding him back anymore, is there?

(And it is his birthday, after all.)

Before he can second-guess himself — which usually happens right about now — he barges through the door again.

Cas is standing now, and his eyes widen when Dean scales the distance between them in a couple of fast, desperate steps. Puts a hand on his hip, the other cupping his face.

Tilts it up, and Dean's thumb trembles dangerously close to the corner of Cas's mouth.

What is he scared of?

It's Cas.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"Can I —"

Cas jerks his head in a stilted nod, and Dean closes the gap between the in a single movement, tilting his head the other way. Their lips meet, Dean's moist and Cas's soft, and Cas leans into it — leans into Dean, and oh, it's perfect — and Dean's other hand leaves Cas's waist to come up until he's holding Cas's face in both his hands, ignoring the tears pricking his eyes, as he squeezes his eyes closed and lets it fall, and kissing Cas harder.

It's years and years of buildup, but everything's worth it for the devastated sound Cas lets out when Dean pulls back, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, and Cas inadvertently chasing his lips even further into his personal space.

It's always been Cas.

"Dean." Cas breathes, chest heaving.

Only now does Dean notice his hands on Dean's waist, when a ghost of a touch sends a shiver up his spine.

He just kissed Cas.

"Hey, Cas." Dean bites his bottom lip, voice as shaken as his knees feel. Cas leans up a little, and Dean closes his eyes again when their foreheads touch. He can feel their breaths mingling, but it's the closeness that gets him. "It's my birthday today." He adds, something almost coy in his tone, for the sake of saying something, 'cause how can he not breathlessly ramble the silence away?

(Dean still can't believe he just kissed him, but hell, is he glad he did.)

"I love you." Cas returns.

"I'm pretty sure the saying goes, happy birthday." Dean tells him with a shit-eating grin, hooking his arms around Cas's neck. He's half expecting an eyeroll, more probably that patent reserved-for-Dean frown, but what he gets is another kiss. Less fleeting, less chaste.

Dean all but melts.

Always and forever, Cas.

"So be it." Cas mutters, looking up at Dean with a smile dancing in his eyes, but lips pursed. And it's about to be midnight again, so it's the last wish of Dean's entire forty second birthday when Cas says it.

"Happy birthday."

(Dean hears it loud and clear.)

"I love you."

#destiel #happy birthday dean winchester #(is there a tag we're trending on tumblr too or —) #dean winchester #castiel #tfw 2.0 #wayward sisters #destiel fluff #deancas #canon compliant #BUT FINALE DENIALING BECAUSE TO HELL WITH THAT #bluefirecas #rambleoncas #tearsofgrace #queenrowena #oh writing my writing #userpris #first kiss

[fandom-blackhole]

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

Din Djarin

53. Mutual pining, 41. First kiss, 6. Bookshop AU 👀

Hope this is enough of a distraction! ❤

First of all, how dare you make me think of how cute this little AU is, because now I'm yearning for modern Din and Grogu! Second, yes darling, this is going to distract me all night lmao

53. Mutual pining

41. First kiss

6. Bookshop AU

Din Djarin x Reader

Owning your own little bookshop had its pros and cons. Some of the cons, to name a few, was worrying about making enough to keep the store open, dealing with angry people when you shop didn't carry the book they wanted, the building you were in was old and leaked every time it rained, and just the entire business side of the bookstore bored you and made your anxiety raise just thinking about it. But the pros, those more then made up for the stress of counting each penny in order to order stock. And those pros came in the form of your two favorite customers, a young boy, always dressed in the cutest green frog sweater and his father who took your breath the first time he walked into you small store. Din Djarin was handsome in a way that was devastating. Not only was he physically handsome, with brown eyes that screamed of kindness, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, hands big enough to dwarf any book in your store, and scruff that was so patchy you couldn't help but find it cute, but Din was also handsome in the way that he acted, the way he would gently talk to his son as they picked out books or as he sat in the reading nook and read to Grogu, the way he would always ask about your day, how when he saw you struggling with boxes on more than one occasion he had stepped in and moved them for you not letting you lift another box. Din was sweet and kind to you, and with every small smile he gave you, you thought your heart would burst from your chest. And his son, Grogu, was obviously in the best hands. The boy was just as polite as his father, and just as devastatingly cute. The young boy, who you always joked about being your best customer, always ran into the store with an excites wave and a smile, and almost always ran and gave you the biggest hug he could. On occasion, the little cutie would bring you a present to add to a shelf you had cleared just for him. The presents were what you'd expect a kid to give, a dandelion, a colorful leaf, a shiny rock, and once a piece of candy that Din explained he had cried over for days after seeing it before Din went and bought it for him. You cared deeply for the two, and they brightened your weeks with each visit they made.

One week, it had been raining and storming every single day with no reprieve. You had all but written off seeing the two, knowing they always walked to your shop, but there you were shocked when a tiny frog rainbooted blur came dashing towards you and wrapped your legs in a hug, quickly followed by a hushed stern voice saying, "Stop it kid, you're gonna get them all wet!"

You could only giggle and lean down to give him a proper hug, looking over towards Din, saying, "If getting wet is the price I pay for my favorite and best customer's hug, then I'll gladly take it."

Din only shook his head and gave you his small smile, making you bite the inside of your lip feeling the rush of warmth in your chest and face. The two then disappeared into the children's section, you occasionally hearing Grogu's giggle, or Din's quiet rumbling voice, making you grin as you walked around organizing shelves. Eventually, you got lost in thought, humming quietly to yourself as you worked. You hadn't noticed the set of eyes watching you, and you barely caught the throat being cleared before you bumped into what you could have almost mistaken for a bookshelf with how solid it was. When you turned to look up, eyes wide and already apologizing, you found Din's soft eyes looking at you. Din took no time brushing your apology to the side, before furrowed his brows and saying, "There is a bucket full of water in the middle of the children's section."

You sighed painfully and nodded, before turning back to your work to both somewhat distract yourself from the way his eyes were boring into you, and to keep you hands busy from nervous fidgeting, as you said, "Yeah...it leaks back there whenever it rains super hard. I just... I havent been able to get it fixed yet."

Then Din shocked you completely, he grabbed your hand, stilling it and making you look into those soulful eyes before whispering, "I can fix that."

You had tried to argue with him, telling him you'd get to it eventually and making up reason why he shouldn't, but each time he shot you down, until he was paying for the stack of books Grogu had grabbed and he had set up a weekend day he could come over to do the job.

When the weekend finally came around, it was hot and muggy from all of the rain, and Din had shown up with everything he needed, and Grogu, who you agreed to watch while he worked, the least you could do considering he was trying to work without payment. But Din had also shown up in a white t-shirt that hugged his chest and showed off his softer middle, and jeans that fit right in all of the right places, and you couldn't help but feel your mouth go dry. You had closed the store for the day, and had made a lunch for the three of you the night before, so while Din made quick work with the roof, you and Grogu played games and read books in the little reading nook. Eventually, he got hungry so you let him eat, and shortly after he dozed off looking through a hidden images book. With a smile, you tucked him gently into a more comfortable position and draped a soft quilt around his shoulder. When you turned around though your heart stopped and you felt heat rush to your face. While you had been distraction, Din had snuck into the store and watched with an aching heart as you took care of his son, falling for the soft and loving smile that graced your features as you did. When you turned around completely, you took in his form, and felt a pang of guilt with how red his face was from working in the sun, but also a pang of something else entirely as your eyes soaked in the way Din's sweat shirt clung to his chest, leaving nothing to your imagination and how his hair curled so perfectly from the dampness of sweat and the humidity.

"I finished," his soft rumble broke you from you ogling, and the heat in your face spread to your chest as you cleared your throat. "Come sit down then, I made food last night and I imagine you're hungry so eat, and I will go get you some ice water to cool off."

You rushed away, as Din checked on Grogu before settling on the floor, and reaching for the plate that was on the coffee table. You appeared seconds later, setting a glass in front of him, before sitting beside him, grabbing your own plate.

"Sorry it isn't anything fancy, but I thought that the ravioli would be something Grogu and you both may like."

"It is perfect, thank you."

The two of you ate in silence after that, both of you stealing glances at the other while they weren't looking. When you finished, you took the plates and set them aside before shyly saying, "Thank you again, Din. You have helped me so much with this favor, and if I can repay you in anyway just tell me."

"It was nothing, and you owe me nothing, I promise."

You looked over at him, a soft and kind smile showing on your face, "I feel bad not doing anything for you or paying you. There has to be something?"

Din was quiet for a few minutes, his eyes taking in your earnest and open body language, taking in how your own eyes danced around his form, and before he could think twice about it, he said, "There is one thing..."

"Anything, you only have to ask."

Din took in how perked up you were, leaning towards him in the small space that separated the two of you. Taking a deep breath for courage, Din leaned in himself, and whispered, hot breath ghosting over your face, "A kiss?"

You swallowed thickly in shock, and met his gaze, finding no teasing look, only want so soft you thought you'd melt, so you replied by softly nodding and slowly drifting your eyes shut. Then you felt it, a soft brush of plush lips against your own, before they connected fully. The kiss was quick, and loving, and you followed his lips as he pulled away. Slowly, you both looked at eachother, taking in the other's reaction, before reaching out again. You buried one of your hands in Din's sinfully soft curls, as one of his broad palms cupped your cheek. This kiss was more passionate, but not pushing. The two of you finally just enjoying the feel of the other. The kiss expressed so much love and passion that it had you addicted and never wanting to pull away. But eventually the two of you needed to leave the other for air, and as your chests both heaved slightly, Din whispered while his forehead pressed against yours, "I also wouldn't say no to a date."

Send Me Tropes

#fanfic tropes ask game #din djarin x reader #din x reader #whoever points out the reference i made gets a big kiss and all of my love

[muffindaddystyles]

Hi, could you pls write something about Y/n finding out she’s pregnant and she decides not to keep the baby. Like, maybe Harry and y/n are not married (not that you have to be married to have a baby, it’s just a suggestion) and maybe Harry gets kind of mad at the beginning but then understands why she doesn’t want the baby. In every fanfiction they always end up keeping the baby, yes it’s cute, but babies take a lot of your time, they are expensive and sometimes annoying. Maybe it’s not the right time for them to be parents!! Make it extra angst pls

A/N: I agree with you, honestly it's okay for women/partner not to want kids in a relationship.

Warning: Mentions of abortion and angst.

//

Y/N just came back from one of the sleepovers of her bestfriend. It was fun, no offence but every food-ly item there made her sick to her core and atlast she ended up throwing. Ofcourse, all her girlie-bestie were there to give her a back rub, hold her hair for her, made her chamomile tea and most importantly did a serious talk to her in their pillow fort while sipping onto their hot bevy.

When Y/N told them she's been feeling like this from goodly two weeks they all gasped making Y/N's nerves jumble furthermore —--- what they advised her next flew over her head as she kept on poking her finger through the loops of her crotched cardigan, "Huh?" She hums innocently tucking her loose hair back.

"You could be pregnant. . ." Feli told her softly grabbing her hand, "Perhaps, could be sick too." Y/N scoffs diverting her eyes somewhere else and all her friends sighed in utter sympathy for her.

Y/N doesn't want to think about it at all. No way! This could happen. It's not right. It wouldn't be fair to anyone. She knows that the worst's been waiting for her as it hits her that her periods are late.

"We can find out, though . . ." Feli slides the offer cautiously to her and when Y/N shook her head in rejection everyone insisted because they care about her. So, they ended up taking the test and it indeed came out as positive now Y/N's a crying mess cuddled with her friends as they assured her that it's gonna be alright.

"I don't wanna go home . . Can't face, Harry." She whimpers. Her heart beating wildly at the cluster of assumptions and thoughts. What she'll do now? What will happen to them? What if their decision wouldn't be same? What if he'll leave her?

"You've to love, Nia will drive you home yeah? Talk to him, I'm super sure he'll understand, he's been so supportive of you since you guys met." They all hugged her warmly before departing her off and Nia told her to call her in the morning walking her to the door.

When she enters the whole house has been dimmed to mellow light just mere instinctive noises of telly buzzing and when she pads inside she's met by the most adorable sight of Harry lounged over the couch one leg dangled over the floor and his neck craned in a bad angle; it seems like he fell asleep waiting for her and Y/N was about to retreat when he stirred up calling for her name.

"Pet?" He tries to open his peepers rubbing them with the back of his hand stretching out like a lazy cat, "You look devastated pet, what happened? Were ye'cryin' baby?" She stays silent taking in large breathers nibbling onto her lower lip. He scoots aside patting the spot beside him to make her sit and grabs her jaw to see her properly.

She looks down lip wobbling as she struggled to utter the sentence, "Harry . . ." She sniffs and he nods caressing the corner of her lip, "'m listening my love –- promise it's not somethin' scary." It is for her.

"I'm pregnant." Time ticks by and it feels like the air has densed to the point her lungs stopped functioning. His thumb, it halts in their loving to her and his breaths hitches in his throat glossing his eyes with lack of oxygen or joy? She can't diminish.

He cackles breathily as if he's hallucinating and then gasps out of the epiphany, her heart shatters into million pieces for giving him fake beacon of happiness when he hugged her tightly to his chest.

"Jesus. 'M so happy darlin'!" He squeaks into the crook of her neck bouncing his knee in excitement and she pushes him away shaking her head, "No, no, no — Harry, I don't want it." Her voice wavered as her eyes held plead for him to understand fisting the hem of his sweater out of anxiousness and Harry feels like someone snatched his grounds, numbness sets into his toes from the distress that's bolting shut his heart chambers.

"Wha –-- what? But we talked 'bout it darlin'." He stammers baffled at her descion. He's too sensitive and all over the place right now, his mindset's isn't capable of doing something that's best for them and maybe it's because of all the images of his own lil baby in all the corners of his home, it would be such a blessing to have one wouldn't it? His conscience screamed at him.

"We did — " She says but he cuts her off, "Then why?" His own voice breaking and she clears her throat to pull some courage. His weakness makes her weak too.

"Let me speak." He nods curtly at her to continue.

"We did. Yes, I want kids with you, Harry nothing will be more beautiful than that but . . . but 'm not ready now, financially, mentally and physically." He stands up at this pacing back and forth massaging the furrowing lines at his temple. At his closed off and cold demeanour Y/N sobs throwing her hands in air.

"Would you speak somethin'!?" He turns in a snap. His eyesblooshot lips quirking up into a bitter frown, he's outraged and been burning from inside but doesn't want to dump it at her knowing it would hurt him more than it would hurt her. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he'll break the heart of his most precious human and the person who's been with him through thick n' thin.

He jeers furiously irritated at him and her, "What's there to speak? You've already made up ye'r mind, I've no say in it. Though, you know that 'm enough to raise our baby and could take care of you at the sametime." She grits something under her breath and he squints, "What?" His accent thick and gruff.

"I'm saying you're being a total, asshole!!" She tries not to yell at him groaning into the throw pillow.

She wants to kick him in shin when he just shrugged carelessly, "Okay."

"Trust me Harry not everyone's a rich millionaire like you!! I told you I'm not financially stable to have a kid and you rubbed it in my face, do you have any idea how your words were a jab to me!!" She wants to have an equal share of money in raising her kids, to give them the idea that in this household none of their parents are inferior or superior in bringing them up and she'd love for Harry to take extra care for them but his ruthless words made her feel so small and empty pocket infront of him for the first time.

She didn't notice until now that tears are dripping down his throat. Regret, remorse and guilt evident on his face but he wouldn't apologise and she's well aware of it. Wish she could hug him and kiss him to calm him down but he caused equal damage to her too.

"I'll go to clinic, in the morning." She mutters leaving him pooled into sorrow and the pricking shadow of telly while he cried to himself silently.

If it's the end. Then it should be a better one.

//

His boots click against the hard tiles getting loud hushes from people in waiting. He ducks down panting hopelessly, slamming his fist at the reception counter and looks at the nurse with furious eyes, "You're here to pick someone, sir?" He nods jutting his lips in attempt to take a good breather.

"Miss Y/N – "

She quickly points at the ward, "There, she might be unconscious at the mo'." He quickly shakes his head running towards it despite of all the stares he's getting from women of all ages.

There she was sitting at edge of bed in a gown –- looking small, defeated and devastated clutching the fabric of it from her knees. Her head perks up at the commotion taking in the sight of a disheveled Harry with a sandwich, vanilla moose, a tinsy plushie and sunflowers tucked under his armpit.

His chin quivers and eyes well up with bulky tears, "I'm sorry." He mouthes to her and she shakes her head with equally glossy eyes. He pads towards her carefully and sits beside her forwarding her the vanilla moose with shaky hand.

"Sorry couldn't get the chocolate one." A tiny sob breaks through her smile, "Don't like the vanilla anyways —" Her meeting his gaze was the ending point for him as he bunches his angel in a hug, smushing his face into the crook of her neck with little sniffles.

"It was very shitty of me." He admits tightening his arms around her waist and she calms him by rubbing his back, "We both weren't at our best last night." She whispers and he nods.

"I don't think you're any less than me baby, rather you're more stronger person than me in every way -- didn't —-- didn't wanna hurt you, promise. I love you so much for some different descion to tear us apart." His thumb runs in circles against her shoulders and she cups his face to look at him properly.

"Forgive me, please."

"I did bug —- the moment I realized you're a human being with emotions and feelings that could tipple over at their worsts. You've dreams too and I'm so sorry I wasn't able to fulfil them at the moment."

"You don't have to, yeah? No more apologising. We'll have a family when we both are ready." He kisses her temple, stroking her head affectionately and she bathes in that warmth.

"We could buy the chocolate moose on our way back home." He quips wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

A teasing smile breaking through his caring persona and she grins, "Shut up." scooping some of it but he takes the tiny spoon from her feeding it to her himself heating her cheeks with shyness.

.

#harry angst #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles requests #harry styles fanfiction #dom harry #harry styles smut #fluff #harry smut #harry styles blurb #cute harry #harry styles

[jordanstrophe]

A Cinnonmon Bun to Pure for this World, 8

Maslterlist

CW: recovering conditioned whumpee, PTSD,  stabbing, physical fight, manhandling, soooome medical whump at the end

“Mister Richard!” Cin ran into the kitchen.  “Hey! Good morni-”

“How do I make money!?” He cried, jumping into his lap and grabbing his coat collar. 

“Woah woah woah, slow down there, tiger...” Richard chuckled, lifting him back onto his feet. “What on earth do you need money for? If you want something, you can always ask. You know I take care of you here.”

“Of course you do, Mister Richard! And I am very appreciative. I owe you my entire life, work, blood, dedication and soul!” He chirped. 

“Uhhhh.”

“Anyway! I need money for that nice man I met in the alleyway.”

“Cin... Cin no.”

“Cin yes!”

“Cin we don’t give money to... People we meet in alleyways. Especially when they have knives and threaten to hurt you.”

“But Mister Richard! He was so kind about it!” He swayed around on his feet.

Richard tilted his chin up to make sure he had his attention. “Just because someone is charming, doesn’t mean they're good. Sometimes the bad people are the good-looking ones.”  

Cin’s head tilted in bewilderment, then his eyes narrowed as they darted left to right. 

‘Oh what I would give to know what was going on in that head of his," Richard thought.

“Why don’t we go for a walk today? There’s a dock not far from here I think you’ll like.” He smiled. Cin’s face halfway disappeared underneath his sweater, but he reluctantly nodded. 

-

Richard purposely took the route that had elegant stores. Cin stared at every window he passed with wide twinkling eyes, muttering a tiny ‘woah’ under his breath after passing each one. 

“Let me know if you want to go in anything.” He said, but only silence answered.

 He felt a presence missing from his side.

“Cin?” He turned around to find him frozen, staring blankly at a window. “Cin!” Richard called, walking towards him. He noticed his hand twitching violently, the closer he got the more he could see his trembling. 

‘Oh dear…’ 

He gently took Cin’s arm to pull him away from whatever was triggering him. The window he was standing in front of was an appliance store, the display covered in knives and tools. 

“Oh Cin…” Richard took his shoulders and steered him away. He crouched down till they were face to face. “Look at me, you’re alright.” 

He still didn’t move. His face was blank, but his eyes were wide with horror. Richard reached to touch his hand, his fingertips just grazing as Cin flinched back and cried out like he had been struck. 

“Hey hey hey! It’s okay. You’re okay.” He turned on his calm coaxing voice. “No one is hurting you, you’re safe.” His hand hovered just inches from his shoulder, but he didn’t dare touch him. A high pitch sound was coming from Cin’s throat, a whining, maybe crying. He didn’t know, it was almost inaudible.

“Hey, come walk with me.” Cin twitched slightly in his direction, his eyes unblinking, but he obediently gave his hand. “There you go, that’s it.” He encouraged. 

He walked him to the next window, a toy store with a display of colorful stuffed animals. Cin didn’t seem to see them as he stared dead ahead. Richard turned his hand until his body turned with it, the only thing in front of him now was the colorful display.

“My mother took me here when I was a child. Told me I could pick one thing of whatever I wanted.” He gently wrapped his arms around him from behind. “But she was a cruel woman who wouldn’t let me buy the 500$ lego ferris wheel.” He chuckled. 

He could see Cin give off a small smile in the reflection of the glass. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… Do you want to pick something? I know it’s a bit childish, but you can never be too old to have fun, eh?” He rested his chin in Cin’s hair. He felt a tiny nod. 

Before he could take his hand, Cin was the one who took his, and led him into the store. Richard was surprised, but went along with it.

They silently walked the isles, Cin’s eyes darting to study every single thing he passed. He still clutched Richard’s hand behind him, pulling him along. His eyes locked on to something as he stopped.

It was a stuffed octopus with a happy smile. Cin pushed his hand into its soft head as it sunk in. “Oh! I think that’s the reversible ones.” said Richard. Cin looked down at his hand to try and figure out how to do it without letting go of him. He ended up locking his elbow around his arm so he could use both hands. 

He flipped it inside out, the color changing from dark purple, to red with a tiny mischievous face. Cin started to laugh, flipping it back out.

“Is that your pick?” Richard chuckled.  “...Yeah.” Cin murmured with a smile. 

-

Cin held the octopus close to his chest as they walked the dock. “You like your octopus?” Richard asked. “I love it! Thank you, Mister Richard! Its name is Fishsticks.’’ He smiled proudly.

Richard didn’t question it, he just hummed in acknowledgement. A wave underneath them passed as Cin cringed and pressed his body against his side. Richard wrapped an arm around him for support. 

“Mm… M-Mister Richard, may I please go ahead to the car?” Cin whined. 

“We’re almost there, stay with me.” He soothed. “Bu-but it’s right there! I’ll go straight to the car, plleease?” He begged. Richard really, really did not want Cin on his own again.

“I’m sorry, hon. But I would really be more comfortable if-” Cin turned Fishsticks to the angry face, cranking it’s mischievous eyes to stare at him. Richard started to regret letting him have that thing.

“Cin, I-” He peeled his eyes off the octopus's face to see Cin’s sad devastated one staring up at him.

“Ugh! Okay fine! But straight to the car, young man. Got it?”

“Got it, Mister Richard!” He cheered, running off down the dock. 

“How on earth am I going to keep this man alive…” He muttered, burying his face in his hands.

Cin made it to the end of the dock, hopping off with a relieved sigh. 

“Wait… Cin?!” A voice called. He froze as he glanced around. “CIN!” The voice shouted angrily. He spotted a white vehicle parked nearby, the window rolled down with… 

Nathen.

The door slammed open as he crawled out of it, burling towards him with his hands extended with confusion.

“..N-Nathen?” Cin took a step back. Nathen’s face twisted even more when he saw his defiance.

“Where have you been!? I’ve been looking all over for you!” He hissed. He grabbed his arm and yanked him forwards as he grunted. “Please don’t tell me you got into any trouble out here. I swear if you talked to any cops.” He jerked him up by his arm so he could growl in his ear.

“You were… looking for me?” He looked up at him with gleaming eyes.

“Of course I was, you idiot! You wouldn't last five minutes out here by yourself! ...Unless you got adopted by some pack of wolves of course. Now into the car, let's go.” He nudged.

“But! But Mister Richard!” Cin pointed in his direction. 

“Who the-.. Whatever, just get in the car.” He roughly started dragging him by his arm. 

“W-wait! Nathen! I can’t go!” He cried, weakly struggling against his grasp. His cries and pleas were ignored as frustration built in his chest.

“I... Said… NO!” He shouted, twisting his arm as he broke free. “Wha-?”

“I-.. I don’t want t-to go with you an-anymore!” Cin squeezed his eyes shut, crossed his arms and stood up straight. His posture died a little when he peaked an eye open to see murder written on Nathen’s face.

“I erm, I mean… No... P-please?” Cin returned to his self conscious posture, shying away. 

-

Richard had caught up, coming to a stop when he found Cin talking with a stranger. Great… What did he get himself involved with now?

That... That was no stranger.

“CIN! Come here now!” Richard commanded, his pace increasing. He could see Cin glancing fearfully between the two men, taking a step back. 

Nathen’s eyes shot to Richard, finally piecing together what had happened. His face turned soft into a charming smile. “Sweetheart, it’s me! You know me, I’m family! Come home, little one, I missed you.” He gently reached a hand out. “If you come home with me now, you won’t be in any trouble, mmkay? Everything will go back to the way it was. Don’t you miss me? I’m the only one who can take care of you, remember?” He smiled.

Cin whimpered as he his arms hugged himself, visibly trembling. 

I should go home.... I wanted to go home so badly this whole time! 

He wants me.. Still.. After all the trouble I caused.

Trouble follows me everywhere, he’s… He’s the only one who can put up with me.

“Cin, please! Don’t listen to him! I know what he’s saying is temping, I do! But do you remember what I said this morning?” He begged.

Cin wiped his tears away, his eyes falling to the ground. 

“Just because something is charming, doesn’t mean it’s good…” 

Richard smiled with a proud sigh at his words. Cin took another step away from Nathen, but not before a hand snagged his hair. “Aah-!” he cried.  

“You! What have you done to him!? After everything I did, everything I taught him, you unravel it!? Do you know how hard it was to get him that way?! Nathen barked. 

“You didn’t teach him anything! You conditioned and abused someone who depended on you!” Richard grabbed Cin’s arm, ripping him from Nathen’s gasp as he fell backwards into the grass. 

“You don’t own him, Nathen! Not anymore…” He growled, stepping between him and Cin. Nathen raised a brow.

“So he still talks about me, hmm?” He crossed his arms. “He must miss home so, so much. I’ll tell you one thing, work has been soooo much harder without him being the lil distraction. So I’d really like my baby back.” He shrugged.

“Oh, over my dead body!” Richard yelled. “Round two then.” He smirked, pulling a knife from his belt. 

-

Cin struggled to sit up, finding the two fighting over a knife against the car. Nathen was shorter and less built compared to Richard, who had his wrist pinned to the window. He took his hand and slammed it against the glass, shattering it as Nathen let out a grunt. The knife fell from his grasp, causing Richard to ease up a bit, forgetting he hadn’t quite won. Nathen used his free hand to grab his hair, slamming his head against the car. 

He hit the ground, dazed, but surprised Nathen wasn’t immediately on top of him after his fall. He blinked up to find Cin on his feet, Nathen behind him with the knife to his throat.

“M-... Mister Richard?..” Cin whimpered, tears silently falling down his cheek. 

“N-no! Nathen please, do-don’t do this! Don’t hurt him!” He begged. 

“Ehh, it’s a little late for that.” He shrugged. “Looks like I won again, ‘Mister Richard’.” He chuckled. 

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, twisting his body till his back was against the car. “You-.. You forgot something this time.” Richard grinned, the hand behind his back revealing a phone that had been dialed. 

“...No.” Nathen gasped, as approaching sirens blared in the distance. “D-dammit…” He scoffed, his grip loosening. 

“I’m not letting you leave here, ‘Mister Nathen’. You lost.” 

Nathen’s eyes fell, his brain wracking as he weighed his options. His face slowly turned into a deathly smile. 

“We’ll see.” 

Cin let out a gasping choke as the knife was plunged into his chest. 

“NO!” Richard cried. 

Cin crumbled on his knees at Nathen’s feet. His hand dug into his hair to push him over on his side as he stepped over him. 

“No no no no no no no!” Richard crawling over to him, pressing the palm of his hands into the wound. Nathen had climbed into his car, hitting the gas to fade down the road.

“Cin! Stay with me! Keep breathing… Please! Keep breathing! Hey!” Richard sobbed. 

His every breath was a light wheeze, but at least it was a breath... 

Fishsticks laid nearby, its blood-spattered mischievous face blankly staring at the blue sky.

(CIN IS NOT DEAD, I REPEAT, CIN IS NOT DEAD.)

@milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101  @happy-whumper @as-a-matter-of-whump @alien-octopus @unicornscotty  @yesthisiswhump @flower-whump @whitebluebell @shokuhoemisaki

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

Special thanks to @milk-carton-whump​ and @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ for helping me pick one  ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

#whump #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #conditioned whumpee #recovering whumpee #tw stabbing #tw knives #returned whumper #stabbed whumpee #injured whumpee

[sequinsmile-x]

If Tomorrow Starts Without Me - Chapter 8

Rating: Mature

Words: 7,271

Trigger warning: descriptions of canon typical violence 

Either read over on ao3, or below the cut!

Let me know what you think :) 

August 1998

“Fifth times the charm.” Emily mumbles under her breath as they are let into the house by the real estate agent. She smiles when she feels Aaron squeeze her hand tighter, a silent request that she behave herself.

“What was that Mrs Hotchner?” The overly cheery estate agent asks.

“Oh, it’s very charming.” Emily answers, completely straight faced. The other woman seems to accept her answer and walks further into the living room.

“Good save.” Aaron whispers into his wife's ear, and she shushes him, hitting him lightly in the chest.

“I’ll give you two a chance to have a wander round yourself. If you have any questions I’m here.”

The house is perfect, something neither of them had been expecting given the disasters the past few viewings had been. They walk around upstairs, the master bedroom stealing both of their hearts almost instantly, and the room just down the hall that screamed it would be a perfect nursery making both of them smile.

“How long did you say you two had been married again?”

The real estate agent makes them both jump, and they turn to look at her, her fond smile fixed on their joint hands.

“Two years.” Aaron answers, unable to stop the way he smiled as he looked at his wife. There were days when he still couldn’t figure out how he had gotten so lucky, or why Emily had picked him to spend her life with. Sometimes he asked her, when they were laid in bed together, twisted in their sheets. His curiosity getting the better of him as he took in the incredible woman he got to call his wife.

Emily never answered him, not with what he was looking for anyway. She never gave a reason solid enough for his liking. Just a roll of her eyes, occasionally joined by the pinching of whatever skin her fingers were closest to. Then she’d mutter that she was the lucky one.

“Well, this would make the perfect nursery.” The real estate agent says, a wry smile on her face. “Are you two planning on any additions to the family?”

Emily would usually put on her political smile at such a personal question, and provide some kind of half answer to the woman who was selling them a house. But she can’t, her happiness overwhelming any usual need to play her cards close to her chest.

She looks up at her husband and smiles at him. “Yes, we are.”

They sign the deeds the next day. _________________

April 2000

Aaron finds her sat in the middle of the room they had intended to be a nursery. She’s sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, an old shirt of his stretched over them as she wraps her arms around herself.

He silently sits next to her, the words from the doctor they had seen that day still reverberating around his head. The apology that told them everything they had needed to know. Everything that, on some level, they already knew.

It had taken him quite some time to get her home, her devastation in the parking lot outside the fertility clinic so raw he practically had to carry her back to their car. He had convinced her to shower when they got back, giving her the time alone he knew she craved.

Emily leans into him and presses her wet face into his shoulder. Aaron wraps her arms around her, pulling her into his arms.

“I knew something was wrong.” She murmurs into his shirt. “I knew it.” The tears start afresh, not that they had ever really stopped, and he rocks her gently.

Aaron shushes her, rubbing a hand up and down her back, pointless words of reassurance whispered into her hair. _________________

October 2002

“Ok, we’re here.” Aaron says as he pulls the car into their driveway, immediately turning around once it was parked, his seemingly ever-present smile widening at the sight of his wife and his newborn son in the backseat.

Emily smiles at Theo, gently touching his cheek. “Did you hear that, baby? We’re home.” She looks up at Aaron. “Would you mind getting him?”

“Of course not.” He gets out the car and gets to work on getting Theo’s carseat out of the back. By the time he is done Emily is still half sat in the car. “You ok, sweetheart? Do you need help?”

“No.” She grits out, wincing as she makes the final move to get out of the car. He’s by her side in an instant, one hand on her lower back and the other still holding the handle of the car seat. She rolls her eyes at him. “Aaron, my love, our very adorable son just took the best part of two days leaving my body very slowly. I’m going to be sore for a while.” She places a hand on his cheek and smiles at him. “Time is really going to drag if you react like that everytime I wince.”

Aaron opens his mouth to argue, but when she raises an eyebrow at him again he concedes, but keeps his hand on her lower back as he leads them into the house.

Emily makes a beeline for the couch, settling down into it’s cushions almost immediately. Her entire body hurt, and she didn’t think she had ever been this exhausted, but she was so happy she could burst.

She looks over to where her husband was standing, now holding Theo in his arms. “Aaron, bring me my baby.”

He walks over to her and sits next to her, gently handing their son over, before maneuvering her so their shoulders overlap, both of them looking down at Theo as he fights sleep.

“Is Jack staying at Jessica’s tonight?” She asks gently, eyes not moving from the baby.

“Yeah, she said she’ll bring him back tomorrow. Apparently he’s excited for more time with Theo.” Aaron answers, kissing her temple.

“That’s sweet.” She traces a finger over her son’s soft cheek, smiling as it twitches slightly in his sleep. Aaron shifts behind her, and it jolts her, making her wince as pain radiates through her body. She hears his sharp intake of breath, the way he opens his mouth to apologise. She removes the hand she’s had under Theo to cover her husband's mouth. “Don’t even think about it.” _________________

October 2003

Emily feels a tiny hand tugging at her shirt and readjusts Theo on her hip. She mindlessly presses a kiss to his head as she loads the washing machine. It never failed to amaze her how much laundry her one year old son could create.

Theo rests his head on her shoulder, the sleepiness he had been fighting in his refusal to go down for a nap finally winning out. “Mama.”

Her gaze snaps to him the second she hears his little voice, and he’s looking at her through tired eyes. “What did you just say?”

“Mama.” He repeats, as if he has said it a thousand times, as he buries his head further into her.

“Oh.” She abandons the laundry and wraps both arms around her son, pulling him tightly into her as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve never said that before.”

“Sweetheart, I just came to check you haven’t fallen in.” Aaron’s voice floats into the room, but his teasing tone fades when she turns and he sees the tears in her eyes. “Em, what’s wrong? What happened?”

She shakes her head, laughing at herself for the tears she cannot stop from coming. “Nothing’s wrong.” She clears her throat and bounces Theo on her hips slightly, getting his attention. “You going to show Daddy your new trick, huh?” Theo smiles up at her, his toothy grin as infectious as it was the first time he had done it. “Who’s this?” She points at herself and waits a beat, hoping he does it again.

“Mama.”

Aaron looks as delighted as she feels and pulls them both into a hug, kissing the top of Theo’s head before pressing a kiss to her lips.

When he pulls back she doesn’t miss the way his eyes are shining too. _________________

May 2004

He finds her standing watching the boys, hanging back from the entryway to the den so neither of them spot her. He walks up behind her, wraps his arm around her waist and she easily settles into him, resting her weight partially on him. He presses a kiss to her temple and looks over to where Jack and Theo are playing to see what she has been watching.

Jack was playing a video game, a racing one he was obsessed with. Theo was sitting next to him, the 18 month old holding a controller Aaron knew wasn’t plugged in, copying his brother intently like he had started doing lately, smashing buttons on a controller as if he knew what he was doing and was about to win the race.

The sight made him smile. The age difference between the two of them meant things were tricky sometimes, Theo was too young to really join in on anything that interested Jack, but they adored each other.

“He’s a good big brother.” Emily says, the sadness in her voice undeniable, and he knows she is thinking about the negative pregnancy tests in the trash in their ensuite bathroom. A failed round of IVF making the devastation on her face from years ago make it’s return, something he wishes he could fix for her but knows he never can.

“Come on, let's go sit.” He kisses her temple and slowly drags her out of the den, letting her give the boys one more fleeting look. He guides her to the living room, settles them both on the couch. “What are you thinking?”

She laughs, but it comes out more like a sob. “That I hate my stupid body.”

“Em.” He chastises, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. It was something she had said many times over the years. Throughout their attempts to have a baby, through the first failed attempt at IVF before Theo. Even in those last weeks of her pregnancy when Theo all but refused to be born. It always had the same result, him gently telling her off for speaking about herself that way. Reminding her she was more than her ability to have children. There were days when it didn’t help, and he knew this would be one of them.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Aaron.” She wipes a tear from her face only for it to be immediately replaced. “It’s too much. I can’t keep doing this.”

He pulls her into a hug and she gladly accepts it, grasping the back of his sweater tightly in her hands. He doesn’t know what to say, how to help her. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more.”

He pulls back from her, moves his hands so they are cupping her cheeks. “Emily, I need you to listen to me ok?” She nods in response, tears falling as she does. “You have given me everything and more. If we had spent our whole lives just the two of us in this house that would have been all I needed, because I would have had you.” He runs his thumbs over her cheeks. “We have two amazing kids down the hall, and you’re an amazing mother to them. Watching you with them is a privilege, sweetheart. I hope you know that.”

She nods again, although he can tell she doesn’t quite believe him. He draws her back into his embrace and rocks her slightly as she cries it out, mourns a future she can no longer see.

He closes his eyes as he rests his cheek against the top of her head, images of a little girl with her eyes and attitude haunting him in a way he hadn’t expected. _________________

Aaron calls Sam’s phone. If Foyet had taken Sam’s car, he would have grabbed his cell too. He’d want Aaron to contact him, to be a part of this.

The phone is answered within seconds.

“Agent Smith.” Foyet’s voice comes through the phone. It’s a sound that has haunted Aaron for months. Blurred the lines between consciousness and his nightmares. Ever present like a ghost he just can’t shift.

“Foyet. You don’t have to involve them. This is between us.”

“Terrible news about the Hotchners wasn’t it.” Foyet says, and Aaron can hear the mocking in his voice. “Their poor children. I have them with me now. The youngest is so small. She won’t remember either of them.”

Aaron closes his eyes as Foyet ignores him, and doesn't acknowledge what he is saying. He can hear they are in a car, but he’s not on speaker. Foyet was still living out his fantasy, not wanting Jack to understand the truth yet, wanting to draw this out for Aaron as long as possible. “If you lay a hand on any of them, if anything happens to my children, I will destroy you.”

“Yeah, we are just arriving now. Jack, do you still have the keys for the gate?” There is a pause, he can’t hear the conversation in the car until Foyet turns his attention back to him. “Got to go now. I’ll check in later.”

The line goes dead. Aaron hits the table in frustration, a growl leaving his throat that doesn’t sound human. He places his palms firmly on the table, trying to ground himself as he lowers his head, not looking at the team.

The conference room is silent for a moment, the conversation between Aaron and Foyet laying heavily in the air.

“Why would Jack have keys for wherever they are?” JJ asks finally, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

Aaron looks up at her, the question triggering something in his brain. “He’s taken them to the house.” _________________

He sighs as Penelope confirms that Emily is no longer on the line, and all Aaron can do is hope that his wife forgives him for this, for whatever comes next.

“Dad?” Jack’s desperate voice comes through the phone. “What should I do? How...how do I fix this?”

“Jack.” Aaron says firmly. “I will be there soon. Where is Amelia?”

Jack blows out a breath, his panic evident. “Upstairs, sleeping.”

He sighs in relief. He’s close to their house, only a couple of streets away and he just needs to distract Foyet long enough so he can get there. “Good. That’s good. Tell Theo to go upstairs.”

Aaron knows that if it was different, if it was Emily that Foyet had managed to lure to the house he’d kill her now. Not give him the chance to save her, make their last interaction after all their time together be over a phone as people listened in. With the children, Foyet would want to make him feel like he had a chance, like he could have saved them. His final torment.

He would want to kill them with Aaron in the house. _________________

He doesn’t remember turning the ignition off in the car. He jumps out with his gun in hand as quickly as he can manage, not even closing the car door behind him. The front door is slightly open and he bursts in, the first thing he sees was Jack sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead, eyes purposely not focused on Foyet.

Jack looks at Aaron, relief flooding his face at the sight of his father. “Dad.”

“Well, isn't this touching?” Foyet sneers, taking a step closer to Jack. Aaron turns his focus to Foyet, training his gun on the man.

“Jack.” Aaron doesn’t stop looking at Foyet, his eyes and his gun firmly directed at him. “Go upstairs.”

“Dad-”

“Jack. Upstairs now.”

He takes his eyes off Foyet for a second when he hears Jack reach the top of the stairs, and that's when he takes his chance. Aaron’s gun is knocked out of his hands before he knows what's happened, a punch to his face briefly stunning him.

Aaron sees Foyet bolt for the stairs, his speed surprising. Aaron catches him as he gets to the top, smashing the other man's head into a framed piece of art on the wall before he can make it into Jack’s room. They struggle, both falling down the stairs in a heap. Aaron feels his head collide with the bottom step, and his ribs aching with the force of the fall.

They separate, meeting in the entrance of the dining room, circling each other like predators. Aaron can feel the red mist descending. He’s known from the beginning, the moment he saw Foyet reflected in a picture of Emily’s smile, that this was only ever going to end one way. With one of them dead.

He hears a noise upstairs. A bang and then the scuttling of feet, too small to be Jack. Meaning Theo was running around up there.

“Maybe I’ll let your precious Emily live.” Foyet taunts him, pulling a knife out of his pocket and flicking out the blade. “I’ll let her come back here to find you and your sons dead. She can raise your daughter who will have no memory of you except for the fact you failed. And your wife would hate you for it, for not protecting the family she always wanted.”

Aaron snaps. Months of torment, of letting his life be dominated by this man all culminating into one moment. Foyet knows so much about them, all of their secrets laid bare to him, and Aaron knows it will never be over until one of them is dead.

He’s sure he growls and he lunges for Foyet, knocking the knife out of his hand. He gets him on the floor and punches him in the face. Hard. His knuckles almost immediately split with the force of it. Foyet laughs at first, and it makes him angrier. His fist came down with more force.

Aaron keeps hitting Foyet long after he surrenders. Long after the gurgling sound he made as he choked on his own blood stopped.Images of his children and his wife flash through his head, punctuated by the sound of the bones in Foyet’s face breaking, his teeth smashing against his fist. Aaron can feel his knuckles cracking, his skin breaking against the jagged edges of Foyet’s face but he can’t stop. The need to get this monster out of their lives for good was too great, overwhelming his usual unflappable control.

Derek eventually pulls him off of him, Dave running in not far behind. “Hotch, he’s dead. You’ve got to stop.”

Aaron heaves in a breath and looks over at the man who had torn his family apart, who had haunted his every thought and nightmare since he attacked him in this very house.

Foyet is unrecognisable, his face distorted by blood and bone.

Aaron doesn’t spare him another glance before he turns to Derek. “The kids are upstairs.” _________________

He finds Jack in his bedroom. As soon as Aaron opens the door the teenager jumps, clearly expecting Foyet to walk in.

“Dad.” The relief in Jack’s voice is palpable, and he closes the gap between them, hugging his father tightly. “You’re hurt. Where is he? What happened?”

Aaron pulls back and places his hands on his son’s shoulders to take a good look at him. He had gotten slightly taller. Another growth spurt that Emily had teased was coming clearly behind him. He squeezes Jack’s shoulders. “He’s not a concern anymore.”

Jack frowns. “You mean he’s dead?” He swallows and tilts his head at his father. “You killed him?”

“Jack. We can talk about it later, ok? Let’s get Theo and Amelia.”

His son hesitates, but nods. They leave the room together, and Aaron walks past Theo’s room. “I told him to go to his room.” Jack says, pointing to the closed door.

Aaron turns back for a moment. “He’ll have gone where he feels safest.” He turns back and opens the door to his own bedroom.

Amelia is standing in her crib, crying, and for a moment he is taken aback by how big his daughter looks, how beautiful she is. A mini Emily through and through. “Hi, honey.” He breathes, reaching to hold her for the first time since the morning he dropped the kids at Elizabeth’s house all those months ago.

The baby shies away from him, crying as if he was a stranger and it hurts more than any of Foyet’s blows had. He hears a whimper coming from under the bed.

“Jack, take your sister outside. JJ and the team are there.”

Jack picks up Amelia, and Aaron pretends that watching his little girl curl into her brother's arms so easily didn’t hurt him. He tries not to think about everything he missed. Those precious months of his daughter's life were stolen from him.

Jack turns to leave the room, shushing his sister to try and calm her down.

“Don’t go into the dining room.” Aaron says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Jack looks back and nods briefly before leaving.

Aaron kneels on the floor, ignoring the pain that seems to spark throughout his entire body as he does so, and leans down to look under Emily’s side of bed. Theo is there, curled up in a ball, shaking. He has a gash on his forehead, and as soon as he sees his father he starts to cry in earnest.

“Daddy?”

Aaron clears this throat, pushing down all the emotions that threaten to spill out of him so he can try and help his terrified son. “Hey buddy. How about you come from under there?”

Theo sniffs and shakes his head. “George said Mommy is dead.”

It feels like a punch in the gut, the devastation in his son’s voice makes his own tears flood his eyes. “He lied, Theo. She’s ok. She’ll be here soon.” Theo still looks unsure, wiping his face with the back of his hand, unmoving from his place under the bed. “Have I ever lied to you before?”

He seems to think about it for a second before shaking his head at his father and Theo slowly scoots out from under the bed, immediately throwing himself into Aaron’s arms and holds him as tightly as he can.

Aaron pulls back and runs his hand over his son’s head, finger tracing the edge of the cut on his forehead. “What happened, buddy?”

Theo sniffs, his fingers digging into his father’s bloodied shirt. “I heard loud noises and got scared. I fell over.” He tilts his head at Aaron, placing his hand on his cheek, over a cut that Aaron knew must be one of a dozen or so injuries. “What happened, Daddy?”

Aaron smiles at his son and somehow, despite his injuries, he manages to stand without letting go of him, placing him on his hip as he leaves the bedroom. “It doesn’t matter now. Let's get this cut on your head checked out.”

_________________

Theo is getting checked over by a paramedic when Aaron hears it. A car pulling up and a door slamming. An almost immediate argument afterwards as he hears his wife’s voice demanding to be let into the house.

“Jack, stay with your brother and sister.” Aaron says, already walking towards the front of the house away from the ambulance, ignoring the paramedics as they shout after him that he needs to be checked over.

He tries to shout for her, but she doesn’t seem to hear him or Derek as they both try and get her attention.

Aaron is only a few paces from Emily when he sees her knees give way, and he looks to the house, sees the body bag on the porch and in a second knows what she has assumed. He catches her, arms wrapping around her waist. She fights it, the sounds coming from her almost inhuman. She’s begging to be let go, devastation in every word. He turns her around, uses his strength against her to make her look at him.

Their eyes meet, for the first time in six months, and he sees the moment she realises who she is looking at.

“Aaron?”

It takes a second for her to move. She throws her arms around him, hitting him with a force that makes him grunt, the pain in his body from his showdown with Foyet increasing by the second. He holds her back just as tightly, squeezing her body into his as she cries against his neck.

“I thought…” Her voice fades off, torn open by sobs she has no control over. “Fuck, Aaron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He presses a fierce kiss to the top of her head. He tries not to register that her hair smells different, that she’s thinner, weight she couldn’t afford to lose, gone with the stress of the last few months. He kisses the top of her head again, tries to give her all the love he had stored up in half a year. Eager to spill out onto her in a way he can feel she is desperately trying to return. “I love you.”

She cries harder, pulls away from him and kisses him roughly. She pulls away from him enough to speak. “I love you too.” She seems to take in his injuries for the first time, runs delicate fingers over the broken skin on his face. “Where are the kids?”

He leads her to them, never once letting her out of his grasp. As soon as Theo spots his mother he runs to her. Tears streaming down his face before he even reaches her. Emily bends down to his level, arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Oh my sweet boy.” She presses a kiss to the side of his head, not quite believing it had only been a handful of hours since she had last seen him. Emily frowns when her lips catch the edge of a bandage and she pulls back, frown deepening when she sees the stark white material on her son’s forehead. “What happened?”

“I hit my head.” He explains, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Emily stands, pulling Theo against her side and wrapping an arm around him before she looks up at her husband. “Is he ok?”

Aaron nods in response, a silent promise that he would tell her later on his face. Jack appears next to them, Ameilia on his hip, his patience with hanging back gone. He pulls Emily into a fierce hug which she gladly returns, Theo taking the opportunity to step into his father’s side.

Emily and Jack pull back from each other. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” Jack says, the relief clear on his face, shining in his eyes in the form of tears he hadn’t let fall.

“Right back at you, kid.” She replies, running a quick knuckle over his cheek when a tear does escape. Amelia choses that moment to cry out and reach for her mother. Emily gladly takes her into her arms, holding her daughter close. “Sweetheart, it's ok. We’re all ok.”

_________________

Aaron has to go to the hospital. He tries to argue against it, but the firm looks of the paramedic and Emily leave him with no choice. They manage to all pile into one Ambulance, refusing to be separated so soon after being reunited.

They sit waiting for a doctor to come see him, to assess the damage Foyet had caused this time around.

It's not lost on Emily that the last time she’d seen him was in this very hospital, him begging her to go and hide away for her safety and their childrens. He’d been on edge, the mix of pain and sedatives that failed to calm him down had made him less coherent than normal.

It had taken her weeks to fall asleep without the look of horror on his face haunting her, or the fear that Foyet had killed him after all. Her only reassurance that he was alive being the very fact she was apart from him, and not in their home.

He somehow looked worse now than he did when he had just been stabbed. He was thinner, paler than she’d remembered him to be. A sign that he hadn’t looked after himself like she had begged him too when she left.

His shirt was splattered with blood, a mixture of his own and of the man who had tried and failed to tear their family apart blending together.

“Agent Hotchner?”

They look up to see a nurse standing there, waiting to take him to the numerous scans they were told he would need to ensure he didn’t have any internal bleeding.

He nods at her as he stands up off of the gurney he was on, wincing as he does so. He kisses Emily’s forehead as he passes her, a promise that he will be back soon pressed into her skin.

Having him out of her sight immediately sets her nerves on edge. Her ribs feel tight, fear scratching up her spine that he would be snatched away from them again. Emily looks over to the other side of the cubicle and sees Jack with a sleeping Amelia on his lap, talking gently to Theo to keep him distracted.

“Jack, are you ok here with them for a moment?” She lifts her hand that is holding Aaron’s cell phone. “I’m going to make a call.”

“Of course.”

Emily doesn’t miss the nervous look on his face, the waver to his voice, and she wants to kill Foyet herself for doing this to them all. She walks past Jack on the way out, and passes a hand briefly through Amelia’s soft hair before squeezing Jack’s shoulder. “I won’t go far, I promise.”

She finds a relatively quiet hallway and blows out a breath as she pulls up the contact she was looking for, pressing the screen before she could change her mind. The call is answered almost immediately.

“Aaron, is everything ok?”

Emily feels more emotion hit her than she was expecting, and has to close her eyes to hold back the tears she can’t afford to shed yet. “Hi, Mother.”

“Emily?” _________________

Her mother promises to fly back to the US as soon as she can, insisting on seeing them all as soon as possible. It’s an odd conversation, but not the most awkward they’ve ever had. Emily isn’t sure how to explain anything, how to tell her parents that a man had been scraped off of their dining room floor only a few hours ago.

Elizabeth asks how she can help, and Emily off-handedly says at the end of the call, with the promise to call again tomorrow, that they needed somewhere to stay.

Elizabeth calls back less than 5 minutes later and tells Emily there is a hotel room booked for them as long as they need it. The owner was an old friend of her mothers who was more than happy to help once he knew all of the details.

Emily walks back to the cubicle they had been put in to find both Amelia and Theo asleep on the gurney under the watchful eye of their older brother.

“Hi.” She says gently so she doesn't startle him. Jack turns to look at her, a sad smile on his face.

“Hi, Emily.” He looks away from her again and back to his siblings.

She sits next to him, taking his hand as she does so. “You ok?”

“I’m so sorry, Emily.”

She frowns at that, the desolation in his voice, and she gives his hand a squeeze. “What for?”

“For believing him, for putting your kids in danger.”

Emily feels like she has had the breath knocked out of her.“Jack.” She breathes out. “You are my kid.” He looks at her then, eyes wide with tears pooling at his lashes. “I love you just the same as I love them, okay?”

He nods at that, the movement making tears falls down his face which he immediately wipes away. “Okay.”

She smiles at him, pulling him into the best hug she can considering they are sat in hard plastic chairs.

“I love you too, Emily.”

Emily presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I know you do, honey.” _________________

The hotel room is massive. It’s the penthouse suite, three bedrooms leading off of the main living area, a kitchen in the back corner, and a bathroom with a massive jacuzzi tub. As soon as she opens the door, a sleeping Amelia in her arms, Emily realises she should have expected it.

Her mother had never been one for being low key.

Emily sees a couple of bags on the couch, stuff she knows JJ had sent up for them. A couple of change of clothes for them all, some pyjamas and basic toiletries.

She puts Amelia down to sleep immediately, placing her in the crib that had been put in the master bedroom.

It doesn’t take long for the boys to go to bed. They chose to share a room despite there being enough for them to sleep separately for the first time in months, and something about it makes her smile. She tucks Theo in at his request, and sends Jack a grateful smile, knowing he is giving her and Aaron some time.

As Emily clicks the bedroom door behind her she sees her husband flex his fingers, the stiffness in the swollen joints obvious. “Come on.” She says gently, indicating he should sit on the couch. “We should ice your hand a little.”

He complies as she briefly leaves the room to grab a towel, before getting ice from the bucket and wrapping it up.

Aaron hisses as the cold hits his skin, and she gently apologises under her breath.

“Why did you do it?” Emily asks as she holds the ice over his torn up knuckles like the nurse had instructed. She thinks briefly about how gentle his hands had always been with her, with their children. It seemed incongruent to think that the same hands had just beaten a man to death in their dining room.

“Do what?”

She glares at him, pressing a little too harshly with the ice into his hand. “Serve yourself up to him like some kind of sacrificial lamb.”

“Better me than you or the kids.” He says gruffly, avoiding her unyielding gaze. “It’s me he wanted. If he had killed me…” His voice drifts off for a second at the sharp intake of breath she takes in at that. He looked up at her, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her focus on the broken skin on his hands. “You and the kids would be ok eventually, you’ve been without me for a while anyway.”

Emily looks up at him sharply and abandons her task completely, putting the ice down on the nightstand. She cups his cheeks, thumb tracing over a cut high on his cheek bone. “We haven’t been ok, Aaron. At all. I got a taste of my life without you and I didn’t like it.” She clears her throat. “So, please don’t offer yourself up like bait to any more serial killers, ok?”

He doesn’t miss the crack to her voice or the way her fingers tremble on his face. He covers her hands with his and rests his forehead against hers. “Ok.” _________________

Aaron insists that she showers first. She tries to argue, says that he was the one who needed it more, but in the end she relents. She turns the water temperature up a little too high, lets it burn the day off of her skin.

Emily takes a deep breath and leans against the shower wall. The enormity of the day, and what she could have lost, hitting her all at one. She stands and sobs under the hot water beating down on her, different scenarios of how the day could have gone running through her mind in a way she knew would haunt her nightmares for weeks to come.

It didn’t feel real that they had all made it out, that she could start piecing her family back together.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy. The look on Aaron’s face when Amelia had cried when he tried to hold her upon their arrival at the hotel had fractured Emily’s heart. He had refused her offer of a joint shower, something he had never turned down before. Things felt fragile. Like the tiniest aftershock from the terror that had torn through their lives could tear them apart.

Once she has stopped crying, Emily showers quickly and wraps a bathrobe around herself as she leaves the bathroom. When she walks back into the bedroom she was sharing with Aaron he was nowhere to be found. She frowns and walks out into the main part of the suite only to find he’s not there either.

She begins to panic, wondering where he could possibly be, when the door the suite opens, her husband walking through with a CVS bag in his hand.

“Where the hell did you go?” She asks, voice harsher than she initially intended. She tightly wraps her arms around herself, trying desperately to hold the broken pieces of herself together. “You can’t just leave.”

“I thought I’d be back before you got out of the shower.” Aaron answers, shrugging his coat off at the door. He walks towards her and places a gentle hand on her arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Emily tries to smile at him, but it doesn’t quite work. The tension from the day was still bubbling under her skin in a way that made her worried she’d eventually take it out on him. “What was so important at the pharmacy? I thought they gave you everything you needed at the hospital.”

Aaron opens the plastic bag and pulls out a pack of three peanut butter cups and presses it into her hand. “They didn’t have any of the giant ones left, so this will have to do.”

She looks at the chocolate in her hand and then up at her husband, confusion leaking out of her every pore. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Peanut Butter Cups. They didn’t have any giant ones.”

Confusion quickly turns into concern as she worries he may have a concussion after all, the practicalities of getting him back to the hospital when all of their children were asleep running through her head. “Aaron, honey.” She places a hand on his cheek. “You’re not making any sense.”

Aaron leads her over to the couch and sits them both down. He silently pulls his cellphone out, presses the series of buttons he has used countless times since he had sent her away. He watches his wife’s face as her own voice comes out of his phone.

“Hi honey, I just left Theo’s school, and I need to pop home before I take Amelia to the daycare. I thought I’d let you know as my boss that I’ll be late for work, because my husband apparently forgot the conversation we had only last night, and I’ve ended up having to do the school run.”

Emily looks at him as they listen to the message together, but his eyes are fixed on his cell phone, his grip on it tight. This daily routine that had kept him going during the time they were apart being observed for the first time.

“Which, by the way, led to a lovely conversation with my mother. I know baby, Daddy is an idiot.”

They both smile sadly at Amelia’s baby noises in the background, the fact she had grown so much since then more evident than ever.

“Anyway, you owe me big time. I’m thinking at least two orgasms and one of those giant peanut butter cups. I’ll see you later. Lo-.”

The voicemail cuts out and they sit in silence for a few seconds, Aaron avoiding her gaze, before she speaks. “I don’t remember leaving that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He clears his throat, finally looking at her. “I didn’t find it until after I got home from the hospital and got my phone back.”

Emily places her hand over his wrist and strokes the skin there before laying her head on his shoulder. “How many times did you listen to that?”

“Daily. Sometimes more than once.”

She sighs and turns her head enough to press a kiss into the material of his shirt. She isn’t sure what to say, how to make any of it better. Ultimately she knows she can’t, at least not yet. They would both need to be on more even footing to feel reassured they had each other back.

“Thank you for my peanut butter cups.”

He laughs like she hoped he would, but he winces quickly, the pain in his ribs sharp like a blade. She lifts her head to look at him, concern laced through her expression. Aaron smiles at her and presses a whisper of a kiss to her lips.

“You’re welcome sweetheart, but I may have to take a rain check on those orgasms for now.”

Emily laughs this time, and it catches in her chest on a sob. She rests her forehead against his. “I’ll hold you to that, Hotchner.” _________________

Aaron sends Emily to bed, her exhaustion clear on her face. He showers quickly, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed with his wife and try to sleep.

When he walks into the bedroom she is already asleep. Curled close to the middle of the bed, her hand placed on the pillow intended for him. He pulls back the covers on his side and grabs her hand as she settles next to her, intertwining their fingers in a way that he had missed over the 6 months they were apart.

She had always been a light sleeper, which was only made worse when their children came along, so she wakes, but keeps her eyes closed. She squeezes his hand before untangling hers from his and placing it on his neck, thumb pressed to his pulse point.

“Is this real?” She moves so she’s sharing his pillow, forehead pressed against his, as if in that moment she doesn’t care if it is real, or some kind of cruel dream. That she just wants to be close to him, even if it means she’d open her eyes and find herself alone in the apartment she’d lived in with their children. “You’re here?”

He smiles at how she sounds when she’s half asleep, voice thick and words running into one. He pulls her closer into his arms and she gladly follows, wrapping themselves around each other tightly, as if George Foyet could rise from the dead and tear them apart again. They have so much to talk about, so many things that need fixing before they can go back to any version of the life they had before he came home to find Foyet waiting for him, but it could all wait until morning.

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to her nose. “I’m right here.”

They both sleep fitfully. Nightmares tearing at the edges of their consciousness until they wake, finding solace in each other's arms.

#Hotchniss #Hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #WTB Universe #ITSWM

[thrillridesz]

the replacement game ▫ haknyeon

➳ pairing: boyfriend!haknyeon x gender neutral reader ➳ genre: fluff, slight angst ➳ warnings/rating: PG ➳ word count: 2.6k ➳ requested?: yes

a/n: i originally got this request as a timestamp but i changed it to a oneshot instead because they went on longer than i initially envisioned! also unedited (for now). definitely not my best work since i wrote this in one night >< so please excuse the slipshod quality.

“Hey, Hak!”

Haknyeon barely had time to remove his shoes as he stepped into the apartment the both of you shared along with your husky, Frosty. As Frosty leaped onto his hind legs and pawed excitedly at his sweater, you stood smiling with your hands behind your back. There was a sense of anticipation that simply radiated off you and the smile told him that something was up. Ruffling Frosty’s head affectionately, he scrunched up his nose.

“Hey… Y/n. What’s up?”

At his question, your smile only grew brighter. There was a glint in your eyes as you replied, “Guess what I bought today?”

As he slipped out of his shoes, Haknyeon raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Hm… A new book?”

“Nice try, but nope!” You shook your head and he chuckled.

“What could it possibly be if not a new book? That’s what you always ever buy.”

“Here it is!”

Haknyeon lifted his head as you brandished a small potted plant in your hands. It was a tiny mere seedling with only a couple of miniature green leaves sprouting from a single stem planted in a bed of dark soil in a brown ceramic pot. As you held onto it, you couldn’t stop beaming.

“Isn’t it pretty? It’s so cute too, don’t you think?” You said, admiring the tiny plant in your hands.

Haknyeon’s smile dropped as he looked at it, feeling a heavy sense of dread in his heart. Not again…

“Babe, don’t you remember the last time we bought a plant?” He asked hesitantly, still holding onto Frosty who was now licking his hand.

You pouted, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks and face as guilt set in. Your eyes drifted to the window by the living room and the tiny trinkets that laid out on the window sill, chewing your lower lip as you stared at the oddly empty spot at the corner.

“I really liked it though…” You trailed off, your finger grazing over one of the tiny leaves on the plant and Haknyeon’s expression softened.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, of course we can have a plant but do you know what it takes to take care of one?” He placed his hand warmly over yours as the two of you plopped down onto the couch, as if afraid that you would accidentally drop the plant. Fortunately, you were too preoccupied with the plant in your hands and your own thoughts to notice the meaning behind what he did.

“I’ve been reading up, Hak. I really wanna try caring for a plant again, you know how much I love plants.” You said sadly.

“I don’t doubt that,” He replied reassuringly though there was an uncomfortable look in his expression and if you were just a little more observant, you would have noticed the stiffness in his tone. There was a weird mood in the room, something both of you sensed except for Frosty, who wagged his tail, oblivious to what was going on as he settled himself against Haknyeon’s leg, making himself cozy. “It’s just that that was what you said the last time too. We didn’t even last a month.” He continued, reminiscing the old sunflower plant the both of you used to take care of or rather tried to take care of.

Needless to say, caring for the sunflower plant had been a disaster. As someone who knew next to nothing about caring for a plant, you either gave it too much water or too little water or sometimes even completely forgetting to give water at all. Even after reading up on gardening, there was once when you had purchased the wrong minerals and very nearly killed the sunflower plant but thankfully, Haknyeon had been there to help. There were also many instances when you simply forgot to close the window and the afternoon breeze would send the plant tottering dangerously over the edge. Sometimes when Frosty was feeling a little playful, it was also in danger of simply being knocked down.

Suddenly, you set the potted plant down on to the coffee table with a loud thud, startling him and in turn causing Frosty to scramble onto his legs, a curious look on that furry face. With a light whimper, he hid his snout under Haknyeon’s hand who held onto him as he stared at you in surprise.

“I’ll do it right this time. Just watch!” You declared, determination in your eyes as you placed your hands on your hips. It was almost comical to see you like this, talking to no one in particular with such a domineering stance towards a plant of all things. Haknyeon would have laughed out loud but instead, he could only sighed internally.

“Here we go again…”

“Did you water it?”

It had been about a couple of days since your new little house plant had joined the family and you smiled proudly as you turned to Haknyeon who stood by the door.

“Yup! Thought I would forget?”

Haknyeon shrugged nonchalantly, shooting you a doubtful smile which you didn’t quite catch.

“Just thought I’d ask.”

As he shuffled into the living room, Haknyeon couldn’t help but keep staring at the plant from a distance. On one hand, there was this inner voice telling him to check on it but on another, we wanted to trust that you knew what you were doing and leave you to your own devices. Yet the temptation was too strong and he relented.

Staring into the pot, he tried not to sigh out loud. There was way too much water in the soil, almost diluting the minerals added and very nearly drowning the tiny seedling. From the looks of it, it was already halfway there. Somehow, the leaves looked almost limp and its colour was a light, sickly green rather than a healthy, dark, vibrant emerald colour.

He knew that this would happen but in his heart, he had wished it wouldn’t. Knowing how much effort you do actually put into reading up on how to care for small plants, he had hoped you’d succeed for once. After all, Haknyeon hated to see you upset. Whenever he saw you in a sad mood, it felt like his heart was falling and it would bug him for the longest time. He cared too deeply to see you upset.

Fiddling with his fingers, he pondered over what to do. It had been only a few days since you got this plant and it would absolutely devastate you to know that you had failed once again. The thought of you being down was something Haknyeon abhorred and taking a deep breath, he called out.

“Hey, y/n! I’ll be going down to the grocer’s. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’ll be fine! I have work to do!” You called back out from your room.

“Do you…” He stared at the plant. “Do you mind if I take the plant with me?”

At that, you poked your head out from the room, frowning.

“And why on earth would you do that?”

Shit. He was not forward thinking with this.

“I, um…”

From across the street, he noticed the apartment in the block had a birdcage with a large colourful parrot in it. It flew around the tiny confined space, troubling its terrified owner who was timidly tossing it some nuts from afar, clearly afraid of his own pet.

Without a second thought, he said, “I’m going to buy a mini terrarium for the plant! I wanted to take it just to y’know… Figure out how big of a terrarium would fit it.”

“Really? What sort?” You asked, suddenly interested.

“Um… What do you think would be good?”

“Hm…” Tapping your chin thoughtfully, you turned to peer over at the plant and Haknyeon couldn’t help but wonder how on earth you didn’t already notice that the plant was probably already dead. “A glass sphere?”

“A glass sphere?”

“Yeah! I’ve seen a lot of those on sites like Pinterest and Tumblr. We could go for that!” You grinned.

Rest in peace, wallet.

“Alright.” Haknyeon said, forcing a smile which you returned and shot him a thumbs up before disappearing into your room. “Thank you!”

“You’re… Welcome.” He mumbled softly more to himself than to you as Frosty poked his snout against his leg, clearly in another of his playful moods but Haknyeon had no mood to play. He already didn’t have a lot of money since it had been some time since he had received his pay and payday wouldn’t come round for another week. Whipping out his wallet, he felt his heart clench painfully at the lack of bills and pennies. Looks like he would have to go hungry for lunch for the next week. He swallowed thickly, looking down at Frosty who was now quiet, having sensed that something was wrong.

“Nope, it’s just my wallet. I’ll be fine, Frosty.” He said, rubbing the husky’s head gently.

If it meant that you would be happy, he was willing to do anything… even if it meant sacrificing his wallet.

Over the next few weeks, it felt like a game of how quickly he was able to find a replacement whenever you slipped up or when something happened without your knowledge. It was the replacement game. The second time he had to find a replacement happened when Frosty accidentally went a little overboard and nudged the plant out an open window. The loud crash on the streets below earned Haknyeon a severe warning and whack on the head by the old lady who had very nearly missed it. Thankfully, you weren’t home so he had time to actually find a nice one to buy instead of hastily picking one. The third time it happened, you had simply forgotten to water it and though Haknyeon himself had tried to revive the plant, it was already well and truly gone.

All this while, his wallet definitely wasn’t having a lot of fun, much less himself. Many times, he considered simply telling you the truth but whenever he saw the look of joy and pride on your face, he just couldn’t bring himself to. It seemed as if Frosty got the message along the way when he would distract you and allow Haknyeon time to salvage what needed to be salvaged. Until one day…

“Hey babe, I’m home!” Haknyeon called out, dropping his bag onto the kitchen countertop and unbuttoning a few of the shirt buttons for more air. Dang, that shirt was stuffy. Why couldn’t workplaces just allow people to wear whatever they wanted? It would make life so much easier and more comfortable. As he poured himself a glass of water, he wondered briefly if he should bring it up as a suggestion to management. It could boost productivity.

Downing the glass like a man starved of water, he didn’t even realise it when Frosty tugged at his shirt with his teeth, the look in his eyes devoid of the usual mirth and playfulness.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Haknyeon knelt down, rubbing his cheeks. “You hungry? Is that it?”

“He’s not hungry.”

Turning around, Haknyeon shot you a smile but you did nothing to return it.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were home!”

“The computer system at work shut down unexpectedly so we got to go home early.” You replied curtly, the look on your face grim. This time, the dry tone of your voice caught his attention. He frowned, confused.

“Are you okay?”

Subconsciously, Haknyeon casted the window a sideway glance and almost heaved an audible sigh of relief at the still intact plant and terrarium. Big mistake.

“If you’re wondering, the answer is no. No, I haven’t killed the plant for the 4th time.” You said. Haknyeon stiffened, the expression on his face remaining unchanged but you could tell that he was gripping hard at the kitchen countertop from the looks of his white knuckles. Clenching his jaw, he took a deep breath.

“How did you know?” He asked quietly.

The look you gave him was so full of disappointment as you drew out the numerous receipts you had in your hand.

“They were all in your drawer. I found them while trying to find a pen.”

Before he could even say anything, you continued.

“Why would you do this?”

It felt like someone had stuck a knife in his heart and twisted the blade when he saw the look on your face. There was just so much sadness, confusion and hurt in your eyes that it felt painful to even look into them. He wanted so badly to kick himself right there and then. It turns out all this hiding and deception had only made things so much worse. He had not only lied to you but he also gave you the false sense of happiness and pride and even displayed the extent of his distrust in you by not even believing in you in the first place. Haknyeon never gave you a chance to even learn. Instead of helping you, he had chosen entirely to keep you in the dark about what was really happening.

“Do you not trust me? I get that I may not have the greenest thumbs but instead of hiding this… Replacement game you’re playing from me, you could’ve helped me, Hak. You could’ve simply reminded me or told me.” Your voice wobbled slightly at the end. “I saw your bank statement too. Why are you doing this when you clearly lack the funds to? Is it so difficult to tell me things these days?”

There was a moment of silence when neither of you said or did anything, not even Frosty who was usually so hyperactive.

“Tell me, Hak. Please.”

“I didn’t want you to get upset.” He said finally, keeping his head down.

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting to hear that from him.

“What…?”

“I couldn’t bear to see you upset, y/n. I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. I knew you studied really hard and did so much work to make sure you did everything right so I… I don’t know. I didn’t want to see you upset.” Haknyeon said, his voice firm but getting shakier by the second. “I love you too much to see you upset.”

“Oh, Hakkie.” You whispered, coming by his side and holding his hand in yours.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I should have trusted you more. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I hope you don’t hold it against me.” He said softly, not lifting his gaze. “I would have given everything I could to make sure that you didn’t feel sad when things don’t work out. Nothing matters more to me than seeing you happy, y/n but I see now that all I’ve done is the opposite.”

Hearing him say all of that was all very shocking and so deeply heart wrenching. How could someone be so… Good? The anger in you had all but dissipated and you reached out and slipped your hands up to his face, bringing him up to meet your eyes. Those dark eyes of his were glassy with tears that threatened to fall and you wanted so desperately to make it all better.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Hak. I didn’t realise that at all, I- I...” You stammered, unable to get your words out from all the emotions that bubble up in you. “Please don’t.”

Before he could react, you had wrapped him in a tight hug, your face buried in his shoulder. At first, he simply stood unmoving before he slowly hugged you back, melting into the hug.

“Let’s just be real with each other from now on.” You whispered.

“... Okay.” He replied softly.

“No hiding, no lies… Just trust and honesty.”

“Okay.” He simply said without hesitation.

It felt like ages before the two of you parted and as you looked him in the eyes, a warm feeling began to spread across your chest. It is getting warmer and cosier by the second and as he squeezed your hand lightly in his, you felt a jolt of electricity run through you and a smile tugged at your lips which only grew wider as he did too. This must be what true love feels like. 

#tbznetwork #deobiwritersnet #kpopscape #kpopficsnetwork #deobiblr #tbz haknyeon #the boyz haknyeon #ju haknyeon #haknyeon x reader #tbz oneshots #the boyz oneshots #tbz imagines #the boyz imagines #tbz scenarios #the boyz scenarios #tbz haknyeon imagines #the boyz haknyeon imagines #haknyeon oneshots #haknyeon scenarios #haknyeon imagines #tbz fluff #the boyz fluff #haknyeon fluff

[happyandticklish]

Grub Scars

Dave discovers something knew about Karkat and Karkat doesn’t entirely hate him for it. 

The roar of the TV was muffled in the ears of the two teenagers sprawled on the tiny couch, their limbs entangled in messy disarray. Karkat grunted as two hands slid up his back, pulling him in tighter against Dave. His lips murmured breathily against Dave’s neck.

“You’re missing the movie.” He gently bit at the tender skin of his throat, a tiny thrill coursing through him at the noise Dave made.

“Fuck the movie,” was the casual reply and Dave pulled back momentarily to grin at him, shades askew from the impromptu make out session. He ran his hands contemplatively over Karkat’s torso, deciding a new target for his affections. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, silently asking permission. Karkat didn’t reply, turning to face the TV though it was obvious he wasn’t taking in anything the show was saying. Dave rolled his eyes at his stubbornness and slipped his hands under his sweater anyway.

Karkat hissed sharply at cold fingers but didn’t move away. Dave traced his hands over the soft skin of his abdomen, noticing something odd as he did.

“Karkat?” he asked.

“Mmm?”

“What are these lines on your ribs?”

Karkat’s eyes opened briefly, annoyed at being interrupted. “They’re my grub scars. All trolls have them.”

Dave sat back, all thoughts of making out momentarily flung from his brain as he studied this new anomaly. “Grub scars… like from when you were a baby? Or a larvae, I guess. I always forgot you guys are part insect too. Dude, that’s so weird.”

Karkat attempted to sit up, glaring at Dave, but was stopped by a hand pushing him back down. “We are not, part insect, as you say. If anything your insects are half-troll as they came second. And grub scars are a completely normal thing. They are no different than your ‘bellybuttons’ or whatever the fuck you call them.”

Dave wasn’t listening, poking the lines experimentally. They were raised in slight bumps atop the troll’s ribs and were of a ruddy complexion. There were three on either side and Dave traced his thumb over one curiously.

He didn’t miss the way Karkat jumped, nor the faint shade of red his face had turned. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, you useless excuse for a human being, and I would appreciate it if you would remove your filthy human appendages from my—ah!”

Karkat was cut off mid-rant as Dave curled his fingers, watching his boyfriend’s reaction. A knowing grin was forming on Dave’s face and Karkat winced in preparation for the coming attack. But instead of launching into a vicious, one-sided tickle fight, Dave continued to gently trace over the scars, his fingers ghosting the skin and sending shudders scurrying down Karkat’s spine. He watched Karkat all the while, checking for a reaction, and that was when Karkat knew he was trapped.

“You okay there, Karkat?” Dave asked, stone-faced as usual. Karkat gripped his hands tight in the cushions of the couch, trying to focus on the TV and failing miserably. “You seem kind of tense.”

“I’m f-fine,” Karkat replied snarkily, ignoring the stutter in his voice. “Now will you shut your incessant blabbering and let me enjoy the show we were originally watching before you decided it was time to board the train to make-out station.”

Dave snorted at the word usage, digging his nails in gently at the very edges of the scars and grinning as Karkat choked back a whine. “Like you weren’t enjoying yourself. And I believe it’s called make-out central.”

“I thought I told you to be quiet, so how is it I can still see your mouth moving and hear the irritating tenor of your hormonal voice cracks?”

“Point taken. I guess we’ll just continue in silence then.”

Karkat grunted.

The movie displayed two men shouting passionately at each other while another one nervously tried to console the both of them. It was inevitably leading to either homicide or filthy love making, either one disgustingly graphic in nature; it was difficult to tell with troll romance. However, neither of the two boys were paying any attention to the movie, nor had they been paying any attention since the moment the title screen rolled across the TV.

Dave was having a field day with the new discovery of grub scars, much to Karkat’s chagrin. At first it was just tracing, light and easy to deal with. After a while it almost began to feel good, and Karkat felt his eyelids fluttering sleepily and his breathing evening out into a relaxed hum of contentment.

At first.

Karkat jerked awake again as nails suddenly dug into his sides, a surprised squeak of laughter betraying him. Dave smirked triumphantly, having gotten the reaction he’s wanted.

“What the fuck Strider?” Karkat growled, his hands now clamped around Dave’s wrists in a vise-like grip. Dave’s fingers were still touching his skin, unfortunately, and they continued to wiggle gently which was succeeding at slowly driving the troll insane.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.” He curled his fingers in a devastating claw motion and Karkat’s eyes snapped shut again, hissing anxiously. “How come I didn’t know this?”

“I’m not ticklish,” Karkat denied immediately, but stuttered giggles were slipping past his lips as he squirmed under Dave’s touch. “You’re ticklish.”

It was a moronic comeback, but Karkat couldn’t think while his body was racked with the tortuous sensations. Dave’s cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink and he rolled his eyes. “Dude, lame. You totally are. You’re laughing right now.”

He was and he hated it. “S-Shut uhup. Just st-stohop.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Dahave, I s-swehear to gog—”

“Do the grub scars make it more ticklish or less ticklish?” Dave asked, ignoring him completely. His eyes gleamed with genuine interest while he waited for an answer.

“Y-Yehehes, you fuhuhucktard!” Karkat threw his head back as Dave’s gentle scratches turned into rough poking and prodding. “Gahaha, whahahat the fuhuhuck?”

“This is great. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.” His fingers moved up just slightly, teasing at the barest edges of underarms, and Karkat lost it, kicking the back of the couch in frantic pleas. “I’m barely even touching you. This is kind of sad actually.”

“Fuhuhuck y-y-yohou, ehehe, nohoho, gog!” Karkat’s laughter had transformed into a storm of hiccupy giggles, an odd change from his usual gravelly grumbling. He had released Dave’s wrists and was now flailing his hands around uselessly, occasionally shoving at Dave’s arms to no avail. He jumped as the fingers found their destination in his armpits, slamming his arms down and subsequently trapping Dave’s hands there.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, nohohohoho!” Karkat curled up into the couch, trying to dislodge the hands and only getting them more stuck in the process. “Stohohohop!”

“I can’t. You’ve got to lift your arms dude.”

“I hahahate y-yohohou!”

“Careful Karkat, I might start thinking you’re feeling black for me.”

“Fuhuhuck yohohou!”

After another valiant attempt to get away without lifting his arms, Karkat decided he had no choice but to retaliate. Having no plan of action aside from getting those damn fingers off of him, he reached out blindly and clamped his hands around Dave’s sides, squeezing harshly.

Dave let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter, jerking back immediately. Having accomplished his goal, Karkat decided revenge was due. He quickly tackled Dave, pinning his hands above his head with one hand and raising the other one in a menacing gesture over his stomach.

“So Dave…” he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead as he grinned. “Now that you’ve had your fun I think it’s time you face a taste of your own medicine.”

Dave squirmed underneath him, eyeing the hovering hand apprehensively. “Look, I’m sorry man, but think about what you’re doing.”

Karkat raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you ticklish?”

Dave flushed, an odd look to see on the normally stoic Strider. Karkat decided he liked the look. “No. I mean, a little. But so is everyone else. Look, the point is I’m sorry. Can we please just go back to making out?”

“Maybe later,” Karkat promised, lowering his hand. “But right now I think I have some well-earned revenge to dish out.”

The second his hand made contact Dave burst into laughter. His laugh was boisterous and carefree, nothing like the boy who it came from. He giggled uncontrollably as Karkat scribbled fingers all over his stomach, the sensitive skin jumping under the touch.

“Ahahaha! Fuhhuhuck, yohohour w-weird troholl nahails tickle, gohohod!” He arched up against the bed, arms tugging uselessly against Karkat’s hold, squealing when Karkat pinched his hips. “Gah! Nohoho, nohohot thehehere!”

“What’s wrong Strider? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

Karkat was ecstatic. Here was Dave, master of cool, giggling like a wriggler under him at a little tickling. He tried not to focus on the fact that just seconds ago he too had been the dumb wriggler helpless to Dave’s fingers, and decided to move up to the ribs, seeing as that had been the start of all this trouble.

Dave jerked away, tugging desperately at his trapped arms. “Duhuhude, sohoho nohohot cohohohool!”

“You know, while we’re here I think it would be a good time to learn more about your species. Tell me Dave, how many ribs does a human have?”

Dave spluttered incredulously, struggling to focus. “Whahahat? Ihihi dohohon’t knohohow! twehehenty-fohohour?”

Karkat tapped his nails against the blond boy’s sides, shaking his head. “You don’t sound too sure, Dave. I think I may have to figure out for myself.”

“Whahahat—gahaha!”

Dave snorted as Karkat dug his nails in-between his upper ribs, counting as he went. “Let’s see. One, two, three, four—quit moving, asshole. Now I have to start over.”

“Karkahahahat!” Dave whined and fell back into squeaky giggles as the process repeated.

This was surprisingly fun. Karkat had never seen Dave laugh with such abandon before. He was always so obsessed with being cool or ironic or whatever dumb concept he was into at the time, and it felt nice to break him out of his shell.

As it turned out, Dave was even more ticklish than Karkat. Every spot produced more of that squeaky, high-pitched laughter, and Dave seemed unable to control himself as he squirmed helplessly underneath him, protests and pleas spilling out amidst the laughter. Finally Karkat decided to give him a break and backed off, releasing his grip on Dave’s wrists.

Dave was a mess. His shirt was mussed up all the way to his chest and he was breathing heavily, cheeks bright red from laughing. Somewhere in the process his shades had been knocked askew and they lay haphazardly on one side of his head, held on by one ear. Karkat’s own eyes widened as he took in the other boy’s eyes.

Red, bright red from mirth and accusations as they turned a betrayed glare on Karkat.

“Rude. I did not tickle you for that long.”

“Your shades.”

Dave blinked, realizing their absence. “Fuck.” He quickly grabbed them, shoving them firmly back over his eyes. “You didn’t see anything.”

Karkat grinned, already missing their presence. “You looked adorable.”

“Shut the fuck up man.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Dave tried to get up but found that Karkat was still firmly planted on his waist. He frowned, trying again. Nothing.

“Uh, you mind moving?”

Karkat shook his head. “I’m good. I quite like where I am right now.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“Yeah.” Karkat crossed his arms, taking in the sight of the helpless Strider before him. “I think I’ll have to have you like this more often.”

Dave snorted at the corniness of it, ignoring the flush of his cheeks. “Okay, whatever. Get down here and kiss me already.”

Karkat did, but mere minutes later his fingers found themselves tracing up the boy’s sides yet again and they found themselves emerged in a second round of ridiculousness that neither was entirely angry about. 

#karkat strider #tickling #dave strider #homestuck #tickle fic #fanfic #davekat

[litwitlady]

this godforsaken mess

Read on AO3.

Warnings: Casual homophobia/biphobia - angst

Angst Prompt #1 - ‘I don’t love you anymore.’

I don’t love you anymore, I don’t love you anymore, I don’t love you anymore. Alex recites the words in his head over and over again, hoping that at some point in the very near future he’ll believe them. But the clock is ticking and the sound of an old Chevy engine is growing louder by the second.

Michael pulls into Alex’s driveway and shuts his engine off. Alex stands in front of him, haloed by his headlights. They stare at each other through the windshield for far too long before Michael opens his door and slides out of the truck. It’s been one week since they last saw each other. And nearly eight since they’ve properly spoken.

Alex stuffs his hands in his pockets. ‘Thanks for doing this on such short notice.’ He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns his back to Michael and walks to his Explorer. It was supposed to be Forrest with him tonight, but he’d been called away to New York on book business. Finding a replacement date at 5:30 pm on a Friday afternoon proved impossible, until he’d done the unthinkable and called Michael.

He’d wanted to cancel - had dialed his CO’s number multiple times without pressing send. Alex had turned her down so many times before that canceling last minute seemed rude and childish and possibly ruinous to his career. But showing up dateless to a dinner party with several other couples seemed ruinous to his mental health, so he’d called everyone in his contacts list.

This whole night promises to end in disaster. He looks up as Michael walks towards the passenger side of his SUV and notices for the first time what he’s wearing. Or more accurately, what he’s not wearing. There’s no audacious belt buckle, no cowboy hat, no grease anywhere he can see. His jeans are new - dark wash denim and so perfectly snug that Alex wonders if they’ve been tailored. And instead of his usual button-up, Michael’s in a v-neck sweater - black cashmere from the looks of it. How Isobel got him to wear any of this is beyond Alex’s comprehension. ‘You look good.’

Michael shuts the door and stares at him. ‘Isobel forced me into Max’s clothes. The sweater’s itchy and the jeans are too long.’ He glances down to where the ends of his pants are cuffed. Same old worn boots on his feet. 

That tiny piece of Michael makes Alex smile. ‘But not the boots, huh?’

‘Over my dead body.’ Michael risks smiling back. ‘You look good, too. But you always look good.’

Alex has to force himself to drag his eyes away, distracting himself with turning his key in the ignition. ‘Again, Michael. Thank you so much.’ The engine roars to life. ‘It’s more than I had any right to ask.’

‘No more apologies. Just fill me in on what I need to know to survive the night. She’s your boss, right?’ He pulls down the sun visor, messing with his hair while avoiding catching his own eye in the mirror. 

‘Commanding Officer, yes. Major Denise Williams. Her husband’s name is Dan. There will be several other couples there - none of them military. All of them heterosexual. Everyone knows I’m gay and in a relationship. You’re a friend helping out last minute.’ Alex hopes none of the small talk ventures too close to their past. But the fear pooling in his stomach knows they’re going to be asked several uncomfortable questions. 

‘Are we ex-lovers or do we avoid that entirely?’ Michael flips the sun visor shut and turns his gaze out the window. ‘To be honest, Alex. I’m not in the mood to lie.’

‘No lying. I loved you and you loved me. It didn’t work. We’re trying to be friends.’ The air in the SUV thickens. Michael shifts in the leather seat, crossing his ankles. ‘Hopefully, that will make the conversation awkward enough to shut everyone up.’

Michael nods and returns his focus outside. The rest of the drive is silent. Not even the radio filling the spaces between them.

The Major’s house is modest in size but well-tended. The yard mostly rock except for the occasional plot of prettily landscaped desert flowers and shrubbery. One large pinyon pine anchoring the space and providing a fair amount of late afternoon shade. Alex parks on the street behind a Subaru and cuts the engine. ‘You ready?’

‘I hope that’s a rhetorical question.’ Michael opens his door and slides out. Waits for Alex to walk around and join him. ‘You and I both know we aren’t ready for this.’ They share a meaningful look and step together towards the front door.

Alex raises a finger to press the doorbell, but the door swings open before he gets the chance. ‘Captain Manes, so good to see you again.’ Dan Williams extends his hand which Alex shakes. 

‘You too, Dan. This is my friend, Michael Guerin.’ He motions to Michael who also extends his hand.

‘Nice to meet you, Michael. Come inside, you two. Denise is in the kitchen with our other guests.’ They cross the threshold and follow Dan into the kitchen, taking in their surroundings as they go. Michael making sure to note any exits in case a quick getaway is needed. Alex smirks at him, knowing exactly what he’s up to.

‘No crawling out of any windows, please,’ he mutters under his breath. 

Michael smirks back at him. ‘No promises.’

‘Alex!’ A middle-aged blond woman greets them, lipsticked grin spread wide across her face and not at all what Michael had expected. She’s happily plump and her warmth radiates throughout the room. ‘And you must be Michael.’

‘Thank you for inviting us, Major. We got you a little something.’ He hands her a bottle of wine. ‘Dan texted me your favorite brand.’ 

She takes the bottle of Cabernet and pulls him into a hug. ‘No Major or Captain tonight. Just Denise and Alex. And thank you for the wine. I can be quite the lush when I’m off duty.’ She winks and Michael cannot believe this woman is in the Air Force. ‘Now come meet everyone.’

Denise introduces them to two other couples. Mark and Silvia who are close to Michael and Alex’s age. Bobby and Tally who are about ten years older. Everyone is pleasant and polite, spending most of the conversation focused on discussing the Williams’ bathroom rehab and their desire to put a pool in next summer. Michael gladly accepts a beer and Alex takes a glass of wine. They keep to the edges of the conversation, rarely offering more than a nod or a hum of agreement.

Somewhere along the way, they subconsciously press together - shoulder to hip. Oblivious until Tally smiles at them and asks the first devastating question of the night. ‘How long have you two been dating?’

Michael and Alex leap apart from each other like they’ve been burned. Alex cuts his eyes to Denise who steps in to save them. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. I forgot to inform everyone before you arrived.’ She turns to the group. ‘Alex’s boyfriend had to go out of town last minute. Michael is a good friend giving up his Friday evening to save Alex from facing us alone.’

Alex smiles his thanks and exchanges a look with Michael. ‘We used to date. In high school, mostly. Never worked out.’ It’s a version of the truth.

‘So, you’re both gay?’ Mark asks, innocently. Sipping at his own glass of wine.

‘I’m bisexual, actually.’ Michael answers, hiding his annoyance with a practiced ease.

The oven timer buzzes and Dan claps his hands. ‘Dinner’s ready. Everyone go grab a seat at the table.’ He shuffles everyone but Michael and Alex into the dining room. 

Denise pulls the roast chicken from the oven and then takes them aside. ‘I’m so sorry. That whole conversation was my fault. I should have explained everything before you arrived. I guess I know why you’ve been avoiding this for so long, Alex.’

Alex does his best to fake a smile. ‘It’s okay, Major. I’ve handled worse.’ 

Dan returns to grab the chicken. Denise moves to follow him out of the kitchen. ‘Take a breather. Join us when you’re ready.’ She pats both of them on the arm and disappears.

‘I’m so sorry. We can leave it you want. She’d never hold it against me.’ He mindlessly gathers a fistful of Michael’s shirt and starts to tug him towards the front door. ‘I can text her from outside.’

Michael grabs hold of his waist. ‘Hey, stop. I’m okay. We’re okay. Like you said, we’ve handled way worse. Casual homophobia with a side of biphobia tainted with a shitload of ignorance? Piece of cake.’

That earns him a small smile. ‘Casual bigotry always feels particularly heinous.’ 

Neither is sure how they end up with their arms wrapped around each other, but regardless, that’s where they land. Hugged tightly together in a strange kitchen. The moment oddly intimate and entirely devoid of sex. They take a long moment to breathe one another in and relax. ‘I like Denise. I bet she’s a good boss. Not at all what I’d imagined.’ 

Reluctantly, Alex pulls away. He has trouble meeting Michael’s eye, standing so close. ‘She is a good boss. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to mix the professional with the personal. But everyone in my unit has been to one of her dinners. I couldn’t keep saying no.’

‘And it was supposed to be Forrest with you. The incredibly charming boyfriend who never lets anything ruffle his feathers. And who can spend endless hours talking about his research in a way that makes everyone swoon.’ Michael rolls his eyes good-naturedly.  

‘Maybe you could regale them with your expertise on rebuilding engines. Or applied mathematics. Drug them all to sleep with your brilliance.’ Michael laughs loudly and from out of nowhere Alex wants to kiss him. Rarely has he ever wanted to kiss anyone so desperately. He white knuckles the counter behind him to keep himself from taking a step further, palms sweating and heart racing. I don’t love you anymore, I don’t love you anymore, I don’t love you anymore.

The chant hadn’t worked at the beginning of the night and it’s not working now.

Michael tilts his head towards the dining room. ‘Let’s go eat.’

Dinner goes well, the food is excellent. Alex and Michael get to fade into the background for a while as talk returns to home repair and upcoming travel plans. A little extra alcohol doesn’t hurt either. Alex notices they both drink enough to get a decent buzz going and to calm their nerves. Everyone at the table well ahead of them anyway. Alex is pretty positive the Air Force would frown upon his CO plying him with so much free booze, but he’s not planning on telling anyone so he takes another sip of wine.

Eventually, Silvia turns to Alex. ‘Denise tells us that you’re dating Forrest Long. I’ve seen him around town and know he’s helping his uncle out on the farm. How did you two meet?’

He can feel Michael bristle next to him. But there’s nothing he can do about that and his answer’s certainly not going to help either. ‘Through Michael, actually. They got to know each other at the local library, fighting over the microfiche reader.’

‘Oh, that’s so interesting. What were you researching at the library, Michael? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.’ Everyone turns their attention to Michael, and Alex mentally chastises himself. 

‘Nothing special. Some family history and the 1947 UFO crash. Forrest was doing the same for his book.’ They all nod their heads and return to eating.

‘That’s sweet.’ Denise raises her glass to them. ‘Most exes can barely stand being in the same room together and here you two are playing matchmaker for each other. The only thing I ever wanted to do with one of my exes was fling them into the sun.’ She smiles across the table at her husband and everyone raises their glasses, laughing in agreement.

‘We’re not as well-adjusted as we sound. I’ve wanted to fling him into the sun more times than I can count. And I’m sure the same is true for him.’ Alex chuckles along with the group and glances at Michael. They smile fondly at each other and Michael takes another risk, placing his hand on Alex’s thigh underneath the table.

‘Yeah, but if I ever flung you into the sun, I’d just build a spaceship to go get you back.’ He squeezes Alex’s knee and his eyes soften.

‘Me, too.’ He plants his hand on top of Michael’s and the rest of the room fades away. It is the closest Alex has ever come to cheating on someone. 

Dan clears his throat and they both jerk their heads in his direction. ‘Were you each other’s first loves?’

Michael starts talking before Alex manages to find suitable words. ‘Yes. We were two really soft kids with rough upbringings who found a home in each other. However briefly.’ The table falls silent until Mark begins the story of how he and his wife met working as lifeguards during college.

Dinner ends soon after. Dan and Denise making everyone a plate of food to take home and wishing everyone a goodnight. Denise waves to Michael, but pulls Alex aside. ‘He’s a sweet boy, Alex. I’m glad I got to meet him.’ She stares at him for a beat too long, eyebrows furrowed. ‘May I offer you some unsolicited advice? Please feel free to tell me to fuck off.’

Alex’s eyes widen at her swear. She laughs and shakes her head. ‘I never dreamed of being in the Air Force. And I sure as shit never intended to become a lifer. But life has a funny way of sending us down the right path - no matter how hard we fight against it.’ She gives him one last knowing look. ‘I’ll see you on Monday morning. Tell Michael I think he’s a delight.’

When Alex gets back to his Explorer, Michael is leaning against the driver’s side door. ‘Your keys.’ He’s holding out his hand.

‘I can drive.’ But even he has to admit the world is spinning slightly and his steps are more than little wobbly. Michael doesn’t pull his hand away. ‘Fine.’ He slaps his keys in Michael’s palm. ‘How come you’re so sober?’

‘Years of practice, baby. Plus, after the first beer, I strategically switched to water.’ He smirks and unlocks the car. Michael’s a constant marvel and Alex misses him so much.

The ride home is once again silent. Alex dozes off and wakes up to discover Michael leaning over his lap to unfasten his seat belt. ‘I miss you.’ He doesn’t mean to say it. But he’s glad it’s out in the open now. 

Michael helps him slide out of his seat and plant his feet firmly on the ground. ‘That’s the wine talking. Just last week you avoided talking to me in the cereal aisle.’

‘I have to avoid you or something wrong will happen.’ Michael ignores him and walks him to his front door, using his telekinesis to click the deadbolt open. All Alex’s security lights turn on, flooding his patio with bright, blinding light. Returning some of his sense to him and flaming his cheeks with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I had too much wine.’

Michael nods, letting the whole thing go with a shrug. ‘You okay on your own?’

‘Yeah. Thanks again. For everything. I owe you.’ Alex wants to hug him. Wants to kiss him back in time to the moment right before he’d kissed Forrest that first time. But he doesn’t do either. ‘Goodnight, Michael.’

‘Night, Alex.’ He turns and strides to his truck. The darkness of night stealing him from Alex’s sight.

The Chevy disappears down the street, the chug of the engine growing fainter as the stars shine overhead. And Alex tries one last time. I don’t love you anymore, I don’t love you anymore, I don’t love you anymore.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #background forlex #angst #angst prompts

[cumbercookiebatchs]

Enjoltaire with a puppy???

Hello anon❤️❤️❤️

I have to admit it, I am team cat 🥺

Okay so, it wasn't in their programs to adopt a cat, they never ever talked about it, it just sort of happened. Grantaire usually paints in his studio, and leaves the window open at night to make the heavy smell of paint ease off. The one morning he found this cute little ball of grey fur sleeping on the mat by the sink and he didn't have the heart to throw him out.

So he was a bit nervous to ask Enjolras because he had never mentioned wanting a pet, but the moment he walked inside the bedroom to show Enjolras the tiny kitten, Enjolras's eyes widened and he let out a quiet gasp and he leapt off the bed to steal the cat in no time to cuddle him. "Where did you find him?" and "he was sleeping in the studio, I left the window open" and " I'd love to keep him. Would you mind keeping him?" and it pretty much settled it they adopted the cat.

Turns out their little cat Is a little lady cat

"Grantaire you can't call our cat"Pickle! " "but why not?!" "pickles are gross and and slimy! Our cat looks slimy to you?!" "You're not making any sense! Alright, we won't call her pickle"

"we're not naming her Patria either" "ugh"

Enjolras spoils her to no end with both food and toys, once he even tried to make her wear a sweater but it didn't end well. For the sweater, that is. Grantaire still laughs at Enjolras's devastated expression, "It was red Grantaire, red!!"

She's always walking around and making troubles, but no one can get mad at her.

She sleeps between them, sometimes at their feet, sometimes on Grantaire's head. "You're cheating on me!" "It's not me, she's the one sleeping with me!" "I wasn't talking to you Grantaire, I was talking with her" "*offended gasp*"

Enjolras gets so nervous when she needs to go under surgery, he cries when they can finally take her home again, and he feels like a traitor because of the collar she has to wear for a whole week.

She's always sitting on Grantaire's shoulders.

When they're cuddling on the couch, and Enjolras head is on Grantaire's shoulder and they're holding hands and kissing softly she usually jumps up between them and paws and meows at them until they move enough to make her comfortable.

She's the queen of the house, Grantaire says, and Enjolras screeches, "my beautiful cat is not royalty".

#Hope this is what you were looking for ❤️❤️ #Thank you #lovely anon #❤️❤️❤️❤️ #Enjoltaire #enjoltaire headcanon #Enjolras #Grantaire

[waywardfacegarden]

burning embers

Modern Au: Zuko centric + The Gaang + Zukka + Friendship/Family feels + Angst and Fluff.

Summary: Zuko learns the meaning of love.

Read on Ao3 here.

.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

But Zuko wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love with someone is, he doesn’t know what it feels like. Love is a concept so alien to him; he can’t even grasp the root of it. He just knows a broken home, the remaining ashes of a devastating, blazing fire that was supposed to be his father’s love.

He doesn’t know what love is. And yet, he understands: the underlying and heart-wrenching agony that comes with loving. The sorrow that comes with it; it is just there, intrinsically linked. It’s something that the small kid—full of unknown love and golden warmth, but also deep, bitter pain—comprehends at the tender age of 11.

It’s just common knowledge for him, the same way he knows the sky is blue and the sun hides at night.

Family. Love. Father.

Those words don’t have meaning, Zuko thinks, lying on his bed one night, still hearing the disappointment in his father’s voice echoing in his ears in the quiet darkness of his room. They’re there, of course. And he knows them. He can say them. But they feel far away, slipping through the space between his fingers, becoming dust that blows away with the chilly wind of an autumn midnight, escaping him before he can place what was there in the first place.

They don’t hold weight. They don’t mean anything. They’re shallow; they just exist, like a couple of letters strewn together, like when you say your name so many times in a row it doesn’t even feel right anymore; but, he supposes only a few people are blessed with their significance, with tasting them in their mouth with something not akin to hate or bitterness or emptiness.

Loneliness. Despair. Dishonor.

Those have meaning. Those have weight, despite being such empty words.

(But they very much taste like something akin to hate, too—and that’s the thing.

Maybe Zuko just doesn’t know anything aside from [self-]hate.)

.

.

Family, love, father. They are concepts that come alive to him the same way a phoenix is born.

They rise, awakening from the ashes that the fire within themselves has burned to death; so beautiful, so mystical, so mesmeric and so incredibly fragile and precious and wondrous, like a mythological creature coming back to life after having known its own death.

He learns the words and their meaning the same way his brain starts learning new things and concepts by reading a book; but he doesn’t learn with his mind—even though a part of him knows that this is where knowledge is stored—Zuko learns with his heart (he has always learned things best with his heart; after all, Zuko wears it on his sleeve; he’s emotional, visceral, volatile—his feelings are way too intense, too much that they burn his chest open; he’s always aflame), with his eyes, with his hands. He learns it in every little gesture that’s given to him, in every little crack (that keeps filling and filling and filling) of the time that goes on, in every little drop of ink that is spilled on the parchment where his life is being written.

He learns the words in the way he begins learning his uncle's tea recipes, in the satisfaction and pride he feels when his uncle congratulates him for a job well-done on a warm, quiet Saturday afternoon as he finishes helping cleaning and serving the tables around the teashop, in the way his favorite cup sits next to his uncle's on the kitchen counter in the mornings, full of Zuko’s favorite bubble tea; he learns them in the ugly, endearing, oversized sweater hanging at the back of his closet, the one his uncle gave him in his last birthday; he learns about love in the gentle smiles of weekends, in the singing of the birds outside his room’s window, in the blanket that rests around his shoulders when he is sitting on the comfy couch on a calm Thursday night, dozing off while trying to study for an English test, in the way the nightmares that used to haunt him are tormenting him less and less every time; he learns the meaning of father in his uncle's ridiculous pajamas, full of tiny drawings of cherry blossoms and tea leaves, in his uncle’s obsession with Pai Sho, and in the wise phrases he keeps throwing at Zuko even when he cannot fully understand them.

He learns, little by little, step by step, like a slow fire burning inside his guts.

And it's a weird, strange thing. Zuko learned that fire hurts you, the same way he learned that love does, but somehow, after years of building his new life, it doesn't feel that way anymore.

His uncle is patient with him. Patient as someone who would teach someone else origami or as someone who’s slowly writing a book. He teaches him, sees him fall, stumble and trip over his feet (both, metaphorically and literally speaking) and he’s there when Zuko gets up again.

It’s a nice feeling. Knowing that someone is going to be there, even if you fall. Even when you fail.

His uncle teaches him, the same way he creates a new tea receipt for the menu; carefully, gently, ever so softly. He takes Zuko, the broken child who looks at him through his pain and hatred, and makes him open his eyes. He points out, over and over and over again, that failing is not a bad thing, that love exists and that it doesn't have to hurt, and that if it does, you can heal from it; he teaches him that Zuko is full of it, full of love, he says that he’s always been.

Somehow, it feels a bit like healing. Of course, Zuko is still broken. Probably, a part of him always will be; but, somehow, he doesn't think that being a bit broken is so wrong now.

.

.

Friendship was a foreign concept to him, too. Or maybe not, but Zuko never wanted to get involved with it.

Too much trouble.

(Or maybe fear—fear of what it carries, what it holds in its nature; fear of failing, of not being enough, of being left out, of getting too attached.)

But just as Zuko was wrong about so many things in his life, this is not the exception.

He comes to learn that, too.

It’s a different process than with his uncle. Maybe because it’s slower, or maybe because it’s, rather, faster. Maybe because he wasn’t aware he was learning at all.

Zuko doesn’t know exactly when it starts. Can’t pinpoint the exact moment he started getting involved. Not that he cares much about that at this point, but he would like to know.

They kind of adopt him in their group (or, er, gang, as they call it), without Zuko noticing. But to be fair, Zuko doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Toph is a friend of his Uncle, and she lives near the teashop, so she’s around more time than she’s not; she’s loud and kinda rude, and always calls Zuko a dork or a nerd or an idiot, but Zuko realizes he likes when she’s there. Aang comes along sometimes, with his scarily bright smile. There’s also Katara and her big brother, Sokka.

He likes all of them, to his extreme surprise. They’re all good people. Aang is way too kind, Katara may be scary but she’s pretty cool, and Sokka is just a combination of a very, weirdly endearing, smart dumbass, which is, uh, new.

He honestly doesn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly he’s tucked under a soft fuzzy blanket in winter, sandwiched in the middle of the three-spot sofa, with Aang almost laying over his lap. He’s almost sitting on Sokka’s right leg, pressing him against the arm sofa, his side overlapping with Sokka’s. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s sitting there, cross-legged, with his right arm fully extended on the back of the sofa, almost like he’s hugging Zuko’s shoulders; he’s practically leaning on Zuko.

His arm and his side are really warm, though. Not as much as Zuko generally is, but it’s… kind of nice.

“Katara, Titanic is a classic, dude. What the hell.”

Zuko takes a sip from his hot chocolate, blowing off the clouds of steam gathering over the cup—the warmth of it is pretty welcomed in his throat, to be honest, while Katara rolls her eyes at her brother.

“I’m not watching that for the fifth time in a month and seeing you and Aang both cry for an hour later after the already three long hours of the movie.”

Sokka looks pretty indignant about Katara’s attitude towards his (probably) favorite movie, which is pretty amusing.

“You’re just a monster,” Sokka says, dramatically, “that’s why you don’t cry.”

Katara rolls her eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Toph says, from the couch closer to the TV, sprawled all comfortably over it. “It’s actually a really funny movie,” she points out, and then draws out her voice. “‘Jack, draw me like one of your French girls’.”

Aang laughs pretty loud, and Zuko smiles at the bad impersonation despite himself.

“Well, My Heart Will Go On is my anthem.” Sokka says, puffing out his chest.

Zuko actually snorts into his cup and Sokka shoots him a look. He remembers the time Aang and Sokka recreated that iconic scene, with Toph singing at the top of her lungs in a ridiculously obnoxious voice. He actually laughed at that.

Sokka seems to read his mind, because after a few moments of staring at Zuko’s face, his entire expression lights up. He grins, eyes sparkling, and starts singing really loud and purposely out of tune. Aang starts laughing and Toph doesn’t waste time on joining Sokka in singing. Even Katara smiles.

A few minutes later of terrible singing, they’re all laughing. Toph is cackling so hard she’s on the floor, and Sokka keeps leaning over him, laughing in his ear. He believes it should be annoying, but instead of that, it’s actually infectious and Zuko laughs a bit harder.

After they calm down, Toph is clutching at her sides and Sokka is wiping tears out of his eyes.

Aang smiles, then, softly and content, and raises a hand in the air, like asking for permission to talk.

“I have an idea.” He says, and turns around to look at him. “Why don’t we just let Zuko decide? He hasn’t chosen anything yet for our Friday movie nights.” 

All eyes turn to look at him at that. He stops his movements, mouth hanging open, hot cup halfway to his lips.

“Uh,” he frowns. “Thank you, but, um. Why would I choose? It’s your thing.”

Everyone stares at him like he has two heads, which, okay fair but why.

“What?”

Aang gives him a soft smile, all kind eyes and gentle features, like he’s about to talk to a baby, but before he can say anything, Sokka is putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning all his weight on him, as if they weren’t already close enough.

“This is your thing as much as it is ours, dude.” He says, grinning, “You’re one of us.” He vaunts, proudly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair.

Katara nods, at the same time Toph goes:

“Yup, you’re already in, loser.”

Aang chuckles. “Yes, you’re our friend, Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, stunned.

That’s… 

There’s… 

That’s… the F-word.

Friend.

Friend.

Huh? What? How? When did that happen? Huh? Did he miss something in the past few months?

Sokka, completely oblivious to his emotional turmoil, insistently points to the TV while squeezing him. "So, buddy? Don't you think we should watch Titanic to cry and share a couple of very male tears?"

"You only want to watch it because you have a crush on both Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio." Katara accuses.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes, you do! You even still keep that poster of them behind your…"

"Katara!!!!"

.

.

Friend.

It’s a nice word.

It tastes like hot chocolate in his mouth on a cold night, it sounds like Sokka’s laugh and Toph’s jokes, and it looks like Aang’s kind eyes and Katara’s nice smile.

It feels like something. It holds meaning. It’s not an empty word. At all.

Sokka’s hand ruffling his hair or over his shoulders, Toph’s nicknames for him, Aang’s offer of help in times he feels like Zuko needs it, Katara’s help with homework and advice on his recipes doesn’t let him forget that. ‘Friend’ is never going to be an empty word.

Friend tastes like hope, like warm food and bear-hugs.

Friend is such a nice word.

.

.

The thing with Zuko being generally—and strangely—warm all the time is that summer is a complete nightmare for him.

He's sitting directly in front of the fan at full power, barefoot in just jeans and a light T-shirt, and yet he still feels like he's going to explode. The weather forecast in the morning heralded a heat wave in midsummer, and it's exactly the worst thing in the world that could happen to Zuko's already overheated body. Toph groans beside him, lying with her arms and legs spread like a starfish on the cold ground. It is no comfort to her, however, and Zuko can understand that well.

Katara is looking at something on her phone, fanning herself with a magazine, and Aang remains practically unaffected, just as energetic as ever as he eats the remaining watermelon slices from the bowl they recently filled.

Zuko is wondering if he should go, or if he should fall asleep on the freezing ground that doesn't seem to be freezing at all, when Sokka walks into the living room in his baseball uniform. He has just returned from his morning summer practice; sweat is running down the side of his face, and his shirt is partly sticking to his body from the moisture. He smiles at everyone in greeting before gulping down all that's left of the water on the bottle of his hand. Zuko stares at his Adam's apple bob while he's drinking, and then his eyes trail the trickle of water that slides down his jaw over his desperation to drink all the water so fast. The drop goes down, down, down, dripping over his collarbone and sinking into his neck until it eventually gets lost somewhere inside his shirt. Sokka throws the bottle over the trash can and uses his shirt collar to wipe the water and some of his sweat off his face. Zuko's eyes unconsciously move downward; he can see a line of skin on Sokka's abdomen and stomach.

He swallows. Uh. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He's probably dehydrated. Is he dehydrated? He's starting to feel a little dizzy.

"So? Beloved friends, beloved little sister? Did you miss me? Obviously, you did."

Katara rolls her eyes, but still asks, "How was practice, dumbass?"

"It was cool! I hit twelve curve-balls in a row and sixteen of that weird fastball Suki pitches. Oh! And I'm finally getting the thing about that forkball. Also... woah, Zuko, are you okay?!"

Zuko blinks from where he was staring at Sokka's hair. It's kind of wet. Is that sweat? Shouldn't that be gross? Why is Zuko staring? Does he find it gross? He doesn't think so, but he also can't quite explain why...

"Woah, bud," Sokka says, kneeling in front of him and getting dangerously close to his face. "You're so red, are you having heatstroke or something? Do you feel dizzy?" He leans on his knees and presses a hand to his forehead, pulling up the bangs hanging over it. It feels nice, actually. Sokka's soft hand on his boiling skin feels like fresh water. He kind of wants to lean into it.

He probably does, because Sokka frowns. "Maybe you have a fever..." His mouth presses into a thin line. "Don't you want to take a shower to cool off? I can lend you some clothes, we're about the same height, they'll fit."

Zuko blinks. Huh?

"Here, let me help you." Sokka says, helping him up.

Around an hour later, Zuko feels a lot better, laying with his back on the floor in Sokka's baggy shorts and blue T-shirt with a cartoonish drawing of The Pink Panther. Zuko smiles involuntarily when he looks at it. It smells a bit like Sokka, or at least the detergent he uses. That makes his stomach do weird flips. He's not feeling that hot anymore, but maybe he is getting sick...

"Hey," Sokka tells him, looking at him from above, standing just behind Zuko's head. His toes are barely avoiding touching Zuko's sprawled hair on the floor.

"Hey," Zuko answers back, looking up at Sokka's soft face. His hair is down and still wet from the shower, and a few drops fall on the bridge of Zuko's nose when Sokka hovers over him. Zuko's face scrunches up, more out of involuntary reaction than out of bother, but Sokka chuckles.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. He uses the towel around his neck to messily dry his hair. "You look a lot better, now."

"Yes," Zuko muses, still a bit mesmerized by Sokka's wet hair. And Sokka's face. "Thanks."

Sokka grins brightly at him. "Sure."

He looks like he's about to say something else, but before he can say anything, Toph groans just a few feet away, sitting now on the couch. "Stop flirting and get a room already; it’s gross. We're here, too."

"What? We weren’t—"

Katara agrees, quietly.

"Hey! I was just worried!" Sokka excuses himself. "Weren't you all? His face was as red as a tomato."

Katara looks up from her magazine and gives him a pointed look, with one elegantly arched brow. Apparently, she doesn't even need to say anything else, because it's enough to make Sokka blush.

Oh.

He's cute, Zuko thinks. And then, oh, I think Sokka is cute. And then Sokka stomps over the kitchen muttering unintelligible things, still a faint blush over his cheeks.

Zuko smiles to himself watching his childish behavior. He is, though. He is cute.

.

.

.

It's raining heavily outside, drops pouring loudly against the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Zuko side-glances at Sokka. Maybe it's because after the course of a year, Zuko has learned to recognize many of Sokka's little gestures, or maybe it's the fact that the boy has been so much into his own mind lately, but Zuko recognizes that way he scrunches up his nose, that wrinkle between his eyebrows, that way his eyes twitch.

“Are you okay?” 

He’s asking mostly just to be polite, to be honest; he already knows he’s not. He knows something’s up.

Sokka turns to look at him, and then stares at the rain hitting the glass window of the lonely teashop.

“I’m…” He says, and looks at his hand. Then he presses his mouth into a thin line.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Zuko says, awkwardly, because as much as he cares, he’s still a mess when it comes to social cues. He’s never going to stop being a mess. And terrible at comforting people.

Sokka sees right through him, though, like he always does, and smiles softly at him. His whole face mellows. It kind of makes Zuko’s heart flutter in his chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I’m…” Sokka tries again, looking at Zuko’s face. At his eyes, at his scar, at his neck. He feels weirdly exposed, but at the same time… He doesn’t. It’s just Sokka. Which means it’s okay. “Scared, I guess.”

Zuko blinks and tilts his head to the side. He’s not sure if he should ask, but…

“Of?”

Sokka gives him a wry smile.

“Of failing? Of disappointing my dad? Of not being enough? I don’t know, I can’t quite pick a single one.”

Sokka’s voice is not quite bitter, but it feels like that, in the air around them. Zuko knows the feeling pretty well.

“You are enough.” Zuko affirms, without a single trace of hesitation in his voice. Because Sokka is enough, in every single aspect, and he shouldn’t feel like any less than that. Zuko’s also aware of what he’s worrying about, and for Zuko, it’s just absurd—Sokka is one the very few people that shouldn’t worry about passing the entrance exam of college at all, he’s crazy smart. He should know that. But, to be fair, Zuko can’t judge him nor scold him for self-doubt when it used to be all that he was, along with his self-hate. So he says it out loud, looking into Sokka’s wide, surprised eyes. “You’re also really smart, Sokka, I’m sure you’re going to ace the entrance exam. You shouldn’t worry.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but he also adopts that playful-kinda-flirty side of him. It’s painful because Zuko can see the sadness underlying in his voice and body language so clearly. Can see the lack of confidence in every single motion.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I am,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I really believe so. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re very capable of doing whatever you want, so have faith in yourself just like I have faith in you.”

Once he says it, and Sokka blinks once, twice, thrice at him, Zuko feels painfully aware (and painfully embarrassed) of what he just said.

Oh Lord, what did he actually…

“Ah,” Sokka says, and makes a face that Zuko can’t name. “You’re blushing.”

Zuko covers his cheeks with both hands. Sokka is probably right, they’re so warm, but still.

“I’m not.” Still.

Sokka laughs, and raises both eyebrows. “You sure?” He asks, staring pointedly at his face, which only makes him blush harder.

Stupid Sokka.

He must know the effect he’s having on him, because he laughs again, lightheartedly. Well, at least he’s not upset anymore…

“I’m not,” he uselessly and pathetically insists, even when it’s tragically obvious he is. But he has some pride, okay.

Sokka grins, but it’s all devilish. It makes Zuko’s hair stand on end. A chill runs down his spine.

“It’s just hot.”

Sokka smirks. “Sure, you’re always hot.”

“Shut up,” Zuko complains and groans, facing away from him so that he can’t see his blatant embarrassment. Sokka’s natural flirty personality wasn’t that much of a problem back then, but it’s only gotten worse, and Zuko just can’t handle it sometimes. It feels like way too much.

“Ah, but you blush when you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.” Sokka points out, a wide grin on his face. “Imagine being both cute and hot, what a crime.” 

He sighs theatrically, and Zuko is very tempted to answer, “shut up, look who’s talking,” but he knows he will just get more embarrassed after saying that. He needs to calm down. So he just grumbles while Sokka laughs.

Then, when Sokka has already calmed down and Zuko can feel his face like normal again, they look quietly at the rain, steadily keeping its pace.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, after some time, and Zuko quirks an eyebrow in reply. 

Sokka smiles. “Thank you. For believing me. It means a lot.”

Zuko smiles back. “Of course.”

.

.

Zuko notices it one night. (Though, looking back, it’s weird he didn’t notice it before.)

Well, more like, Aang notices and points it out, and then Zuko realizes that what he said is pathetically true, lying in bed at night because he still mulls things over sometimes before going to sleep.

“You know,” Aang had casually said, holding a can of orange juice, sitting next to Zuko on the bleachers at one of Sokka’s practice games. “You stare at Sokka a lot.”

Zuko frowned. “It’s his game, after all. We’re here to watch him,” he had retorted, like it was obvious.

“Well, yes, but I don’t mean only now. You stare at him all the time.”

Zuko didn’t feel like he liked where this conversation was going. Something about his expression must had given him away, or maybe Aang was just too good at reading him now, because he said:

“Wait.” He actually had sounded surprised. “You mean you’re not aware you have a crush on him?”

Zuko’s eyes went wide. “What? I don’t have a crush on him.”

Aang quirked up an eyebrow. Sure, he didn’t need to say.

“I don’t,” he had pressed on.

Aang hadn’t looked any more convinced of what he had said. If anything, he looked more convinced on what he himself had said. Aang had looked at him for a very long period of 1 minute before lightly chuckling and nudging him in the arm with his elbow, smiling brightly at him.

It was weird, but Zuko has gotten better at reading them, maybe just as much as Aang has with him. Maybe that’s why he knows what Aang means with all of that. Admit it when you’re ready.

It’s not like he was trying to deny or hide it. It’s not like he was trying to lie. He just didn’t think Aang was actually right.

But he is. Zuko can’t stop looking at Sokka, all the time. Thinking about him. About the way he smiles, with his hair up, with his hair down, with that denim jacket that fits him in all the right angles, with his baseball cap, ecstatic after he scored a run in the 8th inning. 

Sokka, practicing on the field. Grinning widely and openly and hugging him tightly when he aced the entrance exam. Leaning in to taste Zuko’s ice-cream into his own mouth. Ruffling his own messy hair. Wearing those silly cartoon t-shirts. Serenading Zuko with Electric Love and the most ridiculous voice ever on his birthday as a joke. Messy eating. Scrunching up his nose while drinking green tea. Reciting 80% of the Star Wars dialogues by heart. Being obsessed with boomerangs and swords (though not as much as Zuko is with that last one). Biting into the end of his pencil when he’s focused on writing an English essay.

Ahhhhh.

Oh, holy honor.

He has a crush. A crush. Feelings.

When did that happen? Why did that happen? He doesn’t know. Was it because of his warm eyes? His pretty smile? His pretty lips? Was it because he opened up to Zuko, let himself be vulnerable around him, bled his heart out so Zuko could piece it back together? Was it because he’s funny? Charming? Cool? Smart? Astonishingly cute? Was it because he made Zuko feel made out of thin air, sometimes, so raw and exposed but yet so safe, so comfortable in his own skin? ...That is, the others don’t necessarily make him feel unsafe, or uncomfortable. He just feels like he can be all open and vulnerable with Sokka better. Maybe because he opened up to him first, about something so personal like his mom (and Zuko knew about losing a mom, too).

Well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t exactly matter, does it? He’s already in deep.

Zuko rolls over his stomach and sighs, groaning loud into his pillow. Why, why, why, why. It’s not like he even has a chance, so why did he have to…

Ugh.

Feelings are stupid. His heart is stupid.

And the way he falls asleep thinking about Sokka’s laugh is even stupider.

.

.

The thing is, because Zuko notices all the little details in Sokka’s gestures and behavior, he also notices the way he acts differently towards… Certain people.

“Me and Yue?” Sokka laughs, and Zuko blinks. He didn’t even mean to ask it out loud. Now, he would just hear the confirmation of what he already knew from Sokka’s lips. How is that any better? Good job, Zuko. 

“Nah, man, Suki would kill me if she sees me wooing her girlfriend. Or at least kick me pretty damn hard.” Huh? Zuko blinks again. Huh? So they’re… Sokka and Yue… They’re not… 

“And believe me, she’s super strong. She kicked me once and I’ve always regretted eating that last cupcake on the fridge.” Sokka makes a face and shudders, like the mere flashback is enough to make him fear. But then he smiles, in that soft way of his that makes Zuko’s knees go really weak. “And I’m pretty sure Yue is immensely happy with her, too.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say, so he just oh-so-eloquently utters:

“Ah.”

Sokka seems amused.

“Didn’t you know they were a thing? The PDA is so strong when they’re together, you have to have seen it.”

Well, that was… Zuko just thought they were touchy with each other? Sokka is pretty much touchy with him all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re a thing.

Well.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka blinks. “Why?”

Zuko frowns. He tilts his head in confusion. “Because you are… Romantically attracted to her? It must be rough.”

Sokka blinks once, twice, three times. Stares. Then, he throws his head back and cackles, clutching his stomach.

“Dude, what the hell.” He wheezes. “Just say the word crush like normal people.” 

“Hmm.”

Then, when he calms down, Sokka eyes Zuko.

“Wait, what?” He says, serious all of a sudden. Or at least, surprised. “Do you really think that?” At Zuko’s lack of response, Sokka looks at him, then at his hands, then at the TV, where the video game they were playing is still on pause. Then, back at Zuko’s face. “No, I don’t have a crush on her. Or on Suki, for that matter.”

Zuko frowns. Sokka must know he doesn’t believe him, because he continues.

“I mean, I did.” He admits. “Back when I met her, when I was, like, 14. But I’m over it, now—Not that she’s not great; she’s awesome and I love her, just… Not in that way. It was just a silly teen-crush, anyway. And Suki is my best friend. We had a thing for a few months like two years ago, but we hit it off so much better as friends. She’s my bi icon, though. And bestest friend.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Sokka adds, and eyes him pointedly, “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Zuko stares. Blinks.

What.

So he does have someone he’s interested in anyway. God, Zuko really doesn’t stand a chance. Why even bothering trying? And it’s not like he knows how to try something, anyway…

From the other corner of the room, Aang shoots him a very cryptic look. Zuko can’t describe what he’s thinking, but he guesses he’s taking pity on him. After all, he knows.

Ah. He really doesn’t like having feelings.

.

.

His mind is a cruel thing. It’s what keeps him up at night, what reminds him of all his insecurities, what makes him feel undeserving of love, what keeps throwing image after image into his head of his broken childhood on bad days. It’s what, as much as his heart, knows about his deepest desires, his longing, his yearning and thinks it’s amusing to play with Zuko for a bit.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, with a fragile smile on his face, his voice going ridiculously soft, his eyes warming up, and Zuko’s heart pounds on his chest like big waves crashing on the shore of a lonely beach. “Zuko, I love you.”

It’s kind of—very—criminal the way Sokka makes him feel. The way he makes Zuko’s heart seem like it’s going to burst out of his chest with how fast it beats after hearing just those three words, the way he makes Zuko’s entire soul ache and want, the way he makes him feel so grounded, so him, yet so tiny and delicate, like he’s made out of thin sheets of ice.

Is this how love feels?

Is this how it should feel like?

He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love is. He just knows a broken home, the destructive, neon-like, toxic obsession with power his dad had, instead of any tender form of anything else that can be called love that his dad should have had for his mom, but never did.

Falling in love is made to hurt. Falling in love is destined to make you feel sad, and alone, and unsafe.

Falling in love is a cruel thing. It’s not cut out for weak people, and Zuko is weak. He’s destined to break. He has always been made out of fragile, easy-to-destroy things.

That’s why his mind plays with him all the time.

He wakes up in his bed, opens his eyes to the dark quiet of his room, feels the way his heart beats so hard that he can almost feel it on his throat. And he feels lost. And sad.

He doesn’t even scream. He just lies there, feeling the world becoming smaller, feeling himself becoming smaller.

Lord, he’s royally fucked. Screwed. He knows. He’s destined to break.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

.

.

He’s sitting with Toph leaning back on his right side, on the fluffy couch in Katara and Sokka’s living room, cutting up squares out of colorful paper.

They are both terrible in the kitchen. Something coming from being rich kids, Sokka playfully teased earlier. And he guesses it’s true. Either way, they are terrible—Zuko even burned his own kitchen once while making scrambled eggs (and that was. Not a very good day). Sure, he has tried to help Uncle Iroh a couple of times, and he knows a bit of the basics, but besides preparing tea, he’s lost. He can’t cook to save his life. So when Zuko almost lights a fire to bake cookies and mixes up the recipe for the second time, Katara kicks them out and bans them from the kitchen for the next 4 hours. Toph protests just to be annoying—she doesn’t like cooking at all, she has told him, but she loves annoying Katara, it’s her favorite idle activity. Zuko would be offended, but it’s the smartest choice if they want to finish baking Aang’s birthday cake without setting the kitchen on fire, so it’s fine.

Besides, this way he can steal a few glances at Sokka, as he hangs up the decorations he and Toph are making. The muscles under his shirt flex when he raises his arms above his head, his messy hair down from its ponytail, falling over his face when he moves a bit to the left, a line of the smooth skin of his back making its way to Zuko's curious, avid eyes.

Zuko swallows.

Toph sighs heavily and throws her head back. “So, are you planning to make a move any time this century or are you a loser?”

Zuko eyes her, coming out of his stupor, confused. “What?”

Toph smirks. “Right, you’re always a loser, my bad.”

Zuko blinks. Not because of Toph calling him a loser, but because, for a second, he really doesn’t get what she means.

Then, when he does, he buries his face into his hands and groans.

“Even you know?”

Toph laughs. "Yes, idiot, it's stupidly obvious.” She pats his arm. “I can see it and I'm blind, you know." 

Zuko groans again. He’s in physical pain right now. "How?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know. Maybe the way you say his name. Or talk about him."

Zuko feels a bit of panic. 

What? Is he that obvious? How does he say Sokka’s name?

"His name?"

"Yeah,” Toph confirms, nodding exaggeratedly, “stupidly sappy. It's gross."

"Oh my god."

She laughs again, loudly, because his suffering is apparently amusing. "You also talk about him a lot," she chuckles, "and sigh every time you see him. At least that’s what I assume, given that he’s in the room and you keep sighing like a 12-year-old girl in love. Pinning all the way.”

Zuko wants to die. He seriously wants to die. Maybe he should just tell Sokka he likes him, so when he rejects him, Zuko can just die a quick, albeit painful, death.

Toph nudges at his arm, with her typical abnormal strength for someone her age, but she doesn’t mean any harm. “So?” She asks, again. “Are you planning to make a move or not?"

Zuko sighs, "I can't do anything, he likes someone else."

Toph kind of stops where she’s fumbling with a couple of paper sheets. She then turns around and makes this face, where she’s scrunching up her nose and frowning like she just smelled something sour, or like when she’s deeply confused. "Did he say that?"

"Yes."

"Did Sokka seriously tell you that?"

Zuko’s confused at Toph’s relentless insistence. "...Yes?"

Toph’s face goes back to normal, but there’s something about the way she continues to hum that makes it seem like she still thinks Zuko is an alien, or something.

"You must have misunderstood him—which wouldn’t be a surprise, to be honest." She says the last part in a whisper, but he still hears her. That’s probably what she wanted anyway, but it’s not like he gets it. What does that mean? Zuko gets Sokka. That’s one of the few things he’s really proud of. Did he just think that he got Sokka while, all this time, he actually didn’t?

No. He understands Sokka. Sokka himself has told him that.

"No, I didn't. And I don't have a chance if he likes someone else, so I might as well not even try."

Toph looks mad. "You're super pessimistic, dumbass."

"Hmm."

She sighs, looking deeply tired and frustrated, like Zuko has completely worn her out. Then, she raises her fist and punches him. Hard.

Ouch.

Zuko yelps, and rubs at his sore arm. “What was that for?” he grumbles.

She frowns. “To punch some sense into you, big oblivious idiot!" Toph hums a low, guttural sound in the back of her throat, like she’s a feral dog trying to threaten a pedestrian. “Just try, at least. Everyone is kind of getting tired of your pinning, too."

"Ah." Everyone?

"Full offence."

"Ah."

“Even Katara. The only reason she hasn’t intervened yet is because she says it’s not her business to push you, but I don’t think her reasoning is gonna last long.”

Katara too!? Oh, no.

Zuko seriously wants to die.

.

.

Eventually, things go on. 

Zuko’s “crush” doesn’t go away. If anything, it just grows and grows and grows until it becomes almost unbearable. But he still can’t say anything.

“Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

“You know,” Sokka says, looking at him with feign innocence, sitting with his hands upwards behind him in Zuko’s room, “that looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

Zuko frowns. He looks up from his work to give Sokka a confused look. “What is, my pen?”

Sokka gives him that little, playful smile—the one that is so incredibly hot for some reason Zuko can’t understand. His eyes gleam, even more than they do all the time.

“Nope,” he says, and his smile grows an inch, “your hand.”

Zuko blinks. Sokka flirting with him is nothing new, that’s why he manages to hold back his blush a bit and remain calm, even when he’s a bit dying inside.

He is just trapped between telling him, “god, I wish you were flirting with me for real,” and, “please stop doing it, it’s not good for my heart,” and, “If only you knew how much I really want to hold your hand”, but neither of those options are actually. Something viable.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asks instead, knowing the answer already.

Sokka would laugh, brush it off, and say something like, “ah, but you didn’t blush this time,” and let it go.

He doesn’t, though.

What he does, instead, is shrug and look at Zuko’s textbook, like he’s completely uninterested in the conversation.

Huh.

But then he speaks up again.

“Have been for the past year and a half or so, but thanks for noticing.” He answers.

Zuko blinks. He’s tempted to answer, “yeah, I know, which is a cruel, cruel thing to do, by the way, given how my heart just wants to escape out of my chest and go with you every time you do it,” or something equally playful to play it down like they always tend to do, but… for some reason, this time it feels… Real.

Maybe he should just laugh.

He doesn’t, though, and, “What?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Sokka looks up. “I said that I’ve been doing it for a year and a half or so, thank you for finally noticing.”

Zuko doesn’t understand. He’s not following the conversation at all. “Wait.”

“Ahh,” Sokka sighs, “honestly, if you didn’t notice by the end of the month, I would have felt deeply embarrassed. I was starting to think I lost my charm and I didn’t know how to flirt.”

“Well, that was a terrible pick-up line,” Zuko can’t help but retort, and like he wasn’t mildly-insulted, Sokka grins at him.

“But it worked for you, didn’t it?” He teases, leaning on Zuko’s personal space, “it made you feel something.”

Zuko frowns. “How would you know?”

Sokka stares. “Your face.”

“My face?”

“I can see it. In your face.”

Zuko covers his mouth, frowning. He can feel his own heart race.

Sokka is still way too close.

“You can…?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zuko says, blinking. “That means—are you—are you flirting with me? For real?”

Sokka quirks both eyebrows. “Yes...?”

“But you—you…”

“Zuko, I don’t know where you got the idea, but I don’t flirt with anyone aside from you—at least, I haven’t done it in a long time. So yes, I am actually flirting with you.”

Zuko feels like he just got hit in the head. “Why?”

Sokka blinks. “Because I want to?”

“But why do you want to?”

Sokka shoots him a look. “Zuko,” he says, slowly, “I like you. I thought that was obvious already.”

Zuko blinks. “You have… romantic feelings for me?”

Sokka laughs, amused. “Yeah, Zuko, I have ‘romantic feelings’ for you.”

Zuko blinks again. He’s blinking too much. “So all this time… it was real… when you said… and that time you also said… and… oh.”

Sokka smiles, softly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair. It makes him blush. His heart might also not even work at this point, if it wasn’t for the fact that he can clearly hear it thundering in his ears.

Why is Sokka so calm? Zuko’s about to pass out.

“Katara is right, I’m dumb.”

Sokka grins. “Toph thinks so, too.”

“Toph thinks everyone is dumb.”

“Fair,” Sokka answers; he’s still grinning so wide. God, Sokka is so pretty. “Though I think she only calls us dumb, not that she means it.”

“Mmm.”

He’s so unfairly distracting, too. Zuko can’t stop looking at him.

“Wait,” He says, suddenly realizing something, “so you knew that I—that I—had feelings for you, too?”

Sokka looks at his lips when he talks, and Zuko has to concentrate hard to not straight up pass out from shock and his heart racing so fast it might give him an attack. Has he done that before? He would have noticed, right? Sure, Zuko looks at Sokka’s lips a lot instead than at his eyes, but he would have noticed if Sokka did it, too.

… Right?

He’s starting to feel dizzy. Is he dreaming? Is any of this real at all?

“Noticed it a while ago, yeah. That’s why I’m not freaking out that you noticed my flirting 100 years later.”

For a moment, Zuko is able to set aside  his internal emotional turmoil and state of panic, if only to complain.

“Hey!” He frowns. “Wait—”

“You have said that a lot.”

“Wait,” Zuko repeats, just to be annoying, “if you… liked me, and knew that I liked you back, why didn’t you… make a move?”

“Like asking you out? I tried to, but you’re too oblivious.”

“Huh?” Zuko utters. What does that even mean? He’s not—well, he is, maybe, just a bit, but. “Well, if you knew that, you could have been more straightforward, you know!”

Sokka smiles, then shrugs.

“I guess we’re both dumb.”

Zuko feels his lips curling up, not able to contain all his happiness anymore, his brain catching up with the last 20 minutes of his life.

Holy shit, Sokka likes him. Sokka likes him. Him. Zuko. As in, romantically speaking.

Oh.

Oh.

“I like you, Zuko.” Sokka says, as if Zuko’s brain didn’t shut down already. He reaches out and slides his hand on the table Zuko was previously working, the tip of his fingers touching Zuko’s. “So can I finally, please hold your hand?”

Zuko might pass out for real, but before that, he finally, finally, finally takes Sokka’s hand into his own.

It feels even better than in his dreams.

He feels like burning up, like all of his body is setting itself on fire.

Sokka’s hand is warm, so warm, and soft, so soft, and makes Zuko’s heart flutter like delicate flower’s petals in the wind.

Sokka’s thumb brushes over his knuckles; Sokka’s lips turn into a bright smile, like he’s been wanting to do that since forever.

It feels like home.

.

.

When they tell their friends they’re dating, Yue is the first one to say something.

“You mean you weren’t dating before?”

“Shocking, right,” Katara deadpans, but then she smiles, genuine. “I’m happy for both of you.” 

(Although remembering that minutes later doesn’t make her any less scary, when she decides to corner him out of the bathroom and put a steady hand on his shoulder, feign-sweet smile on her face, and say with a weirdly off-calm voice that, if he ever dared to hurt Sokka on purpose, she was going to break all the 206 bones on his body.)

Toph grins brightly and kicks him enthusiastically on the side with a loud “Well-done, loser!” while Aang jumps on Zuko’s back and clings to him like a koala.

“That’s awesome, guys! Be happy!”

Zuko smiles.

“Finally, I won’t have to hear Sokka’s pinning all the time,” Suki quips, like she’s tired and utterly uninterested, but even the happiness is evident in her voice.

Sokka still complains. “Hey! I had to hear you be head-over-heels for Yue for months, too.”

“It wasn’t months for you, though.” Suki deadpans, but then her face goes all soft, “I’m kidding, So, I’m really happy for you two.”

Sokka smiles, and she gets up from where she’s cuddling Yue on the sofa to hug Sokka tightly, grinning wide, and then look at Zuko (stumbling with a happily laughing Aang on his back and Toph annoyingly ruffling his hair like a proud little sister) and whispers something in Sokka’s ear.

Zuko is glad that he’s still looking at Sokka from the corner of his eye, because he catches him blushing after that.

He’s cute.

Suki laughs. Sokka frowns, still blushing, and when he catches Zuko watching, he blushes harder.

He’s really cute.

Zuko smiles softly, and Sokka blinks, once, twice, before smiling back.

The cutest.

.

.

“Zuko.”

Zuko hums, but doesn’t look up from his work.

“Zukoooo, darling, love of my life.”

Zuko is used to it by now. To Sokka calling him pet-names like those. Of hearing Sokka say he’s cute, or hot, or smart, or witty, or pretty. It still makes his heart flutter, though. Just as Sokka’s laugh does. It still makes him blush sometimes.

(It’s funny because Sokka is the same way—or mostly the same. Zuko said he looked really hot after a baseball game once and Sokka almost died on the spot. He blushed like mad, but after he calmed down, he couldn’t stop bragging about Zuko calling him ‘hot’.

“Look at you, flirting shamelessly with me! You’re all grown up!” and, “I shouldn’t be near Zuko if I’m wearing my baseball uniform, he’ll get a boner,” and a lot of more phrases.)

“Hm?”

“You are—” Sokka sing-songs, and crosses his arms over Zuko’s textbook. He puts his chin over his forearms and looks up at Zuko’s face, grinning, and Zuko would probably be a bit annoyed that he’s not letting him finish his essay if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Sokka. His, ahem, boyfriend. 

“I am…?”

“You are,” he repeats, and his smile grows bigger. Zuko thinks about kissing him; Zuko thinks about kissing him all the time. But, to be fair, he used to dream about that, just as much as he used to dream about them holding hands. And just as if he read Zuko’s mind, Sokka reaches out and holds his right hand; gently, like all of Sokka’s touches. It feels so nice, Zuko never wants to let go. “You are pulchritudinous.”

Eh?

Zuko tries to smile, but Sokka looks at him like he’s looking at a cute baby and throws his head back, still close and still holding his hand.

“You’re adorable.”

“What…?” Zuko is sure he looks as puzzled as he feels; he once caught his reflection in the mirror while playing Scrabble with Sokka and therefore knows how he must look. For some reason, Sokka finds it extremely cute. “What does that mean?”

Sokka laughs again.

Zuko narrows his eyes into slits. Or, maybe Sokka’s just making fun of him. (Not in a bad way, of course, Zuko knows. Sokka never means any harm, but he sure as hell loves teasing Zuko all the time.)

“Are you insulting me?”

Sokka wipes tears from his eyes and looks at Zuko with such a sweet face that it kinda makes Zuko stumble, even when he’s sitting.

His heart flutters alive, his face grows warm. He wants to kiss Sokka.

Sokka does, though, pulling gently at his hand and softly pressing his lips into Zuko’s wrist. He grins up at him.

“You’re adorable.”

(Later, when he’s waiting for a toast on Uncle Iroh’s kitchen, still barefoot, decked out in his pajamas and half-asleep, he finally finds what he thinks is the correct word using the search function of his phone—after 20 lame attempts of trying and failing at remembering—and pronouncing correctly—the right word.

He clicks on the dictionary tab, reads over the meaning, stumbles over, slips and falls flat on his ass.

He almost sets his kitchen on fire for the second time.)

.

.

Zuko is bad at flirting. He knows. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, hard, and sometimes, sometimes, he succeeds (conscious and unconsciously).

Or maybe Sokka is just too easy to fluster (even when Sokka says it’s the other way around; even when that’s actually, probably, just a bit, true.)

Either way, Zuko basks happily in seeing Sokka get all flustered. It makes him even cuter than he already is.

(Whipped, Toph would draw out, mockingly sing-song.

And, well, maybe he is.)

.

.

Kissing Sokka is like setting himself on fire. Like burning up alive, but not in the bad sense. Not in the way he was burned as a little kid.

Kissing Sokka is like sitting near a campfire when you’re feeling cold; like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling your chest contract; like tucking yourself in a warm blanket, with fuzzy socks and drinking your favorite drink, while hearing your favorite song. It’s like waking up on a good day, like basking in the sun at twilight, like taking a warm shower after a long day.

He feels too much, way too overwhelmed, even with just a brush of lips.

Kissing Sokka is a blessed thing.

There’s something that comes alive in his chest at the same time their lips touch. It blossoms under his ribcage, spreads over his chest, warms up all the way up to his throat. Beating, growing, marveling in every fiber of his being. Maybe that’s what love is—maybe that’s what Zuko has been searching for all this time; this connection, this overwhelming feeling, this deep, raw, unfiltered emotion, coming off him through waves of desperation for more.

He can’t be sure. But even if it wasn’t something he has looked out for, the discovery of it still feels like a sacred thing.

It’s like watching cherry blossoms falling on the street for the first time, like falling asleep on the comfortable side of your bed after a tiring day, it’s coming back home—or to what home should feel like.

It’s something delicate, at first. Zuko doesn’t have any experience, so he just lets himself feel as Sokka presses his lips softly into his own, carding his long fingers into Zuko’s hair.

Zuko feels an electric chill run down his spine, where Sokka’s fingertips—from the hand that’s not on his hair—make a slow path down. He can feel them burning, even through his clothes, even when Sokka’s hand is not that warm.

But it feels like that.

Zuko breathes shakily, moves his lips experimentally, feeling Sokka’s smile against his mouth.

He wants to do something, so he leans in, feeling Sokka’s eyelashes tickling his cheekbones, feeling Sokka’s thumb under his jaw, angling his head in a better position, feeling himself become aflame. He wants to touch Sokka. He really wants to touch Sokka.

So he does.

He uses one hand to gently touch Sokka’s wrist—the one Sokka’s using to keep Zuko’s head up—and, carefully, tentatively, he wraps his fingers around it, caresses the skin like he wants to print a topographic map of it into his mind.

Sokka makes a low, appreciative sound, and Zuko feels so happy it should be embarrassing.

Sokka has his hair down, and Zuko wants to touch it so much because he loves Sokka’s hair. Sokka’s hair is so pretty—Sokka is so pretty—so he goes for it. He brushes his fingers on Sokka’s shoulder, touches the strands of brown hair that lie there, moves his fingers to the nape of his neck. Zuko does this slowly, he wants to feel everything and he’s not going to rush, not after how long he’s wanted this.

He cradles his head with his hand, touches and touches and touches. He pulls at his hair, lightly, and his hand goes down just a bit; the skin of Sokka’s neck under his fingertips is warm, and so soft. He can feel the gentle echo of his heartbeat thundering in the tender curve of his jaw.

Just then, Sokka’s thumb brushes on his bare clavicle, and Zuko hisses, feeling like he’s on fire. Feeling like he’s become burning embers.

It’s just—too much, and at the same time, not enough—he wants more.

He has always been sensitive, but it’s different now. It’s like all his senses are turned on—he’s hyper-aware of everything around him—of Sokka’s hands, of Sokka’s steady, fast heartbeat under his open palm, of Sokka’s smell, of Sokka’s warm mouth, of Sokka’s soft skin, of the way Sokka keeps mumbling his name, softly against his lips or when he breaks apart to breath. He touches Sokka’s face, Sokka’s arms, Sokka’s neck; breathes his name into his own mouth, makes sure Sokka knows how much he wants this, how much he’s dreamed of this: of kissing him, of him kissing him back.

It feels too good to be even real—just as Sokka always makes him feel, even when they’re not kissing.

He might as well die there.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, though.

Linked, bare soul to bare soul, with the prettiest, smartest, kindest boy he’s ever met.

.

.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say. But as he sees Sokka laughing in front of him because of some ridiculous joke Toph made, holding Zuko’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world, he can’t help but think that falling in love is anything but painful.

Sokka turns around, catches him staring and grins, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

Zuko smiles, thinking just how much he loves Sokka, how much he loves his life, how much he loves his uncle, how much he loves his friends, how much he loves being alive, being there, curled up with Sokka on his couch, watching a stupid rom-com movie on Sokka’s cell-phone screen, sharing earphones with his boyfriend. Being there, in the house that he shares with his uncle—his real dad—in the house that he has come to call home. Being there, feeling safe in Sokka’s arms, with Toph hearing music on the TV, while Aang and Katara and Suki and Yue sleep, sprawled there and there all over his living-room.

“I love you,” Zuko tells Sokka, like he just revealed the biggest secret of the universe.

Love.

He feels the word on his tongue, and it tastes sweet. It tastes like the color of Sokka’s eyes, like the tone of Sokka’s laugh, like all of Sokka’s smiles—the gentle one, the soft one, the playful and flirty one, the wide one—all of them. Love tastes like Sokka holding his hand while they go for a walk, like Sokka’s voice when he talks about what he likes, like Sokka’s proud eyes after scoring a run, after Zuko shows him his grades. It tastes like a lot of things he can’t name, like the way Sokka says his name, like the way Sokka makes him feel, like that little mole under Sokka’s jaw, like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles with the setting sun of the beach, like the way his fingertips feel against Zuko’s neck. Like the way he looks at Zuko like he’s not broken, like he’s the best thing that ever existed, like his scar is beautiful and all of Zuko’s failures don’t matter to him because he’s him, and that is enough. Like Zuko is more than enough, and how he loves that he’s more than enough to Zuko, too.  

“I love you,” Zuko says again, in a low voice, and it feels real. It has meaning. It’s not an empty word at all.

For some reason, he feels like tearing up a bit.

Sokka’s face mellows, softens; he brushes his thumb under Zuko’s left eye, just at the edge of his scar, and his eyes become impossibly warm. Zuko wants to kiss all of his face; he wants to taste all of Sokka’s softness on his own lips.

There, in the quiet of Zuko’s living-room, Sokka smiles, and Zuko thinks he’s the most bewitching, stunning, ineffably beautiful being.

It feels like something ethereal. Sokka smiles and Zuko feels blessed to exist.

“I love you, too,” Sokka answers, like he’s sharing one of the secrets of the universe, too, like he’s never told anyone anything more true, and ever so gentle.

Zuko smiles and kisses him.

Falling in love is a blessed thing.

#zukka #zukka fic #atla #avatar the last airbender #my writing #... this is my contribution to the atla/zukka fandom #please let me know what do you think in the comments/tags/ao3!!!!!!!! #have a lovely day and thanks for reading :')

[goldeneyedgirl]

JaliceWeek2020 Bonus Day

JaliceWeek2020 Bonus Day: Quarantine

Also Untitled We’ll Worry About That Later

Notes: Under 3k, woohoo! This barely fits the prompt, but I’ve decided to go rogue. The real question now is... can I get another one posted today?

--

The phone rings at 11:27 p.m. on a Tuesday night.

It’s not Carlisle’s night on call, but everyone is being a bit more flexible at the moment. He expects a summons, that the hospital is short-handed again. It’s to be expected once Forks got its own outbreak - of the fifteen people hospitalised, eight of them were doctors or nurses.

Edward hits a sour note as he overhears the the phone call, trying to temper his reaction so not to signal that anything is wrong.

Carlisle is utterly professional during the call, but when he hangs up, he is left with the hideous duty of walking upstairs and telling his youngest - and oldest - son that one Mary-Alice Brandon has just been placed on a respirator.

—

They’ve put the infected in the old wing of Forks Hospital, where they can be properly quarantined. There’s no blood in the wing yet, and so Carlisle sees no risk allowing Jasper in to see Alice through the window; it’s the closest anyone can get to these patients.

And Jasper was not doing well. Telling him had been so much worse than Carlisle had ever envisaged. Esme was still repairing the damage to his study, and Jasper had gotten himself worked up, his terror at a point where he was infecting the rest of the family - Edward was almost permanently camped out at Bella’s, unable to tolerate another second of that bone-deep fear that Jasper pushing out.

But the second they arrive, and Jasper gets to see her, Carlisle fears that he just made things much, much worse.

Alice is tiny in the hospital bed, pale as the sheets tucked around her. The respirator is strapped to her face, obscuring most of her features. Tubes and wires run out of both her arms, the machines surrounding her beeping routinely. She’s completely unconscious, the dark circles under her eyes the only spot of colour on her entire face.

The whole scene is devastating, and Carlisle is quite sure that he’s watching his son’s heart break into a million pieces as he stares at his human mate, slowly dying alone, not a single person allowed to hold her hand.

Carlisle is not cruel, and hasn’t told Jasper the full details of Alice’s prognosis, but Jasper is no fool. Alice was already so fragile, with existing health issues, and she’s just so very, very sick.

“Jasper…” Carlisle begins in a low voice, reaching out to put his hand on his shoulder, but Jasper jerks away, storming out of the hospital in such a rage that Carlisle’s just relieved the door stays on its hinges as his son disappears into the night.

—

He is furious. He is rage. He has never, ever been so angry in his entire life. He wants to destroy, to fucking decimate something because it never, ever should have been her.

He thinks of going to the Brandon house, and crushing her selfish father into pulp. To bestow upon Alice’s father, who could not resist his trips to his mistress in Seattle, the slow, lingering death he passed on to his eldest daughter.

But he doesn’t. The man is sick - the whole family is sick, though not nearly bad enough to require hospitalisation, that particular honour had been given solely to Alice - but he tries to comfort himself with the fact that the man is at least suffering.

He steals into Alice’s bedroom, how many times had he climbed into this room and found Alice sitting crosslegged on her bed with her laptop or with her sketchbook, her face lighting up at his appearance. How the fairy lights strung around her bed would be lit, as well as the lamp shaped like a rabbit, and half a dozen novelty lights scattered around the room. It made the room look like magic, like home.

But now, it is cold and still. The bed is unmade, her quilt crumpled on the floor. The lights are off, the hamper is full, and he wants to destroy it all.

He lets himself have one moment, one little weakness, as he picks up the sweater tossed over the back of her desk chair and buries his face in it. It still smells like her, before she got sick - like raspberries and rainwater, her floral shampoo and rose perfume, of a million different little things that made up her human life. It is a comfort, yes, but it is also hurts in a sharp, new way that makes him want to weep. She’s not here, she’s not coming back, not going to walk in and tease him for being ‘weird’, as she wraps her arms around his waist and presses against him.

And he puts the sweater back, swallowing hard against the rising grief. He’s here for a reason. And so he goes hunting.

For her sketchbooks, and her diary, and her little worn out plush rabbit that always sat on her pillow. Her Polaroid camera, her very favourite purple top, and the ‘Alice’ necklace she wore every day, and the little photo-book that she kept by her bed.

It has to be things that won’t be missed, will be easily overlooked, but things that are precious to her, and thus precious to him.

Whatever happens next, he needs to keep them safe for her. Let her know that the things she treasured above everything else won’t end up at a garage sale or a thrift shop, won’t be boxed up and forgotten, won’t be thrown away. No, they’ll either find their way back to her hands, or they’ll be his shrine, his holy objects, for the rest of this cursed existence.

He goes back for the sweater.

—

Her heart stops twice. The first time, Carlisle hears about it second-hand and by the time he gets to her, she’s back.

The second time, people talk. That Dr Cullen was like a monster, forcing that girl back to life without compromise. That he short of reached into her chest and squeezed life back into her heart by hand.

It’s not going to help, the staff whisper. The Brandon girl is going to die, the youngest fatality in the state so far, before she even graduates high school. It would take some kind of miracle for her to come back from this, no matter how long Dr Cullen insists on delaying ‘time of death’.

—

The question needs to be asked, but he can’t form the words because it changes everything. It’s turning reality upside down and inside out. He’s never been good with change, and he was happy like this, for the first time in a long time.

Asking the question admits that he failed her.

He wishes he’d asked her before now, but it was one of those things they never talked about. And not in a tense, unspoken way. He can’t think of any moments with her that weren’t comfortable; love and affection and appreciation dipping and swirling between them.

They were going to be together forever, they both knew that. They were going to go to college and go travelling and get married. But neither of them ever specified if her eyes would be green or if they would be gold, and now he can’t ask her and he doesn’t know what would be worse - letting her go, or having her hate him for it, for the rest of their lives.

Why hadn’t he asked her?

—

Carlisle takes Edward to the hospital, to see if he can get a read on Alice’s thoughts; Edward looks grim and shakes his head minutely - whatever physical state she’s in, her thoughts are nothing decipherable now. There is no awareness of anything around her, and if her organs weren’t slowly failing, maybe they could wait.

They sit in Carlisle’s study, Edward feeling every year of his life, as they discuss Alice.

“Is it wrong that every single day, I’m grateful that it’s not Bella?” Edward says finally. “That the dice was rolled it was Alice, not Bella?”

Carlisle is quick to reassure Edward that anyone would feel the same, and he shouldn’t feel guilty. Except, Jasper overhears that statement and smashes the piano into kindling.

Bella was healthy. Bella probably wouldn’t have needed a hospital, let alone wasted away with broken ribs, and a machine breathing for her.

—

In the end, he doesn’t have to ask.

Carlisle offers.

He accepts and hates himself for it.

—

Mary-Alice Brandon dies at 1:57 a.m. on Saturday morning. Dr Cullen is more restrained this time, following procedure precisely before he calls it.

Alice’s family are still quarantined at home, and Mrs Brandon’s voice is quiet and shaky when Carlisle calls to give her the news. She doesn’t ask any questions, just thanks him and hangs up.

Her daughter died alone, with only a doctor, an intern, and two nurses clad in PPE with her. That’s what Mrs Brandon has to live with.

Carlisle comforts himself that he was with Alice when she died. That he already loves her like a father, and he watched over her as he prepared her for what came next. She wasn’t alone, and she was loved. That she would have felt no pain, no fear.

If this doesn’t work, he hopes that that offers Jasper some kind of peace.

—

The Brandons have Mary-Alice cremated, and interned at the local church as soon as they are allowed out of a quarantine. They have the funeral over the little hole in the ground where they will place the box of ashes; just the Brandons, all pale and solemn, Minister Weber, Angela Weber, Bella and Charlie Swan, and the Cullens.

It’s very short, with Minister Weber praying over the box, and then the box is placed into the hole, a tile with her name and the dates is settled into the dirt, and it’s over. Seventeen years of life, and that’s the final page in the book. There’s no reception, not during the current crisis, with the Brandons still so tired and weak. Cynthia puts a small wreath of daisies over the plaque, and Mr Brandon scowls when the bouquet of pink and yellow roses that Esme bestows upon the grave, from her own garden, is so much finer.

No one lingers in the rain, and Cynthia is quick to comment on how distant and cold Jasper Hale was, that he didn’t put any flowers on her grave, even though he claimed to love her.

“Teenage boys, Cece,” Mrs Brandon sighs, as they get in the car. “He’s probably already gotten over her. It was nice of him to come today, with his whole family.”

And then they drive away.

—

The basement of the Cullen house isn’t exactly the ideal place to undergo the transformation, but it is utterly sound proof, and they’ve made it as comfortable as they can. The plan is that, as soon as Alice awakens, Jasper will take her to Alaska for her newborn year - there’s too much risk, staying close to Forks.

Assuming she doesn’t pull him to pieces for changing her in the first place. It was supposed to be Carlisle who changed her, but in the moment, he’d just done it. It seemed like the natural response to seeing his mate in such a state, to lean into her throat and sink his teeth and venom into her whilst the others were fussing around, preparing for something so simple.

Everyone had been shocked he had the control, the self-restraint, to do such a thing but he didn’t bother to explain. He had done what needed to be done, and her wrath would be his to bear alone.

The sickness left her wasted and weak, and it is the quietest, stillest transformation he has ever been witness to. He sits with her, holding her hand like he wasn’t able to do in the hospital, watching as her body is healed from illness, from pain, from every little imperfection. She’s going to be lovely, of course, but in truth she’s no more or less beautiful to him after the venom than she was before.

She whimpers and cries and moves around a little, but mostly she is still.

Carlisle checks on him regularly, assuring him that she’s doing fine. Esme checks on him, and reassures him he made the right choice. Rosalie checks on him and tells him she’ll totally support Alice if she decides to dismember him for the next decade. Emmett checks on him and promises that he’ll keep Alice under control for the next year if Rosalie’s prediction is true.

Edward does not check on him, and instead plays his new piano loudly, still the indignant victim of the original’s destruction, agitated that this sudden change of plans has inconvenienced his own plans with Bella.

One day.

Two days.

She doesn’t wake up on the third day, and whilst he starts pacing, Carlisle tries to be reassuring. A longer transformation means nothing, not when her body was so completely damaged from illness. It’s going to be fine.

It’s the middle of the fourth day when her heart is racing, and there’s nothing left for the venom to do; Esme and Rose have washed and dressed her in a clean dress, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and now it’s just waiting.

Waiting for that moment when her heart

just

stops.

And she opens her eyes.

—

The first thing Alice is aware of is love. Adoration. It’s wrapped around her, warm and sweet, and so when she opens her eyes, she is already smiling. No one could do anything less, not when they are so certain of their worth.

Everything is quite strange, sharp, and clear, like a veil has been lifted over her eyes. She can’t quite remember what came before this little bed, this room, - was she sick? - but it doesn’t really seem that important. She’s looking around for something… no, someone.

He’s crouched about four feet away, golden eyes fixed on her with a look of clear desperation. He looks like he’s holding his breath, like he’s waiting for something.

Jasper. Her Jasper. A million little thoughts, memories, erupt in her mind - laughter, stolen kisses, plans and hopes and dreams, and that feeling of perfect love that she’s still wrapped up in, only she’s not sure if that’s her love for him or his love for her. She decides that it doesn’t matter.

“Jasper?” her voice sounds a little different to her own ears. She thinks about getting up, and suddenly she is standing, only a foot away from him.

“Alice,” his voice practically caresses her name, and he straightens up, towering over her (still?). “How are you feeling? Do you remember what hap-”

Before he can finish his sentence, her arms are around him, and she’s clinging to him like she’ll never let go.

“You did it, you did it. I was so, so worried you’d change your mind or be chivalrous or something ridiculous,” she babbles into his shirt, and he gently pulls back to look at her eyes (perfectly red, framed in black eyelashes, and oh, he’s falling in love all over again).

“I never asked you if you wanted this,” he says hoarsely, smoothing her hair from her face.

Her laugh is like … delight, the bubbles in champagne, perfect happiness.

“Oh, Jas,” she smiles at him. “There was never any question to ask.”

(He kisses her then, not like high school sweethearts; he kisses her like she’s his beautiful, perfect, newborn mate and he’s not even a little bit sure how she’s managing to tolerate the burn her throat and the thirst this long because the only reason they don’t put her little cot to another use is because Carlisle comes down to check on them, his relief like a cool spring breeze when he sees the smile on Alice’s face and the matching one on Jasper’s.)

—

They leave Forks two weeks after she dies and rises again, with a smile on her face. They leave hand-in-hand, vanishing into the forest towards Alaska. A year there, and then as much time as she needs to maintain control around humans.

And then… they have so many plans. She wants to go to college, study fashion or maybe painting or maybe photography… and they want to go travelling, to all those places on the list in her diary. She wants to help Esme restore a house, and have Rosalie teach her to drive. She wants to meet every single one of their friends, and he can’t wait to introduce her to Peter and Charlotte.

And he wants to marry her, in a white dress, with a preacher. He wants to watch her marvel at the Northern Lights, and create havoc at Milan Fashion Week, and dance with her to the old records in his study. He wants to make sure that there is never a single moment, a single thought, where she ever regrets what she lost. Anything she wants, he’ll bring it to her.

She looks up him, sensing his worry, and lifts his hand to her lips.

“It’s okay, Jas. It’s all going to be amazing,” she murmurs to him, leaning against him as they walk. “You don’t have to worry - we’ve got all the time in the world.”

They leave Forks at 11:28 p.m on a Tuesday, hand-in-hand, and neither of them looks back.

#jaliceweek20 #alice cullen #jasper hale #Alice/Jasper #jalice #guess which twit posted this to the wrong blog #my fic: untitled quarantine

[wings-of-a-storm]

Scenes that stood out as a wtFock newbie

The use of music in the scene where Robbe is trying to get very intimate with Noor just blew me away. It shocked me, it made me sit up, and it made my jaw drop with the utter geniusness of it. I’m talking about using a David Bowie song in a love scene between Robbe and Noor.

Wow wtFock, you really went there.

6. LIFE ON MARS

Backing up one step, what happens in this scene is so hard to watch in general. Robbe hoping to make love to Noor was his choice but it is so hard to watch the attempt unfold while knowing the greater outcome of Robbe’s story and the inevitability of his experimenting. It’s hard to see him having to learn all this the hard way; to see him trying so hard to be someone he thinks he has to be (and after using that slur against Sander…). WtFock seemed to really want to confront us with the physical side of Robbe’s struggle and I think they did it really well.

But then these eikels just had to pull out the David Bowie card.

They actually used a David Bowie song in a love scene between Noor and Robbe. In fact, they did more than just that -- they actually had Robbe choose to play a Bowie song while trying to make love to Noor. Like, it seems like he really was playing it because the song started so muffled when they were outside his bedroom and then became clear as soon as he opened the door to reveal the romantic ambience he had set up for Noor. Bowie seemed to be part of that ambience. (And it still works if it was just in his head.)

Guys, this is a Pandora’s box of layering and I am here for it!

Layer 1: The incongruity

Obviously we (and Robbe) associate all things Bowie with Sander. As such, it is very jarring to hear a Sander reference in a scene that very much shouldn’t involve Sander -- when Robbe is trying to be intimate with his girlfriend for the first time.

It is such a personal moment for Robbe and Noor as a couple; something that is just between the two of them. But what Life On Mars does is force Sander into the room with them (and into our minds). And my goodness, what an effect that has.

I just love that feeling of disorientation it creates. It makes the moment feels so wrong, so incongruous, like the world is upside down. It screams ‘It should be Sander here with Robbe right now.’ And of course that sense of wrongness is probably what Robbe is fighting through/pushing through/struggling with in this moment as well. And we get to feel that struggle from one piece of music. Not just from its melody or the lyrics, but the actual artist is used against us too. How genius is that!

Layer 2: Bowie is comfort and courage

How curious for Robbe to have cut Sander so thoroughly out of his life and yet consciously set up a Bowie song to croon in the background amongst the candles. (And again, it works if it’s just in his head too.)

I think one of the reasons why he did this is because he himself was wooed by Bowie. It’s what he is familiar with; a page out of Sander’s romance playbook. He can now use those moves on Noor (because he has no idea what else to do).

And I think another possible reason for his choosing to play Bowie is for courage. Robbe is obviously really nervous right now and it seems possible that he is trying to get courage from Bowie’s music because Bowie is Sander and Sander is bold and brave and cool and unflappable. I think Robbe looks up to Sander and those qualities he possesses, and Bowie’s music is how he can channel them. (But that thought just makes me want to cry a little bit so I’ll stop right there.)

But I think there is a much bigger reason behind Robbe’s choice to woo Noor with Bowie…

Layer 3: The cycle of substitution

Music is a powerful thing; it connects to memories and emotions. For Robbe, Bowie’s music is so tangled up in Sander -- it would be so hard to separate the two at this point. Listening to Bowie would bring up all the echoes of the happiness and excitement and tingles that he felt with Sander. So why on earth would Robbe listen to Bowie if he was trying to forget about Sander and focus on Noor?

Well, for one thing, listening to Bowie might help Robbe get in the mood; it might help him channel those electric Sander Tingles so that he can then transfer them to Noor. After all, if he could feel those types of things with Sander, surely he can also feel them for his girlfriend with a bit of inspiration and coaxing. Then Robbe will be back to being ‘normal’ again. (Because liking Sander is wrong but liking Noor is right.)

In other words, Robbe may be using his Sander Tingles as a placeholder or a starting point for the ones he is trying to grow for Noor. But that is just a form of substitution wrapped up in ‘good’ intentions.

What the undercurrent of this scene really feels like is a continuation of Call Your Girlfriend/the zombie party, where Robbe used Noor as a substitute to kiss Sander by proxy. Everything in this new scene just screams of Robbe missing Sander and wanting him there instead. The Bowie ambience feels like a gift Robbe has prepared for Sander, not for Noor. But Sander isn’t there…

What everything comes down to -- and what is painfully evident -- is that if Robbe was really determined to cut Sander from his life, he would have cut out Bowie’s music too. He’d have to. Listening to it would be like wearing Sander’s sweater.

If Robbe was serious about getting over Sander, he certainly wouldn’t try and make love to his girlfriend while listening to Sander’s favourite music -- that is just going to make him think of Sander while he kisses Noor. It’s the opposite of trying to erase Sander. It just screams that Robbe doesn’t actually want to get over Sander; that he’s fighting his own decision; that he can’t let go; that he really wants to be doing this with Sander. It’s just such a messy cycle of substitution and so very sad.

And it really makes my head hurt.

But anyway. There is one last thing I loved about the use of music in this scene, and for once it has nothing to do with Bowie:

The music distortion

I just have to acknowledge the fantastic use of music distortion at the end of this scene. You know, the moment Robbe reaches Noor’s lower region and the smooth playback of Life On Mars starts distorting and echoing in Robbe’s ears like he’s slipping underwater.

It was such a clever and effective use of sound effects to replicate the effects of Robbe’s anxiety on his senses and concentration. It works too well though -- it always sets my heart racing and triggers my own anxiety like I am about to freefall without warning. Oh and it BREAKS MY GODDAMN HEART. Willem gets the bloody Oscar because I can’t watch his face in that moment. I just can’t. It’s like he is losing a part of himself to do what he is doing that he will never get back. I can’t describe it, it’s just so awful.

And that brings me to a subpoint that made my list:

6.5: THE FRAMING OF ROBBE AND NOOR IN THE AFTERMATH

The aftermath scene blew me away as well (though I suppose it wasn’t hard to do considering I was already in tiny pieces!)

The framing of Noor holding Robbe from behind to comfort him is so visceral. The contrast of Noor’s warm love with Robbe’s cold fear and resignation is such a mix of beautiful and heartbreaking.

Noor is the embodiment of love as she holds Robbe. Her explanation is so gentle; her tone so soft and soothing. Noor is so empathetic, so patient, so kind, so mature… And that is exactly what amplifies the sense of tragedy. It’s tragic that ordinarily her gentleness and patience might have been enough to help; it might have given a devastated boy an incredibly important lifeline after being unable to perform in the pressure of the moment. But in this situation, it isn’t enough -- it won’t ever be enough. And it’s so hard watching Noor’s exemplary handling of the situation while knowing that.

Robbe seemed to register that particular tragedy too, even though he seems primarily devastated over the finality of what his inability to perform means for him.

His face is just so awful. That resignation and fear as his worst fears are confirmed -- that even after being reassured by his best friend, the advice wasn’t enough to help the situation. What is instinctual for Robbe’s friends isn’t so for him. He tried to do all he could and it still wasn’t enough. There is very little left that he can do.

The close up framing of Robbe’s face in this moment makes it all the more confronting for the viewers because there is no where else to look but at his face. You have no other choice but to feel that fear and devastation; to be trapped in it with Robbe. It’s a set of brutally effective framing.

So well done to wtFock for using so many of my goddamn senses to ruin me in these two scenes -- from the sound of Bowie, to the visuals of distress, to touch (because damn right I felt tightness in my chest and an erratic heart beat!). Thank you but I hate it… :)

#wtfock #wtfock thoughts #scenes that stood out as a wtfock newbie #6/14 #6.5/14

[namchyoon]

🎨 if u want hehe 😚

HANNA YOU COME HERE AND ASK IF I WANT TO DO THIS FOR YOUR GIFS??? YOU’RE ASKING YOUR #1 FAN IF SHE WANTS TO PRAISE YOU 😳😳😳😳😳 YES OF COURSE 100% OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFE TIME MA’AM PLEASE BUCKLE IN THIS WILL TAKE SOME TIME!!!!!! all rules out of the window for this one because i can and will include all the bangtan sets i can AND of course a few got7 sets too 🥰

yoongi shadow - GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD LOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD THE COLOURS!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE SUCH AN EYE FOR AESTHETICS IT’S INSANE!!!! THE WAY YOU’VE PLACED THE GIFS IS SO PLEASING 😭 AND OF COURSE THE COLORING OF THE GIFS THEMSELVES IS JUST LITERAL PERFECTION ALWAYS YOU MAKE SOME OF THE MOST COLORFUL SETS AND IT’S ALWAYS SO HQ AND THE FACT THAT YOU DON’T EVEN USE TOPAZ HOW ARE YOU DOING IT 😭😭😭 truly seeing this set felt like it was my birthday what a beauty 😔😔

hobi ego - NEED TO START CHECKING YOUR BLOG EVERY DAY I NEVER SAW THIS SET A CRIME AGAINST THE HANNA FAN CLUB!!!!!! AGAIN THE COLOURS HERE AND QUALITY???? LIKE IN NO WORLD WOULD I BELIEVE THAT THIS IS FROM A NORMAL MV AND NOT A GIF MAKER’S DREAM MV AM I MAKING SENSE IDK BASICALLY THIS SET IS PERFECT TO THE EXTENT WHERE IT’S UNREAL??? FEELS LIKE THE MV WAS CATERED FOR THIS GIF SET 😤😤😤 THE WAY YOU COMBINE AESTHETICS WITH THE ~PEOPLE GIFS IS SO FLAWLESS IT’S A MOODBOARD BUT NOT A MOODBOARD IT’S JUST LIFE it’s 2 am if i’m not making sense just know i love your gifs that’s the tl: dr; of this essay

jin lgo forest ver - SEE IT’S SETS LIKE THESE THAT MADE ME BELIEVE JIN WAS YOUR BIAS 😳😳😳😳 HE’S ALREADY THE PERFECT MAN AND THEN YOU MAKE GIFS LIKE THESE WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOT FALL IN LOVE???? SORRY, IMPOSSIBLE 😔😔 again i love how you’ve kept all of the colors without getting rid of any of them AND working with the natural light and STILL making the gif look SO HQ 😳 what kind of deal do you have with photoshop that it lets you have so many colors 😭😭 but thank you ps couldn’t think of a better person for extra colors privileges

lgo colors - YES I CAN 100% BELIEVE YOU TRIED BECAUSE THIS IS SO SO PRETTY??? THE GRADIENTS ARE SO SOFT ESPECIALLY THE YOONMIN GIFS 😭😭😭😭 AND THE COLORING ON THE NAMJOON GIF???????? HOW???????? THE BACKGROUND WAS SO UGLY SO WAS THE LIGHTING HOW DID YOU GET IT TO THAT RETHINKING MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE BECAUSE I’M SO SURE THE LGO MV DID NOT LOOK LIKE THAT SO WHY ARE THOSE GIFS SO PRETTY MAKE IT MAKE SENSE 😭😭😭

yoongi mots on:e - i 100% screamed about this the last time i did an ask game but i will scream again BECAUSE HOLY SHIT???????? HE JUST LOOKS SO GOOD HERE IT’S UNBELIEVABLE AND THE COLORING AND QUALITY OF THESE GIFS!!!!! and the fact that you found a LEGAL VLIVE LINK FOR THIS WE HAVE TO STAN 😭😭 THIS ENTIRE SET IS JUST YOUR SUPERIOR GIF QUALITY SHINING THROUGH 😭😭

this is the part where i realized that i’ve actually screamed about all the other sets in the past ask game so there’ll be more got7 sets here than bts sets but i did find the ask where i screamed about them so here they are 

beautiful beautiful beautiful bambam - HE’S SO.................. YEAH 😔 and the fact that i was typing this just as his part in poison came on.......... destiny i think 😔 i’m so tempted to go search the raw file for this just so i know if your magic made it 200 times better or 300 times better but i’m 100% sure it did not look even as near to perfect as your set looks 🥰 also that eyeshadow standing out is so sexc just like he 😳😳😳

encore graphic - THIS SET IS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IT’S SO SIMPLE BUT HITS RIGHT WHERE IT HURTS JUST THE BOYS HAVING FUN INSIDE TINY POLAROIDS MOVING PICTURES ARE REALLY WHERE IT’S AT HUH 😭😭😭 will just cry over encore forever 😭

sunshine - THE SUN IS SHINING I LOVE THIS SET SO MUCH YOUNGJAE’S LAUGH IS EVERYTHING!!!! ALL THESE GIFS ARE JUST PURE DEVASTATION 😭😭😭 YOUR SMILEY GOT7 AGENDA IS THE GREATEST THING HONESTLY NOTHING BETTER THAN THEIR SMILES 🥺🥺🥺 also the green in the bg and the brown of his sweater complement each other so well the earth tones ahhhhhh 🥺

THIS BAMBAM HELLO - OH MY GOODNESS????? THIS IS SUCH A SUPERIOR BAMBAM HE LOOKS SO GOOD WHERE IS THIS FROM FOR SCIENTIFIC REASONS 😳😳😳😳 ALSO YOUR WAY WITH COLORS!!!!! I JUST LOVE HOW COLORFUL ALL YOUR GIFS ARE AND THIS IS A PRIME EXAMPLE IT’S JUST HOW NICE THE COLOURS LOOK??? SO SIMPLE AND YET SO STUNNING

focus on me - i remember seeing this set when you first posted it and i immediately went to watch the mv because of how pretty this set was, oh the pre-ahgase days 😳😳😳😳 there’s so many colors here AND far shots but somehow it’s not oversharpened or noisy the talent JUMPED OUT in this entire set maam 😳 

pain - this is it, the perfect gif, you’ve achieved it, nothing will ever top this (i mean your next set will and then the set after that and so on but i digress) i just need you to know this moment lives in my mind rent free 24/7 and this might be my new favourite got7 gif, at least until i wake up and someone else wrecks me 😔😔😔😔

7 with 7 - okay this is the last one for now feel like this is the best note to end on because this set is beautiful and emotional and perfect and SCREAMS got7 with the colours and the peak devastation that is those moments 😔😔😔 also you choosing all their signature smiles and laughs............ maybe i’m crying 😭😭 very much love them 😔

creators send me 🎨 & I’ll tell you my favorite of your last ten creations and why

#ask #jaebam #mutuals

[aurorafulcrum]

Yeong-gi x Shin-Ae

Unspoken Feelings

Part 2/2

We get off the bus at my appartement. The ride was long and I accidentally fell asleep (well can you blame me? I had a rough day)

I sit down on a seat in the back beside Yeong-gi. He immediately rests his head on the window but doesn't close his eyes. All throughout the bus ride I can hear him snivel in discomfort because of the cold his bringing on. I debate whether to comfort him or not. Are we that close that I can do that? After a quick battle of keeping my eyes open, I give up and let my thoughts melt away.

I wake up to his signature scent surrounding me. His coat is wrapped around me. I look over to see him rest his head on his fist and gaze out at the city lights.

"Okay well you can put your coat and shoes over there. I'll make some tea." I say heading over to my kitchen. It's a comfy appartement even if it's quite small. Ever since I moved out it's been really quiet. "Thank you" he says taking off his shoes. I put the kettle on and notice that it started to rain. I look over to the redhead who started to lean on my counter with his arms folded. I go over to a nearby closet and pull out a hoodie. "Here ya go. It should be your size." I say as he takes it from me. Our fingertips touch and I notice his fists have those same bruises they did all those years ago. "Your hands, what happened." I ask quietly as he puts on the hoodie. His head pops out the sweater hole before he answers, making me crack out a smile. "Oh, just some exercise. Why do you have a hoodie, exactly my size?" He asks laughing lightly. Because I bought it for you... I say in my mind. " I just like big hoodies. You can have it if you want.I got plenty" I lie. "Oh I can't possibly accept it. It's yours." He says. "Suit yourself" I say walking back to the kitchen. I pour the hot water. Right that moment Yeong-gi decides to come up beside me, scaring the shit outta me. I gasp as a splash of water goes on my arm. "Ouch, fuck" I swear while blowing on my hand. "Bloody hell. I'm so sorry Shin Ae. I didn't mean to scare you. Here let me help you" he says grabbing my arm and a nearby towel. He first wets the towel and then rolls up my sleeve. He starts to bring my arm up to his face and his lips come together in an 'o' shape. My heart starts racing. What is wrong with me?? He starts to blow on the burn and wet it with the cold towel. "Uh aha thanks." I say using my other hand to cover my blush. He sees my embarrassment and finishes up. "Well your tea is ready haha" I say grabbing the cup.  He wraps his hand around the cup and his hands are placed on mine. I look down to the cup that we are both holding. Our hands are intertwined for what feels like eons. He finally puts down the cup without even taking a sip on my nearby table and turns back to face me. Here we are standing directly in front of each other not moving a muscle. His silence is overwhelming and there's so much I want to say. Before I can speak he grabs my right hand. I circled his thumb around the back of my hand. His hands are rough and his grip is gentle.  He takes his eyes off my hands and fixated on my eyes. I look at him in confusion. He has a longingly look in his face like he wants to say something but he's holding back. I won't lie, I'm holding back too. I can tell my blush is obvious and is visible to him. He let's go of my hand with a sigh of frustration, leaving me with heavy confusion. "Ok. What the hell is up with you?" I say throwing my hands. He looks at me and answers with a tone less voice. "I'm sorry, I don't- I don't know why I did that." He sits down on my couch and puts his hands in a fist. I sit down beside him but he doesn't seem to notice. I hesitate to put my hand on his back but I do it anyway. He doesn't flinch this time. "Yeong-gi, what's wrong? You can talk to me. We're friends." He looks at me as soon as I say the word 'friends'. Any remains of a smile is long gone and his expression turns devastated. He starts with a shakey breath."Today marks the day my mother.... passed." He says hold his fist tight and turning away. I process what I just heard and my stomach drops. I may have no mother in my life, but I know it's not the same when you lose someone who actually cares for you. "Oh Yeong-gi..." My heart aches for him. "It's been years. So I don't need any pity, Shin Ae." He seems hurt by his own words. I know he is trying to push me away and the old Shin Ae would've complied. But I've been trying to better myself for my friends and I won't let him fall further into his shattered thoughts. I reach my hand forward, fully aware that what I'm doing is gonna shock him. I place my hand at his cheeks and he turns around to face me. His eyes are watering and his nose is red, indicating that he had been holding in tears for long.

"Shin Ae.." his voice cracks. "Yeong-gi you're so stupid." I say with a straight face. It takes a few seconds from him to process and then his face twists into mad confusion. "Wait, what?" He starts. I almost laugh at his dumbfounded reaction but I keep my face serious. "I'm not going to take pity on you or look at you as any less than. You were strong enough to open up and if anything, I envy you." I say sighing before carrying on. " I really hope you continue to let it all out. Because god damnit, you deserve a break. I'm here for you whenever you're ready and nothing you say will leave this room. You have my word". I confidently stare at him, he looks shocked by my words and I realize the similarity. He looks away and genuinely smiles to himself.

We sit there for couple hours venting and understanding each other. He talked about what England was like and how he misses Ireland and the fields. He tells me about his mother. How she would sing to him and bring him to help in the mechanic shop. He described her as angelic. She had silk wavy hair the same colour as his. I comforted him when he was on the brink of crying. I could tell he didn't want me to see him like this. When he looked like this was enough for him I stood up and let him breathe by himself. I walked to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes and grab him a blanket for the couch. I catch a glimpse of my hand and the burnt mark on it. I think back to the coffee incident and how nobody stood up for me. It was angering. I put off the thought and change. I chose to wear just a loose tank and boy shorts. I leave the room and throw the blanket on Yeong-gi's head. "You can sleep on the couch. Unless you wanna swap with my bed instead. I really don't care." I tell him as he struggles to get the blanket off. He ruffles his now messy hair and looks at me. He's eyes trail down to the bottom of the my white tank top. "Don't worry I have boy shorts on." I roll my eyes and laugh. He blushes profusely. "No, no I wasn't-" he stops stuttering when he sees my laughing and he face turns into a pout. "You're messing with me." He says.

" 'course I am, you big lug. Now I'm going to go sleep." I say turning around to leave. "Shin Ae..." he says. I turn around and he gives me a satisfactory smile. "Thank you." He says quietly. I smile back. "Anytime."

It's well into the night when I hear a thud. I get up and grab the frying pan I always keep by my bedside since the last time. I turn the corner with my frying pan ready and jump out. Fortunately no one was there except for Yeong-gi lying on the floor, face pressed against the floorboards.

I put the pan on the kitchen table and kneel down to go help him up. I shake him, but he's clearly a heavy sleeper. So then I try lifting him back on the couch. After countless pushes and shoves I finally got him on his side on the couch. I reach to grab the blanket in drape it over him. His hand grabs my wrist as I'm leaning over him to tuck the blanket. He opens his eyes a tiny bit and his expression remains blank. He looks extremely sleepy and he let's out a small yawn. It surprises me how cute that yawn was.

"ShinAe..." he starts. Before continuing he looks at our position. I'm leaning over him, balancing on one foot and the other is in the air. He's looking up at me and his grip loosens on my wrist, yet he doesn't let go. "Do you remind when we were in Wacdonalds years ago. And we were listening to music together...?" He asks with a hoarse voice. I think back to that time. It was calming. I also think back to how a awkwardly held his hand. I mentally face palm. I nod in response. "Did you feel anything back then?" He says. "What do you mean? What kind of feelings?" I ask. My hair falls in front of my face to which he uses his free hand to brush away and tuck behind my ear. I can feel the blush creeping into my cheeks. "Did your heartbeat race fast? You know... like it would if you were... interested in me." He says closing his eyes to prepare for another yawn. He then continues.

"Because mine did. And it still does." He says looking my straight in the eyes. He bluntness caught me way off guard. "Did- did you just confess?" I stutter. "I guess I did." He answers with another one of his kind smiles. "But why?" I say. I don't understand. Why would someone like him be interested in me? Was he interested from the very beginning? My mind runs with a million questions but the one that sticks out is, do I have feelings for him?

I watch him drift off, pondering if he'll remember this in the morning. I know I'm attracted to him, and his personality is amazing. He taught me to trust more, and to open up. I've missed him desperately, more than I’d ever admit aloud, while he was gone to uni. I was half expecting him to walk in WacD's almost every day. He's solid, and he comforts me when I need him too. He makes me want to be there for him. I realize that I've been fixating on him for a while now, longing for some sort of fortitude in his embrace.

My eyes trace his freckles. His eyelashes flutter and he's lightly breathing. From someone so exhausted he looks so breathtaking. I suddenly find myself leaning in. Every inch of me knows that we're compatible, I know I love him. But I'm terrified for where we go from here. I'm inches away from his lips now but I pause when I hear him grunt. His eyes snap open and he sees how close I am. His arm sneaks it's way around me and places on my waist. He brushes my hair out of my face again. It's like automatic what were doing. And before I realize it he brings himself up to my lips. My eyes are like saucers and I lose balance. I fall right into him.

I can feel his grin against my lips and he pauses just to laugh. Universe have mercy, that laugh. It flows out of his throat naturally, causing flutters in my abdomen. I reach my hand around his neck and pull him onto my lips once again. This time it's his turn to be shocked. Our kiss is light and tender, there's no urgency. We're both here in the moment. He pulls away and so do I. "Please don't say it's a dream." He laughs. My cheeks redden and so do his. "N-no. It's not."I say between laughs. "Shin Ae I think I love you." He's expression changes into a heartfelt one. I don't even think about what I say next.

"I think I do too."