#I need to take my shower and go to fucking sleep. Bullshit ass. Whatever

[the-cooler-king]

awkward moment when you read your three previous journal entries and they're essentially the same thing over and over and over and over and you haven't made *any* progress

[faketrex]

The cakegate bodyswap ficlet I posted a few days ago stands alone as a one-shot... and also, if you were wondering what happens next... here's the next bit of that story.

This a work in progress, y'all, be forewarned! To be continued.

...

SHARING A SLICE... part 2

RWRB, rated T, 600 words (this part).

(click here for part 1)

...

For all Alex had complained about it – being forced to waste his weekend celebrating the marriage of someone he didn't know and a monarchy he wished didn't exist – the plan had been simple.

Fly to England. Sleep, hopefully. Get ready in the morning. Attend Prince Philip's wedding. Drink as much expensive booze and eat as many canapés as possible before getting scolded by June, then compare numbers with Nora. Think dark thoughts about the American Revolution and how, if you asked Alex, it should have been more comprehensive. Stay away from Henry. Leave.

Now, he's standing in a stupid fancy, ugly fancy, break-something-and-get-tossed-in-a-dungeon fancy room with Henry, covered in cake. And he's in the wrong fucking body.

Shit got complicated.

“You can’t leave,” Henry insists, hands on hips in a way that would look silly even if it didn't leave frosting handprints on his pants. (It does.)

“I'm sure as shit not staying.”

“Alex–”

“Do you seriously think I'd stick around after you – I don't even know what to call it. Bodysnatch? Bodyswap?”

“How the bloody hell should I know? You're the one to blame.”

“Me,” Alex scoffs, weirded out by how snooty it sounds in his – Henry's – voice but not letting that temper his anger, “you think I did this? Are you fucking joking?”

“It's quite clear that you dislike me.” Henry shakes his head, making crumbs shower down out of his – Alex's – curls. “I suspect you would take any opportunity to embarrass me.”

“Whatever, it’s still your fault. You know what? I bet it's a curse. Hundreds of years of racist, imperialist, monarchical bullshit and someone finally got fed up and cursed your family's asses.”

Henry stares at him. “Are you mad?”

“It makes sense! Your brother's in line for the throne. Curse the cake, so when he eats the first bite, bam, you've cursed the future king.”

“You are mad, and you've stolen my body, too–”

“Would you like to share your theory, Prince Perfect?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “My point stands. You need to stay.”

“Do you know the expression, ‘get the hell out of Dodge?’ You should, it's–”

“We need to fix–”

The door opens, admitting a tall man with an impressively neutral expression. Alex would be laughing his ass off at the sight of Henry covered in cake. Unfortunately, he's a little preoccupied right now.

“Your royal highness.” The man nods. “Mr. Claremont-Diaz, I’m afraid it's taking longer than anticipated to prepare your transportation, due to your current state of dress.”

Alex can translate: nobody wants frosting all over their town car.

Henry-as-Alex nods politely, then he and the man both look at Alex, waiting. It must be a ridiculous royal protocol thing. Alex needs to pretend he's Henry.

“Thank you,” Alex says haltingly. “That's... fine.”

“Yes, thank you,” Henry echoes, suspiciously fast, “but actually, his royal highness just suggested we reconvene at Kensington Palace.”

Alex did not fucking say that.

“Oh?”

Henry continues before Alex can get a word in. “Since we'll need clean-up for this… event… in more ways than one, he kindly offered the use of Kensington for... strategic planning.”

Alex would not fucking say that.

Both of them are looking expectantly at Alex-as-Henry again.

Alex fumes. Henry's right. They have to figure this out somehow, probably together. It's bad enough pretending to be Henry in front of just one person.

“Yeah. Let's all... go. To Kensington. Please.”

“Very well, your royal highness. I'll inform Mr. Claremont-Diaz’s entourage.”

What Alex wouldn't give to have the simple plan back.

…

(Part 3)

[cimmerian-chaos]

being formerly homeless we can personally confirm all of this is completely factual, but I also want to stress that the very ignorant take above and that attitude is how you're treated there as well.

Our expirience in the NY shelter system was infinitely worse than being on the streets, because when you get there, you are treated as subhuman. The fadt that you are there is treated as a moral failing on your part, regardless as to how exactly you came to be there. If you expect to be treated better bc you're a victim of unfortunate circumstances or have any thoughts of "well at least I'm not a drug user/mentally unstable/insert other ableist mindset about intelligence here" you are in for a rude awakening.

You will very quickly realize how fucked up the situation is, but the more you speak up and take no bullshit, the more that they are going to see you as a problem and do whatever they can to make your life hell. I don't know if the expirience of working there causes them to just become that jaded or what, all I know is that when they'd try to tell me they understood what things there were like, and I pointed out the fact that they don't, because at the end of the day, they got to go home to their loved ones and eat whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, have a hot shower whenever they wanted, the privacy of their own room, sleep in peace without being woken by a stranger coming into the room, who may or may not bring a flashlight. I'd ask them about their routine and say, "I'd love to be able to do X, but I can't bc I'd need Y, which is metal, or a chemical, or considered contraband in some way. "

Maybe it's because of white privilege that they listened. The staff were all people of color and the first week or so we wondered, are these people here not still your kin? You have far and away a better understanding of how society treats them than our white ass, so why are you not doing what you can to empower and encourage them when they need it from someone, especially the one responsible for helping them navigate the damn near impossible hellscape that is trying to get out of the system. Where unless you can band together with people or get outside help, or get extremely lucky with the housing lottery, you're not getting out. Our mom was in there for over 6 years, fighting for one simple thing: to have a studio or one bedroom place. "I'm old, I've had a long life, I just want a place to live in peacefully until I die. " And it was watching their resistance to her, watching them label her a problem when she'd protect people and call out injustices that I realized that the problem was that we weren't seen as human. None of us were.

I never rose hell like my mom did, but when I'd convey to them just how magical their mundane was for all of us, their deer-in-the-headlights, or failed attempts to hide their realization of, "oh, fuck" emotional reeling, when I'd remind them that homeless people are still people, they didn't know what to say.

Also, like, I'm sorry but if you've set up a free shelter, and people refuse to go because sleeping on the sidewalk under a freeway bridge is more pleasant, that's fucking on you, that's not on them.

You really can't compete with sleeping under the overpass so you are going to force people into shelter?

Unspeakably cruel and stupid.

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled).

That guy seemed like he was about to burst a blood vessel. He was goin' too hard too much.

I started this fic what feels like a bazillion years ago - it was supposed to come out last year I believe, but between my half-year job that sipped my Life Points away like I was some Yu-Gi-Oh character, various other sources of brainrot and Whumptober, I ended up finishing this fic a lot later than I'd have liked.

Well, I knew I'd have to postpone posting it until I was done with a previous prompt on the card for Reasons only known to myself (and Tekiro), so it's not that surprising of me I'd suppose.

The backstory of this one was inspired by a fanfic series on Pixiv where, at some point, Nitta confronts Kumi's bullies; but like I'm edgy as fuck so I took it in an angstier direction. Woops.

I'm just really glad this fic is done, it's been a long time coming. Also I need food for my stupidly niche-ass rarepair that crosses into crackship territory if you don't think about it hard enough.

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Sunny-Side Up

Summary: Shun has felt off for a couple days, but in his haze, doesn't quite get why. Somehow, his crush manages to read through his own unease.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa Relationships: Nitta/Kumi (pre-rel)

Word Count: 4.2K words

AO3 version available here.

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo.

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In a sudden flash of awareness, Shun realizes how much of a mess he’s made.

There’s a video playing on his smartphone of someone wrapping gauze on a dummy’s arm. His smartphone is itself propped on some makeshift installation on top of the empty bathtub, threatening to fall if he hits it at just the right angle. There’s an empty bottle of disinfectant on the floor, its smell all over the bathroom, bandages all over the place, a first-aid kit wide open and spilling.

All that mess, yet his wound still looks the worst out of everything here. Oh, this is going to be a pain in the ass…

Whatever. He can handle it on his own. He doesn’t need Urabe, Misaki and especially not Sugimoto’s nosy ass to slip their noses into his bullshit. Mom and Dad trust him to be on his own so he’ll manage it on his own. Tutorials are all he needs to get by with whatever he doesn’t know yet. He’ll cook himself omurice, he’ll down a pill or two, and it’ll be fine. He’s fine, no need for anyone else, and especially not a manager who puts her nose everywhere (even if she’s lowkey cute – when she’s not being a brat who meddles in people’s business).

Fuck it. It’s stopped bleeding and it doesn’t even smell that bad anymore (it doesn’t make him want to puke, at least), so that should be enough. He’s got other stuff to take care of, like what he’s going to train tomorrow and his math homework. Dammit, he should’ve taken a shower before patching that wound! Oh well, he’ll just quickly wash himself in the sink, like Dad often does when he runs late to his flights. You shouldn’t wash a wound, right? He remembers that from when he had stitches for another injury. It makes some amount of sense.

Just staring at the mess he’s made is kind of discouraging, though. It’s been a long day (even longer than that, actually), even without taking into account the deep cut on his thigh. He still doesn’t quite to make of it, confused by his own actions. Man, he’s really not in the mood to think of that over, why is he being like that? All he needs to do is get some sleep and it’ll all be good. Eat, sleep, repeat. It’s easy.

Eh…

On second thought, cooking omurice very much sounds like a chore as well. What if he just made rice in the cooker and sunny side up eggs? That sounds like a good compromise. Same ingredients, less wok involved, he can survive that. As long as he takes a pill, he’ll be fine. No need to ask for anyone’s help, he’s self-sufficient. He’s been for a long time.

He doesn’t need anyone’s help, and especially not that of a certain nosy manager he’s going to have to deal with tomorrow first thing in the morning.

It’s not that Sugimoto is a bad person. Yes, sure, she’s still a bit obsessed with Tsubasa, despite how long it’s been since she’s apparently confessed her love to him, only to be turned down because Nakazawa has always been his main squeeze; but she’s mostly gotten over it in years, although that’s probably helped by the fact Tsubasa has gone to Brazil and taken nobody else with him, not even his own girlfriend. She’s hardworking, she’s enthusiastic and she’s always ready to get her hands dirty if it means helping Nakazawa or Nishimoto with their tasks. She’s a good person, dammit, he can’t take that away from her, and the team wouldn’t be the same without her.

Hell, Shun would even say she’s kind of cute with her pigtails and her bright eyes and her infectious energy.

But the issue is that Sugimoto is enthusiastic and nosy. She’s so fucking nosy, all over the place asking people this and that, if she can help them, and that’s exactly what he doesn’t want. She’s well-intentioned and butting in people’s business isn’t exclusive to her in this team (looking at you, Ishizaki): the issue here is that not only can she not shut it once something has hit her radar, but she’ll also make sure that thing is taken care of personally – and by God, Shun can’t imagine making his teammates lose their manager’s time over some stupid cut on his thigh.

Also, how are you even supposed to explain how and why you’ve got a cut on your thigh? You just don’t get a thing like that by playing soccer, Shun’s clever enough to know that. Even the clumsiest of soccer players wouldn’t manage to get a cut this high and this clean on his leg, not even while drunk off his ass. It’s clearly no accident, he realizes, and he has no lie to come up with that’d sound credible enough to get past her, even when taking Sugimoto’s credulity into account. She’s seen too many soccer matches to know he’d have to do it on purpose and slip on a knife for this wound to happen.

Doesn’t help one bit that Shun’s a terrible liar. There’s no way he’s getting past the classic test of seeing if the person in front of you is sweating as they’re retelling a supposedly innocent story. Hell, he’s seen Misaki do it one too many times for that to fool him; and if Misaki can’t pull off a poker face good enough to fool the team, then there’s no way in hell Shun’s pulling that off. Moreover, Urabe tends to feel that sort of things like you’d feel someone’s unease: he’ll ask every annoying question possible with a loud enough voice to make a conviction weaver dead in its tracks.

He almost cracks two eggs open on the hot non-stick pan before remembering he needs to add oil so it won’t stick. He doesn’t have the energy to scrub burnt eggs off tonight (he never does, to be fair, it’s annoying even on a good day), so he loses the twenty seconds that take in exchange for more sleeping time tonight.

He kind of misses Mom, in situations like that. Every time she’s here, she cooks him her signature stir-fry, and they all eat it, with Dad and sometimes their friends. Whenever his parents are here, the house is always warmer, and it’s more comfortable, even if he’s nowadays used to the echo of his footsteps and to whistle a song when he’s cooking. Of course, he knows they’re rarely here for a good reason, and besides, it’s what makes the days they are home the best in the year. He can hope they’ll be in Japan for the high school national tournament this year, Mom told him that the other day, and it made his heart flutter.

The chime of the rice cooker sounds a little different tonight, like the echo has made it more sinister.

It’s somewhat weird, Shun finds. He’s been making rice on his own for long enough for that chime to be nothing if familiar, so he has no idea why tonight it resonates a bit differently now. He’s going to attribute it to fatigue, for now, and maybe later down the line he’ll have some sort of answer about it. At the moment, all he should worry about is improving on his soccer skills, take care of his homework and, of course, cooking his dinner. That’s the most important step of his evening as of now.

Urgh, he should’ve paid more attention, instead of zoning out for no reason like he just did, like a moron. The yellows have completely opened, rendering them as dry as the whites, there are burnt edges all over those of the pan and he doesn’t have eggs to spare. Shit end to a shit day, he supposes – so may as well gulp them down. He isn’t even that hungry anyway. He’ll just eat them, wash himself and go to bed. His uniform can wait until the morning, and so can thinking about Sugimoto butting her nose into his business, and the fact he wouldn’t even mind that much. At least, she’d look at him, and they’d be up close and personal, and…

No, no, he would mind, actually! Just like he’d mind Nakazawa or Nishimoto not minding their own businesses, but especially Sugimoto! Explaining this whole mess to her sounds exhausting. Bah, if push comes to shove, he’ll just find an excuse when he’ll be more refreshed than now. He’ll be a better liar next time, or he’ll just hide everything just enough for a basic pretence to work.

At least tomorrow will be better – and if not tomorrow, then the day after.

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Once again, and for what feels like a vague nth time lately, Shun wakes up in a haze. He eats a breakfast just as hazy, presumably composed of leftover rice from yesterday fried with oil and chocolate (it surprisingly doesn’t taste bad, at least not enough to make him nauseous again). He tries to button his uniform vest but ends up giving up because he’s already spent all his patience on his dress shirt. He walks to school unable to walk in a straight line or quickly – it’s either one or the other. Urgh.

It’s been colder and colder for the past three days, and no amount of hot beverage or soft-boiled egg has been able to fix it – and goddamn is Shun tired of hearing people asking him if he’s fine. Yes, he is, shut the fuck up. You’re a chore for asking something so useless.

Although Shun has to admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that their doubts aren’t unfounded.

The wound on his leg hasn’t healed very well yet: if someone was to see it, or even the bandages that keep turning red without his approbation, they’d question it, and he’d have no choice but to explain how in the hell he got a cut that high yet that low at the same time. It’d then provoke some sort of domino effect, he’d guess, where Sugimoto would get involved because she’s a manager or something (sounds like an excuse), and that he can’t let it happen.

Come to think of it, if he could just get Nishimoto or Nakazawa not to tell anyone else about it, he’d be fine, would he? But the managers are close friends, they tell each other everything, and Shun can’t even risk Sugimoto hearing about it. If she was to learn of it, then…

Speaking of the devil, she just had to be there as soon as he was done changing. And here he was, hoping he’d be alone for a moment or two, enough time to get his crap together and look his Sunday best when he’s feeling anything but… (No, Shun, you’re just good. You’re doing just fine. Don’t whine, if you can walk, you’ve got nothing to cry about – you’re no quitter).

“Oh, good morning senpai!” She says with her usual smile. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here this early!”

Yep, she’s adorable all right, bouncy and luminous and everything of the sort.

“Good morning to you too, Sugimoto.”

Too bad she’s the one person he didn’t want to see, especially when he’s not made sure his stupid cut isn’t going to reopen yet.

“You’re going to practice shoots, right? I can help you get the balls back!”

“Yeah, Imma do that; but, like, you don’t have to help with it. Just make sure the clubroom is good for everyone else to use if they come.”

If they come, yeah, because morning practice isn’t the gold standard it used to be for some. Shun may also be hoping fewer people than usual get to see him because he didn’t exactly look… fresh when he was brushing his teeth (at least, that’s what he got through his haze). He can’t imagine it’s gotten better either.

“I’ve already taken care of preparations for the day, senpai.”

Uh…

“Oh, that’s good then.”

He helplessly watch her face twinge just a little.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Nitta? You look really pale today…”

And here’s why he really didn’t want to come across her all day: Sugimoto has a hawk’s eyes when it comes to things like that. According to his teammates, she used to be oblivious – blinded by her love for their captain, you know how it is, Nankatsu’s very identity was overwhelmingly Tsubasa’s to a sickening degree – but ever since he left for Brazil, she’s become the sharpest gaze on staff. Some say she may as well have been reading into their future. It’s, of course, impossible, but hey, for once, Shun’s willing to let it slide. It gives her an additional layer of depth he can’t deny but be allured by.

Oh, right. He’s supposed to lie to her now.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

He feels something cold on his leg. He doesn’t really know what it is, but what he knows is that he needs to get away and onto the field as soon as possible before she realizes something’s up. But how does he do that without seeming suspicious?

“You really don’t look like it… Are you sure you’re not sick? You know you can take a day off, right? I promise you, people won’t blame you!”

“Nah, I’m fine, no need to fuss.”

He waits for her response, but all he gets in exchange is her widened eyes and a cold sweat pearling down his back.

“Nitta,” she says in a choked voice that’s so unlike her.

“Yeah?”

“You’re bleeding…”

In a snap of the gaze, Shun looks down at his leg and realizes, in unspoken horror, that the damn wound has already betrayed him: there’s a trail of red coursing down his thigh and shin, tainting his white socks, mocking him with its vicious rusty hues. Yeah, that one’s going to be difficult to explain, let alone hide anymore. Dammit, had he still been wearing his uniform, the black pants would’ve hidden that.

Guess lying by omission his way out of this situation isn’t on the table anymore… Unless?

“It’s, uhm… It’s a cut on my thigh,” he admits, trying to keep as many details out of there as possible. How does one accidentally cut his thigh?

“Stay here, I’m getting the first-aid kit!”

Sugimoto runs out of the main room to get to their small-ass infirmary, which leaves him time to flee out of there. Unfortunately, now that he knows he’s bleeding, he’s realising the damn thing stings, and it’s preventing him from actually attempting an escape – and she’s back already. Goddammit.

“Sit down anywhere, please.”

The worried tone of her voice makes him do the polar opposite of what he should: obeying her like a good little puppy and sitting on the nearest chair possible.

“It’s really no big deal,” he tries to argue anyway. “Just gimme the bandages, I’ll patch it up myself.” She stares at him with somewhat empty eyes. “What? I can wrap a wound, y’know.”

“It’s a manager’s job to take care of the players of her club,” she says as she kneels down to his legs. “Pull back your shorts just a little, please.”

It’s uncomfortable at best to actually strike some sort of balance between showing enough skin for her not to scold him, yet not enough for her to see whatever the hell he’s wearing underneath his shorts (come to think of it, what did he even put on this morning?). Why is he concerned about it now when he couldn’t be bothered when Nakazawa was seeing him almost entirely naked? No real idea, but for now, it’s very much an issue to immediately take care of.

Oh, wow, that bandage looks really fucking red. It was white when he put it on this morning, sure, but now, it’s a nasty amount of red. The thing won’t stop expanding too, like ink on paper.

“Oh my God,” Sugimoto barely manages to articulate, hands in front of her mouth and eyes open wide. “I need to check this, hang on, please.”

“You really don’t have to—”

He has to muffle a scream when she starts unwrapping the bandage, everything having stuck to his skin through a layer of sweat first, then with matted blood all around the cut.

“How long have you been injured for?”

The word hits him like a freight train.

“Uh… A couple days, I guess?”

This wasn’t supposed to make her worry even more.

“This should’ve healed in two or three days,” she says, trembling. “Your wound’s infected.”

Ah, that makes sense. Vaguely so, but it does.

“Crap.”

Sugimoto backs away a little, stares some more at his leg, and her face doesn’t get much better.

“Why did you let it get that bad, Nitta? You should’ve sensed something was wrong much earlier than that!”

Her voice is loud enough to rattle against all of his brain at once.

“H-hey, no need to yell at me! That shit happens sometimes!”

“What do you mean, ‘this happens sometimes’?! That’s an infected wound! Have you not cleaned it at all?!”

“Of course I didn’t! You’re not supposed to wet a wound!”

Sugimoto stares at him with all the disbelief in the world.

“You’re supposed to disinfect a wound! What are you saying?!”

“Last time I checked, when I had stitches, my doc told me not to!”

“It’s because you had stitches, senpai! But that’s just not the same, your wound’s already clean when you get stitches! Did you…” She trails on. “Did you not know this?”

Shun freezes when he realizes what he’s been doing for the past couple days has been stupid.

“Uh… No. I didn’t think about it, I guess?”

That doesn’t quell any of her disbelief in front of what the hell he’s telling her about.

“Why didn’t you ask for help, then?” She asks in an almost emotionless voice.

He’s once again sent for a loop there, just because he’s not sure himself. Shun’s never been too keen on getting help, because dependence has never run in his blood: he hates having to rely on other people for things beyond his control, let alone not being able to decide how much of a hand they should give him. What if he can’t pay them back, huh? Then what? He hates debts. He hates losing his sense of freedom and independence and that’s just how it is. No amount of feelings he can have for anyone will change that.

Sports are unrelated to that. Soccer is a collective sport, so of course, he knows he has to cooperate and rely on other people. Relying on other people for passes is fine. Asking someone else about how to dress a wound is fucking embarrassing.

“I don’t like that,” he spits at her without an afterthought, as if it was the whole story.

“You… don’t like asking for help,” Sugimoto drags through her teeth.

“Yeah.”

His head’s a little hazy, in no little amount due to the constant blood loss, as light as it’s been. It can’t be too good, he supposes.

“I suppose I understand that,” Sugimoto tells him as she starts cleaning the damn thing.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He can’t quite see her much through the dizziness that’s slowly been creeping up and her odd positioning, hair falling in front of her face like a cascade. “Besides, you don’t look very capable of handling it yourself. You should’ve asked for help earlier.”

The urge to scream at her to shut the fuck up dries up before even his impulsive ass can do it. Instead, he deflates, a slow realization dawning on him: there’s no way he’s getting out of here without a very ugly truths or two coming out of his mouth, whether he wants it or not.

“I guess,” he snaps back, even if it sounds weak (as if he was so much tired than he’s supposed to be, as if he actually didn’t want to bite back when he should be spitting venom back at her).

“It’ll get very ugly, one day, if you don’t take good care of yourself.”

“What would you know about that?”

Her eyes squint. Shit, that wasn’t his wisest move – but what has been, lately? Clever people don’t get their wounds infected by sheer stupidity.

“I was there, at some point.”

The sentence is icy water down his back, uncomfortable and leaving a mark no matter what. He has no idea what she’s referring to, and his slow-moving nerves aren’t making the task any easier, and the more he tries thinking about it and the worst it gets – but like the shiver-inducing trail of an ice cube, he can’t ignore it, not entirely at least. Dammit.

You know, maybe Shun doesn’t know her as much as he’d like to say with certainty and all sorts of bravado, and that’s the saddest shit ever. He’s pretty much down bad for her, the way she handles everything as well as she can, the bounce of her pigtails, the spark in her eyes and all of the spunk he could ask for; and yet look at him, unable to tell if she’s actually gotten over Tsubasa and absolutely unknowing of her hardships. Too self-centred, as he’s always been.

“How did you end up with such a cut…?” Sugimoto whispers to herself, breaking the palpable silence. “It’s so deep, yet it’s in such a weird place…”

He didn’t want to hear that question, he really didn’t – especially from her.

“I dunno,” he tries lying. “Maybe I just slipped on something.”

The sting of disinfectant jolts through him, much more than it should’ve probably.

“Do you really think I’m this stupid, senpai?!” Sugimoto claps back with a snap, but her anger quickly fades away. “This is quite a deep gash, that doesn’t make sense for something to have happened to you on the field, or when slipping. It’s almost like you got cut there…” Her voice softens again, right as her fingers stop on top of his skin. “What actually happened? Is it something you can’t tell me…?”

“It’s, uh…”

Shun finds himself as a crossroad, now. Sugimoto’s asking for answers, but she also gives him a way out if he’s too much of a coward to come clean with all of this crap. It’s no grand burden, after all, and fatigue is a terrible thing that creeps into his bones and gnaws at everything there is to find, until it gets bored, and then you slip into the haze – oh, right, he was talking. Was supposed to, at least.

“It’s fine if you can’t, Nitta,” Sugimoto picks the train back up again.

Despite her words attempting to be reassuring, sounds clearly displeased; the hold on the bandage roll she’s wrapping around his thigh tight. It hurts a lot more than it should, right about now.

“I, uhm…” He gulps, suddenly sweaty, the lies dying in his throat.

Everything feels heavy on his chest, because he’s tired and sick and injured and in front of his crush, she’s hurting not to know what happened to him. How they got to this point, in a clubroom, in a sort of headlock where he really wants someone to know yet doesn’t want to open, and her who seems so sad he won’t let her in.

Maybe it’s fine to tell her.

Maybe it’s fine if she’s asking to know.

Maybe it’s fine if it’s the girl he loves.

“It’s a scissor cut,” he finally lets loose.

Sheer horror curses her face, her hands dropping the bandage roll.

“Someone did that to you with scissors…?” Her voice is as saddening to hear as her expression looks. “That’s awful…!”

She directly jumped to a culprit having done that, huh. Well, he did decide to be truthful with her… so there’s no way back. There’s no taking back. Plus, she kind of deserves to know.

“It was some girls in your class. They had that pair of scissors to cut shit in your locker, dunno what.” He chuckles, because it really was ridiculous, by the end of the day. “I confronted them and it actually did happen on accident. They weren’t reaching for my leg, y’know?”

Sugimoto puts away everything she used back into the first-aid kit.

“Why would you…”

He gets up, despite her worries and despite the pain in his leg that hasn’t gotten better at all. If anything, he’s just more aware of it now.

“I couldn’t let them hurt you anymore. Why didn’t you tell us?”

She doesn’t reply, at first. They’re so close, physically, he can almost hear her own heartbeats, or so it feels – or maybe it’s just blood reaching his head. He’s apparently running a fever and shit.

“Can I… tell you later?” She replies with all of the timidity in the world. “Please?”

“No problem.”

His focus slips for just a second and, as a result, he almost falls backwards a second later. She catches him in his fall, and that’s the one moment where his entire body has chosen to just stare in awe.

“I think we… should get you to the infirmary!” She nervously chuckles and he can’t help but smile.

“Sounds…” his stubborn bone snaps in half, “good to me, actually.”

He stands back up, limping on the side of his infected leg.

“Let me accompany you, then. You sound like you’ve been on your own for quite some time.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Let’s go, then.”

She leads the way, he follows holding her hand. It’s not just for balance.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,188 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan + flashbacks in other eras Warnings: language, fear and anxiety, mention of fear of heights Summary: Y/N and Daryl head out on the run for the requested medical supplies. Things are tense, but possibly about to get worse... This part is written in Daryl's POV!

Your name: submit What is this?

* * *

“I ain’t waitin’. I got a whiff of him and I gotta go before it disappears.”

“Daryl, are you sure about this?” Carol pressed him, creases from worry between her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’ve really thought this through?”

“What is there to think through? If he finds her again, he’ll kill her. And I ain’t waitin’ around for that to happen.” The archer was a blur of activity, gathering his gear and shoving it into his pack.

“I think you need to talk to her about this,” Carol insisted, relinquishing her hold on his poncho somewhat unwillingly as Daryl pulled it from her hands.

He shook his head. “Nah. Ya know she’ll want to be there and I can’t risk that…” he trailed off. “I can’t risk—can’t risk that.”

A thick silence stretched for a moment and Carol wrung her hands. “Well, what are you going to tell her?”

He paused, his hands on the clasp of his pack. “I ain’t tellin’ her anythin’. I’ll leave before its light tomorrow. By the time everyone is up, I’ll be gone.”

“What am I supposed to tell her then? When she inevitably asks?” Carol pressed him. “You want me to lie to her too?”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Daryl snapped. “‘M just not—not tellin’ her everythin’. ‘M ending this so she can move on.”

Carol’s jaw tensed. “It feels like a lie.”

“Just tell her I went north. To see what I could see. Lookin’ for supplies,” he drawled, setting his pack and crossbow on the ground beside his bed. “I don’t know.”

Carol sighed heavily and shook her head as he straightened up. “I don’t think this is—”

“Look, tell her whatever ya want. Just wait until ‘m gone. This is happenin’. It’ll be done. S’gonna be over with. For good.”

She shook her head and gave him a long look before crossing his cell and gently clasping his shoulder. “Be careful. I mean it,” she said, surrendering to the fact that there would be no changing his mind. He nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment.

“I will.”

Carol gave him one last look full of anxiety and left him.

* * *

I hardly slept. Maybe caught 20 minutes here and 15 minutes there. Anxiety about the run—that’s all it was. At least, that’s what I kept tellin’ myself. Wanderin’ into a hospital was about the dumbest shit we could do. They always promised to be loaded with unexpected bullshit and floods of undead assholes. But lyin’ flat on my back in the dark, I knew deep down it had a helluva lot more to do with her than it had to do with the run. I was tryin’ to remember the last time I’d spent more than ten minutes alone with her and it left me with a feelin’ like somebody had dropped a damn lead weight onto my chest. I turned over in bed in an attempt to throw it off, but it still sat there on my lungs. I knew exactly when we’d last been alone for longer than a few minutes. Of course I fuckin’ knew. It was burned into my goddamn memory.

But it wasn’t doin’ me a lick of good to think on it so I pushed it away and waited for the clock beside me to read 5:15 before I climbed out of bed. My gear was all waitin’ ready, except for pickin’ up a gun on the way out. I half-expected to run into her in the armory, but it was dark and empty when I grabbed a handgun and some ammo. It felt like a lonely walk to Aaron’s, up the empty street, dew heavy on the grass, and my bootsteps echoing loudly off the dark rows’a houses. I never feel right in here… with the square little lawns and lights on by the front doors. It just felt fake, like somebody had built paper houses and was plannin’ to light ‘em up to burn any minute. I couldn’t feel settled. I just felt… lost. Outta place. Like I didn’t belong.

I’d gotten rid of that feelin’ once… My mind drifted back to her like it always did. It was like I didn’t have no damn control over my own mind. She’d been the one who’d made me feel like I belonged. But now? Fuck. I’m doin’ it again. Focus, dumbass.

She wasn’t waitin’ by my bike either, so I rode up to the gate. As the lookout platform came into view, I caught sight of her climbing down, followed by Gabriel. Her pack was slung on her back, a shotgun hanging at her side and her favorite pistol in a holster on her thigh. I found myself chewing the inside of my cheek. Nerves. Anxiety. This was gonna be a long fuckin’ day.

“I’ve got the gate,” Gabriel said, heading for the latch. She wandered over and I felt a jolt when she met my eyes. I nudged my nose up in a nod, but she just looked back at me with that same stony expression. Unreadable. It always seemed like I never saw her smile anymore. Maybe she did, just not around me. I got that blank look or a glare that I probably deserved…

“Were ya on watch?” I asked, curious why she wouldn’ta gotten rid of her shift in favor of sleep, knowing we’d be heading out on a run early.

“No,” she said simply. No extra info. Typical. Why waste more on me when one word would do? She didn’t owe me nothin’. And she knew it. I swallowed my other questions and leaned forward on my bike so she could climb on. I felt her settle in behind me and glanced over my shoulder at her. She caught my eyes for a brief moment before looking away, down toward the ground. That was typical too. It was like she just couldn’t look at me. Felt like somebody twisted a blade in my chest every time she dodged me like that. And yet I couldn’t get enough of her, even if she was purposely a giant pain in the ass most of the damn time… I still felt like she was a mirage in a desert. A mouthful of cool water in a drought. Food for a starvin’ man.

Gabriel was waiting with the gate open, so I revved the bike to life again. Her arms wrapped around my waist to hold on and for a second I thought I felt her cheek press against the back of my shoulder, but I knew I must have imagined it. My heart was racing as we pulled out. I was more anxious than I had been all night. The thoughts rushing through my head moved so fast I couldn’t even focus on any of them.

Gabriel yelled at us to be safe as we moved through, kickin’ dust up that left a glowing red cloud behind from the reflection of the taillights. The ride to the city was smooth. We made good time, luckily only passing lone walkers or small herds that were easy to avoid. Around the curves, for a brief moment, she’d hold tighter to me and lean into the turns like I’d taught her in what felt like another fuckin’ lifetime. Each corner I could feel every individual fingertip pressing into my waist or stomach. It was always followed by a sudden wash of heat like somebody had shoved me in a shower with the temperature all the way up. I couldn’t control it. Didn’t matter how hard I tried to ignore the feelin’ of being so damn close against each other…

I slowed down as we neared the hospital. Cars sat rusting in gridlocked traffic, tires long gone, frozen in time—same place they were when everythin’ shut the fuck down. I slowed my bike to roll over some debris and hit a chunk of concrete a little harder than I meant to. Her arms tightened around me reflexively at the jolt before loosening again the next second. My heart jolted at the same time. That feeling… of her clinging onto me for safety—but fuck. Let’s not make it out to be more than it is, dumbass. I turned toward my left shoulder. “Sorry,” I murmured. She didn’t say anything back, just shifted in her place behind me, puttin’ an inch more space back between us. The hospital came into view ahead, tall over everything else on the block.

She tapped my arm and I turned so I could hear her over the engine. “We should park. Sound of the bike,” she said. I knew what she was thinkin’. Any walkers or people anywhere around would hear us. I turned down a side street and parked in a loading dock bay. She climbed off about as damn fast as she could. Kicking the kickstand out and swinging my leg over, she was already walking back toward the corner of the building to look down the street.

“Hold up,” I called after her. I still had to get my gear off the back. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t give a shit and I found myself gritting my teeth. But when I rushed around the corner, I nearly collided with her. She did wait. She was leaned up against the brick, her shotgun in her hands, staring ahead at the looming building.

She straightened up as I stopped beside her and we started windin’ our way down the last couple blocks, keepin’ to the shadows of the buildings, stayin’ in cover as best we could. Even so, I couldn’t help glancin’ up at the endless windows, too many high points. All it would take is one asshole with a rifle and a scope... My hands started to sweat as I gripped my crossbow. I glanced at her, but she was as stony-faced as ever. “C’mon,” I said, quickening my stride. “I wanna get the hell off this street.”

I heard her let out a small scoff behind me. “Yeah, you’re the only one worried about being out here,” she murmured. My teeth clenched again but I did my best to ignore it. There was no point gettin’ riled up this early in the day. We still had a lot of fuckin’ work to do. We reached a set of double doors on the side of the hospital, but one glance inside showed they were well barricaded. I stood there rubbing a hand over the stubble on my face. “S’try the south door,” I drawled. To my surprise, she didn’t argue. But that side was a fuckin’ bust too. “Shit,” I spat out. There was a tall cabinet blocking the entrance.

“Good call,” she said sarcastically.

I shot her a glare. And this time when I bit my cheek, I tasted blood. “Ya got a better fuckin’ idea? Huh?” I challenged her.

She rolled her eyes, studying the door for a moment. There was a large glass pane above it that was broken out and I saw her eyes lock in on it. “Boost me up there,” she said, inclining her chin to indicate the window.

Did she want to go in alone? Well, that sure as shit wasn’t fuckin’ happenin’. “Like hell,” I growled back. She rolled her eyes again.

“Just boost me through and I’ll get the door open. I’ll let you in.”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “Ya gonna move that cabinet? By yerself?” I asked skeptically. The muscle in her jaw tensed.

“I don’t have to move it far. Just enough to let you squeeze in. And you can help from the outside.”

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. I didn’t like the idea. I paced a tight circle, thinkin’, as she shifted impatiently beside me. “What if ya get in there and there are walkers? Huh? We can’t see shit down the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet. Come on. We haven’t got all fucking day and we’re sitting ducks out here. Unless you’ve come up with something better—”

I didn’t like it, but she was right. Shit. “Fine,” I interrupted. She leaned her shotgun up against the wall as I set my back against the door, fingers locked together and hands low at my bent knee. “C’mon. Gimme yer foot.”

She seemed to hesitate and I wondered if she was having second thoughts, but the next moment she stepped close in front of me and her hands came to my shoulders. “Ready?” I asked. Her face was maybe six inches from mine, her hands light. I started to feel warm again, a flush of heat across the back of my neck that started spillin’ into my chest. I could see every fleck of color in her eyes, the upturned curve of her eyelashes, that little scar on her chin... Fuck. Focus.

“Ready.” She planted her boot in my hands and I boosted her up so she could grab the window edge. The tinkling of glass dropping in was all I could hear for a moment, and then her weight disappeared from my hands. Spinning around, I watched her pull herself through onto the top of the cabinet. She stayed perched there for a moment, glancin’ behind her, scoutin’ the hallway, before she dropped to her feet lightly. She made it look easy. Graceful.

I couldn’t stand still, constantly shifting my weight. I watched her face tighten as she wedged her shoulder into the cabinet, using all her weight, and it started to move at an angle away from the door. I pushed in with my shoulder from the outside and we finally had enough space for me to slip through. I passed her shotgun through first before turnin’ sideways and slidin’ in. It was dark and completely silent except for the sound of our own breathin’. It felt stuffy inside, and I could vaguely smell somethin’ sharp like animal piss and a sickeningly sweet smell. Death. Decay. I paused to draw the string on my crossbow back, cocking it ready to fire, a bolt nestled in the flight groove.

She pulled her flashlight out from the side pocket of her pack and clicked it on, shining it partially up the hallway ahead. “Jesus…” Her boots crunched over broken glass. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her shotgun, her eyes fixed down the hall, following the moving beam of her light. “This place is a fucking wreck,” she whispered. In her distraction, her tone lacked the usual hostility or sarcasm.

“Somethin’ went down since we were last here,” I agreed. There was a lot more debris and furniture toppled over and strewn about. A lot of obstacles to a clean getaway if we had to make one. “Let’s just get this done and get the hell out.”

“What a unique idea…” she remarked over her shoulder. There it was. Damn sarcasm was back.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes and movin’ past her so I was in the lead. I knew it would annoy her, but I secretly wanted to be the one in the line of fire if somethin’ was crooked. I headed for the stairwell, pullin’ my own flashlight out and shinin’ it inside before I tried the door. It looked clear. “Upper floors are more likely to have shit left. Let’s go.”

We moved in silence. I could feel her ghosting behind me the whole way, almost mimicking my movements. This was the first time the two of us had been alone on a run since… since I dun even know when. But despite it being so goddamn long, we weren’t out of step. Once we started movin’ it was like no damn time had passed. We fell right back into our old rhythm. I knew her and she knew me. We worked well together when she put aside her need to argue with everythin’ I said. It still felt like we each knew what the other was thinkin’. Not that I expected this run would magically make working together bearable again for good, or solve anything, but at least we could if we had to. I also now was realizin’ this whole thing was probably orchestrated by Rick. Did Denise really need the supplies? Sure. But did it have to be Y/N and I gettin’ ‘em? Alone? Fuck no. I dunno exactly what he was hopin’ for but I’m pretty sure he’ll be disappointed…

Moving steadily upwards, we had most of the supplies on the list, plus plenty of extra finds, but I was growing more and more uneasy as we went on. We hadn’t run into a single fucking walker yet, and to me that meant they were probably herded up in a massive hoard somewhere. It felt like a matter of time before we found them or they found us. I could sense Y/N’s tension risin’ again too. She was more fidgety, more careful about each step she took. I found myself frequently sweeping my eyes back behind us to make sure nothin’ was lurking just outta the flashlight beams. There were the usual signs of walkers nearby; smears of blood on the floor and walls, that fuckin’ smell ya could never get outta yer nose, even chunks of flesh from the rottin’ fuckers. But we still hadn’t seen one, and I was fuckin’ worried.

“Almost got everything,” Y/N whispered to me, shoving a couple more bottles into her pack. “We just need to find the CPAP machine,” she murmured, staring down at the list. “I don’t have a fucking clue what the hell that looks like.” She glanced over at me, one of her eyebrows quirked in a question and I realized she was waitin’ for some kinda response.

“What? Yer lookin’ at me? I ain’t got a goddamn clue what the hell that even is,” I said gruffly. Shit. I saw it. Just for a second, but one corner of her lips twitched up in a smile and I swear there was a spark in her eyes—like the ones I used to see in her all the time. My heart jumped and I tried my best to ignore it. She seemed to turn away, hidin’ her face right as I was puzzlin’ over it.

“Right… well, let’s try down the hall. There’s probably another supply closet at the other end,” she said, nudging her head toward the darkness ahead.

We made our way cautiously. I pushed into the lead again and was surprised when she didn’t argue. I tried every door handle but most of ‘em just led to empty or trashed patient rooms. I caught her frozen in the doorway of one that had a massive bloodstain on the floor and spatter partially up the walls. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and I wondered what she was reliving. “Hey,” I said, just over her shoulder. She seemed to pull out of it abruptly and she turned away, moving on like nothin’ had happened. I let her go ahead, mainly so I could keep an eye on her for a minute and make sure she still had her head in the game, but I didn’t need to worry. Not about that anyway. She’d always been tough. She wasn’t shaken by shit easily. I knew that. And yet I still had this drive to want to protect her, even though she didn’t need it from me. And she definitely didn’t want it from me.

“Here,” she said suddenly, slinging her gun back on her shoulder and more fully opening the door to a small supply closet. There was hardly enough room for her to stand inside, so I posted up just behind her and strained my eyes and ears for anythin’. “It’s all electronic stuff,” she whispered, entirely focused at the task at hand. Her hands floated from one device to the next, illuminated by her flashlight. She was looking for some label or model number or somethin’ to tell her what they were. She bent down and grabbed some scattered papers from among the boxes on the floor. Swearing under her breath she held one up to the flashlight. “Of course the cover and all the useful shit in the front is torn off,” she muttered. She was bending down to grab another handful when there was some sudden, deep noise on the floor above us.

My heart seemed to stall out for a moment and she straightened up and froze, her eyes lifted toward the ceiling, lips partially parted. The sound seemed to reverberate through the building. I could feel it beneath my feet. It resonated through the walls. After a moment, I was looking at her and she glanced over and met my eyes, her eyebrows a little furrowed with worry.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked in a harsh whisper. I only shook my head. She gulped and refocused, shakin’ it off, focusing back on the papers. She was flipping page after page, scanning them as fast as she could.

I started to hear some more noises above us and then eventually spilling toward the other end of the hall. My grip on my crossbow tightened. “We need to move,” I said, keeping my voice low.

She was still intensely focused on the manual in her hands. “Just gimme a minute…” she said vaguely.

I shifted, turning more toward the far end of the hallway, straining my hearing. There was more clattering above us. “We might not have another damn minute.”

“Just—hold on—”

Fuck. I stood frozen for a moment as a herd of walkers started to spill out from the stairwell at the other end of the hallway and start toward us. “We ain’t got a minute, Y/N!” I urged in a harsh whisper. She didn’t seem to hear me.

There were more walkers than I could count. They hadn’t spotted us yet but I had to move fast, so I did the only damn thing I could think of and pushed her forward into the closet, pressing in after her and shutting the door as quietly as I could. I instinctively clicked my flashlight off and hurried to grab hers and do the same, plunging the two of us into darkness in that small space.

“Daryl, what the hell?!” she snapped at me. She’d been so focused she was completely oblivious to the mass of dead wandering our way. The goddamn closet was so small I had no choice but to be pressed into her… My heart started to pound and I think it had more to do with her against me than the undead assholes outside. I was sure she’d be able to feel it and prayed she’d just think it was adrenaline or somethin’. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

I shoved my hand over her mouth, all my patience gone. Did she really think I’d shoved her in a closet for the hell of it? “For once in yer goddamn life just shut up!” I growled in a low voice. She seemed to tense against me but in the quiet the sounds of the walkers outside the door were now easily heard above our ragged breathin’ and they were growing louder every second. I still had one hand over her mouth and the other clenching my crossbow at my side. She shifted against me and pulled my hand away. I could hear and feel her breathin’ pick up pace. I planted my palm on the wall behind her, next to her head, very aware of the growin’ heat pooling between the two of us where we were pressed together. The air felt suffocatin’. I started to worry the walkers outside the door would be able to hear my breathin’ I was so nervous. I wanted to shift, move away from her like I’m sure she wanted… I wanted to change positions and get my bow up, but it was impossible.

She didn’t seem to know where to put her arms within the tight, dark space. I couldn’t blame her. I was leaned in against her, sorta over her even. I felt her hand accidentally brush my arm and my body jolted a little at the contact, like some reflex I didn’t know I had. My teeth ground together. After that she seemed to settle away from me, into the wall behind her.

We had to just stay there, fuckin’ frozen, hardly room to breathe while the hoard passed by. Every once and a while, a body would thump hard against the door and I’d feel her flinch. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck and beading up on my face, my hair sticking to it. We were so close I could feel her breath against my skin when she faced toward me. I felt the rhythm of her breathin’. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that in that tiny ass closet, the only thing I could smell was the faint scent of her shampoo. I tried hard not to notice, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t try to put some name to the smell. Lavender? Not quite. Maybe more like rose? I dunno. And despite the possible death lurking just outside, I found it hard to focus on anythin' other than the feeling of her against me.

It felt like it took hours for the hoard to pass, but it was probably only ten minutes. But after the sounds drifted away we were still left with a big fuckin’ problem. They had to go somewhere, and my best guess was that they were travelin’ down.

It was so dark in there I couldn’t even tell if my fuckin’ eyes were open or closed, and it seemed to be makin’ it hard to think… Or maybe the angle of her one hip pressed into me was—fuck. Get it together, man… I fumbled for and clicked on my flashlight, findin' the two of us both wincin' at the sudden glare, noses almost touchin'. She was lookin’ up at me, her lips softly parted, her expression only full of concern for once, that little worry line she always gets near her eyebrow.

We both stayed like for a second. I guess just struck by actually seein’ how close we were in the sudden light, until finally she tore her eyes away and turned her head.

I tried to clear my throat, worried my voice was gonna come out soundin' strained or somethin’. “Uhh… sounded like they were goin’—”

“—down. Yeah,” she finished.

My eyes traced the angle of her jawline as she kept her face turned away from me. I heard the paper manual crinkle in her hand and groped for the doorknob behind me. “Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “So, we got a problem about gettin’ out.” My hand finally landed on the doorknob and I turned it and slowly opened the door on the hall, checking both directions carefully but also feelin’ like if I didn’t put some damn space between the two of us again I was about to explode. It looked clear and I stepped out. Glancin’ back, she still seemed frozen, up against the wall, her face turned away toward her shoulder so I couldn’t really get a read on her. “Hey. What is it?” I prompted her.

“Hmm?” She seemed to snap back to herself. “N—nothing…” She went back to searching the manual in her hand, like nothin’ had fuckin’ happened. Just one goddamn time I’d like to know what the fuck is goin’ on inside her head… But I ain’t got no right to that. She’s made that pretty fuckin’ clear.

It wasn’t the right manual or the right machine. But she went through two more until she found it. “Got it,” she announced, waving the paper at me before shoving it into her already full duffel bag. She seized a small machine from the shelf and started trying to rearrange items to make it fit in her pack.

“I got room,” I said, still nervously checkin’ over my shoulder. I thought I could hear the hoard moving below us, maybe two floors down.

“It’s fine. I can make it fit,” she said, jostling more stuff in her bag.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the damn thing from her, slinging my crossbow strap over my shoulder. “Ya’d really rather split yer pack at the seams than take any fuckin’ help from me,” I murmured. I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t need one…

She stepped out of the closet and I caught her wiping her forearm across her forehead. It left a smear of dirt near her hairline. I had to pull myself back to the present. “So, how are we getting out of here?” she asked, adjusting her pack and the duffel bag strap on her shoulder.

I glanced at her, knowing she wasn’t gonna like my idea.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve obviously got something. Just get on with it.”

“Fire escape,” I said.

I watched the muscle in her jaw twitch as he jaw clenched. “Fuckin’ great…”

“Unless ya got somethin’ else—”

“You know I don’t,” she snapped back at me. She wiped a hand across her forehead again, swiping away fresh drops of sweat. “It’s—” She cut herself off. “Let’s just go,” she sighed, defeated.

I looked at her for a second more, trying to gauge just how freaked out she was, but it didn’t seem to matter. We didn’t have any other options.

“Let’s go,” she snapped again. “Before I change my mind about being able to handle this.”

“It ain’t—”

She squeezed her eyes shut and I watched her body tense. “I swear to god, Dixon, if you say ‘It ain’t that bad’ or ‘It ain’t that high’ right now, I will lose my shit and attract every fucking walker in this goddamn building. I don’t even give a fuck.” Her jaw muscle twitched.

I couldn’t help letting out a sigh that was more of a growl than anything but then I turned and headed for the window a couple doors down that I’d noticed was busted out. Leaning through, I scanned the outside of the building for a fire escape. Nothing on that side.

“It’s probably around the other side. Let’s try the end of the hall,” she suggested. Her boots stayed rooted to the floor and I glanced at her again. She caught my eyes and must have read the concern on my face.

“I’m fine. You’re the last person I need worrying about me,” she growled.

Fuck. She could be infuriating… I found my hand clenching and unclenching a few times before I followed her back out of the room.

She was right. There was a fire escape down that side. I grabbed a piece of metal off the floor and straightened up. “Ya ready?” I asked one more time. “They might hear this glass break so we gotta fuckin’ move.” I thought her hands were a bit shaky.

“Just do it,” she said. And this time, I could hear the quiver in her voice.

I smashed the window and knocked out the glass before pullin' myself through. The metal grates rattled under my boots and she looked suddenly sick as she approached the window sill. I hesitated a second before reaching a hand out to help her through.

“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t look fine, but she gripped the ledge and climbed out. “Oh, fuck. Fuck…” she muttered as her feet landed on the platform. She was keeping her eyes fixed straight out. Even just the metal grates at th prison used to freak her out, and that was one floor.

I wanted to comfort her but… I wasn’t dumb enough to think it’d help or that she wanted me to, so instead I just started down the stairs at a good pace. She followed stiffly behind me, gripping onto the railing with white knuckles and falling behind.

Every once and a while I’d glance back and she looked like she was about to be sick, but she was still following. We hit a snag as we reached the third-floor platform. A large part of it had rusted and fallen away, leaving a gaping hole we would have to edge around to reach the next set of stairs.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I heard her behind me and when I looked back her eyes were wide and round and she was clutching onto the railing like it was a lifeline.

“S’fine. I’ll cross first. Just keep over—”

“Oh, really, Daryl? I should keep over to the side? You mean I should stay away from the huge fucking hole in the goddamn floor?” It kept drawing her eyes and I’d see her rip them back up and away, reeling.

I knew that was mostly coming from the fact that she was fuckin’ terrified, but every harsh word from her still stung. “Fine. Clearly, yer good,” I spat back. “Ya don’t need me and ya don’t give a shit and yer fine. I fuckin’ got it.” So much for trying to calm her down. I edged past the hole in the metal grating and went down the next set of stairs. Finally, I just had to push down the ladder, climb down, and we’d be on solid ground again. But when I looked back up, she was still frozen where she had been, on the far side of the platform. I watched her for another minute, waiting to see if she’d move. I knew she wasn’t gonna ask for help, not from me, but she obviously needed it and tough shit, I’m the only damn person here. I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, anxious to even try again, and climbed back up. I edged past the rusted-out hole and stopped next to her. “Just gimme yer hand.” She didn’t loosen her grip on the railing, and her eyes landed on my face. “S’fine. Just for two seconds, lemme fuckin’ help ya.”

Her chest was heaving with fearful breaths and I guess the idea of tryin’ to cross along that edge alone was worse than puttin’ her hand in mine. Part of me still thought she’d take the heights over me, but she didn’t… She pried her hand off the railing and placed it into mine. I—I can’t say my heart didn’t jump when my fingers closed around it. The motorcycle. The fuckin’ closet. Now this. We’d hardly been within six feet of each other for years and now all this in one day… I felt dizzy. It ain’t like Rick could have predicted these things would happen. He sure as shit couldn’t command a hoard to force us into each other in a tiny closet… but he must have been hopin’ for somethin’ by sendin’ us out here. Was it gonna work on her? I fuckin’ doubt it.

As we stepped along the edge of the edge of the platform, she held her breath. She always seemed like nothing in this fucked up world scared her anymore, nothing phased her. Half the time it almost seemed like she didn’t give a shit if she died. But this? Heights? This still scared her on some level she couldn't reason away.

But we made it across just fine. She was gripping onto me so tightly I thought she might have bruised the bones in my damn hand. And as we climbed down the next set of stairs, long past the danger, she was still holding onto me. But just as quickly as I realized it, she slipped her hand out and stiffened next to me again, fixing her eyes away toward the railing, which she grabbed onto again desperately.

We made it down the ladder, dropping onto the concrete and making a run back to my bike, slippin' from cover to cover, packs heavy and weighing us down. I was thinking how batshit crazy it was that we’d just done a hospital run and hadn’t had to kill a single walker AND managed to get all the damn supplies... when we rounded the last corner and a string of curses left her mouth.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. What the fuck?!” She knelt down next to my bike and as I looked, my stomach dropped.

“Son of a fuckin' bitch.” Both tires on my motorcycle were slashed. Ruined. Fuck.

We were stranded in the city without a runnin’ vehicle and somebody knew we were here.

[hotwings0203]

Okay I’m at work rn and I just got this weird ass call at the front desk. This dude called asking for a reservation and I was like aight lemme transfer you to our reservations department, and the dude was like “it’s my wife’s birthday.” I said “oh well tell her I said happy birthday,” AND THEN he was like “it’s actually our anniversary.” And I was like “…okay…tell her I said happy anniversary??” AND THEN WHEN I TRIED TELLING HIM THAT I WAS GONNA TRANSFER HIM AGAIN HE WAS ALL “wait before you do, I have to tell you something.” And I was like OKAY MAN JUST HURRY UP IDFC he said “my wife says you look beautiful today.” And then I hung up the muthafuckin phone cuz who the FUCK was I to deal w that bs💀💀 sooo, in honor of that I’m gonna write a lil’ shigaraki thing that was inspired by that phone call

Tw:stalking, creepy shiggy, noncon implication, cultish behavior?

You awake to your phone ringing at your bedside table. It’s in the AM, maybe 2 or 3. The night is quiet save for the dull buzzing next to you, and the whispers of the wind spiraling through the trees outside your window.

Bewilderingly, you grope around in the darkness to locate your phone before picking it up and cracking open a bleary eye to check the caller ID.

UNKNOWN CALLER

Extremity begrudgingly, you hit the green button.

“Hello?” Your voice comes out groggy and coarse from your slumber remnants.

“Beautiful girl”

Both eyes are open now.

“Who is this?”

“You don’t know me…but I know you.” The voice across the line is almost as raspy as yours yet slightly shaky. There’s a weird clicking noise in the background.

“Who the fuck is this, and why are you calling me at-“ you turn your head to check the analog next to you. “-three thirty four in the morning?”

“Because I wanted to formally introduce myself as your new owner.”

“My new-what?” You snap and lift yourself on one elbow. Just because of the chill that races down your spine, you squint around the darkness of your apartment. No one was there, so then why couldn’t you shake the feeling someone was watching you?

“You heard me, pretty cockslut. In a few days from now, I’ll be waiting for you, right at your door. I’ll have a collar and leash waiting for you so you can properly be my little bitch in heat.”

Your hands unconsciously fist the sheets underneath you, and you try not to let your voice wobble when you respond.

“I’m-is hanging up now you sick fuck. Don’t call this number again, or else I’ll track your number and call the police.” But you find that when you try to tap the red button, the call still continues. You hit the button again, but no difference. You start to frantically turn your phone off and fiddle with the volume buttons to wake your screen out of its frozen state but the call still continues, the person on the other line keeps rambling.

“What did you do to my phone?”

“Whatever I need to do to talk to you one on one. Tell me Y/N, would you prefer your dog bowl in pink or red?”

“I’m not choosing either, fucking bastard. Tell me who you are!”

“Aww, come on now, be an obedient pet. Use your big girl words and let your master know what you like. It’s the only time I’m being nice, I’d take the opportunity if I were you.” The clicking on the other side of the call multiples, as if we were typing away at dozens of keyboards.

“I’m calling the police.” You spring up from your bed and search the room for another landline phone or anything where you could contact someone. This was insane, you weren’t putting up with this bullshit.

“Sure, go right ahead. I can’t wait for them to see you naked, on your hands and knees, pussy drooling and mouth watering while you suck my cock in front of them.”

You yell in frustration and panic as the clicking noise grows louder, the volume swallowing up your thoughts and musings.

“Fuck, what the hell is that noise?” You raise your voice now, your remaining sleep swept away in the currents of adrenaline.

“We’re all waiting for you, Y/N. You’re such a pretty girl, don’t you wanna share some of that beauty with us? We wanna see you mouth opening, face down ass up for us, working your pussy on all of our cocks. We wanna see you getting fucked against all the surfaces of your new home, against the windows, on the basement floor, in the shower, on the bed. I wanna be on top though, above everyone else under and over you, would my little bitch in heat like that?”

Your mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. It’s silent outside, as if the world were holding its breath on the same moment as you. But on the other end of the phone, you could hear it.

Along with the clicking, there were moans. Different pitches and tempos, but the grunts and groans were definitely audible. He spoke above them, claiming his place above his subjects.

“Oh no, did I scare you off already? It’s okay, you’ll get used to us soon enough. Think of this as training. You’ll soon know your place well enough once initiation starts. All your holes will be open-“

The moans grow louder. They gasp so loud you’d think they were being murdered. The clicking grows evermore.

“-And you’ll be out on display for all of us to touch, and feel, and taste, and listen to while you just take it, take it, take it like the good little bitch I’ll force you to be”

“Leave me alone!” You half sob as you run over and pick up your phone, looking around wildly and unsure of what to do.

“I’ll plug you with so many drugs and chemicals that you’ve never even heard of just so that you’ll crawl to me on all fours and beg me to fill you up again, with anything I want.”

“You’ll kill yourself just to be anything to me”

You think you hear the groaning and sighing on the other end evolve into screams of satisfaction, but you can’t tell over the ringing in your own ears.

“So sleep well my precious babyslut. I’ll come for you soon enough.”

And the line goes dead

[arsonistblue]

how to start kicking your depression’s ass, by a depressed person

i’ve seen way too many “how to beat depression” posts that don’t do shit because they’re not from actual depressed people, so here’s mine, from an actual depressed person. 

please note that i’m lucky enough to be medicated and i’m coping really well, my mental health is doing great, but i actually know what it’s like to be super depressed. so here are some tips to kick your depression in its teeny tiny balls.

first, a reminder: you’re still alive, that’s super cool and sexy of you. super cool and sexy of me to be alive. super cool and sexy of all of us. if you’re fighting depression, but you’re alive? guess what, you’re super cool and sexy. go you.

if you can, get up off your chair/bed/floor/whatever and brush your teeth. you’ve got this you beautiful and capable bitch. i love you and care about your hygiene. 

you feel gross but don’t have the energy to take a shower? been there, and i promise you aren’t disgusting. wet a washcloth and wash your face, even just with water. 

greasy hair but can’t bring yourself to shower? i know what you mean. take a damp washcloth or towel and gently wipe and crimp to clean it a little bit. if it’s long enough, pull it back into a ponytail. 

don’t think you deserve to eat? i swear you do. your body is fucking amazing and it needs nutrients, but i understand. start with a glass of water and some trail mix, fruit, crackers, etc. just get a few calories in you.

can’t bring yourself to take your meds? my dude. your meds can’t work unless they’re inside you. just do your best, take them quickly or slowly, whatever helps you most. but they’re super important. please take your meds. 

hate your body? i know what you mean, and i know me telling you that you should love yourself isn’t going to do shit. your body is beautiful, but i know you have trouble seeing it that way. but you still need to change clothes. close your eyes and/or turn off the lights. lay out your outfit beforehand so you don’t have to fumble in your closet. 

having trouble sleeping? fuck dude, me too. try to change your pillowcases, dust the crumbs off your bed, drink a glass of water, and maybe try sleeping in a different position.

ton of unreplied messages or emails? it’s okay, i know that can be overwhelming. try responding to just one. pick an easy one, like from a friend. if you can’t, just send a quick “hey, not having a great day, i’ll do my best to reply later.” they’ll understand. 

i’m so proud of you. even if you weren’t able to do anything on this list, i swear to you life will get better, but you have to help it. if you sit and wallow in the “woe is me” bullshit, it’s going to be a lot harder. take little steps and kick that depression’s ass.

i love you, you beautiful, capable, strong human. 

you got this. 

remember, progress and recovery aren’t linear. things might seem to be going downhill, but that’s life. 

it. will. get. better.

now focus on your mental health. you’ve still got some motherfuckers to prove wrong.

[idontfuckingcareaboutmars]

Oh! This is going to be fun. - Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Rating: 14+ Content: Established relationship, aged up Bakugou, female-bodied reader Content Warnings: mention of smut; swearing;

A.N: Hii again! This is the part 2 of this story. (You don't really need to read the first one to understand it, but I do recommend ;D) • Bakugou is aged up and a pro hero; • Y/N quirk is telekinesis and telepathy (yeah she's a hybrid) • Enjoy<3

Bakugou wakes up fumbling for Y/N, then sitting immediately when he doesn't find his partner. Looking at the clock by their bed, noticing it's very early in the morning, he calls her name, after some time calling with no answer, he decides to get up and search for the young woman. Having no success finding her around the apartment, he decides to call her.

B: Oi Brat! Where the hell are you? - He speaks in a husky angry voice.

Y/N: Good morning sunshine. - She giggles.

B: Don't you come with this sunshine bullshit.

Y/N: I went for a run.

B: It's seven in the morning.

Y/N: Already?

B: What do you mean already?

Y/N: I was at the gym at 6.

B: YOU WHAT?

Y/N: *tsc* Stop shouting. How do you even dare to complain when people ranked you the loudest hero. Jirou and Present Mic, they were on the list. That's how loud you are dude.

B: *tsc* Whatever. - He sighs angrily. - Are you coming home already?

Y/N: Yeah, almost there.

B: By any chance you are going around that bakery?

Y/N: Yeah, I got you. I'll bring you the spicy pumpkin muffins.

B: Damn brat. I love you so much.

Y/N: Yeah right. - She giggles - See you in five. - After hanging up the call, Bakugou who’s still sleepy, feeling his eyelids heavy decides to take a nap on the couch. It's been a while since he moved back in with Y/N and dealing with her workaholic habits was killing him. He made it his personal mission to make sure she didn't kill herself out of work. The girl acted as sleep was optional and her quirk didn't rely on the tired brain of hers. In a mix of anger, worry and anticipation he jumps up when he listens to the click on the door. He sits straight watching the young woman walking through the door wearing gym clothes, with an annoyed expression on his face.

B: Oi brat! What the hell?

Y/N: Oh my god. Relax.

B: I told you, the doctors told you, even your stupid boss told you, you need to rest the fuck up.

Y/N: You made me sleep at 10 pm. last night. How much rest do you think I need? Plus I bought you muffins, you should be nicer. - She walks to him reaching for a kiss, he cupped her face analysing it before leaning in to kiss her. He grabs her waist intensifying the kiss. She was very aware where that was going. She presses her body against his even harder, the kiss leaving them almost running out of breath. When he reaches for her ass Y/N stops the kiss, stepping back.

Y/N: Baby, I would love to proceed. But my boyfriend, my boss and the doctors told me to rest. - He smirks, biting his lips.

B: You are indeed a brat, aren't you? Stop being so damn petty.

Y/N: Says the petty queen. - He groans, letting his hands fall to his sides. - Plus annoying you is not the only reason, I'm going to be late for work.

B: I thought the case you were working with the police was closed and you just have to patrol much later.

Y/N: Wow! Were you really listening? Your therapist is going to receive a basket from me this year. - He reaches for a muffin and violently throws it at her. She dodges.

Y/N: Maybe just a card is enough. - Both laughs. He sits on the couch eating while she heads to the bathroom dropping her clothes on the way to the shower.

B: So, where are you going? - He screams since the shower noise muffles his voice.

Y/N: Todoroki invited me for this press event. All the top heroes are going to be there. Apparently it is something about some new law about the heroes. I'm not really sure. I'm surprised you weren't invited.

B: I was invited, dumbass!

Y/N: Tell me again why are you not getting ready then?

B: I don't have to go. It's not like they can really force me anyways.

Y/N: You are literally the number two hero! Get your ass in here!

B: Well, if you insist. - He rushes to the foggy place but the girl is already leaving the shower.

Y/N: Oh, no funny business, I already have finished, but if you are quick enough will still have hot water for you. - She laughs.

B: Lame! - He throws his shirt at her while she leaves the bathroom. When he comes out of the shower she's already dressed, putting makeup on.

B: Woah! Is this your new costume?

Y/N: Yes, actually it is the press version of it, do you like it?

B: What do you mean press version?

Y/N: Was my idea. It's shinier, more classy.

B: Tighter... - He looks her up and down.

Y/N: Katsuki...

B: What, brat? I'm just saying, not really complaining though. - He hugs her from behind leaving a kiss on her neck, making her shiver at the warm touch.

Y/N: Yeah, I'm going to drink some water real quick. - He smirks, she rushes out of his sight, trying to hide her red face, touching her practically burning cheeks. A few minutes later he shows up fully dressed.

B: I heard Hawks will be there.

Y/N: Oh, really? It's nice of the Commission to invite him too.

B: I thought you would be more excited. I thought you were his fan. Actually I thought you had a crush on him. - He laughs at her face turning red on the mention of the hero's name. She was clearly embarrassed.

Y/N: W-Well, I'm over it now. Even though I still admire him as a hero and person.

B: So you don't have a crush on him anymore? - He pushes her further, with a light amusement in his face.

Y/N: I'm a grown up. I don't have crushes, douchebag. But, wait, how do you know that?

B: You told me that, brat. At our U.A. time, we weren't together yet.

Y/N: Oh! - The memories hits her immediately. - I still called you 'Baka-go' back then. - She laughs.

B: "Baka'go, the jerk in action." - He does a mocking impersonation of her voice- In retrospect it’s quite impressive you're still alive, you know? - He walks to her putting his hands on her hips.

Y/N: Oh please, you loved it.

B: Maybe, why did you stop?

Y/N: You were smart enough to fall for me, I had to cut you some slacks. - She laughs and kisses him. - Anyways. I need to get going. I'll see you at the event or later.

B: Oi! Are you not coming with me?

Y/N: Remember that conversation about not wanting our relationship to be public? That includes an event exclusively to deal with the press.

B: Fuck them!

Y/N: I already have to deal with rumors about my non-existent relationship with Todoroki, I don't need people talking about us.

She leaves, leaving behind a Bakugou with a very angry expression. Y/N, of course, would love to scream to the whole world how she was happy with the number two hero, how he treated her well, how he loved her, how special he made her feel, how she was sure about what she needed, and how the universe benevolence was generous enough to put him in her life. Sure, she would love to show him publicly how much he meant to her and the rumors about her sleeping with her boss would stop but the truth is: villains would have just another thing to use against both of them, and she couldn't risk it. After the press event, answering to a barrage of questions, mostly not related at all to her job, and patrolling which was cutted short after Todoroki decided they had enough work for the day, Y/N gets back home. She checks her phone, the screen showing no calls or messages from Bakugou. She massages her forehead gently, deciding to relax in the tub. After an hour or less she receives a call from Jirou.

On the phone:

Y/N: Oh hey, AirPods! Is everything okay?

Jirou: I told you to stop calling me that. - She laughs. - But today I'll let this pass.

Y/N: Well must be a nice day then. What's up?

Jirou: I'll send you a picture. - A few seconds later a picture of an engagement ring blows on Y/N phone.

Y/N: Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! I can't believe it! Denki proposed? - She screams in excitement for her friends.

Jirou: Yes!

Y/N: Just to make sure, you said yes, right? - Both laughs.

Jirou: Obviously. - Denki screams by far, then repeats so Y/N could listen to him.

Kaminari: Hi Y/N! She said yes, can you believe it? I didn't even have to talk her into it. - Both laughs.

Y/N: Hi buddy! Congratulations! For you both! I'm so happy. I- She hears a noise in the kitchen. - Guys, I think Bakugou is home, I'm going to tell him the great news, hold on a second. - She jumps from the tub, puts on a robe and rushes to the door. Bakugou looks even angrier than when she left in the morning.

Y/N on the phone: Guys, I will call you back in a minute. Sorry. - She hangs up, and gets closer to him.

Y/N: Babe, you don't look okay. What happened?

B: I'm so damn stupid!

Y/N: Woah! No, you're not. Where is all of this coming from? You are Katsuki Bakugou, the great Dynamite.

B: I... - He looks like he is about to explode.

Y/N: Come on, sit here. - She grabs his arm, guiding him to the couch. - Tell me what's wrong, whatever it is we will fix it. - He seems to wonder for a while, then speaks clenching his jaw.

B: The stupid Jirou and the stupid Kaminari send me a message! - Y/N looks at him trying to make sense of what he said. After some wonder her eyes widen

Y/N: Oh my god, are you in love with one of them? - He looks at her with a look that made her feel stupid just for asking, making her regret it.

B: Brat, stop talking! You sound stupid! - He shouts.

Y/N: Well I don't read minds, so... I mean, I do read minds, but I promised to stop using my quirk on you. - After another moment of silence and a deep breath, he speaks.

B: I wanted to do it first.

Y/N: Do what?

B: You are constantly bragging about how smart you are, can't you take a fucking hint? - After a little while realization comes down to her.

Y/N: Oh my god! -She lays on the couch in shock.- Wait, what do you mean do it first? Is not some kind of fucked up bet is it? Because if it is, Jirou is going to be so pissed. You guys totally crossed a line.

B: Oh my! Shut your trap brat! No, obviously it was not a bet. What the fuck? What kind of person does that? And that's the only reason you came up with for me wanting to marry you? - His eyes are filled with rage and tears. She stares at him, then comes closer sitting on the floor, looking him into his eyes.

Y/N: But why are you so angry? Just because he did it first? Forgive me but that’s one of the most childish things I've ever heard in my entire life.

B: It is not just it. I don’t know, I feel like I need to be better for you and I simply can’t. I don't want to lose you again. - She fondles his face, swiping the tears.

Y/N: I'm not going anywhere. You're doomed... Douchebag. -She smiles at him softly, holding his hands.

B: You better not be just talking brat. - He slips to the ground wrapping her with his legs.

Y/N: Maybe I'm the one puttin on a prank. - He squeezes her tightly. - Ouch! I'm just kidding.

B: Great. Now... Care to pick a blue box in my side of the closet? - She jumps excited, rushing to their room. She came back with her hands empty.

Y/N: I couldn't find it. I - Y/N jaw drops when crossing the door, she finds a Bakugou kneeled in one knee.

B: Y/N, my dear brat. I love your stupid face more than anything in this world, you make my day every day, even when we fight I can't really get mad at you, even though I know you're going to say that's because you are right.

Y/N: But usually I am, indeed, right.

B: Shut up brat, I'm in the middle of something here. - She laughs, nodding. - So, moving on. I love you so much, it's almost embarrassing how I'm hopeless when it comes to you and I can't see my life without you. For real, last time we broke up I spent two months listening to Sugar by Brockhampton. - She holds a laugh imagining the scene. He grins. - So, will you stay with me, love me, and let me do the same for you for the rest of our lives? Y/N will you marry me? - She nods, crying jumping into his arms. They kiss, holding each other tightly.

B: Suck on that, stupid Kirishima!

Y/N: What the fuck?!

B: I’m just kidding. Oh! This is going to be fun.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”  

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”  

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane." 

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

TAG LIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ | @mouthymandalorianalso​ | @starlightmornings​ | @soyelfuegoquearde​ | @darnitdraco​​ | @green-socks​​ | @the-feckless-wonder​​ | @hnt-escape​​ | @sarahjkl82-blog​​ | @klaine-92​

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (10)

I posted a different part 10 a few days ago and hated it so I got rid of it and started over. This feels better, minimal editing though because I suck but you knew that, Enjoy!

all parts in the master list

--

The surge of confidence that had you messaging Brady Tkachuk on Instagram failed to remember what the bio section of your instagram read.

Your name.

Flames over everything,

Calgary or bust.

Of course he didn’t respond to your message, of course he told Matthew about it and, of course you had to deal with the wrath of the oldest Tkachuk.

You allowed yourself to sleep in late on the first day off you’d had in a while. Fully waking up at close to noon felt great, until you unlocked your phone.

You hit up my little brother? My brother? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me

Wake up and take responsibility asshole

You’re a fucking piece of shit

It probably pretty stupid of you to message Brady, knowing that Matthew would eventually find out at some point but this was just a little bit too aggressive for doing something as innocent as sliding into a stranger’s dms.

Having dealt with Matthew’s bullshit for far too many days in a row, you decided to ignore his messages. You searched for Brady’s name and sent another message, purely to fuck with Matthew.

Big brother is mad, gonna have to start DMing you even harder now!

That message got a response only a few minutes later, he really dislikes you that much, huh? Whatever you’re doing, keep that shit up.

You chuckled at his response before dropping your phone on the bedside table and heading for the shower to get your day started. 

++

Grocery shopping was the absolute bane of your existence. Children running wild, people standing in the middle of the aisle as they debated their choice of cereal entirely too long and people not knowing how to use the self checkout were only a few of the reasons why you started getting your groceries delivered years ago but it wasn’t an option today. 

Today you were going to have to venture into one of your versions of hell because there was no immediate availability for delivery you and needed to replenish your refrigerator. It was still pretty early and the parking lot was looking sparse so you felt slightly confident that the trip wouldn’t be too bad as you made your way inside with your list and grabbed a basket. 

It was going to be a quick trip, you were only there to get the essentials that would you get you through the day and you would place your bigger order for delivery for tomorrow. 

As you made your way toward the fruit and vegetable outer aisle, you caught sight of red curls and when you confirmed your suspicion, your stomach jumped into your throat.

He was the last person you wanted to see on your day off, but here he was, fucking Matthew Tkachuk was at the same grocery store at the same damn time you were and clearly he was also there to get the same fucking fruit—strawberries—you wanted too. 

You watched him as his eyes surveyed the plastic cartons, occasionally he’d pick one up and examine it before putting it back with the rest, and fuck, he was taking forever. 

“Jesus Christ, they’re all basically the fucking same, just grab a box and go.” 

Surprise lit up his features until he looked in your direction and realized who was talking to him and that surprised look grew into annoyance. 

“Shut up.”

“Fine, I’m not in the mood to deal with you anyway.”

You hurried over and stood right beside him, making sure to elbow him in the arm as you grabbed a carton of strawberries and threw it in your basket.

“There’s a bunch of mold on those but enjoy that I guess.” 

He didn’t look at you, continuing his seemingly endless quest to find the perfect bunch of berries. 

Thoroughly annoyed, you checked the box yourself and realized that he was right, there was a decent amount of mold on the fruit in the bottom left corner of the box. 

You had no idea what came over you or why you did what you did.

But you did it.

“Whatever, I don’t need them anyway,” you spat as you chucked the carton at Matthew as hard as you could. 

He wasn’t facing you and it hit him in the shoulder and neck area but the flimsy plastic broke and the box opened, sending strawberries flying everywhere. Some hit the side of his face, but most of them landed on the floor and also broke open, making quite a mess. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered in shock at your own actions, “holy shit.” 

“What the fuck?! Where the fuck are you going?!” 

You dropped your basket on the ground and speed walked away from him, toward the exit, as quickly as you could. It felt like you didn’t take a breath until you were out of the grocery store and in your car, slowly turning on the ignition and backing out of your parking spot with nothing in hand. 

*

He looked fucking ridiculous and he knew it. 

She had fucking bolted after pelting a carton of strawberries at his face and now he was alone with a mess. People were avoiding eye contact and he was standing there like a stupid fucking idiot with strawberry juice dripping down his cheek. 

“Sir,” an employee approached him, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just,” he wiped his cheek, “i’m fine.”

“Some other customers reported it, and she was gone by the time we realized what happened. Your groceries are on us today, for the inconvenience.”

“Not your fault or your problem, I’m happy to pay for my stuff. I just kind of want to walk away from this,” he motioned to the mess around him.

“Of course, finish your shopping trip, we’ll clean this up.” 

“Thank you.” 

What the fuck just happened? It was supposed to be an easy day off. All he needed was a single carton of fucking strawberries.

*

Not cool, hated one. Wish I would’ve seen it, it was probably funny as hell

The text was from a number you didn’t realize but you had a feeling who the sender might be. 

It was, you responded, you probably shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy though, he’d hate that.

Who cares? This is highly entertaining and I’m not even there

I really just tried to enjoy my day off and there he fucking was. 

He’s good at popping up when no one wants it, it’s kind of his thing

You were settled into your couch, casually texting Brady, when someone began pounding at your door and, once again, you had a feeling who the sender—knocker in this case—might be. 

Looking through the peephole, you noticed that Matthew’s hair appeared to be wet, probably because you exploded a carton of strawberries on him but whatever, you hesitantly cracked the door. 

“It’s bullshit that Brady is finding my misery with your annoying ass so amusing,” he didn’t bother looking at you through the small crack, “he’s really fucking loving this.”

“I wasn’t really intending for him to get humor out of our messages,” you opened the door all the way, “but it still works I guess.”

“The strawberry thing was not cool,” he turned his irritatingly lovely blue eyes on yours, “at all.”

“I know.” 

“Messaging my brother on Instagram with shitty intentions wasn’t cool either.”

“I know,” you repeated and he rolled his eyes as he pushed off the wall next to your door and headed toward the elevator. 

“You’re so fucking hot and cold with me, I don’t know how to deal with it,” you shouted at his back. 

“Yeah,” he turned his head slightly and ran a hand through his curls, “I don’t know how to deal with it either.” 

Matthew didn’t look back at you as the elevator doors closed and took him back up to his apartment while you stood outside your front door feeling irritated and, once again, completely fucking confused by Matthew fucking Tkachuk and his fence sitting behavior.

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with 

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are. 

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

**

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan. 

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders. 

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

**

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

**

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel. 

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

**

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine. 

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this. 

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates. 

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

**

The Titans make it for the service. 

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife. 

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known. 

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin. 

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family. 

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

**

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed). 

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

**

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (8/12)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Okay, so that cliffhanger, huh? I thought our mystery guests were obvious, but then again, I'm writing the story. But We'll answer all those questions here!

AO3: Beginning | Current Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

-/-

Killian’s side of the bed is cold when Emma’s alarm goes off. She expects him to still be there either sleeping or on his phone – he seems to do most of his work in the mornings when he doesn’t want to get out of bed – but he’s not there.

She hates herself a little bit for even noticing the cool feel of the sheets beneath her fingertips.

Emma groans and stretches her legs out, wondering how much time she has to go back to sleep before she absolutely has to go into work. She squints at her phone. She’s got two hours before she has to be at work. She could definitely sleep for another hour and a half and then look like shit at work. That might be nice, actually.

But then she smells something cooking downstairs, and almost on cue, her stomach growls.

Slowly, she gets out of bed, and the floor is cold against her bare feet. She should really go take a shower before she goes downstairs, and despite the good smell, she goes into the bathroom and quickly showers, leaving her hair dry. It’s curly and a bit frizzy from leaving it wet after her shower at the Nolans’ last night, but that’s a problem for another time…tomorrow. She’ll make it look better tomorrow. Emma grabs a pair of shorts and a button-down, putting them both on, and she pulls out a pair of sandals from her closet for later. She’s not as presentable as she should be, but maybe she can stay in her office and away from customers.

Besides, this is better than what it could have been had she not at least rinsed off the remaining sunscreen and sweat from her skin.

Emma smooths down her shirt and fluffs her hair. There’s the slightest bit of red on her chest from Killian’s beard, so she buttons up one more button before heading downstairs. From the smell of it, Killian is either cooking pancakes or waffles, and she’ll take either.

As far as her seasonal friends with benefits go, Killian is definitely the winner.

For the breakfast, the sex, and maybe the conversation. She thought about that for too long yesterday, and it’s too damn early for her to be thinking about any of this today. All she wants is food and coffee, so that’s all she’s thinking about. It’s all she can.

“Damn, Jones,” Emma shouts from the top of the stairs, “something smells delicious.”

She’s at the bottom of the stairs when she hears other voices. For one brief second, she thinks Killian is on the phone, but she’d know those voices anywhere. One haunts her nightmares, the other is the voice of her dreams, and neither was supposed to be here for three weeks.

Three fucking weeks.

Shit.

Holy shit.

What the hell has Neal done that he has to show up like this without even giving her any kind of heads up?

And how does she fix this? Killian was never supposed to know about Henry. He was the one question she’d never answer. He would have been her veto had it ever come up. When he got home from spending the summer with his dad in New York City, Emma was going to start phasing Killian out. They’d only ever spend time at his place, she’d never spend the night unless Henry was sleeping over at his friends. Usually, she doesn’t have this problem because the guy leaves way before this. He doesn’t have the chance to ever know about Henry, and Emma likes it that way.

The last guy that met Henry was Walsh, and that was only on accident. Or at least that’s what Walsh said, but Emma’s always thought Walsh showed up at the Blue Dog at that time on purpose because he knew Henry would be there with Emma. The guy never understood why Emma didn’t let him meet her son, but when you’ve never been able to trust a man besides David and possibly Graham with him, you have reservations.

His dad’s a full-blown asshole who has upended her life more than once, and she’s already so done with whatever bullshit excuse he’s got for bringing Henry home early.

Emma jumps in place, trying to breathe without really inhaling, and then she turns the corner into the kitchen.

The sight is as bad as she expected. The first person she sees is Killian, and if it were any other morning, this would be a good view to wake up to. His joggers hang low on his hips, he’s standing by the stove shirtless, and his hair is sticking in several directions from where her hands tugged on it last night. Then she sees Neal, who is standing in the corner with his arms crossed, frown on his face. He looks older since she saw him at the beginning of June. His beard is filled with more gray, his hair unruly in a purposeful way. He looks pissed, and Emma already knows this is about to be hell.

And then she sees Henry, and the tenseness fades from her shoulders when she sees his smile and the giant backpack he’s wearing. He’s got to empty that damn thing out.

God, she’s missed him so much.

“Mom!” he squeals, running toward her.

Emma opens her arms and embraces him, holding onto the back of his head and breathing him in. As much as Emma sometimes likes the freedom her summer affords her, she does miss her son. A lot. Him being gone is the entire reason she picks up shifts at The Oaks. She needs the distraction, not so much the money, until the summer is over and Henry comes back home for school.

“Hey, kid,” Emma laughs as she keeps hugging him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Can I have the waffles?”

“What?”

He pulls back and grins. “The waffles Killian made. Can I have them?”

“Killian,” Emma slowly repeats. She looks over Henry’s head toward Killian who is furiously scratching behind his ear, and she realizes just how much he has a deer in the headlights look going on. As confused as she is right now, she knows he’s just had a few bombs dropped on him. “Uh, yeah, why don’t you and my friend Killian eat. I’m going to talk to your dad in the backyard for a minute. Neal.”

“What? I don’t get a hi?” Neal asks.

“Backyard. Now.”

He smiles, and once upon a time, she would have found that charming. Right now, she wants to slap it right off his face. Whatever he has to say, she knows it won’t be good. Emma closes the back door behind them and moves far enough across the deck to keep Henry from hearing.

“What the hell, Neal?”

The smile falls, and Emma crosses her arms over her chest. She has to put up a barrier with him. “Why are you so angry? Are you not excited to see Henry? He has been gone all summer, you know.”

“Of course I’m excited to see my kid. But I wasn’t supposed to see him three weeks from now. And with a head’s up. We have a schedule, Neal. Like, a court-mandated schedule that you made us get, and you’re not sticking to it.”

“That I made us get?” he scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean? If I recall, you’re the one who kept my son from me for seven years and then didn’t want to give me custody.”

How is he such an ass? Seriously. How does he still not get it?

Emma steps closer and straightens her back. She doesn’t need to make herself taller, not for him, but she does anyway. “I got pregnant with Henry when I was sixteen. You were twenty-four. Do the math on how that’s wrong in about eighty-two different ways. And if I recall, and trust me I have a pretty good memory of this day, when I told you I had something important to tell you, you disappeared off the face of the planet. That doesn’t really seem like a guy who deserves to know about his kid.”

“Oh, come on, Ems. You can’t still be mad about that, can you?”

Is it still considered assault if Emma punches someone who deserves to be punched? There must be a law making that okay.

“Why are you here early, Neal?”

She doesn’t want to get into this with him. He’s never going to understand how much he fucked up Emma’s life. There’s no need for her to try to get him to understand now when all she wants is to know why he just showed up early.

“Who’s that guy in there?” he asks, evading her question.

“A friend.”

His mouth crinkles when he laughs, and she hates it. “A shirtless friend who fixes you breakfast? I hope you don’t make a habit of this when Henry’s home.”

“You don’t get a say on my dating life. Or my parenting skills. Now answer my question.”

He blows out air, and rolls his eyes, like she’s the one inconveniencing him. “Look, Tamara wants to go on vacation before summer ends, and she didn’t want to bring Henry with us. So I thought I’d bring him back to you and it wouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure you can keep him entertained until he goes back to school.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Neal, are you serious? You are breaking the rules of our custody agreement because you want to go on vacation with your girlfriend? How is it possible that you’re so selfish? I mean, God, seriously.”

Emma groans and buries her face in her hands before screaming. Or at least screaming as loud as she can without Henry knowing.

“Henry is a good fucking kid,” Emma continues, slowly breathing to calm herself down, “and he loves you. He doesn’t see all the shit I do because I’ve hidden that from him, but you can’t just do this, Neal. You can’t decide you’re done playing dad and give him back to me when you nearly made me go broke fighting to keep custody of the kid I’d raised since he was born. That’s not how being a parent works.”

“That’s rich coming from the woman who has used her time away from her kid to fuck British tourists and is upset her kid is back early because her vacation has to end.”

Emma looks up into the eyes of the man she once loved, the man who gave her son his eyes, and she says, “Go say goodbye to Henry and get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you next June, if you still decide to show up then.”

It’s a dismissal, and Neal never takes those. Not sitting down at least. She’s sure there will be arguments and petty jabs for the next few months. He’ll make her life hell while playing as the good guy. He has this act where he says things like “he’s a good person now, can’t she just move on from the past?”

There’s a difference between forgiveness and moving on that not a lot of people get. They say you have to forgive to move on, but that’s not true. You can move on without forgiveness because some people don’t deserve it. At all. Sometimes all you can do is stop letting them live in your head rent free, and you have to forgive yourself for ever falling for the lies.

Emma’s chosen that route. She’s forgiven herself, has moved on with her life even with Neal constantly trying to pull her back down, and she’s not about to stand here and let him criticize her personal life when he has no business in it.

Through the window, Emma watches Neal hug Henry goodbye. It takes less than a minute before he’s gone and Henry is back to eating his breakfast. Emma would laugh, she wants to at how ridiculous this all is, but she’s not finding anything about today funny. Because while Neal will go back to New York and will be happy, she’s stuck here cleaning up the mess he just made because she has to do everything in her power to make sure her kid never knows the version of his dad she knows.

A phone call would have been nice. At least then she could have gotten Killian out of the house. She still would have been pissed, but at the very least, she would have been able to make things a little better than they are now.

“Shit,” Emma breathes out, looking toward the sky. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Emma inhales and exhales several times before forcing a smile and walking inside where Henry is eating the breakfast that was meant for her and talking to Killian about soccer of all things.

Well, not of all things. Most of the time, Emma forgets that Killian plays professionally. Hell, they talked about it yesterday, and it still isn’t at the forefront of her mind. That part of his life has nothing to do with hers…except for right now when Killian is talking to her son about it.

He still doesn’t have on a damn shirt.

“Mom, did you know Killian used to play soccer? Like, as a job. That’s so cool! Do you think he could coach my team?”

“I did know that, kid.” Emma kisses his forehead, and he squirms away. It’ll take him a week or two to get used to her kind of affection versus Neal’s, so she’s not too offended. “How do you know that?”

“I recognize him.”

“Since when do you watch a lot of British soccer? Or football as Killian calls it.” She mimics Killian’s accent, but she also knows she did a terrible job with it.

Henry shrugs and stuffs a large bite of waffle in his mouth. “Dad doesn’t have anything to watch on TV but sports channels. All I did during the day was watch old soccer matches.”

“Wait. Where was your dad?”

Henry shrugs again. “I don’t know. At work I guess.”

Neal works from home most days of the week. What an ass. Emma bets he didn’t even get someone to watch Henry. He just used old sports reruns to keep him entertained.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says, finally looking to Killian, “can you stay in here and eat breakfast while I talk to Killian in the other room?”

“Sure.”

Emma flashes a tight smile and then nods her head toward the stairs. Killian gets the message and walks upstairs without being asked, immediately heading toward the bedroom. He stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest, and Emma watches his jaw tick, the smile he had on for Henry a moment ago, gone.

Softly, Emma closes the door behind her.

“I have my personal question of the day, Swan. You have a son?”

Okay, great, so this is how it’s going to be. Emma opens her dresser drawer and pulls out a shirt for Killian. He catches it after she tosses it and tugs it on. It doesn’t help as much as she’d like it to.

“Okay, look,” Emma begins, “you were never supposed to meet Henry. He wasn’t…his dad was supposed to have him for three more weeks.”

“The contract on my rental house has more time on it than that.”

Emma runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “I don’t know. I would have figured it out. Only go to your place, spend less time together. I mean, it’s only natural, right? Because you’re going to leave, and it would make sense for things to die down between us.”

Killian laughs, but Emma gets the sense he doesn’t find any of this funny. “Yeah, it makes perfect sense. This was only about sex, right?”

“Killian.”

“No, no.” He holds his hand up. “It’s fine, Swan. I get it. It’s my fault for thinking we might be mates on top of that.”

“I mean, we are – kind of, maybe. I don’t know.” Emma sighs and sits on the end of her bed. She doesn’t know what to do. Even more, she doesn’t know what to say. She definitely doesn’t know how to feel. “It was never supposed to be like this. I’m usually better at not blurring the lines. I don’t know what happened with us that made me drop my guard.”

“I knew you found me charming.”

Emma laughs and falls back on the mattress. “I have a kid, Killian, and he’s back. I can’t be like I was. We can’t just fuck whenever we want or stay out late or eat pizza at three in the morning. I’ve got to make sure Henry has a place to stay and Mary Margaret is across the country visiting her parents so that’s out for awhile. And I’m still working two jobs because I thought I had time to do that. I don’t, God, I don’t know what to do about anything in my life. Plus, you know, I want to spend time with Henry, and I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“I could watch him, love. He’s a bit older than what I’m used to with my nieces, but I’m sure I can find ways to entertain him.”

Emma sits up. Her heart is beating way too fast, and suddenly, the true reality of this situation hits her.

The man she’s been sleeping with has met her son.

And he’s offering to babysit.

What the actual hell?

She needs time to think. And scream. She definitely has to scream into her pillow for at least an hour because she literally cannot think of another thing to do. This is all too much, and she needs Killian to leave. He makes this all too complicated. She needs to go downstairs and eat breakfast with Henry. That she can do. That’s not complicated. That’s something she’s done every day for ten years, even if it’s usually Pop Tarts or a bowl of cereal, not homemade waffles and eggs.

“Can you, uh,” Emma starts, biting her lip, “can you go home? I need to spend time with Henry. He won’t show it, but I know he knows why his dad brought him home early. I’ve got some crap to deal with, but I’ll text you later.”

His eyes narrow, and Emma knows that look by now. He knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t expect him to call her out on her lie.

And he doesn’t because as quickly as his eyes narrow, they widen and a slight smile creeps onto his lips. “I’ll see you later, Swan. I’ll get my clothes out of the machine downstairs and go.”

“Thanks.”

Killian doesn’t move, and Emma has a hard time looking at him until she does. His eyes are so damn blue. It’s ridiculous.

But then he moves. Leaves, actually, just like she asked him to, and she hears every single step as he leaves the house and gets into his car. Emma breathes out a sigh of relief, maybe a little confusion, and then she grabs her phone of her bedside table.

Not a single warning text or call from Neal, just like she thought. Ass.

ES: SOS. My house. 10 minutes.

RL: Are you dead?

ES: Yes, I’m texting you from beyond.

RL: I am hungover. Give me 30.

Emma tosses her phone on her bed and heads downstairs. The life she was living is over. Henry’s home, and she is his mom. That’s what she has to do, and right now, that means putting her anger at Neal and confusion with Killian behind her to go eat breakfast with her kid.

She can only partially ignore that Killian was making this breakfast for her.

For them.

-/-

“King Harold,” Ruby says when she walks through the door in her pajamas and immediately sees Henry, “welcome back to your seaside palace. Come give me a hug.”

“Only if you never call me Harold again.”

“I can’t agree to that, Harold.”

Henry rolls his eyes, but he hugs Ruby anyway. “My name is Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby kisses the top of his head. “You smell like waffles.”

“Killian made waffles for breakfast.”

“Killian did?” she asks, looking over Henry’s head toward Emma. Emma shrugs and cocks her head.

“Kid, why don’t you go unpack? When you’re finished, we’ll go to the beach before I have work.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Emma hums and nods at the stairs. “I told them I’d be late today. Get your bags and go.”

Henry quickly grabs his suitcases. They’re nearly bigger than him, but he manages to drag them up the stairs. Emma waits until she hears his bedroom door close, and then she moves to the kitchen and collapses on a barstool. Ruby fixes herself a plate of leftover food and starts eating. “I have eight thousand questions.”

Without lifting her head from the counter, Emma tries to answer at least half those questions. “Killian slept over and was making breakfast when Neal and Henry walked in, so they both met him, which went over as well as you’d expect. Neal didn’t tell me he was bringing Henry back early, but apparently his girlfriend got tired of having him around and wanted to go on vacation. Neal thought ambushing me was the best way to go about the situation, and then he got pissed about me having a guy over.”

Emma peaks up to see Ruby blinking. Slowly. Did she not process anything or is she just so hungover that it’s taking her a long time to figure out what to say?

“Was Neal charming or something when you guys were together?’

Emma laughs. “I was sixteen, and he paid attention to me. He might as well have been Prince Charming.”

“He’s the worst.” Ruby scrunches up her nose. “And you’re not a Prince Charming type of girl. I get more of a rebel vibe from you.”

“Yeah, because mom and restaurant manager means rebel.”

Rub leans over and pokes Emma’s nose. “I don’t think you know how badass you are, Emma Swan. Give me a minute to get some coffee and make more food because I definitely need to dissect everything that’s going on with you. Baby daddy and new boyfriend not included.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right. Just sex friend because you totally invite sex friends to parties at Marg’s place. That seems normal.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “I invited you here to help with a crisis. Not create a new one.”

“I’m just saying,” Ruby sighs, “Mr. Jones is a hell of a lot better than most of the guys you shack up with. Your unfortunate sperm donor included. I’d think about that if I were you. I mean, we both know you’re about to ghost him, but at least think about it, Emma.”

Yeah, maybe she will.

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[glassartpeasants]

Lovely

Tomura Shigaraki x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, cheating, 

A/N: (edit) To all that have seen the first authors note, don’t mind it. I was supposed to finish this awhile ago but never got around to it until now. But yes crying in the club is still going on it’s just on hiatus. But i promise its not going to be as long as the Hero wannabe hiatus. So either way enjoy it lol

~~~

You were no idiot, you saw the way he looked at her. Hearts in his eyes, stutters on his words, face red. All the tell tale signs of someone falling in love. It would have been sweet and cute if the person wasn’t your boyfriend.

Distance. That’s how it’s always been. No matter what you did you could never get Shigaraki to fully trust you. It was a struggle to even convince him to be your boyfriend and it was even more of a struggle to see people get way closer to him then you ever could. It hurt. You would make him food, give him gifts and everything under the sun cause you loved him. Honestly you feel like the only reason he said yes was out of pity. And that hurt even worse.

So you just watched. Watched as your boyfriend fall in love for another. You tried asking him about it and all he said was ‘it doesn’t matter, calm down jesus.’ which didn’t give you much comfort.

“Am I really that annoying?” You thought as you looked at your phones lock screen. Showing a picture of you and Shigaraki together. Normally looking at this picture would make you happy. But once getting a closer look, you see the reflection in his eyes as he stared at something while you took the picture. You try to get a closer look and let out a little sob once you saw the familiar body shape of the woman that Shigaraki wanted.

You open your phone and go to gallery. Immediately deleting said picture. You wanted one that just had you two in it. One where you both looked genuinely happy. Searching, searching, and searching only for nothing to come up. All of them he was frowning. You put your phone on your bed before fully collapsing on your bed. Sobs racked your body as you try to find excuses and reasons why he loves you.

But you couldn’t think of any.

~~~

You sat there, anger boiling inside you as you watched as that girl flirted with Shigaraki. And he didn’t say anything about having a girlfriend! Everyone could sense the tension in the room. Everyone wondering who would make the first move. You or Shigaraki. The last straw for you was when she kissed him on the cheek.

You stood up throwing your hands on the table startling everyone. You sent daggers at Shigaraki while you stomped out of the room. Slamming the door shut along the way. Anyone that passed you could obviously sense your untrained anger.

You walked to your room and got some clothes, shoving them in a backpack. You weren’t leaving forever just leaving for a little bit to clear your mind. You’ve watched this shit go down for how long? Watching as your boyfriend flirted with other women.

Putting the backpack straps over your shoulders you walk out of the  bar doors and into the alleyway.No words were exchanged with anyone when you left. They only saw you leave. No explanation. They didn’t even know where you were going. Which concerned them. Were you leaving them? Everyone seemed confused and interested at the drama that followed there new leader and his probably ex-girlfriend.

~~~

Shigaraki sat at his desk in his room. Lights off as the darkness consumed most of the room where his computer screen light couldn’t reach. His fingers tapping on the keys in furious manners as he watched closely, trying to stay alive.

“And here I am thinking I’m an asshole.” Shigaraki jumped causing his character to die. He turned to the burnt male, glaring at him with all his might.

“You are.” Shigaraki growled.

“At least I’m not the type of guy that cheats.” Dabi gave Shigaraki a deadpanned look.

“What the hell do you mean ashtray?”

“Oh please hand man, everyone knows your fucking that chick that keeps flirting with you.” Dabi sends Shigaraki a glare. Did he not see that you were hurting? Dabi was always protective since he saw you as a little sister.

“The hell do you mean? I haven’t been fucking anyone.”

“Thats a bunch of bullshit. You know that the girl that keeps flirting with you. That girl is probably only with you to be higher up. Unlike (y/n) who truly loves your selfish ass.”  Shigaraki only rolled his eyes before turning back to his screen.

“You don’t know what you have until it’s gone Shigaraki.” Dabi turned around and went to close the door behind him.

“And said thing is slipping through your fingers.”

~~~

“Yeah Dabi I’m fine. I just had to leave for a bit. I can only take so much ya know?” You spoke into the phone. Dabi had called you asking if you were okay. In which you told him that you just needed time to yourself.

“What do you think I should do? I can’t stand watching that girl flirt with him any longer. I feel as if I truly do mean nothing to him.” You felt tears rolling down your face as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Picking yourself apart trying to find whats so wrong with you that Shigaraki can’t love you.

“Dump him?” The thought of leaving Shigaraki burned your entire being. How could you just leave? Dabi made it sound so easy. But deep down inside you knew he was right. You never wanted to admit it but facing the facts seemed easier than just slowly suffering, watching as the man you adore never any attention to you.

“You know what. I’ll give him one more chance. If he fucks it up Ill dump him, I promise Dabi. Okay? See you later, bye.” You throw your phone on the hotel bed before flopping on the bed looking up at the ceiling. Breathing softly before you hold your knees to your chest. Hugging them as the overwhelming pain of sadness drifted you to sleep.

~~~

“Hey Shigaraki, I’m back. I even brought you McDonalds!” Well more or less stole it when the employee was handing it to the customer through the drive through window. But you thought it would do some good to try and be a good girlfriend.

But as soon as you open the door you heart drops and so does the McDonalds bag. There was your boyfriend, and that girl in bed. Having sex. Tears glazed over your eyes as you slam the door shut. stomping away. You try to rub away the tears that fell from your eyes. 

Fuck this, fuck Shigaraki and fuck the LOV. You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody! You can do whatever you want. You don’t need some cheating dick to tell you what to do. You can make a name for yourself! Be your own villain! Start your own organization! It will be better then the LOV could ever be!

Grabbing all your things, which wasn’t much, and shoving them all in a singular suitcase. It was heavy, but you rather be holding this than stay here. 

“(Y/N) where are you going?!” Dabi asked you, watching you leave out the bar door without a word.

~~~

(One day later)

Shigaraki sat at his little desk playing some video games when his stomach growled loudly. He let out a little huff before getting up and heading to the kitchen for dinner. He wondered what it was tonight. 

He walked into the kitchen only to see no one. No food on the table, nothing even started. Shigaraki scratched his neck a little irrated and went to your room only to see nothing. It was stripped dry. Like no one lived here in years.

Where was all your stuff? An unfamiliar feeling grew in Shigaraki’s stomach. What was this? Whatever this feeling was he hated it with a passion.

Scratching his neck with more vigor this time. Where were you? 

“Dabi have you seen-” Dabi’s fist had connected to Shigaraki’s face, knocking off father.

“Are you fucking serious you asshole? Who knew that you of all people would be a cheater.” Dabi growled at Shigaraki who in return punched him back. There were fists were flying as each other tied to get a winning hit on the other one.

“SHIGARAKI AND DABI! STOP IT IMMEDIATELY!” Kurogiri yelled at them as he teleported both men into there rooms. Dabi could be heard screaming at Shigaraki from his room and Shigaraki screaming at Dabi from his.

~~~

One week later

You laid down in the alleyway you back against a brick wall as the rain from that night soaked you. Your hair sticking to your face. Well at least this was some form of a shower right? Sighing you put your drenched hood up and hide your face into your knees crying as you hit rock bottom. 

To say it was cold was an understatement. It was fucking freezing! The cold wind combined by the rain made it feel like you were going to freeze to death. Well at least if you freeze to death you would never see his stupid face ever again-

“What happened to you? Why are you in the streets?” A voice called out to you. Sniffling you look up and see a man with auburn hair  looking down at you.

“I...my boyfriend of 2 years cheated on me for another girl...” You say as the pain was obvious in your voice.

“Such a shame, you seem as the kind to do anything for their lover.”

“Yeah i guess.”

“Well may i ask if your one for revenge?” His question made you arch an eyebrow as you look at him.

“Well at times yeah.”

“I’ll make you a deal, work for me and you’ll never be lonely again. We’ll think of a revenge plan for your lover, but that is if you work for me.” You looked up at the man and saw 2 more emerge from the darkness. You sat on the ground thinking for a bit before slowly getting up and nodding your head.

“Good, the names Overhaul. I’ll be your boss from now on.”

To be continued?....

[shesawriter39049]

|Breakdown’s & Bugatti’s| M|

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader (Ft a hint of Tae & Jin)

About- Namjoon just does what he has to do to keep you ....calm while at a charity gala!  

OR:

CHAPTER 1 : MEET THE KIMS OF NEW YORK 

**WARNINGS: **Semi public sex, Fingering (F receiving), Minimal prep, Light dirty talk, Light spit play, Choking, Spanking, Gags (Makeshift), Non protective sex (Creampie), light overstimulation

WC: 7K (This is a sneak peak so it’s 1.2k)

NON SEXUAL WARNINGS: (Fictional political background)  Hints at recreational drug use (Molly) Brief mentions of death, father issues, and panic attacks/anxiety (All of these topics are super minor but again, out of respect I’m mentioning them) 

The remaining “characters” will be introduced at a later date

This chapter hints at various future plots 

This is almost 2 years old, I reworked it recently 

If you’ve been following me for a while this is the original draft for “Club First Royale” 

FINAL NOTE: I haven’t been active in damn hear a year ( 8 months) So I am posting sneak peeks intentionally! No, not to torture you guys lol but to get my blog flowing again because I’m sure people aren’t really checking in anymore

OT7 ALTERNATING STORYLINES

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FINALLY, fuck 36737 years later you spot your Kim!

Standing there in all his glory, in a Valentino slim fit navy blue suit, the jacket appearing to have some sort of paisley print, opting against a tie. Leaving his crisp white dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, teasing at his broad carnalized chest as he makes his way from the bar. Heading over to the table, which has an empty seat waiting right beside him with your name written all over it...literally!

Purposely dodging the old lady to your left in a coat that would have PETA ready to throw hands! Gaudy diamonds, terrible Botox, and smelled as if she showered in an entire bottle Chanel No. 5! 

Yeah, no, sorry, not in the mood for another meet and greet right now!

“Joonie” Squeals from your lips once you’re in close enough proximity, his dark piercing eyes cut over to meet yours. A playful smirk tugging on those sinfully thick lips of his, accompanied by those disrespectful ass dimples!

“There she is!” Eyes dripping with warmth, as he ushered you in with open arms ,and in these types of situations, Namjoon felt like home, he was your safe space. “You look fuckin good” The words hushed into your hair in a tenor meant for your ears and your ears only! A hint of something a little more than just friendly playing on his tongue. 

A small little “Thank you” leaves your lips, and if I didn't know any better I’d think the compliment made you a little flustered.

Namjoon was the definition of Ocean arm’s and goddamn if you didn't just love how big this man was! It literally felt like he was hiding you from the entire universe when he has you nuzzled into his frame! The whole interaction couldn't have lasted longer than 20 seconds in all actuality but god you needed it! 

Face flush to his chest, wrapping your arms firm around his waist, letting your eyes flutter shut briefly, a deep slow exhale flooded through your body. Inhaling the musky yet sweet scent of his cologne mixed with his natural aroma, which has grown to become a calming mechanism over the years. 

“You had me worried for a minute…” Placing a quick kiss in your hair, that you would have missed if you blinked but again, your in public soo...

Palms soothing up and down your back gently, as he breathed into your hair , pulling back a little so there was some form of personal space between the two of you.  

“Your late, even for you princess...I know you started early, I got your live(Instagram) notification, so what happened?” Head clocked to the side as he appraises you and fuck, the bass in his voice still has you all types of fucked up! Glancing over your shoulder briefly before leaning up to place a kiss on the hinge of his jaw, that tittered the line of passing as an “innocent” greeting. 

“I’m fine Jonnie it’s nothing, we just got held up in glam.., Ariel was flying in from Miami...we got a late start” Gaze intentionally diverted as you welcomed yourself to his glass of Scotch instead. Damn near inhaling the entire drink as we speak and you hated dark liquor so that alone let him know something was up!  

Merely resisting the urge to smooth out the crease he felt forming between his brows, a dry snort left his lips, rolling his eyes in response to your blatant stubbornness. Nevertheless, always the gentleman, reaching down to pull out your chair so you could take a seat next to him. Mirroring your actions just moments prior, quickly scoping out his surroundings before he brought those plush pillows he calls lips a centimeter away from your ear.

Fuck. 

  “Right, so I'm just going to assume you don’t wanna talk about it right now! Or wait I’m sorry, have you just upgraded to insulting my intelligence straight to my damn face?” 

Brow quirked inquisitively, and you could literally feel every word, tone taking on a hint of seriousness the more he talked. Namjoon licked his lips and the tip skimmed the edge of your ear and I - . 

“For one you smell like an entire bottle of Heidsieck, I can almost taste the nicotine on your tongue and you've been crying I know you. ”  

Pulling back just enough to glare down at you above the brim of his glasses, which he always wore low along his bridge. Eyes daring you to look him in the face a lie again, teasing his fingers through his chocolate locks. Styled in the perfect semi grown out undercut, the top a little on the long side, while the sides tapered into a crisp fade. Sideburns outlining that extremely understated jawline of his! Though you had to admit the yellow gold diamonds dawning his ears were kinda stealing the show right now! 

“So again, do you just not wanna talk about it right now? Or have you forgotten that I have an IQ of 137, and can smell bullshit from here all the way to Gangnam!?” 

You're having very vivid day daydreams of your hand wrapped around this man's windpipe and for once it’s not even remotely sexual! 

Blatantly ignoring the strong twitch within Namjoon’s jaw and simply saying “I’m here, aren’t I!?” Face stoic, tone flat as all hell, in case it wasn’t clear that this conversation was more than over, you opted to eye his bourbon glazed salmon until he got the hint.

 “Oh, for fucks sake! ” Hissed from his lips without a lick of heat behind them, because as quiet as it’s kept ,your lowkey Joon’s baby, which is why he cares to begin with! Picking up a piece on his fork before essentially shoving it into your hand ”Your lucky I can’t have your ass getting sick on me tonight, we still have like, 3 hours left of this bullshit.”

More like he just can’t tell you no, but hey, whatever helps him sleep at night! Sliding his plate in your direction, completely giving up on eating at this point, he knew you needed it more anyway! Finally, starting to feel your mix of poisons hit your system so you knew you needed  to even it out with a little substance. I mean yeah, you could have just ordered your own plate but meh, this was easier! 

Namjoon started busying himself on his phone while you ate, scrolling through a couple contacts until he landed on a contact labeled under “Kookie”.

“Even though you were only late because “Your glam team ran late” There were air bunnies involved, and again you just really wanna choke his ass!  “What are you thinking tonight? He’s actually on his way here right now, but he already has a couple options on him...” 

The question was vague and for damn good reason...considering…

However you knew exactly what he was referring too.., and thank god!

Speaking over a mouth full of salmon, sounding utterly exasperated!  “Honestly, any fucking thing at this point…” 

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, sucking on a Bourbon soaked Ice cube “He’ll be here in 20, I just went with Smartees…always a safe bet...” 

Smartees, candy, Vitamin -E, Molly... Estcasy...it’s all one and the same, just depends on who you ask!

He leans back in, apparently keen on whispering tonight. “Maybe, if your a good girl and eat enough we can split one before we leave...chill you out a little bit. '' Voice thick and heady, lips curling into a grin with a hint of something wicked playing on the ends, as his fingers idly ghost over your forearm. Giving it a light squeeze and regardless of how innocent the skin-ship may seem to the naked eye, you’re well aware of all the underlying innuendos behind it! 

You make a noise of agreement, trying your damnedest to ignore the slight chill coursing up your spine at the pet name. Though before you could even dwell, Namjoon was sliding back in with another update, this one however wasn't as...arousing…to say the least!

“Fox 2’s been waiting for you to get here by the way...since the event was put together by council and all. They've been wanting to talk to us together about the fundraiser, just the same shit as last year.” 

Waving his hand dismissively idly twirling the various pieces of Bvlgari around his fingers, seemingly un-phased while you on the other hand...release the most exasperated huff! Reclining against your seat, eyes rolling to the back of your head in 30 different directions! Yeah, It comes with the territory, you know this, hints Namjoons reaction, or lack thereof!  But fuck you just really weren’t in the mood to do press tonight, It’s literally physically exhausting to pretend that you weren’t just PISSED! 

“Of -fuckin- course they do!” Stabbing your mashed potatoes in a way that's... somewhat concerning… 

“Baby.” It was a warning, though his voice sat barley above a whisper, his tone was crystal! Eyes cutting in your direction briefly before dropping back down to his phone….

You didn't have it in you to argue, there’s no way around this anyway, fuck it!  “What -the-fuck-ever!” Sliding the half empty plate aside “Well, you wanna just get it out of the way now? Because I’m really not in the mood for-”

“Y/n..oh my god! Hi, honey how are you!? You look beautiful as always…” Suddenly there was a human, a human wearing the wrong shade of foundation kissing your cheek. A human by the name of Caroline, one of the local news anchors...clearly her damn ears were ringing.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys, that’s all she wrote, well kinda, actually she finished it like 16 months ago lol but that’s all she wrote for now I guess....

**_

_****Love you...see ya soon!!**

***SIDE NOTE, MY FRIEND MADE THE TWITTER EDIT SO DON’T ASK LOL IDK ****

UPDATE: HEADCANONS FOR THE KIM BOYS/OC

  HEADCANONS

[00gangfriend00]

nsfw headcanon (more like a prompt): brio sexting

WHEEEEEE thank you darling this is a fun one!! 

this one is just post 2x05,  mid-forced partnership and of course, need I even say, post- bathroom break.

(rio getting high while sexting hc credit to @odenkirk on AO3. its my fav thing ever)

Typically, he doesn’t look forward to comin’ home. It only really feels like one when Marcus’ is around, so when it’s Rhea’s week like it is today - far too quiet. 

Besides, he’s never been one to rest, relax, rejuvenate or any of that shit. He likes to be on the go, make things happen. Ain’t really one for TV either. 

Not tonight though. Tonight, after the type of day he just had, can’t think of nothing better than getting in a hot shower. There’s  fat joint in his sock drawer callin’ his name.

Maybe he’d order in. Somethin’ nice. There’s a new Thai place down the street, yah that’s what’d he’d do.  It’s not until he’s in his sweatpants, lit up, listening to the traffic below (way below, this shits on the top floor), that he feels like he’s finally home. .  He is closing his eyes, letting the smoke wind it’s way in through his senses, letting the cool night air take the edge off the evening, when his phone beeps.

He’d meant to turn it on silent, really take the night to off, but of habit he glances at the alert.

Elizabeth.

‘Course it is. 

It’s late too, cause that’s her huh. Always thinkin’ he’s at her beck and call. Whatever she wants when she wants it.

He taps in the password, ready to roll his eyes at whatever passive aggressive emoji she’s sent him, but he pauses 

Elizabeth has sent a photo.

Huh.

He clicks the image. A shark tooth grin spreads across his face as a familiar bourbon bottle comes into view. (Open too, he notes).  Shit,  he’d almost forgotten he’d done that, taken the money and left the booze. It was petty, sure and a bit dramatic but... cars for cash? That was smart. No way he’s lettin’ that slide through his fingers. 

Or her.

Fuck, she was a pain in the ass but he liked her. A lot. She was cool, way cooler than that slice of white bread she married. He wasn’t about to stand by while that dumb piece of shit drove her plans for washing cash into the ground. What a waste.

She didn’t want the kingdom, but he’s calling bullshit.  He just needs to yank her ponytail a bit, get her worked up, then she’d play the game.  That’s all.

So yah, maybe it was a bit of a dick move. But then, maybe it worked?

He checks the clock on his cell before cracking his knuckles and settling in. 11:30pm. 

Alright, she’s up, she’s opened his booze. So, she’s drinkin’  and she’s textin’ him. Okay.  He rolls his shoulder back, excitement pooling in his stomach. Let’s see where this goes.

“Got you the good stuff.” Send.

E: I don’t want it.

R:  Oh yah?

E: I want my money back.

R: My money. You gotta earn it.

The line goes dead for a moment or two, typing bubbles appearing and reappearing occasionally. He takes a final drag before ashing into the patio floor. 

E: And how do I do that?

Rio hums aloud as he spreads his legs, absentmindedly palming his crotch. He tries to picture her. She’s probably alone if she’s up this late, probably leaning on the kitchen island, drink in hand, twirlin’ those curls again. 

I mean, there’s a chance she’s not bein’ sexy at all. Just mad at him and wanting him to know but..

Nah. He’s pretty sure the vibe is right.

R: I know lots of establishments that got bathrooms, sweetheart.

E: I’m not sleeping my way to the top.

R: You already at the top mama, just enjoy the view.

The line goes dead again for a beat, but he’s half hard in his pants. Needs more. Needs her.

R: You thinking about it?

E: Yes.

God damn, this woman.

R: Tell me what’s on your mind.

E: Just how you felt.

R: Inside you?

E: Yah.

R: You liked that huh?

E: Yes.

He’s panting now, just a couple of pretty tame texts and he’s all worked up. Jesus.  

R: Touch yourself.

E: I am.

[deleteddewewted]

Incel!Shinsou Oneshot: "Why are you acting like that?”

To keep busy I just thought that a oneshot of Shinsou getting self conscious/needy would be cute since we already have his redemption arc rolling in. The next part of the Incel!Shinsou series (Part 3) will have him proving his worth at the Sports Festival. So in thinking of how he will prove himself to you I thought of how will all of those people affect him, especially you. ( This oneshot takes place pre changes, so Shinsou is still his disgusting self but he's figuring out how to woo a woman, especially of your caliber.)

Incel!Shinsou Series:

Part 1: Incel! Shinsou x F!Reader

Part 2: Incel! Shinsou x F!Reader

Incel!Shinsou Headcanons

"I know what you're doin' here. Made your intentions clear. Oh you, you terrible thing, you. Terrible thing, you. Terrible thing, you. Beautiful thing"

TW: Strong Language, Mild Sexism

People were never an obstacle when it came to the things Shinsou wanted. He’s aware that others would do anything for him if he played his cards right. The right words with the right question did wonders for him. So why the fuck couldn’t he have what he wanted when it came to you? You drove him up the wall with the kindness you showed him. He didn’t deserve it and you’re existence almost felt like a punishment from whatever deity that existed out there to make him suffer. You guys were suppose to be studying for your upcoming project that required a poster, a slide show, and one influential person that would help prove your projects point. You left him running circles within his own mind as to how you were so willing to challenge him. He wanted you to obey him not see through his bullshit. It wasn’t like you didn’t listen to him vent, or didn't give him attention, but he wanted to hold you under his control. To be the person you listened to.

In class you where both seated on the extreme ends of the room on opposite sides. You never realized this (you do), but his head would periodically turn towards your direction to look at you, to figure you out (liar). This time, you managed to catch him do it.

“What are you doing?” You asked plainly. You honestly didn’t care that he was staring, everyone does when you dress like you're attending an MCR concert in the middle of autumn.

“You look different....today.”

“Nice.” It was difficult to care. Shinsou was just some guy in your class that you had to deal with. Nothing special really....ok, maybe it wasn’t fully true. You didn’t really know him all that well or anything (Unless it was mocking and belittling everything you did, that was normal behavior for him so it wasn’t surprising to find out he was like that outside of campus.) but he wasn’t all that bad? If he cared for himself a bit more, hygiene wise he would be considered handsome or at least a competent human being (you weren't going to call him a man, men don't act this childish. At least the ones you knew.) Maybe then you would take his opinion seriously, but for now you’ll ignore his...interesting comments he's been throwing towards you today.

“It’s rude to ignore someone when their talking to you, you know?” The neutral face he had now possessed a frown and a furrow to his brows. You still couldn’t process how he took the time to make sure his hair stayed purple but didn’t care for his body odor. (This man dyes his hair purple yet cant bother to shower or use deodorant for once in his life.)

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m just not interested in anything you have to say.” With that you get up and take your things and leave. There was no point in wasting time on someone who couldn’t even look at you directly and had to also sneak glances at you. "Do I really look that unbearable?" you thought to yourself. In the end you didn’t care anymore, everyone was entitled to an opinion and the last thing you need is feeling self conscious because of your out of place classmate.

Shinsou was fuming. How the fuck did you just get up and leave his ass while he was trying to complement you. You should have been more appreciative that he was giving you his attention for once. A bitch like you wasn't even worth it so he doesn't understand why he even tried with you.

He never goes directly home after school but instead to the local theater. It was one of the few places where he could be around others and could genuinely be himself. It was weird, he didn't feel like himself when he was speaking with his "friends", friends that he's never spoken to verbally, never seen, and never would meet. He knew that he didn't deserve this, to have a safe haven when he acts like an ass, yet here he was.

"Good morning Shinsou! How are you? Are you ready for rehearsals? You did remember to read your lines, right?" Shinsou rolls his eyes at his theater mates antics. Monoma never seems to stop but he does know when to tone it down and when it comes to Shinsou he tones it down a bit. (Because Monoma is canonically considerate of others, look back the Sports Festival and the Joint Training Arc.)

"Im good man, yes i did read and memorized the script, dont worry about it." What an odd friendship, the most chaotic gentleman like man out the bunch with the quietist incel in the group. Shinsou should have seen it coming when he was adopted by Monoma but he's running on 2 to 4 hours of sleep so he doesn't really care.

Believe it or not Shinsou does take showers (only for theater) but very quickly and with no care (no shampoo or soap, fucking why man.) Theater means more to him and so making his character look the best they possible can was his first and foremost priority. He puts on his costume, gets to makeup (the minimum, because it's "gay" for him to wear makeup and since the world is unfair and cruel he has perfect skin for a greasy headed asshole.)

"Everyone get a move on! Kodai, Tsuburaba, and Awase! Go to stage left! Light techs, how's it up there?" One of the tech heads shouted out. Shinsou and Monoma got to their positions on the stage and the rehearsals began.

Love, the play was about love. Love that wasn't rejected but also not accepted. He didn't understand the concept fully. Was it romantic? Platonic? Familiar? Admiration? He loved his dad, but he mostly admired him. He worked long hours and middle resents him for not being there for him, yet he realizes that his dad works to give him the world, a home with all the things he wanted. He never had a mother so he never had parental or familiar, again his dad was there but he wanted a parent that would hold him when he came back from school everyday. He didn't have a girlfriend, so he doesn't know romantic. So far all of his characters where villains, or evil in some way. He was starting to get sick of them. Shinsou wanted something more, wanted to play a character that wasn't how everyone saw him as on his day to day life. He wanted a challenge, he wanted....affection. Just to show it. He wanted attraction. Just to abuse it. He wanted...love. To just...maybe...feel...enjoy...understand it.

"You terrible thing you. My love, you're so cold. You've left me hanging on every one of your words. You've made me loose my self, lose my self-control because of you!" He pours everything into his performance, his loneliness, his regrets, his experience. He's been told by his co-performers and directors that he has a great future in the arts, in theater. If he just took care of himself more he would be an amazing actor, not only incredibly talented but also attractive. He would have the world kneeling, bowing to him just from his words alone. He could have anything he wanted just because of his existence.

" You've made me do things i don't want to do...for you." Kodai stands there looking horrified. He's covered in blood, the blood of her lover, the one she left him for.

"No, i-i didn't-"

"YOU MADE ME-MADE DO THIS FOR YOU! You terrible, terrible, terrible thing! You beautiful thing, I've done this for you!...and you still cant and won't love me." He doesn't see Kodai anymore. It's not her face he sees, nor her voice that he hears.

Its you...its your voice. You. You looking back at him while he slowly lowered himself to kneel and crawl towards you. It's you who backs away from him as he starts to cry and hiccup.

"You wreck me, you made me. You leave me in your wake, please let me go!" He sees you and feels you grabbing his wrists back, pushing him into himself.

"Don't you ever let me go...."

You terrible beautiful thing, you.

And here we are again. This was a lot fun to write since it feels more concrete when it comes towards his personality and his full thought process. In many cases people like Shinsou just want attention or some sense of validation, which there is nothing wrong with wanting those things but it's more about the manner you go about it. You shouldn't pressure or force others to spend time with you, but there is always someone out there that will like to give you those things.

Tag list: @blossominglark