#I will write the hell out of anything you ask me to

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push my heel into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[ellieputellas]

can you write roommate!alexia smut

caught in the act | a. putellas x reader

— You catch your roommate Alexia touching herself to your photos.

tags: roommate!Alexia, barçaB!reader, smut, masturbation, mentions of fingering, mention of age gap, a bit of degradation and dirty talk, not proofread 🔞 wc: 2k+

Alexia hated having you as a roommate.

It wasn't because of the fact that you had a bad habit of putting off washing the dishes until the next morning; she learned to deal with it and wash them for you whenever it did bother her. It also wasn't because you were always watching Netflix past midnight, at full volume while she tried to get enough sleep for early morning training the next day, fully knowing the walls between your rooms were paper thin. She's learned to fall asleep to the sound of Brooklyn 99 or whatever American TV show you were addicted to at the time. It wasn’t even the fact that she’d have to set her alarm at least 30 minutes ahead of the usual time she’d wake up just so she could force you out of bed so you could both attend your respective training sessions on time.

Instead, she hated how oblivious and clueless you were to how she felt about you.

Just now, there you were in the living room watching a dumb show on Netflix as you simultaneously swiped on Bumble. She hated seeing you looking at other girls, or even getting all dolled up for dates with other girls.

She knew your type. You liked tall, fellow athletes with great style. She wondered why you never noticed her when she fit your type so well. She rolled her eyes at the sight of you fiddling with the dating app and just wanted to return to her room but you already noticed her presence.

"Hey, Alexia." You said calmly. “Come over here.”

She sighed. "Yeah?"

"What do you think about her?" You said as you chewed on the chips you were loudly snacking on. (That was another thing Alexia let you get away with — snacking everywhere and anywhere leading to a mild ant problem.)

Alexia sat beside you on the couch and leaned in to look at your phone. It was someone from Levante’s B team. Alexia frowned. She had to admit. This girl was undeniably hot with her tattoos and fit body but she knew she looked just as good as this player. If not that, she sure as hell was a better player. That should have been some merit to her.

"She’s okay..." It was all she could say to you. She didn’t want to come off as the jealous roommate.

"Really? I kinda think she's smoking hot." You said with a confused look. “She’s the hottest player I’ve played against on the pitch.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and wanted to make a snide comment but let it slide.

“She asked me out after we switched shirts after our match, and I smelled her shirt and it smelled good as fuck.” You shared, making Alexia roll her eyes again. “Plus, she’s taller than I am and you know how that’s my type… but our texts have been stale and boring as fuck.”

Alexia shrugged and tried to focus on the show you were shamelessly ignoring already. “Then just don’t go out with her.”

You sighed. “Yeah… but there is this rookie footballer I matched with on Bumble, she plays for…” You continued to tell Alexia about the other girls you were talking to but she just didn’t give a fuck.

She didn’t wanna know anything about the other girls you were seeing while she’s been into you for so long.

"Anyway, can you help me pick photos from my weekend trip with Emma? She's so great at taking photos that I feel like I have to make two separate posts on instagram just to include all of my hot photos." You said before giving your phone to Alexia. "Just swipe through them and heart all the photos you like."

As soon as she grabbed your phone, she felt her body heat up. The first photo of you was you in front of the pool with your arms up, laughing gleefully. You were wearing the tiniest bikini with a bra top just big enough to cover your nipples and that incredibly skimpy underwear.

All Alexia could think about was pushing them to the side and fucking you hard with her fingers.

Alexia blinked. "You're so...." She couldn't find the words. "Naked?"

You laughed at the older woman’s reaction. "That's all you could say?"

Alexia ignored you, completely fixated by the photos of you. Alexia liked the first photo and proceeded to swipe. The second photo was you with your back turned, exposing your ass. Alexia could feel her mouth salivate as the dirtiest thoughts entered her mind. She kept scrolling, admiring every curve and crevice of your body. She loved the way your boobs spilled over your bra and the way your thong rode up your ass and accentuated your perfect hips. She loved your collarbones but she loved the thought of marking them with her mouth more.

She was practically liking every photo, unable to think objectively of what works on Instagram or whatever. She loved seeing you this exposed.

"You never dress like this usually." Alexia commented, still going back and forth with your photos. She was pretending to be analytical with your photos but her mind was just filled with obscenities.

You huffed. “You only see me in a kit or here at home when I dress like a slob. You don’t know what I dress like.”

Alexia furrowed her eyebrows. “I’ve seen you get dressed up for dates. You’re not usually so…” She shook her head. “Whatever. I never would have imagined you’d like wearing something so tiny.”

Alexia had to swallow as her mouth had been watering at the sight of your photos. You chuckled, oblivious to your roommate's reaction. "Well, you would know that I actually do love tiny swimwear if only you went swimming with us more.”

Alexia took a mental note to say yes to every opportunity to see you in a skimpy bikini. "Still, you never post stuff like this. You only ever post game photos or food photos. This is just out of character for you.” She added on. "You must be posting to impress someone, huh?"

You furrowed your eyebrows and rolled your eyes at her. "I feel like I’m just more grown now. Like, grown enough to post more skin.” You explained. “Besides, can’t I post for myself?”

Wish you would post for me, Alexia thought.

You looked over at Alexia who was still looking through your photos. "God, what's taking you so long? Mesmerized by my tits?"

"You're so cocky." It was all Alexia could say as she blushed. She felt like it was so wrong to be thirsting over her younger roommate like this but she couldn’t help it. You were exactly what she wanted.

You chuckled. "I told you. Emma took really good photos of me! I know I look hot in those."

You looked through the photos Alexia liked and realized the only photos of you she didn't like were the ones where you were covered up. You stifled a chuckle. "Okay, I guess I should post these immediately since it would be so selfish of me to deprive the world of these photos any longer."

"So arrogant." Alexia scoffed under her breath but unbeknownst to you, it turned her on. She loved it when you got all confident. It made her want to praise you and degrade you at the same time. "I'm going back to my room to review some things for some brand deal. Text me if you wanna order food or cook for dinner later."

You absentmindedly nodded as you typed up the perfect Instagram caption and chose the perfect thirst-trap song to go with the Instagram post.

Alexia headed back in her room and immediately pulled out her iPad, refreshing her Instagram feed incessantly. "C'mon, c'mon..." She muttered under her breath. "Just post already."

Finally, your post popped up.

Alexia felt like she couldn't breathe as she was finally able to get a better look at them through the bigger screen. She was finally free to zoom in to your perfectly shaped tits without worrying you'd see. She bit her lip.

It was almost a built-in instinct or bodily response to her the way she immediately positioned herself in front of her iPad; she wasted no time. She propped the device on her bed, blasted a song loud enough to mask her noise, swiftly took off her bottoms, and eventually, guided her hands to feel her own slick with her fingers. She was soaked already just from seeing you.

"Fuck," She muttered as she began rubbing herself, looking at the photo of you on her device. She wished she could have a gigantic TV screen just so she could see more of you at a bigger scale. She wanted to be overwhelmed by the sight of you — to be consumed by your beauty.

She rubbed her clit in circles as she kept her eyes glued on the screen. She cursed again. She thought about your tits. She wondered how they'd feel in her hands. She wanted to feel the softness against her rough and imposing hands; she wanted to know if that kind of touch would make you whimper. She wondered what colors your nipples were and how they'd look and feel... and taste. She so badly wanted to push her tongue against them.

Her legs shivered as she imagined taking your breast in her mouth, sucking on it mercilessly as you moaned under her.

In reality, Alexia was alone in the darkness of her room — her tanned skin illuminated by the sole source of light from her device that blasted music to mask her grunts and the obscene sounds of her wetness.

But in her imagination, Alexia was in your room on top of you, sucking on your breasts as she positioned her knee against your core. In her imagination, you loved to beg and whine. So there you were, underneath her, squirming as she sucked on your nipple and used her hands to play with the other one. She just could tell you were the sensitive type and the idea of you almost teary-eyed due to sheer pleasure caused by her made her even wetter.

She opened her eyes once again to catch a glimpse of you in that one photo where you had a serious face as you slightly bent over. She groaned as she caught sight once again of the flesh of your boobs pressing against the fabric of your bikini. "Fucking whore." It escaped her mouth in a grunt.

In her imagination, you were dressed in the same skimpy bikini. She had your bra cups pushed to the side to grant her easy access to lick all over your boobs, leaving the occasional mark whenever she desired.

"Please, Alexia." She could practically hear your voice say it. "Fuck me now."

Alexia plunged her fingers into her cunt, causing her to grunt loudly as she pumped in and out of herself as mercilessly as she would have with you.

She was fixated on the thought of her fingers thrusting so hard in and out of you that your tits jiggled with every thrust. Alexia somehow felt you were the type to moan loudly, grab your own tits, and beg to fuck her deeper.

"Alexia! Fuck me!"

"You want me so bad, huh? You fucking slut?" She groaned under her breath, almost breathless and winded from how rough she was fucking herself. "I'll fuck you so hard, you'd go stupid."

"Alexia, harder! Please!" The imaginary voice in her brain told her. It felt so realistic

"Yeah?" She called out your name, almost in the form of an animalistic grunt. "You fucking want it harder? You a fucking slut for me?"

She increased the speed of her thrusting, causing her to moan loudly in succession. "Fuck," She said, followed by calling out your name. "Tell me who you belong to."

She pumped in and out of herself, causing her to convulse in the building pressure inside her. Her eyes were shut close but the photo of you in your bikini was permanently burned inside her mind.

"I belong to you!" Her imagination called out.

"Say my name then." She groaned.

"Alexia," It sounded so soft and gentle.

"Louder." She growled as she imagined that it was your pussy she was roughly thrusting into. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she felt herself approaching orgasm. “Say it.”

"Alexia?!" It was practically an exclamation. It felt so real that your voice echoed in her ears.

As Alexia opened her eyes, she was met by the sight of you standing at the door of her room with a shocked face. Almost immediately after, Alexia moaned out loud as her orgasm arrived.

It took half a second for her to realize that she wasn't imagining it anymore. You were there, standing and watching her fuck herself while her obnoxiously larged iPad displayed a photo of you.

"Oh shit." She was in trouble.

a/n: not proofread. part 2 anyone? (also thank u for ur requests!)

[jayparked]

well done <33 can i please ask for 68 and hee?

"i'm sorry...what?" heeseung leans forward, eyebrows knit tightly together in confusion.

"you heard me."

"no! i don't think i did!" scoffing with a nervous chuckle, heeseung stands up from the chair in your room and places both hands on top of his head, pacing back and forth.

"please heeseung i hate being so inexperienced. no one has let me do it before so please just let me do it once. i swear it won't change anything with our friendship."

heeseung can't believe what you're saying, genuinely cannot believe what the hell you are talking to him about. he's been your friend since middle school and now that you're in your second year of college the friendship seems pretty set in stone for life.

"say it again," he mumbles, now turning to face you.

"let me ride you."

"fuck...alright. but you're stupid if you think this won't change anything so i hope you're sure about this." truth is, heeseung has been trying to get over the fact that he's been in love with you since the first day you two met. only recently did he finally feel like he was making progress and even contemplated the idea of seriously pursuing this one person who was dropping major hints they are into him (it's the barista at his college campus. they leave their number on heeseung's cup every single day with cute messages and doodles).

but you just had to ask him this, something he would never be able to refuse.

minutes pass in a blur and suddenly both of your clothes are off and heeseung is laying on his back, on hand behind his head as he tries to get a good look at you without completely ogling.

you get on the bed and straddle his hips, careful not to lower yourself on his hardened cock. you wish you had a few more moments to just stare at it, completely thrown off with the length and girth your best friend has been packing this whole time. the thought of that going inside you is exhilarating and terrifying.

once you look into your best friends eyes though and see all the feelings he's tried to hide all these years, you don't hesitate and take the plunge. the way he stretches your walls has you gasping outloud, having to rock your hips back and forth slightly to try and help the stretch.

"ah...oh yeah, y/n, fuck you're so tight." heeseung's hands are on your waist but his eyes are on your chest. with a quick eyeroll you grab his hands and place them where his eyes were.

"you don't know how many times i've dreamed of this happening," he whispers.

with a laugh you reply with a simple, "me too," your stomach fluttering when you see the shocked look on his face. heeseung opens his mouth to say something, but you're fully sheathed on him now and immediately put your hand on his chest to stable you as you grind your hips against his crotch. all that comes out of heeseung's mouth for the next few moments is a slough of swear words, praises, and "i can't believe we've never done this before"'s. and once he's coming undone underneath you all he can ask is if you can do that again exactly how you did it before, because fuck that felt so good and he needs it tattooed into his memory.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist

[starsjulia]

labour // leah williamson

a/n : i giggled a lot writing this.

warnings : none really, set in a hospital, reader being gobby

Leah was ready for anything. At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself for nine months. She’d read books, watched videos, and even gone to a birthing class where she’d accidentally fainted during the “miracle of life” video. But now, with you gripping her hand like you were trying to crush her metacarpals, she realized nothing could have prepared her for this.

“You’re doing amazing,” Leah said softly, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“shut the fuck up you evil woman,” you growled, your head snapping toward her with the intensity of a woman possessed. “one more bloody ‘you’re doing amazing, and i’m going loose it”

Leah blinked. “Alright, cool, cool, cool. I’ll just… stop talking.”

“Good idea,” you hissed, then immediately let out a pained groan that shook the room.

The midwife, a chipper woman who apparently didn’t fear death, tried to help. “Let’s focus on breathing—”

“Don’t you start with the breathing! I AM BREATHING, AREN’T I?!”

Leah glanced at the midwife apologetically. “She’s normally lovely. I promise.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for me!” you barked. “You did this to me, you fucking cunt! You and your stupid, sexy smile!”

Leah couldn’t help but smirk. “You think my smile is sexy?”

“NOT THE TIME”

An hour later, you were in what the midwife called “active labor” and what you called “the seventh circle of hell.” Leah, to her credit, was trying to keep it together, but you weren’t making it easy.

“How about I go stand up front with the midwife?” she suggested, trying to be helpful. “You know, cheer you on from the sidelines—”

“ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT!” you yelled, grabbing her wrist then smacking her arm with surprising strength for someone in so much pain. “YOU ARE STAYING BACK HERE, WITH YOURE WIFE. I can feel my fanny ripping in half, ain’t no way in hell your seeing that”

Leah blinked, torn between amusement and terror. “Babe, that’s not—”

“NOT TAKING ANY BLOODY CHANCES!”

“Alright,” Leah muttered, holding her hands up. “I’ll just stay here then.”

“Good,” you snapped. Then, as another contraction hit, you added, “But you’re still not getting sex for a year. Minimum.”

Leah gasped in mock horror. “A YEAR?!”

“Maybe two! Depends on how long it takes me to forget THIS,” you shouted, gesturing wildly to your entire body before screaming in agony once again.

“Didn’t you say earlier that you’d forget everything once you saw the baby’s face?” Leah asked you.

You leveled her with a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel. “FORGET WHAT I SAID EARLIER! one more word from you woman and i’m getting a divorce.”

By hour nine, the room had descended into chaos. You cussing out at everyone in sight, including the poor anesthesiologist who had tried to offer you an epidural.

“I don’t care if it’s late in the game!” you shouted. “Stick the bloody needle in my spine, you fucking COWARD!”

The anesthesiologist froze.

Leah quickly intervened. “She doesn’t mean that.”

“I MEAN EVERY WORD!”

“She’s in pain,” Leah added, patting his arm. “She called me a ‘stupid, gorgeous twat’ earlier. It’s just how she expresses love.”

The anesthesiologist looked unconvinced but did as you asked, and for the first time in hours, you seemed to relax.

“Thank God,” you muttered, leaning back against the pillows. Then, turning to Leah, you added, “Don’t get comfortable. I’m still mad at you.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the midwife smiled. “Alright, one more big push!”

“One more?” you snarled. “THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID THREE PUSHES AGO, JANET!”

“Her name is Emma,” Leah whispered.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT HER NAME IS!”

Leah bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Alright,” the midwife—Emma—said patiently. “Let’s do this together. Big push!”

With a guttural scream that would’ve put banshees to shame, you gave one last push, and suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of a baby’s cry.

“She’s here!” Leah exclaimed, tears streaming down her face as the midwife placed the tiny, squirming bundle on your chest.

You stared down at your daughter, your entire world shifting in an instant. “Oh my God,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. “She’s perfect.”

“She is,” Leah agreed, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“She’s also loud,” you added. “Definitely gets that from you.”

“Oi!” Leah protested, but her grin gave her away.

Later, as your daughter nursed contentedly, you looked at her with a soft smile. “You know,” you said, stroking her tiny hand, “your muma is going to be so jealous. You’ve stolen her favorite spot.”

Leah gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Innocent ears! Did you just tell our newborn daughter about—”

“Yes,” you interrupted. “And she’s got a right to know.”

Leah shook her head, feigning devastation. “I can’t believe you’d corrupt her like this. On her first day. What kind of example are you setting?”

From the corner of the room, Leah’s mum, who had been quietly observing the whole thing, finally spoke up.

“Right, well,” she said, smirking, “this has been the most entertaining day of my life.”

You groaned, burying your face in your free hand. “Oh, God. You’re still here.”

“Still here,” her mum confirmed, grinning. “And I can’t wait to tell this story at Christmas.”

Leah burst into laughter while you muttered something about filing for divorce.

That night, as you lay in bed with your daughter snuggled between you and Leah, you sighed.

“I guess I forgive you,” you murmured.

“For what?” Leah asked, her voice soft.

“For putting me through hell today.”

Leah grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Does this mean the sex ban is off?”

You shot her a look. “Don’t push your luck, Williamson.”

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

a Second Chance | Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

Summary: After being in a secret relationship with Rafe and becoming pregnant, he denied the entire relationship, making it known your son wasn’t his. However, he can’t deny it for much longer - your son is the spitting image of Rafe. 

Part 1 

A/N: This is a continuation of the fic above. This can be read as stand alone or you can read the other first for a bit of background on how things played out and telling Rafe you were expecting. 

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Your son's giggles were music to your ears. You smiled in adoration at his uncle JJ chasing him through the yard, his little toddler legs moving as fast as they could. He loved his uncle JJ. And his other aunts and uncles too. After all the drama with Rafe, he and the other Pogues stepped in, becoming your village and boy are you glad you had them. You wouldn’t have been able to do it without them. 

Rafe continued the story, the baby wasn’t his and you were never in a relationship. However, as time has passed, people are starting to get suspicious, especially as your son grows because he’s the spitting image of Rafe. It is getting to the point, Rafe truly can’t deny him. 

“Come on boys, let's get to the beach before it gets crowded,” You call out to JJ and Jackson; the other Pogues loading up in the Twinkie. You and JJ worked hard, going in half on a car that JJ rebuilt to make it drivable. JJ knew the Twinkie wouldn’t be a safe vehicle to transport his tiny nephew and made it his mission to find you something sustainable and reliable. 

“Mama!” Jackson squeals as he nears, jumping into your arms. 

You laugh and kiss his head before placing him in his carseat and securing him. “Ready to go to the beach?” 

He nods with a big grin; Rafe’s smile. The smile you’d fell in love with. You can’t deny it doesn’t hurt a little when you look at your son, because staring back is Rafe and all the hurt that came with him. But you wouldn’t trade Jackson for anything in the world. He’d brought light into your life and filled your broken heart. Jackson is so smart and intelligent, even at only 3 years old. He’s got a sweet and loving personality and he loves when he can make you laugh. And Rafe is missing it all, time he will never get back.

~

After settling at a spot on the beach, you all unpacked, setting the chairs and umbrella up. Pope dropping the cooler under the umbrella with a grunt, “jeez what the hell did you guys pack in that thing.” 

Jackson started tugging you toward the water, “come mama!” 

“No baby hold on, let's put sunscreen on first. Then you can get in the water.” 

He pouts but stops tugging, letting you lather him in the sunscreen. 

“Once mama is finished me and you can go check out those waves!”  JJ holds his fist to Jackson, who returns with a fist bump. 

“Alright you’re finished!” You kiss him on the head and he takes off toward the water with JJ. JJ picks him up and wades into the water with him. Jackson laughing hysterically as the waves crash against them. 

“beer?” Kie asks, as you take a seat in the beach chair next to her. 

"Yes thank you,” you sigh, taking a sip, “I love that the beach is nearly empty-” 

Loud music catches you and the other Pogues attention, watching as a couple trucks and a jeep drive thru the sand behind you. You recognized Topper’s jeep and groaned. 

“Please keep driving..” Sarah pleads. 

“Anywhere but here.” Kie adds. 

“Of course.” John B says as they stop a little ways down the beach, “This entire beach and they pick that spot?” 

You take a sip of your beer, nearly choking on it as you see someone hop out of the dark blue truck. Rafe. 

“Shit.” Kie mumbles. 

He rounds the truck and opens the passenger side, another person gets out of the truck and it’s Sofia. 

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, “you gonna be ok?” 

You give her a reassuring smile and nod, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine.” You gaze out at the ocean, JJ has noticed the kooks and he looks over at you, a look of concern on his face. You nod at him, letting him know you’re okay. He continues to play with Jackson, holding his hand as he stands with his toes in the sand, jumping over the waves as they break against the beach. 

“We’re both adults here. Maybe me more than him but it’s ok.” You glance between Sarah and Kie, “He’s living his best life - while I raise our son that he denies is his.” 

John B squeezes your shoulders, “And you’re doing a damn good job at it too.” 

The rest of the Pogues pipe in, “Hell ya you are,” “You’re killing it.” 

“Thanks you guys,” Your eyes dance between the Pogues, “I couldn’t have done it without you guys,” Your eyes grow teary, “Ok okay stop you guys are gonna make me cry,” You shake your hands out, wiping your face, “enough sappy talk. Let’s enjoy our beach day!” 

~ 

Rafe watches you and the Pogues playing with Jackson by the water, taking a sip of his beer. 

Sofia comes up beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist, “Her son is cute,” She says with a smile, looking up at him. 

He hums in response, not pulling his eyes from you and Jackson. He knew now, there was no denying Jackson. He looked just like him. Topper flat out asked the other day if Jackson was his. 

“He looks just like you man.” 

Rafe shrugged, “I don’t see it. He’s not mine though. She was screwing everyone on the island. There’s no telling who the father is.” He tried to keep up with the lie, but Topper wasn’t stupid. Topper knew you weren’t sleeping around, you’d never been like that. But he let him continue the lie, dropping the topic completely. 

“I bet our kids will be cute.” 

Now that caught his attention. He snaps his head toward her, “What?” 

Sofia smiles, “When we have kids, I bet they will be cute.” She’s in dreamland, wondering what life with Rafe Cameron would be like. Getting married, having a big house on the island, having kids etc etc. Little did she know, Rafe wasn’t planning a future with her. 

He nod and takes another sip of his beer, deciding not to say anything. 

“Jackson wait-” 

Rafe turns in time to see a ball rolling his way and Jackson chasing it. You weren’t too far behind. 

Rafe bends down and picks up the ball, staying at Jackson’s level as he approaches. Jackson is hesitant to take it. 

“Jackson, you can’t just run off-” 

Rafe feels like he’s staring at a mirror. Topper’s right, he looks just like him. The little boys eyes are innocent and he’s overcome with a feeling he can’t describe. He feels protective of the small boy in front of him, like a father would. A surge of love flowing through him. How could anyone leave this boy without a dad? How could he have abandoned his son? Something changed the moment he looked into Jackson’s eyes.

“Here you go, buddy,” Rafe holds the ball out to him with a smile. 

Jackson hesitantly takes it, looking up at you, with a small pout on his lips, “Sorry mama, my ball.” 

Rafe slowly stands, the two of you coming face to face for the first time since you told him you were pregnant. 

“It’s ok baby, you just can’t run off like that.” You run your fingers through his hair. You will yourself to meet Rafe’s eyes, “Sorry about that, we’ll get out of your way.” 

“It’s ok.” Rafe can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. Is it possible to be more beautiful? Motherhood treated you well and he’s overwhelmed with pride to know you did it all on your own because of his stupid decision. His stupid immature decision. 

Your eyes glance to Sofia, who steps up next to Rafe, pulling him from his trance, “your son.. he’s adorable.” 

You give her a small smile, “Thank you.” 

Rafe is mesmerized by you. He doesn’t know what’s over come him but the feelings that he buried deep inside have started bubbling to the surface. 

“Jackson, you know you’re not suppose to talk to strangers.” JJ takes a dig at Rafe as he approaches, scooping up Jackson in his arms. 

Rafe’s jaw clenches at JJ’s comment. Stranger. He’s no stranger. He’s his father- but he catches himself. JJ’s right. He truly is a stranger to him and he has no right to call himself his father. 

Jackson wraps his tiny arms around JJ’s neck, snuggling into his shoulder. That stirs some jealousy within Rafe. He should be the one hugging his son and playing ball with him on the beach. He should be the one there, the three of you as a family. 

“We better get back. Sorry for bothering you guys.” You apologized, following JJ back to the rest of the pogues. 

Rafe watches you walk away, his heart aching. He should have told you the truth. And he shouldn’t have lied all these years about Jackson. 

 ~ 

JJ holds Jackson with one arm and wraps his other around your shoulders, “you ok?” 

You nod, “I’m good. You shouldn’t have made the comment you did” 

JJ rolls his eyes, “it’s not like it wasn’t true. He’s a stranger.” 

You shrug, “I know but-“ 

“No buts. He’s a stranger to Jackson. Even if he shares DNA with him.” He snaps back. 

It was a touchy subject with JJ and you knew the conversation was over. JJ was protective over you and he held a huge grudge against Rafe for abandoning the two of you. Especially Jackson. He wanted Jackson to have a dad, something you and him didn’t have growing up. 

~ 

Rafe laid in bed that night with you and Jackson on his mind. He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning the entire night. Sofia is sound asleep next to him. He squints, peering to check the time on the clock, 6:37 am. He sighs running a hand over his face before quietly getting out of bed and toward the shower. He wanted to see you again and talk. He needed to talk to you. 

“Rafe?” Sofia’s sleepy voice calls out to him, hands feeling his spot on the bed. 

Rafe comes to her side, showered and dressed, kisses her forehead. “Early meeting. Be back later.” 

She hums and turns back over, falling back asleep. 

~ 

He pulls up to the Maybank house a little while later. Glancing over in the passenger seat, coffee for you and him. He hopes you still liked your coffee with 2 creams and 2 sugars. He also picked up some muffins and donuts, unsure what Jackson would like. 

He was nervous, gripping the steering wheel. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. He can still turn around and go home. You don’t even know he’s here yet. 

He shakes his head, no there’s no talking him out of this. He needs to have this talk. He’s 2 years two late. Technically almost 3 years. 

Well shit there’s no turning around now cause here you come walking toward his truck. He takes a deep breath, now or never. 

He steps out of the truck, “morning.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask tightening your robe around you, “it’s nearly 7:30 in the morning.” 

“Brought coffee and breakfast.” He says, reaching inside to grab the coffee and bag. “I was hoping we could talk?” 

“Now you want to talk? You’re a couple years too late Rafe.” You’re eyeing the coffee, yearning for your boost of caffeine. 

He sighs, “I know, I have no right to show up here unannounced either but, after seeing you guys yesterday I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He offers the coffee, “two cream and two sugar?” 

You nod, slowly reaching to take the coffee, “you still remember?” You ask, surprised. Even after all these years he remembered? You felt a soft tug on your heart. No y/n. You tell yourself, smooshing those feelings back down. It was not the time to go soft. 

He shrugs, also handing you the bag of muffins and donuts, “It’s not the hardest coffee order, but yes I still remember. There’s muffins and donuts in there, I wasn’t sure-” He scratches the back of his neck, growing uncomfortable, “I wasn’t sure what Jackson liked.” 

“He’s a fan of both. He pretty much will eat anything,” You turn and head for the porch, “Everyone is still asleep, let me put this inside and we can go to the dock.” 

Rafe nods and takes the time to check out what all you two have done with the place. It was different than when he was here last, new dock and boathouse, the landscaping had been cleaned up and the house actually looked livable. Jackson’s toys were strewed around the grass. 

“ready?” You ask, heading down toward the dock, Rafe following. You two take a seat on the bench at the end of the dock. 

“So, now that Jackson is older, people are starting to notice how much he looks just like you. You can’t keep up with whatever lie you’ve been spreading. Are you here to try and make me come up with an excuse for where his father is? So, you can go about your life?” You ask, bitterly. 

“No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to step up and apologize. And explain my immature behavior.” He stands back up, pacing the dock in front of you. His nerves are getting the best of him. He had this speech all planned out but sitting in front of you, he’s forgot what to say. “I wasn’t in the right head space. And I for sure wasn’t ready to be a father. You saw what I was like. I was drinking, partying. Hell, I was even doing coke at that point.” 

You sit quietly, sipping your coffee as you listen to him. It wasn’t anything you didn't know, to tell you the truth. You also were doing all those things at the time, minus the coke, but as soon as you found out you were pregnant, you’d stepped up and knew all of that had to come to an end. You were going to be a mother. 

“I was doing the same things, Rafe. I don’t see that being an excuse. I stepped up when I needed to because I had too. It was something you needed to do as well, but you weren’t ready to give up that life yet. You weren’t ready to give up your lifestyle to become a father.” 

“I know. and that’s the truth, I didn’t want to give up my partying lifestyle for a kid. I was also scared what people would think of me, getting a girl from the cut pregnant. No one even knew we were dating-” 

“So you were ashamed of me? You’re really not doing yourself any favors right now-” You scoffed, standing, “I get it, Rafe. It would have been the worst thing for a kook to get a pogue pregnant. People would have judged you and never looked at you the same-” You turn to head back toward the house. “I’m so tired of this kook vs pogue bullshit.” 

“Baby-” He gently grabs your arm to stop you, letting the pet name slip, “I mean y/n- That’s not what I was trying to say. Fuck, this is not how I wanted this to go. Please, I’m trying to apologize. I was an immature kid back then and I’m here now to apologize, make things right and take responsibility.” 

“Rafe,” you sigh, “we’re doing fine right now. Without having you in our lives. We’ve made it work. It’s been 3 years, just let it go. I’ll keep on with the lie, you can continue to live your life how you want. Get married, have other kids. Whatever you want to do.” 

“I don’t want to do that, y/n. That’s what I’m here for. I want to be apart of Jackson’s life. A part of your life.” His hand has slipped down from your arm to your hand, his thumb subconsciously caressing your skin. “Please give me another chance. I’ve changed. I promise I’m not the man I was before. My dad has made me a manager at his company. I have a steady job, a house of my own. I’m not the immature teenager I was before.” His eyes are pleading for another chance to do the right thing.

You don’t know how to describe it as you stare into Rafe’s eyes, that they look the same as they did when you fell in love with him, but have a different softness to them. He’s genuine. But you don’t know if you can trust him. He broke you and you weren’t ready to open those doors again. You weren’t ready to open yourself back to him. You had Jackson to think about now and had to take his feeling into account. Could you trust Rafe? 

“What about Sofia? What does she think of all this?” You remove your hand from his, crossing your arms over your chest. “She seems like a great girl.” 

“If I’m honest with you, I haven’t talked to her about it. Me and her aren’t serious.” 

“Maybe you should go home and talk things over with her. I can’t make a decision now. I need time to think it over.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat, but he ultimately nods, “Take all the time you need.. I’ll be here waiting.” 

~ 

Rafe left your house and immediately went to Tannyhill, hoping he could catch his dad before leaving for his meeting at 11. “Morning Rose,” He greets as he enters the kitchen, Rose is drinking coffee at the island, Wheezie next to her. He kisses Wheezie on the head, “Wheezie,” 

“Morning,” They say in unison. 

“Is Dad still here?” 

“In his office,” Rose nods, “He had a couple things to finish before the meeting.” 

“Thanks,” Rafe heads toward his office, knocking, “Dad?” 

“Come in,” Ward calls out, “Morning Rafe, you ready for the big meeting this morning?” 

“Ready. But I was hoping to talk to you about something.” He takes a seat across from Ward’s desk. Ward can tell there is something on his son’s mind and closes his laptop to give his full attention. 

“What’s going on?” 

Rafe takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, “You know y/n Maybank?” 

“Yes-” Ward says, leaning forward a little, “What about her?” 

“Me and her dated a few years ago.”

“Mmhmm.” ward nods, “What about it?” 

Rafe takes another deep shaky breath. Ward begins to think about it, remembering she had a son. Who was about 3- 

“The boy- Jackson. He’s yours?” Ward asks in disbelief. 

Rafe gives a short nod, “I fucked up.” 

Ward slowly sits back in his chair, taking it all in. Old Ward would have blown up, told Rafe how stupid could he have been. “How long have you known?” He asks. 

“Since she told me she was pregnant.” He can’t help but get teary eyed, still on edge as he waits for his dad to blow up on him. “I told you I fucked up.” 

Ward mulls over this new and shocking information. “Why wouldn’t you say anything?” Ward asks. 

“I was terrified. Immature. I didn’t want to be a dad. I was partying all the time and wasn’t ready to give it up and be a dad.” He tells him honestly, “It was a shitty decision and I regret it.” 

“You should have took responsibility son.” He sighs, “But I know you weren’t in the right head space.” He stands and rounds his large desk, taking the seat next to his son, “Rehab changed you for the better.” 

Rafe nods, “I’m trying to fix things. I want to be in his life. I went to her this morning and we talked. She’s hesitant to give me a chance.” 

“She has every right to be hesitant.” Ward defends, you, “That’s her son.” 

“He’s mine too,” Rafe says, but sighs, “But you’re right. It is her son. I’ve given her no reason to trust me.” 

Ward nods, “Time will give her that. You’ve done the hardest part. Admitted you were wrong and apologized.” He squeezes Rafe’s shoulder, “It’s time for you to take responsibility.” 

Rafe nods in response, “I’m sorry dad. I should have told you the truth.” 

Ward agrees. He gives Rafe a small smile, “So I have a grandson, huh?” 

~ 

Rafe was in agony. It had been a week since he talked to you. You hadn’t tried reaching out yet and he was starting to get worried that you weren’t going to give him a second chance. He’d called it quits with Sofia, who didn’t take it easily, but she admitted she knew she’d seen a change in him after the beach day. And had admitted she’d wondered about Jackson. She saw the resemblance and the way Rafe had looked at you. He was still in love with you. 

You’d told the Pogues that morning over breakfast, JJ had flipped. 

“Like hell he deserves another chance!” 

“JJ, you don’t get to make the decision, I do.” 

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed. It wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again. 

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed that it wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again. 

~

Your heart is pounding against your chest as you take the stairs up to Rafe’s front door. You looked around the outside of the house. It was a nice, expensive house on the water. Two story on stilts as most houses near water are built. 

His truck was parked under the house so you knew he was home. 

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

Rafe was surprised to see you at his front door. It had been a week and he was beginning to wonder if you were even gonna make a decision. The longer it took the more he felt he wasn’t going to get his second chance. 

“Hey,” 

“Hey,” you point inside, “can I come in so we can talk?” 

“Yeah yeah of course.” He opens the door wider for you to enter, closing it behind you. 

The place was clean and sleek. It looked like a bachelor pad. 

“You want anything to drink? I’ve got water, juice, a beer..” he chuckles softly, motioning to the kitchen. 

You follow him into the kitchen, “Water is fine,” You lay your purse in the chair at the island. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m nervous.”

He fixes you a glass of water and you take a chance to look around the room. 

“no need to be nervous,”

You see in the corner of the living room there’s a small kids battery powered jeep and a couple other shopping bags around it. 

He sees you have noticed the stuff and slides the water to you, “my dad.. he uh he bought it for Jackson and Rose picked up a few things for him too.” 

“Thats’s very sweet of them. But wait, you told your dad?” You’re surprised and look to him, “I thought you hated him.. you guys didn’t have a great relationship.” 

“We patched things up after I got back from rehab.” 

“Rehab?” You ask shocked, “I didn’t know, when did you go to rehab?” 

He clears his throat, “few months after we broke up. Or I broke things off. Ward found me half dead on some laced coke I bought and when I woke up he made me go to rehab. Best decision I could have made.” 

“That’s awesome, Rafe. Im happy for you. I know having a better relationship with your dad was what you always talked about wanting.” You give him a soft smile. 

“Yeah yeah it’s good now.” He heads toward the back deck overlooking the water and you follow taking in the view but Rafe, he’s watching you, taking you in. 

You catch him watching you and can’t help but blush, “why are you looking at me like that?” 

Now he blushes, embarrassed he’d been caught, “sorry, we can sit here to talk.” He takes a seat on the couch and you take a seat on the other side. 

You take a deep breath, “I’ve done a lot of thinking over this.” 

He nods, hands clasped together he places his elbows on his thighs leaning closer, “yeah?” 

You look at him, “We’ll start out easy and slow. He’s not to know you’re his dad yet. I want him to be comfortable with you. He doesn’t truly understand the whole dad thing either, so I don’t want to confuse him. We call all hang out together first and then if I feel comfortable enough maybe you can take him on your own for a couple hours. I don’t trust you yet, Rafe. You broke that trust and I need time. But I believe everyone deserves a second chance. And I want Jackson to grow up with a dad who loves him. Something JJ and I didn’t have growing up.” 

He resists every muscle in his body not to hug you. “I can be that. I will be that.” 

He reaches over and you let him take your hand, “thank you for this.” He gives it a gentle squeeze, “you don’t know how much this chance means to me.”

~ 

A couple days later you and Jackson meet Rafe at his house, planning to spend the day there. Rafe had asked you a million questions about Jackson; his likes, dislikes, what toys he liked to play with, what he liked to do. He wanted to know as much as he could so he could be prepared for today. 

“Hey!” Rafe greets at the door, “What’s up little man?” 

Jackson’s shy at first and he peeks out from your shoulder at Rafe, muttering a quiet, “Hi.” 

“He’s a little shy. And he just woke up from a nap.” you follow Rafe inside and he helps to take the bag off your shoulders. 

“It’s all good. I understand.” He nervously wipes his hands on his shorts, “I got his favorite foods. The kitchen is stocked and-” 

“Toys!” Jackson gasps, wiggling out of your arms and immediately taking off toward the pile of toys. The jeep Ward bought him was there and a couple other new toys Rafe picked up.  

“Can I play?” Jackson asks, his eyes lighting up. 

“They’re yours! You can play with them all. After lunch we can take that jeep outside and you can ride around the yard.” Rafe says, taking a seat on the couch to watch him. 

“You didn’t have to get all these...” You sit next to Rafe. 

Rafe shrugs, “I know but he didn’t have anything here. I want him to be comfortable.” He slips off the couch and sits in the floor next to Jackson, helping him open the toys. Rafe teaches him how to play with a couple of them, showing him how they work. 

You couldn’t believe the change in Rafe. It was like a different man sitting in the floor. And the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Both had the same look of concentration on their face and you laughed softly to yourself after snapping a picture. Sarah had asked how it was going, so you sent her the picture. She was happy to know her brother was stepping up and also made a comment about their same look of concentration. 

As you stared at Rafe, a new feeling was starting to take form. A longing for something more and hope that maybe you could get your happy ever after and your dream of a family to become a reality.

Comments, likes, & reblogs are always greatly appreciated! I love to read your thoughts on it. 

[4701rose]

... I want to start by this art is utterly amazing, so much so that I needed to write a scene of what is going on inside this world.

Title: good things do happen

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1,445

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Love

Miklan was rifling through the kitchen cabinets, looking for something to eat, when he heard the key turn in the back door. He looked down at the mostly empty box of protein bars he knew Sylvain was saving for lunches and the jar of peanut butter they had no bread to spread on and shut the cabinet. When he turned around, Sylvain was standing in the hallway, wiping his snow-covered boots on the black dirt-encrusted doormat that was here when they first moved in. There was a radiator by the back door. 

Miklan watched as Sylvain pulled off his gloves with his teeth and put them on top of the radiator. Sylvain shivered as he pulled the zipper on his jacket down. He was wearing the outer layer of Miklan’s coat. The zipper was broken, so Miklan couldn’t very well use it, now, could he? 

Sylvain looked up and saw Miklan watching him. He smiled one of those corny little smiles that made Miklan want to go over and smack him. “Hey,” Sylvain said as he stepped out of his winter boots and into their kitchen. The floor was linoleum that had once been white, dotted here and there with blue flowers. There was dirt strewn all across the floor. In black socks, you didn’t notice it as much, but Miklan did notice Sylvain kept the jacket on. 

Sylvain stroked his red hands up and down his upper arms before he buried his hands in his jacket pockets with a shiver. “Did you manage to get the heat working?” Sylvain asked, his chestnut eyes twinkling like he knew the answer already and was asking just to be annoying. Typical. 

Miklan grunted as he turned around to inspect the other cabinets in their tiny kitchen. “No,” he huffed. “The landlord said he’ll come by tomorrow.” 

Sylvain chuckled. “You don’t sound convinced.” 

“He hasn’t come over the last two times he’d promised to.” Miklan opened the fridge and studied its contents as his annoying little brother draped himself against Miklan’s lefthand side, like leech. “What the hell, brat.” 

“You’re warm,” Sylvain huffed into his ear. “How was work today?” 

Miklan made a face at the jar of mustard and the carton of eggs with three eggs remaining in it. “It was work,” Miklan said, noncommittal. 

“Dorothea told me you scared the piss out of some dude.” 

When Miklan looked down at his little brother, Sylvain’s eyes were laughing. Miklan sighed and then shook Sylvain off his arm so he could crouch down. Inside the vegetable drawer was one lonely wilted head of lettuce. When Miklan opened the drawer and pulled it out, it was wet to the touch. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Sylvain asked. 

“What’s there to tell? Besides, Dorothea probably already gave the whole story already. What’s the point in retelling it?” Miklan moved around Sylvain to toss the wilted lettuce into the trash can, Sylvain moving with him. They hadn’t been here very long, but Sylvain always had a sixth sense for where Miklan was in proximity to Sylvain. Miklan supposed that was his fault. He tried and failed to dredge up anything other than tiredness. 

“I still wanna hear it,” Sylvain said as Miklan pulled out their only fry pan. 

“He was an ass.” Miklan said as he reached for the last of the vegetable oil. “I dealt with it. End of story. Pass me the eggs.”

Miklan didn’t jolt as Sylvain pasted himself against Miklan’s back. “You’re no fun,” Sylvain whinged. Through the black leather jacket Miklan was wearing, he could feel Sylvain’s body heat. The kid was like a walking furnace. 

“Then you tell it,” Miklan said, disinterested. “Hey, I asked you to pass me the eggs. Can you do that, or should I tell Dorothea her boytoy is broken?” 

“You’re so mean, Miklan,” Sylvain grumbled. He put the eggs on the counter next to Miklan’s hand. Miklan clicked on the gas stove as Sylvain jumped up on the counter on the other side of the stove. Miklan glanced at Sylvain’s black skinny jeans with the purposefully ripped holes in the knees and wanted to scoff. He held his hand above the pan to see if it was hot yet. 

It was not. 

Miklan fried them both an egg each as Sylvain rattled on about anything and everything under the sun. After the eggs were cooked and sitting on a clipped blue and white plate they’d found at the local thrift store, Miklan turned and went to go cook the rice. It was broken short grain rice, the only kind they’d been able to afford when they went to the store last weekend.

Sylvain trailed off into silence while Miklan was washing the rice in the sink. Miklan flicked water off his fingers, his hands growing numb from the cold, and looked up at his little brother. Sylvain was wearing that brittle smile that meant he was thinking too much about dumb things. 

“What?” Miklan said. “I got something on my face?” 

Sylvain didn’t rise to the bait. Miklan stood there, waiting, as Sylvain leaned forward, one elbow on his bent knee, his chin resting on his fist. “Hey, Miklan,” Sylvain said softly, his brown eyes uncharacteristically somber, “Do you ever regret it?” What It was laid unspoken between the two of them, like a dead horse you could smell but had to pretend wasn’t there. 

“No,” Miklan said. “And neither should you.” 

Miklan turned and put their cheap Aroma rice cooker to boil. From behind him, Miklan heard Sylvain sigh. Miklan looked down at the thin scars running criss-cross up and down his thick paper white wrists, the sleeve of his blood red cotton shirt not long enough to cover them to his satisfaction. He felt a brief surge of the anger-hatred-pity, then pushed it back down again. 

Miklan had left that all behind when he took Sylvain and ran. He didn’t have time for it, not when Sylvain was trusting him to keep them warm and safe. Miklan swallowed thickly. “No,” he said, softer, “I don’t regret it.” 

Miklan was staring at the little pinkish-orange light on the rice cooker, listening to the sound of rice beginning to boil when he heard a loud thump. He was about to turn around and ask, What the fuck was that, Sylvain, when Miklan got slammed into the sharp edge of the counter by his annoying little brother. “Ow, fuck,” Miklan cursed. He twisted until he was facing Sylvain. 

Sylvain was clinging like a limpet, Miklan’s leather jacket clenched so tightly in his fists it was making a weird creaking sound, and Sylvain’s nose was smashed so closely against Miklan’s skin-tight shirt, he could feel it stir when Sylvain breathed. Miklan didn’t know what to do with his hands. His hands hovered uncertainly in the air before coming to rest hesitantly on Sylvain’s back. Sylvain took a long deep breath in like just this much was killing him. 

Slowly, Miklan tucked Sylvain’s head of hot dry hair under his chin. He brought up one hand and stroked the back of Sylvain’s head, wavy curls springing back into place after each pass of his heavy head. Miklan’s heart felt like it might be breaking, like a vase someone threw a rock at. 

Miklan remembers his mother holding him like this, once, after a nightmare. It was before Sylvain was born. Miklan doesn’t remember anyone holding him like this after Sylvain was declared heir. He wonders if he was supposed to be watching out for a reaction like this from Sylvain. They haven’t been gone that long. Long enough for Sylvain to pick up a girlfriend and for Miklan to pick up a job beating others black and blue for entertainment. 

When Miklan had gone back to pay his little brother back for all the times their dad looked at him like he was a disgusting little spittle barely worth his time, he hadn’t expected Sylvain to ask him to leave with him. And now they’re here, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, in an apartment with no heat and no food and no dad riding their asses to kingdom come. 

Miklan holds Sylvain tight against his chest and tries to pretend that it’s enough, that the inside of his brain isn’t a hellscape few dare tread, that his anger isn’t molten lava waiting to overflow, that Sylvain isn’t going to get himself killed one day, stealing another guy’s girlfriend. It’s cold and dark outside, but for one single blindingly simple moment, Miklan tries to believe that good things can happen to bad people.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I love writing toxic people.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“Mr. Hansen--” You begin, choking on your error, “Lloyd, my flight--” 

“Christ, I told you, cancel it. I’ll add the difference to your next check,” he grits under his breath. 

You plant your feet, shifting despite your effort as he keeps his grip on your hand. He turns back with a grunt. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks. 

“No, what are you doing?” You throw back. “What the hell is going on?” 

“First, watch that sweet mouth of yours. Second, we’ve been through this, Pixie pie. You just need to play along,” he keeps his voice low and peeks over his shoulder. “Loosen up a bit.” He loosens his hold on you and runs his hand up your sleeve. “Hm, I guess I shoulda told you to dress up a bit.” 

“What?” You look down at your black cotton tea-length dress. You chose it for comfort but it’s not entirely frumpy. The ribbed stockings might not add much to the attire however. 

“Just...” He grabs your shoulders and nudges them back, “push the chest out a bit.” 

“Ugh,” you clasp onto his wrists, “stop. Okay. I’ll stay for dinner but I can’t miss my flight--” 

“You have to,” he argues. 

“You realise this is wildly inappropriate,” you say. 

“Do you really expect anything different?” He tweaks a brow. “You’re staying. I’m not doing this alone. I put it off for a decade already--” 

“Jesus--” 

“No blasphemy either,” he lets go of you and presses his finger to your lips. You growl and shove his hand away. 

“I want a bonus, a big bonus--” 

He hushes you and waves his hands. He leans back and once more looks over his shoulders. “Later. We’ll deal with numbers in private. Right now, you need to come meet your in-laws.” 

You squint at him. It’s an act, you remind yourself, but something about his commitment to it makes you uneasy. You know better than to believe a word that comes out of his mouth but there’s a degree of earnestness in him that’s unsettling. 

“Baby, please, don’t look at me like that,” he steps closer, “I need you to look at me like I’m the second coming, okay? We’re madly in love, you and I.” Your eyes widen and he sighs, “okay, you’re not scared of me.” 

You neutralise your expression and blow out a long breath. You shake away the tension and shrug. It’s as good as you can do. 

“Here,” he grabs your wrist and turns, guiding your arm through his, “just smile pretty for me.” 

He hooks your elbow with his and urges you onward. You steel yourself for the room of strangers as their voices drift through the archway.  

You enter the front room and quickly scan the space; there’s a large-mouthed hearth, lit and draped in evergreen and berries; a long cream sectional, a matching duo of armchairs, and a chaise in the same shade; a low glass coffee table with a golden perch and a console table in a similar style along the wall crowded with bottles and crystal; an area rug in a smooth white with patterns in dulcet beige and rich butterscotch; and the low din is cast by tea lights daintily set around the space in glass holders and candelabra. 

More pressing than the decor are the bodies that fill the room. You recognise Ransom as he speaks with an older woman with short white hair and thick-framed glasses. She wears a red pantsuit with a gold blouse. Very festive. 

You glance over at Lloyd and take him in fully. You hadn’t paid much attention for the whirlwind all around. He wears a pair of evergreen slacks and a sweater with a reindeer's face on the front. He wouldn’t even let you put tinsel on your desk but now he’s dressed like a kid in a holiday parade. 

“Looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” a tall blonde woman approaches with a glass of pale wine in hand. You try not to look with concern at her rounded middle; it sticks out starkly as her long limbs are thin and lithe. “A very grim Christmas indeed.” 

“Lillian,” Lloyd faces the woman about his own height. She has his eyes and his lips. You assume their relation before he declares it. “My sister, Pixie,” he gestures to her carelessly. 

“Older sister,” she preens and rests her hand on her swollen stomach. Your eyes flick away from the crystal in her hand. 

“By about thirty-one seconds,” Lloyd scoffs. 

“Oh, sweetie, it’s non-alcoholic,” she swirls the wine in her glass, “she’s so tiny and quiet.” 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, “it’s nice to meet you.” 

She laughs, “oh, so polite. Entirely not his type.” 

You try not to react. You agree. You know the women that Lloyd really likes. You’ve screened their calls until they just give up on getting a second date. 

“Believe it or not, Lil, you’re not everyone’s type,” Lloyd retorts. “I think your ex-husband would agree. The second one too.” Lloyd lifts his chin and looks around, “is the third here or are we on number four?” 

“Lovely,” she spits. “Love you too, brother.” 

He shakes his head and draws you away from her. She raises her brows and her glass and sips. You let him take you away. You already despise most of these people. The room radiates with derision. Your family might have some grudges but there’s a general air of good will. 

“I need a drink,” he mutters. 

You gladly follow him to the table. He pours himself a tumbler from the boxy decanter. He sighs as he picks it up but stops himself from drinking. 

“Well, help yourself,” he says. 

You hesitate but not for long. You need something if you’re going to get through this. You pour yourself some chardonnay and sidle away from the table. You check your watch as you raise your glass. 

“Don’t fucking worry about your flight,” he hisses under his breath. “If I’m not getting out of this, you aren’t either.” 

“But why?” You ask behind the glass. 

“Not right now,” he warns and nods at another figure as they approach. “Uncle Benson.” 

“Junior,” the man returns. You drink your wine and don’t comment on the epithet. “Where’s the old man?” 

“Where he always is,” Lloyd replies. 

“Mm, and this is...” the older man looks at you pointedly, dipping his chin to do so. 

“Pixie. My fiancee,” Lloyd answers dully, almost deflating. 

“Benson,” the man offers his hand, “but a pretty girl like you can call me Benny.” 

“Benny,” Lloyd repeats to himself in confusion. 

You shake Benson’s hand, “um, thanks, nice to meet you.” 

“Mm, very nice to meet you,” he lifts your hand and smushes his lips to your knuckles. He clings to you, petting your hand. “You’re gorgeous, what’re you doing with this lump?” 

“Uncle,” Lloyd drones. 

“Adorable,” Benson inches closer, “my inheritance is bigger than his, among other things.” 

“Alright,” Lloyd snatches your hand away from him, “go have some water, Benson,” he growls, “think you’ve been into the brandy.” 

“I’d like to get into something else,” Benson snickers. 

You almost laugh, despite your disgust. You’ve heard that line before. Lloyd puts himself between you and the older man. “I think that’s why Carolyn filed the papers, huh.” 

“Oh, you little twat,” Benson snarls. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to disappoint her on your own.” 

Lloyd tuts and shakes his head as the man lumbers off. He turns around and drains his glass. It’s strange, seeing him in his natural habitat; he’s not so ‘alpha’ here. 

“Let’s get the rounds over with.” He grumbles. 

Your wine lasts you through the introductions. Two more uncles; Carter and Linus, along with their wives, Andrea and Angela. Then the full-blooded aunts; four of them, Raquel, Shanna, Beatrice, and Lana. All of them tall, blonde, and bold in their own way. Then a batch of cousins you can’t keep sorted; Ransom and his mother Linda, among them, with no explanation as to the rest of their tribe. 

Lloyd pours himself more whiskey. You abstain from a refill and stand near the wall, observing the wilderness of entitled trust-funders. It explains so much yet inspires so many more questions. You never expected Lloyd to be the dark horse. 

“Lonely?” The timbre startles you along with the twisting pinch on your ass.  

You yipe and snag the attention of several sets of eyes around the room, not least of all Benson, drooling over another snifter of dark alcohol. You swat Ransom’s hand away and face him amid the row of laughter. Despite the airs they put on, your audience is more amused than appalled. 

“Where’s your prince, huh?” Ransom asks. “All that whiskey and...” He holds up his index then lets it go limp, “don’t think it’ll be a very peppy after party, sweetheart.” 

You sniff and cross your arms. These people are at least consistent, grossly so. It makes you wonder why Lloyd was so insistent that you watch your mouth, especially when you’ve never stooped to his level before. 

“Is it much of a party if there’s only one attendee?” You counter. 

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “what?” 

“Nothing,” you shake our head. You don’t need to explain the joke. Besides, this is all fake. Don’t let it get to you. 

“So, how long did he wait to put that ugly thing on your finger?” Ransom asks. 

You shrug, “long enough.” 

“Did he do the whole schtick? Get down on one knee? Put the ring in your wine glass?” He prods. 

“I’ll let him tell the story,” you say. 

“Hm, never knew a woman so unexcited about a wedding,” he snorts. 

“Maybe I’m just unexcited by my company,” you back away as his hand jiggles at his side. You eye his fingers, wary of another pinch. 

“Fine, marriage is boring anyways. What’s his favourite position? I always figured he lets the ladies do all the work,” he snickers. 

You stare at him. Not quite as offended as annoyed. You could ask him which hand he uses but you are not letting Lloyd drag you that low. Why are you even letting him put your through this? 

“Hugh,” Lloyd appears and slides his arm over your shoulders. 

“Little L,” Ransom retorts dryly. 

“Shut up,” Lloyd sneers as you resist the urge to shrug him off of you. 

“Where were you then? Leaving your woman all on her lonesome,” Ransom rubs his fingers together subtly and you scowl at him. 

“Broke the seal,” Lloyd deflects. “What do you care? You wanna hold it next time? 

“Hands are too big,” Ransom cackles. 

“Speaking of,” you pipe up. “The bathroom, where would that be?” 

Lloyd clucks and looks down at you, “down the hall, opposite the kitchen.” 

“Thanks,” you carefully slip away from him, “I’ll be back.” 

“Wait,” Lloyd catches your arm and pulls you back. “Not without this.” 

He leans in before you can react. He bends to press his lips to yours and you can’t repress a surprised squeak. He purrs and the vibration makes your skin crawl. What on earth?! 

You part and ignore the stares you can feel all around. Not just from Ransom but the rest of the room. What is he doing? That’s so embarrassing. 

You force a smile, “uh, be back.” 

You spin and scurry away. That room, those people, are suffocating, and Lloyd, not least of all. You hide in the bathroom, locking the door, and you take the moment of stillness to think. Big mistake as it all starts to set in. 

You drove all the way here under false pretenses. It’s believable that Lloyd would forget to bring the gifts. That tracks but this? The whole pretending to be engaged? What is his game? Is he really trying to impress anyone or is he torturing you? Why? 

You can’t figure any of it out. You gave up trying to understand your boss ages ago, you suppose you should do the same with these people and just get through this. For all your trouble, the food better be fucking delicious. 

You let yourself out of the bathroom and flatten against the door as you nearly collide with another person. Lillian nearly stomps right over you as she holds her stomach and rushes down the hallway. She lets out a sigh. 

“Oh, are you done in there? I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Um, yeah, all done,” you sidle away from the door. 

“Could I trouble you for some help?” She asks. “This thing,” she pats her stomach, “I can get down but I can’t get up.” 

“Hm?” You furrow your brow in confusion, “help?” 

“We’re both girls,” she giggles. “And we’ll be sisters soon enough, won’t we?” 

“Um.” 

“You know, a pregnancy at my age, I really can’t strain myself,” she explains. 

“Oh, er, I guess--” 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she nudges you back into the bathroom. You have no choice as she heard you through. 

You stare at the wall as she slams the door and hustles over to the toilet. She pulls up her white dress and turns to sit, her silhouette a blur in your peripheral. You flick your eyes to the ceiling and bounce on your heels. 

Her stream flows out and fills the tense silence. She sighs. 

“Thank the lord,” she groans. “I swear, the little twerp is right on my bladder right now.” 

“Mm,” you nod and glance at the door. 

“I knew we should’ve gone with a surrogate,” she sniffs. “A piece of advice, when he puts one in you, make him suffer.” 

“Puts one...” you blink. “Um, I don’t...” 

“I mean, he’ll have to start trying as soon as the wedding night,” she laughs. “He’s getting up there. His swimmers won’t be as fast, will they? And the way he drinks, they’ll be too groggy to know which way is which.” 

“Um, we’ll worry about the wedding first--” 

“Enjoy it. Once you’re tied down, it’s not very much fun,” she says as she tears of tissue. “Alright then, darling, I need you.” 

You do your best not to see all of her. She reaches for you and you get close. You pull her up to her feet and she squeezes past you to the sink. You look at the toilet and shut the lid, flushing it with a push of the button. She washes her hands with a hum. 

“You’ll be so adorable when you’re big. Like an overstuffed teddy bear,” she chimes. “He’ll love that. He always did hate feeling small.” She twists off the faucet and dries her hands. “You must make him feel like the man he wishes he was.” 

You just look at her. You have no true reason to defend Lloyd, but because she’s so smug it irks you. You look her in the face, even if you feel ridiculous having to look up. 

“Well, he can piss on his own, so I think he’s just fine,” you step around her and swing open the door. The silence that follows you is the only satisfying thing about that night. 

[reidmarieprentiss]

Hometown Glory

Summary: Moving back to your hometown was never your plan, and neither was running into the class clown Chip Taylor. But everything happens for a reason, right?

Pairing: Chip Taylor x nurse fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: brief domestic violence (not reader), fights, blood/cuts/gore, alcohol consumption, drunk side character, happy ending, poor sweet baby Chip going through it

Word count: 10.8k

a/n: i love chip so bad, he doesn't deserve anything bad that happened to him :( i'm really trying to get back into my writing headspace thank you all for being so patient with me <3333

main masterlist

You were finally a registered nurse, having recently finished your residency and finally securing your spot as a full-time hospital employee. After a long, grueling shift, you decide to swing by a convenience store to fill up your gas tank and treat yourself to something sweet before heading home.

The fluorescent lights of the store are oddly comforting as you hum a tune under your breath, scanning the aisles for the perfect snack. Your moment of quiet is interrupted by the chime of the bell above the entrance door.

“Sir?” the cashier’s voice calls out, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” comes the reply, though it’s far from convincing. The man’s voice is low and strained. “Yeah, I’m fine. Do you, uh, have any band-aids?”

“Uh—um, yes, but... you should really see a doctor—”

“No,” the man interjects firmly, his tone impatient. “I just need band-aids. Where are they?”

The cashier hesitates before pointing him toward an aisle, still looking unsure. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you abandon your search for a snack, rounding the corner to catch a glimpse of the man in need of first aid.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Chip?” you blurt out, incredulous. You can’t believe your eyes.

The man turns to face you, and you gasp. His face is a mess—covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. His disheveled appearance sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Jesus, Chip!” you exclaim, your voice filled with both shock and concern. “What the hell happened to you?”

His brows knit together, his expression shifting from confusion to discomfort. “Who—uh, how do you know me?” he asks, his voice cautious.

“Huh?” You tilt your head, studying his battered face with worry. “Chip, it’s me—Y/N. Y/N Y/L? We went to high school together.”

Chip blinked a few times, his bloodshot eyes squinting as he tried to focus on your face. His body language, even through the fog of pain, softened just a little as he registered your name.

"Y/N? Holy shit," he repeated, his voice raspy, either from exhaustion or something worse. He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You stepped closer, your nurse instincts kicking into overdrive as you scanned his injuries. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, smearing down the side of his face. His knuckles were raw, and a nasty gash across his forearm oozed blood onto his torn sleeve. You could see bruising already forming along his cheekbone, and his lip was split.

"Chip, you look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?" you demanded, your voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," he muttered, brushing off your worry with a weak wave of his hand. He turned his attention to the shelf of first aid supplies, scanning for the bandaids as though they could fix everything. "I just need some bandaids, that's all."

"Bandaids? Are you serious?" You crossed your arms, a mixture of exasperation and worry bubbling in your chest. "Chip, you look like you need a hospital. Not bandaids."

He winced, his eyes darting back to you. "I don't need a hospital, okay? I just... got into a little fight. It's not a big deal."

"A little fight? Chip, you look like you lost a battle with a bear," you shot back, stepping even closer now, invading his personal space in that way only someone truly worried could get away with.

Chip’s attempt at a smirk faltered as he winced again, his injuries clearly causing him more pain than he wanted to let on. "Well, the other guy looks worse," he mumbled, his attempt at bravado falling flat under your sharp gaze.

"Great, you're still sarcastic," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, let me look at you."

"What? No. I'm fine." He started to back away, but you reached out and grabbed his uninjured arm, your grip firm but not harsh.

"Chip, I’m a nurse. If you don’t let me help you, you’ll probably pass out right here in this aisle. So unless you want the cashier to call an ambulance—which, trust me, she’s seconds away from doing—just sit down and let me take care of this."

He hesitated, glancing around the nearly empty store, clearly torn. His pride wrestled with the reality of his situation, the bruises and cuts screaming louder than his ego. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to make a scene," he mumbled, his voice low and almost pleading.

"Too late for that," you said, raising an eyebrow at the cashier who was still nervously watching the two of you.

"Please?" Chip grumbled, his tone softening just enough to sound genuine.

You sighed, relenting. "Sure, Chip. Come on." You quickly paid for your items, tossing them into a plastic bag, and led the way out to the parking lot.

Chip followed you out of the store reluctantly, his steps slow and uneven. You kept a close eye on him, glancing over your shoulder as you reached your car. His face was pale, and you could see the effort it took him to stay upright.

You glanced at him as he shuffled behind you, clearly in no condition to walk far. "Did you drive?" you asked, though you suspected you already knew the answer.

As you unlocked the doors, you motioned towards the passenger seat. "Get in," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for a split second, his pride clearly still putting up a fight, but the exhaustion and pain finally won out. He slumped into the passenger seat, letting out a low groan as he tried to find a position that didn’t make him wince.

You slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, casting him a sideways glance. "You really should’ve gone straight to the hospital," you said, your voice softer now that the two of you were away from prying eyes.

Chip gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing at the movement. "Yeah, well, hospitals ask a lot of questions. I wasn’t really in the mood for that."

You frowned, the wheels in your mind turning. "What kind of questions are you trying to avoid, Chip? Did you get into some kind of trouble?"

His jaw tightened, and he avoided your gaze, staring out the window instead. "It’s complicated," he muttered.

"Complicated?" You scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Chip, you’re sitting in my car, bleeding and bruised, looking like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight champion. I think you owe me an explanation."

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn’t ask for your help, Y/N."

"Too bad," you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. "Because you’re getting it whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

Chip glanced at you, his expression softening just a fraction. He seemed to weigh his options before finally speaking. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, okay? Got into a fight with some guys who didn’t take kindly to me being there."

"Where’s 'there'?" you pressed, your grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I'm fine. Or at least I will be."

You let out a frustrated sigh but decided not to push further. "Fine. We’ll deal with the details later. Right now, I’m taking you to my place so I can clean you up properly."

Chip’s head snapped towards you, his eyebrows furrowing. "Your place? No, no way. That’s not happening."

"And why not?" you challenged, arching a brow at him.

"Because it’s... weird," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Weird?" You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. "Chip, you’re sitting here covered in blood, and you think going to my place to clean up is the weird part? You’re unbelievable."

He muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he slouched deeper into the seat, clearly too tired to keep up the fight.

The rest of the drive was quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of pain from Chip as you hit a bump in the road.

When you finally pulled up to your apartment, you parked and turned to him. "Come on, let’s get you inside."

Chip grumbled something inaudible but followed you out of the car, his movements slow and deliberate. As you led him up the stairs, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"How do you always manage to get yourself into situations like this?" you muttered.

"Talent," he replied with a weak grin.

"Yeah, well, your 'talent' is going to land you in serious trouble one day," you retorted, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

Chip leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your apartment. "Nice place," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Save the commentary for when you’re not dripping blood on my floor," you shot back, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

He chuckled softly, wincing as he eased himself down. "You’ve gotten feisty, Y/N."

"And you’ve gotten dumber," you replied, grabbing your first aid kit.

As you knelt in front of him, unpacking the supplies, Chip watched you quietly. For a moment, he seemed to forget his pain, his gaze softening as he took you in.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Don’t thank me yet. You’re going to hate me when I start cleaning those wounds."

He smirked, the faintest glimmer of his old charm shining through. "I already do."

"Good," you replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "That makes this easier."

You grabbed a clean towel and some antiseptic from the first aid kit, shooting Chip a pointed look as you settled on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, this is going to sting like hell. No whining allowed."

Chip raised an eyebrow, his lopsided grin making a reappearance despite his injuries. "When did you get so bossy? You used to be so sweet."

"And you used to be less of a shit talker," you shot back, soaking the towel with antiseptic. "Guess we both changed."

His smirk faltered as you pressed the towel against the gash on his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch. "Damn, Y/N. Trying to kill me?"

"Not my fault you’re a baby," you teased, your voice light but your hands steady. "Maybe if you’d gone to the hospital like a normal person, someone else could’ve done this for you."

He chuckled, though it was strained. "Yeah, but they wouldn’t have looked this good doing it."

You paused for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His grin was still there, faint but mischievous, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself. "Flattery isn’t going to make this hurt any less," you muttered, turning your attention back to his arm.

"I’m just saying," he continued, his tone playful now, "if I’d known my high school classmate turned into some kind of Florence Nightingale, I’d have gotten into trouble a lot sooner."

You snorted, dabbing at the cut with perhaps a little more pressure than necessary. "Florence Nightingale would have let you bleed out for being this annoying."

Chip winced, but he didn’t stop talking. "Annoying? Come on, Y/N. I’m charming. You used to have a thing for charm."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I had a thing for Pete’s charm, Chip. And you’re about one bad pickup line away from me calling an ambulance to take you out of my apartment."

He laughed, the sound genuine despite his discomfort. "Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But seriously, thanks for this. I mean it."

"Don’t thank me yet," you said, leaning in to inspect the cut on his eyebrow. Your knee brushed against his, and you felt his gaze shift, watching you more intently now. "I still have to clean this mess on your face. That’s going to be even worse."

"Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "I trust you."

You stilled for a moment, your breath catching at the sincerity in his tone. Meeting his eyes, you found something there that wasn’t entirely playful—something softer, more vulnerable. The moment lingered, the air between you suddenly heavier.

Shaking off the feeling, you forced a smirk and reached for another antiseptic wipe. "That’s your first mistake," you said lightly, hoping to break the tension.

Chip grinned again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If this is what a mistake feels like, I think I’ll take my chances."

“Was that a pick up line?” You narrowed your eyes at Chip before you focused on cleaning his eyebrow, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His breath was warm on your cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. This was Chip, for God’s sake. The same Chip who’d spent half of high school cracking jokes in the back of class and charming his way both in and out of trouble.

"Doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would," he said after a moment, breaking the silence.

"See? Told you I’m good at this," you replied, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good? More like amazing," he said, his grin widening as he leaned back against the couch. His eyes studied you carefully, flickering with something more contemplative than before. "Can’t believe you came back here after college."

"Why’s that?" you asked, keeping your focus on cleaning the stubborn cut near his cheekbone. You avoided meeting his gaze, sensing the weight behind his words.

"I don’t know," Chip said with a small shrug, though his voice held a quiet sincerity. "You always seemed like you were going to do bigger and better things. You had that spark, you know? Like you were meant for something more."

"Yeah, well," you murmured, letting out a soft sigh as you dabbed at the wound. "I wasn’t going to come back. But… things change."

His brow furrowed slightly at your tone, the playful energy between you dimming. "What changed?" he asked, his voice softer now, curiosity tinged with genuine concern.

You held your breath, your hands momentarily stilling as you thought about how to answer. The memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid, but you pushed them down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mom passed," you said finally, the words quiet but firm. "Dad needed help."

The room fell silent for a beat, the hum of your apartment’s air conditioning the only sound. Chip’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something far more serious. "Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry."

You shrugged, forcing yourself to keep busy as you finished cleaning the last of his wounds. "It’s okay. It was a while ago now. You know how it is—life happens, and you just… deal with it."

Chip nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering as he watched you work. "Yeah. But still, I’m sorry you had to go through that."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, offering him a small, tight smile. "Thanks, Chip." You stood up, tossing the used antiseptic wipes into the trash. "Alright, you’re all patched up. Try not to pick any more fights for at least a week, okay?"

He chuckled, though the sound was quieter than before. "I’ll do my best. But no promises."

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the return of his humor. "Seriously, Chip. You should try and take care of yourself. I won’t always be here to clean up your mess."

He grinned, the warmth in his expression taking some of the weight off the conversation. "Good to know you’ve still got that fire in you. Some things don’t change, huh?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Maybe. But some things do."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the air shift again, a quiet intensity settling between you.

"Yeah," Chip said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. "Some things do."

—

You sent Chip on his way that night after you finished cleaning him up. Something about him lingered in your mind, pulling at threads of memory and curiosity. He wasn’t the same Chip you remembered from high school—not entirely, anyway. Back then, he was the class clown, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks, his antics loud enough to mask whatever deeper, darker truths he thought no one could see. You noticed, of course. You always did.

You’d thought he was cute back then, with his messy hair and crooked smile, but now? Now, he was handsome in a way that made you pause—a rugged, lived-in kind of attractiveness that spoke to years of experiences, good and bad.

In high school, you never gave much thought to what might’ve been. You’d always had a boyfriend back then—Pete Welsh. Pete, with his soft-spoken kindness and steadfast loyalty, had been the sweetest guy you’d ever known. But Pete never wanted to leave Amarillo. He was content with the small-town life, dreaming of raising a family on the same quiet streets where he grew up.

You, on the other hand, had dreams of moving far, far away. The big city called to you with its bright lights and endless possibilities. But then… Mom got sick.

Everything shifted. Plans for the future faded, replaced with long nights by her bedside and endless days balancing work and care. Amarillo, for all its limitations, became your entire world.

And now, here was Chip, standing on your front steps with that same crooked smile but a different air about him. It made you wonder what had changed for him in all these years—and what was still the same.

“What are you doing here, Chip?” you asked, exasperation clear in your tone as you stood in the doorway. Your arms crossed instinctively, but your gaze softened as it traveled over him.

He looked down, avoiding your eyes as his hands fidgeted, wringing together awkwardly. “I—uh, got kinda… cut,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh. The sound was weak, forced, and trailed off quickly as he winced, one hand clutching his side.

Your eyes immediately darted to the hand pressed against his ribs. “Cut?” you echoed, your exasperation melting into concern. “Chip, what did you—”

“Can you help me out?” he interrupted, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and hope. His lips pulled into a half-smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but the faint pallor of his face betrayed him.

You sighed, already stepping back to let him in, your mind racing with questions. “Fine. Get in here before you bleed all over the porch.”

He shuffled past you, careful not to brush too close, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his steps were slightly uneven, his posture hunched just enough to protect his injured side.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice firmer now as you pointed to the kitchen. “Sit down, and don’t try to charm your way out of explaining this.”

Chip shot you a lopsided grin despite the situation, but he obeyed, lowering himself carefully onto the nearest chair. “I’d never dream of it.”

But of course, he would dream of it. Chip expertly dodged every single question you threw at him, deflecting with vague answers and cheeky grins that only served to wear down your patience further.

“Chip,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “You can’t keep showing up here, okay? What if you’re in real danger and I’m not home?”

“You’re home right now,” he countered with a sheepish grin, his tone light and teasing, as if his very presence wasn’t bending every boundary you’d ever set.

“You got lucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper now, though the flicker of concern in your eyes softened the words.

His grin faltered for a moment, his gaze darting to the floor before returning to you. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, like he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

You shook your head, trying not to let his sudden shift tug too hard at your heartstrings. “Seriously, Chip. You can’t keep doing this. What’s going on? Why do you keep coming to me?”

For a moment, you thought he might actually answer, his mouth opening as if to speak. But then he just shook his head and leaned back in the chair, the grin creeping back onto his face like armor. “Guess I just like the company.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and worried. “Chip—”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he interrupted, giving you a wink that did nothing to ease your concerns. “I’m tougher than I look.”

You sighed again, the weight of his stubbornness settling heavily on your chest. “One of these days, your luck’s going to run out, Chip,” you muttered, turning to grab the first aid supplies.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. “But not tonight.”

—

It kept up like this. Chip kept showing up, like clockwork, and you—against all odds—were always magically home.

It was uncanny, almost unsettling, as if he had some sixth sense for your presence. No matter the time, no matter the day, he’d appear at your door, sometimes with a scrape, sometimes a bruise, and sometimes just that lopsided grin that made you want to roll your eyes and smile at the same time.

And despite your best efforts to keep your walls up, you always let him in.

Even when you answered the door with your arms crossed and an exasperated sigh. Even when you scolded him for not going to the hospital or told him he was too reckless for his own good. Even when you warned him, time and time again, that this wasn’t sustainable—that he couldn’t keep running to you like this.

But you still opened the door, every single time.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, a mixture of hope and mischief that felt impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was the quiet moments in between—the ones where he let his guard down, even if just for a fleeting second, and you could see the boy he used to be, buried beneath the man life had clearly roughed up.

Whatever it was, you let him in, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t. And Chip? He kept coming back, as if he knew. As if he could sense that, no matter what you said, you’d never actually turn him away.

You sat across from Chip at the kitchen table, the two of you nursing mugs of coffee long after the sun had gone down. The evening had settled into an easy rhythm, the kind where conversation flowed naturally, unhurried by the clock.

“Man, high school feels like it was a hundred years ago,” you said with a laugh, swirling the last bit of coffee in your mug.

“Pete Welsh and you were practically glued at the hip back then,” Chip chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a teasing grin. “I thought for sure you two were going to get married and have that perfect little white-picket-fence life.”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his smirk. “Pete Welsh, huh? I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Chip chuckled, tilting his head. “Mhm. Mr. Perfect Hair and Letterman Jacket? What happened to him, anyway?”

You shrugged, a wry smile crossing your face. “Last I heard, he’s still in Amarillo. Married some sweet girl he met at church, has a couple of kids now. He’s doing great.”

Chip nodded, a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds about right. Bet he’s still mowing his lawn in crisp khakis and a polo shirt, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely. That’s Pete to a T.”

Chip’s grin softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “You ever think about how different your life would’ve been if you’d stayed with him? Settled down here, had that picket fence and all?”

You paused, swirling your coffee as the thought settled in. “Honestly? No. Pete’s a great guy, but he always wanted to stay, and I… I needed to see what else was out there. Staying in Amarillo would’ve been the easy choice, but it wouldn’t have been the right one for me.”

Chip hummed, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. You were always the type to chase something bigger.”

You smiled at that, tilting your head. “And what about you? You’ve done plenty of chasing yourself, haven’t you?”

He laughed, but it was softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah, I guess. Though I think I was always chasing the wrong things. Or, you know… the wrong people.”

There was a weight to his words, and the way his eyes met yours made your breath hitch. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chip hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I spent all of high school with this dumb crush on you, watching you and Pete from the sidelines...”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Chip…”

He shrugged, his smile crooked and a little shy. “It’s not a big deal. You were way out of my league back then. Still are.”

Your chest tightened. “You never said anything.”

“Would it have mattered?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes vulnerable.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. A mix of emotions swirled in your chest—nostalgia, surprise, and something undeniably warm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, meeting his gaze.

Chip smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

You laughed lightly, the moment settling between you with a weight that neither of you was ready to unpack.

—

“Goddammit, Chip!” Liza screamed, her voice shaking with fury as she grabbed the nearest heavy object—a ceramic vase—and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall, narrowly missing his head. “We need money for fucking rent!”

Chip flinched, shrinking into himself as he backed up against the kitchen counter. His hands raised instinctively in defense, his voice stumbling over itself. “I—I know, Liza, I’m sorry. Jo—John said he’d have more work for me soon. I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying?” Liza’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a knife. She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you’re not trying hard enough! Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking moron, you could get a real job! You ever think about that, genius?”

Chip looked away, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of her words. “I’m doing the best I can,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, the frustration and shame threatening to choke him.

“Well, your ‘best’ isn’t good enough,” she snapped, her hands gesturing wildly. “Do you think the landlord’s gonna take your excuses as payment? Do you think I’m gonna keep putting up with this shit? Get your act together, Chip, or we’re both screwed!”

Chip swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. But deep down, he knew—whatever he said wouldn’t matter. Liza’s anger had reached a boiling point, and he was the easiest target.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

“You better,” Liza hissed, glaring at him one last time before storming out of the room, leaving behind the broken vase and a silence that felt heavier than anything she could have thrown.

Chip stood there for a moment, staring at the shards on the floor, his jaw tight as he tried to push down the familiar ache in his chest. Then, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping, the weight of Liza’s words settling deep into his bones.

—

The two of you were sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room, the kind of night that didn’t need anything special to feel perfect. Chip had just told a ridiculous story about one of his old "get-rich-quick schemes," and you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“Oh my god, Chip,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “How do you even come up with this stuff? Did you seriously think selling glow-in-the-dark socks was going to make you a millionaire?”

“Hey,” he said, trying to look indignant but failing miserably as a grin tugged at his lips. “The market research was solid. I just didn’t account for, you know… shipping costs.”

You burst out laughing again, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable!” you teased, and in a playful burst of energy, you gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

The moment shifted instantly. Chip flinched, his body jerking back like he’d been hit much harder. His grin disappeared, replaced by a fleeting look of alarm that he tried to mask as quickly as it came.

Your laughter died in your throat, your hand frozen mid-air as your brain tried to process what just happened. “Chip?” you said softly, concern creeping into your voice.

He forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, reflex,” he said quickly, rubbing his shoulder even though your punch had been more of a tap. “Guess I’m just jumpy today.”

You didn’t buy it. Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head, studying him carefully. “Chip… did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off, his voice too quick, too dismissive. “It’s nothing, really. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your tone firm but gentle. “You flinched like I was about to deck you. What’s going on?”

Chip sighed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t meet your gaze, instead staring down at his hands as he fidgeted nervously. “It’s… it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. Slowly, you reached out, placing a hand on his knee, offering a touch of comfort. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady and calm. “It’s me. You can talk to me, you know?”

“I said it’s nothing, okay!” Chip snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved your hand off his knee.

The movement startled you, and you flinched, your eyes widening. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air thick with tension. You weren’t used to this—being yelled at by the sweet, goofy man who had spent the last hour making you laugh.

You pulled back slightly, your hand hovering uncertainly in your lap. “Chip…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His face fell almost instantly, the anger and frustration draining away as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping under the weight of regret. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t trying to push you,” you said gently, though your voice trembled slightly. “I just—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice thick with guilt. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I don’t know how to talk about this stuff, okay? I’m sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, the tension in your chest softening as you saw the pain etched across his face. Slowly, you nodded, your voice tender as you said, “It’s okay, Chip. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not that easy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“I know it’s not,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, your tone quiet but steady. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You gave him a small, tentative smile, silently hoping he’d let you in someday. Until then, you’d wait, no matter how long it took.

“How about we take a walk? Clear our heads?” you suggest softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

Chip looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nods. Without another word, the two of you step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You walk side by side down the quiet street, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, like both of you are waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Chip breaks it.

“I must look like a real winner, huh?” he says, his tone self-effacing, his words laced with a bitter humor that makes your heart ache.

You glance at him, his profile barely visible in the dim glow of a streetlamp. “What do you mean?”

He huffs out a laugh, the sound quiet and almost bitter. Gently, he nudges his shoulder into yours, a small, tentative gesture. “First, I need you to clean me up. Over and over. And now I can’t even make it through one chat without ruining it.”

“Chip…” you say softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “Didn’t I? I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you admit, your honesty making him glance at you sharply. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Chip stops walking for a moment, looking down at you as if searching for something in your expression. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter. “You are.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, your hands brushing together as you both start walking again. “We all have bad days, Chip. It doesn’t mean you’re a lost cause.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you admit, nudging him lightly. “But I figure as long as you keep showing up, I’ll keep trying.”

Chip looks at you then, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. For the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a little. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

You don’t respond right away, letting the moment hang in the cool night air. Instead, you glance up at the stars, hoping he feels even half as much comfort in your presence as you do in his.

—

Chip doesn’t come around for a few weeks after that night, and though you tried not to worry, the silence gnawed at you. When he finally shows up, it’s worse than you ever imagined.

The knock at your door is soft, almost hesitant. When you open it, the sight of him makes your stomach drop. He’s standing there with a deep gash running along his cheek, blood crusted at the edges, and his eyes red and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Chip!” you gasp, your heart pounding. “What happened? Get in here, now.”

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters under the weight of whatever he’s carrying. “It’s not that bad,” he mutters, wincing as he speaks.

“Not that bad?” you echo, incredulous. “You’ve got blood on your face, Chip. Sit down before you fall over.”

Without waiting for him to argue, you guide him to the bathroom, your hands firm but gentle as you steer him. He sinks down onto the edge of the tub, his shoulders slumping, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You position yourself between his legs, tilting his chin up with careful fingers so you can get a better look at the wound. “Hold still,” you murmur, your tone softer now.

He exhales shakily, his breath warm against your wrist. “Sorry,” he says quietly, his voice thick with guilt.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it under the faucet. “Just tell me what happened.”

Chip hesitates, his eyes darting away from yours. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, his hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly.

“It’s not nothing,” you counter, your voice steady but firm as you press the damp cloth gently against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t just show up with a gash like this for no reason.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenching under your gentle touch. “Liza and I got into it again,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she had a bottle. Things got out of hand.”

Your hands freeze mid-motion as the name registers. “Liza?” you repeat, stepping back slightly, the washcloth dangling in your hand. “Who’s Liza?”

Chip’s eyes widen briefly, like he hadn’t meant to let the name slip. He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “She’s, uh… my girlfriend,” he mutters, the words heavy with shame.

“Your girlfriend?” you echo, the word catching in your throat. “Chip, are you telling me your girlfriend did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles turn white. Finally, he nods, barely meeting your gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She’s got a temper, and sometimes… I just—I make her mad, you know?”

You stare at him, disbelief and anger swirling in your chest. “Chip, no,” you say firmly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “This isn’t about you making her mad. This is about her. This isn’t okay.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not like that all the time,” he says defensively. “She’s… she’s just going through a lot. I’m trying to help her.”

“Help her?” you say, stepping closer again, your voice rising slightly. “Chip, look at yourself. She’s hurting you. How is that okay?”

“I can handle it,” he insists, though his voice wavers. “It’s not a big deal.”

You crouch down in front of him, your hand resting gently on his knee. “It is a big deal,” you say softly but firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Chip. No one does.”

He looks at you then, his eyes glassy and full of conflict, as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. For a moment, the room is silent except for the hum of the overhead light, the weight of his pain filling the small bathroom.

“This isn’t okay, Chip,” you say, your voice firm but trembling with emotion. You grip the edge of the counter behind you, your knuckles white, steadying yourself as you speak.

“I can handle it,” he insists, his tone hollow and unconvincing. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed on the floor like he’s trying to will the words into being true.

But you won’t let him sink back into that silence, not this time. “Handling it isn’t enough,” you counter, your voice soft but unyielding. “You deserve better than this, Chip.”

He lets out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried… leaving, fixing things, I’ve tried everything. And every time, it just gets worse.”

Your heart aches at the rawness in his voice, the hopelessness that seeps through every word. Slowly, you kneel in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Chip, listen to me,” you say gently, placing your hands on his knees. “You don’t have to fix this alone. You don’t have to keep going back. There are people who care about you—I care about you. Let me help.”

His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his emotions swirl just beneath the surface. “What if it doesn’t work?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “What if I can’t get away?”

“You can,” you say firmly, leaning closer. “And you will. But you have to let someone in, Chip. You have to let someone help you.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Why do you care so much?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You squeeze his knees gently, your eyes locked on his. “Because you deserve better,” you say simply. “And I’m not going to let you believe you don’t.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, slowly, he nods, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the despair in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers, the word so faint you almost don’t hear it.

But you do, and it’s enough. It’s a start.

—

“Where have you been?” Liza slurred drunkenly, her voice thick and venomous as Chip quietly closed the trailer door behind him. She was sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of something strong dangling from her hand, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Uh, nowhere?” Chip replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Liza snorted, her lips curling into a sneer. “What’s her name?” she shot back, leaning forward unsteadily. “Little Miss Nowhere?”

Chip froze, his throat tightening as he searched for something—anything—that might diffuse the situation. “It’s not like that, Liza,” he said carefully, his voice trembling just enough to betray his nerves.

“Oh, it’s not like that?” she mocked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m stupid, Chip? You come sneaking in here like some guilty teenager, and I’m supposed to believe you were just out… what? Taking a walk?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he mumbled, stepping further into the room, though he kept his distance from her. “I just—needed some air. That’s all.”

“Air, huh?” Liza spat, taking a swig from the bottle and setting it down hard on the coffee table. “Funny how you always seem to need air somewhere else. Who is she, Chip? Huh? Some charity case who feels bad for you?”

“Stop, Liza,” he said softly, his voice pleading. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me what I am,” she snapped, standing up abruptly and swaying slightly. “You’re the one sneaking around, lying to me, and I’m the problem?”

Chip’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and fear. “I’m not lying to you,” he said quietly, though the exhaustion in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sure you’re not,” she hissed, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. “But let me tell you something, Chip—you think you can just waltz in and out of here, running to whoever she is? You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

He flinched at her words, his head dipping as he avoided her gaze. “I’m tired, Liza,” he said softly. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Yeah?” she barked, her voice rising. “Well, tough shit, because I’m not done.”

But Chip didn’t respond. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. Behind him, Liza’s words kept coming, sharp and slurred, but he didn’t look back.

As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it, his chest heaving with shaky breaths. The fight had drained him, but your voice—steady and kind from earlier—echoed faintly in his mind.

“You don’t deserve this, Chip.”

And for the first time, he wondered if you might be right.

—

It was like clockwork, hearing the knock on your door. You didn’t think twice before opening it, expecting the usual sheepish face and bruises.

“What is it today, Chip—” you began, but the words died in your throat as you froze.

It wasn’t Chip. It was Liza.

Before you could react, she pushed her way inside, her movements unsteady but fueled by a drunken determination. The sharp, acrid scent of alcohol clung to her, and her eyes narrowed as they darted around your space, taking in every detail.

“So you’re the little twinkie my Chip keeps running off to see?” she sneered, her words slurred but cutting.

“What? Um, no,” you stammered, panic rising as you took a step back. “We’re just—uh, we’re friends.”

Liza let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless as she staggered toward you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. “Friends?” she spat. “Don’t give me that. I wasn’t born yesterday. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you tried to stay calm. “Why are you in my home?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

Liza ignored the question, her gaze sweeping the room again before settling back on you. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” she hissed, taking another step closer. “Playing the good little Samaritan, patching him up, feeding him your pity. You think you can just take him from me?”

“No one’s trying to take anyone,” you said, your voice steadier now as you held your ground. “Chip’s my friend, that’s all. But if you’re here to cause trouble, you need to leave.”

Liza’s sneer deepened, her body swaying slightly as she crossed her arms. “Trouble?” she mocked. “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Your stomach churned as she stared you down, her presence filling the room with a volatile energy that made it hard to breathe. “Liza, I’m asking you nicely. Get out,” you said, your tone firmer now.

But she just laughed again, the sound colder than before. “Or what?” she challenged, leaning in closer. “You gonna run to Chip? Beg him to save you from big, bad Liza?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for how to handle this without escalating things further. “No,” you said firmly, your voice low and measured. “I don’t need anyone to save me. But you need to leave. Now.”

Liza’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face before she straightened up, wobbling slightly. “Fine,” she snapped, turning toward the door. “But you’d better stay away from him. Because if I find out you’re messing with what’s mine…”

She didn’t finish the threat, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air as she stumbled out of your home, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there for a moment, your heart racing as you tried to process what had just happened. Finally, you locked the door, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily.

And all you could think was, What the hell has Chip gotten himself into?

The rest of the day was a blur, the encounter with Liza leaving a sour knot in your stomach. That evening, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t home when Chip came knocking. Work had called, and with bills looming, you couldn’t afford to say no.

When Chip arrived at your door, his knock was softer than usual, almost hesitant. He waited, shuffling on the porch, but there was no answer. He tried again, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced around. Still nothing.

Unsure of what else to do, Chip slumped down onto the steps of your porch, his legs stretched out as the weight of everything pressed down on him. The fight with Liza, the exhaustion from trying to keep it all together, the growing guilt over dragging you into his mess—it all swirled in his head, loud and unrelenting.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. Just a few minutes to collect himself before heading back to the chaos. But the cool night air and the relative safety of your porch lulled him into stillness, and before he knew it, his eyes grew heavy.

By the time you got home, the clock was nearing midnight. You were juggling your keys and a bag of groceries when you noticed the figure curled up on your porch. Your heart skipped a beat before recognition settled in.

“Chip?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He stirred at the sound of your voice, groggy and disoriented. “Hey,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. “Your phone went straight to voicemail. Thought I’d wait for you.”

Your chest tightened as you took in the sight of him—his slumped posture, the faint bruise blooming on his jaw, the weariness etched into every line of his face. You crouched down beside him, setting your bag aside. “Chip, you can’t sleep on my porch.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, his voice low. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your frustration melted at the vulnerability in his tone, replaced by a wave of empathy. “Come on,” you said gently, standing and reaching for his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Chip hesitated, glancing up at you, his eyes glassy and unsure. But when you offered him a small, reassuring smile, he let out a soft sigh and took your hand.

The next morning, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. You hummed softly to yourself as you worked in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder every so often to make sure Chip hadn’t snuck off. But there he was, sitting at the small table, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, looking more like a lost puppy than the rugged man who had crashed on your porch.

When you placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he blinked at it, then up at you. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t quite know how to hide.

“Just eat,” you said with a small smile, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But when he picked up a piece of bacon, his hands trembled slightly. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, though he quickly looked down, blinking hard as if the sight of breakfast had somehow betrayed him.

You leaned against the counter, watching him take a hesitant bite, and the words spilled out before you could second-guess them. “Move in with me.”

Chip froze mid-bite, his eyes widening as he choked on the bacon. He coughed, grabbing his coffee to wash it down, and stared at you like you’d just grown a second head. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want you going back to her,” you said simply, your tone steady despite the racing of your heart. “You basically live here already, so why not make it permanent?”

“Y/N…” he stammered, setting his fork down as his brow furrowed. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” you replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you in that situation anymore, Chip. You don’t deserve it.”

“I can’t pay much in rent,” he said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I own the house, Chip. You’re not paying rent. Just… contribute when you can, okay? Groceries, light bills, whatever. This isn’t about money.”

He stared at you, the conflict in his eyes giving way to something softer, something that looked a lot like hope. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone, Chip. You don’t have to go back to that trailer.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze dropping to the plate of food you’d made for him. Then he nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice shaky. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relief washing over you. “Good,” you said with a small smile. “Now finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Chip nodded again, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he picked up his fork. But this time, there was a faint glimmer of something in his expression—a flicker of trust, of gratitude, of believing.

—

That weekend, you decided Chip deserved a break—a real one. So, you took him out for a round of celebratory drinks at your favorite local spot, a small, cozy bar with dim lighting, a jukebox that played everything from old country to classic rock, and a bartender who knew how to pour a drink just right.

For the first time in a long while, there was no drama, no blood, no tension hanging over your heads. Just you and Chip, relaxed and laughing like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Okay, okay,” You said, your voice loud enough to be heard over the faint buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. “But you’re seriously telling me you thought you could just jump off the roof into a pool without calculating the distance first? That’s, like, Physics 101!”

Chip rolled his eyes, tipping his glass toward you. “Hey, I was fifteen, and I thought I was invincible. Plus, I didn’t think anyone was going to snitch to my parents about it.”

You laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, and Chip couldn’t help but smile. It was good to see you like this, guard down, shoulders loose, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” You teased, taking a sip of your drink. “You’ve got guts, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Damn right, I do,” He shot back with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to bad decisions and living to tell the tale.”

You clinked his bottle against your glass, his smile softening as he looked at you. “I’ll drink to that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing easily as you swapped stories, teased each other, and indulged in just a little casual flirting. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but something about the way Chip looked at you that night felt… different.

“Thanks for this,” he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and giving you a small, genuine smile. “I don’t remember the last time I had a night like this. No stress. No bullshit. Just… good company.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you played it cool, swirling the last of your drink in your glass. “Well, you deserve it,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Besides, I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. “I think that’s all you,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to make your heart skip.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Flattery will get you another round,” you teased, sliding out of your seat.

Chip laughed, shaking his head as he watched you walk toward the bar. And as the night stretched on, filled with more drinks, more laughs, and the kind of easy connection that felt rare and precious, you both couldn’t help but think: Maybe this is how things are supposed to feel.

But, of course, nice things never last. One minute, you were smiling and turning your head to flag down the bartender for another drink while Chip slipped off to the bathroom. The atmosphere was light, carefree. For a fleeting moment, it felt like everything might actually be okay.

And then, chaos.

The first thing you registered was the searing pain. Your head snapped forward as something—or rather, someone—slammed your face into the edge of the bar. The world spun, and your hands flew up to your nose instinctively, warmth already spreading down your face.

Screams erupted around you, voices blending into a cacophony of panic and confusion. Blinking through the haze, you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her—Liza.

Her face was twisted with rage, her body shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at you. “You think you can just take him from me?” she spat, her voice slurred and venomous. “You think you’re better than me, huh? Well, guess what, sweetheart—he’s mine!”

Blood dripped between your fingers, your likely broken nose throbbing with every beat of your heart. You staggered back, trying to create space between you and her as bar patrons scrambled out of the way, some yelling for security, others too stunned to react.

“Liza,” you managed, your voice muffled and shaky as you tried to steady yourself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, taking a step toward you, her eyes wild. “You think you can fix him? Save him? He doesn’t need you!”

Before she could lunge again, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back. Chip. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror as he restrained her, his voice shaking as he said, “Liza, stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

She fought against his hold, screaming obscenities as her feet kicked against the floor. “You lied to me, Chip!” she shrieked. “You said you’d always be there! You said we’d work it out!”

“Let’s go,” Chip said firmly, dragging her toward the exit as she thrashed in his grip. “You’re done. Get out.”

As they disappeared through the door, the bartender rushed over to you, his face full of concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, handing you a wad of napkins to stem the bleeding.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, pressing the napkins against your nose as your vision blurred with tears of pain and shock.

Moments later, Chip returned, his chest heaving as he burst back into the bar. His eyes scanned the crowd frantically until they landed on you, sitting on a stool, blood dripping between your fingers. His face crumpled with guilt and horror.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to your side and crouching down in front of you. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you mumbled through the pain, though your voice trembled, and the blood on your hands told a different story.

“It is,” Chip said, his voice low and filled with self-reproach as he grabbed more napkins from the bartender. “It all is. If I’d just—if I hadn’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he pressed the napkins into your hands. “Here. Hold these tight, okay?”

You didn’t argue, taking the napkins and wincing as you held them against your throbbing nose. The room felt too loud, too crowded, the stares from the other patrons pressing down on you like weights.

Minutes later, the flashing lights of an ambulance cut through the chaos outside. Chip helped you to your feet, his hand steady on your back as paramedics ushered you into the back of the vehicle. The world felt surreal, the adrenaline in your veins masking the full extent of the pain radiating through your face.

“Stay still,” one of the paramedics instructed as they examined you, their hands gentle but efficient. You caught glimpses of Chip through the open door, standing a few feet away, his posture tense as he spoke with the police.

He gestured animatedly, his words spilling out in hurried bursts. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could see the guilt etched into every movement, the way he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping as he pointed back toward the bar.

When the officer nodded and took notes, Chip glanced back at you, his expression raw and heavy with regret.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedic gave you a small smile, her voice calm. “It looks like your nose is broken, but it’s a clean break. We’ll take you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes flickering back to Chip outside. 

—

When you arrived home that night, the sound of hurried footsteps greeted you even before you stepped through the door. Chip was pacing the living room, his hands raking through his hair in nervous, jittery motions.

The moment the door clicked open, he froze and turned toward you, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and worry. “Y/N? Y/N, oh my god, you’re okay,” he blurted, rushing toward you like a man on a mission.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his intensity, though it turned into a groan as the pain in your nose flared. “I’m fine, Chip,” you assured him, though your voice came out a little nasally thanks to the bandages.

Chip stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with a mixture of guilt and concern. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to get you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You had the car keys, and I—I didn’t know how to—”

“Chip,” you interrupted, smiling despite the ache in your face. “It’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on your bruises and the fresh bandage across your nose. “I still feel like an idiot,” he muttered, his voice heavy with regret.

“Don’t,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They arrested Liza,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I told them everything. All of it.”

“Everything?” you echoed, your brows lifting slightly despite the stiffness in your face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re gonna want you to testify, though. Against her. I—” He paused, looking up at you, his expression pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” you said without hesitation, cutting him off.

Chip’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “She hurt you, Chip. And tonight, she hurt me. I’m not going to let her keep doing this—not to you, not to anyone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw working like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You reached out, squeezing his arm gently. “We’ll get through this,” you said, your voice steady. “Together.”

Chip’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, the tension visibly melting away. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long, and for whatever reason his brain cooked up, he decided that right then was the perfect time to kiss you.

Before you could even react, his lips met yours—not hard, not rough, but just enough to remind you that, oh yeah, you had a freshly set nose.

“Ow!” you grunted, pulling back sharply, your hand flying up to cradle your face.

Chip’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh my god! I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

But the ridiculousness of it all hit you before the pain fully registered, and a laugh bubbled out of you. “Chip, seriously?” you managed between giggles, wincing but unable to stop yourself from laughing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing bright red. “Guess I got caught up in the moment or something. Stupid, right?”

You kept laughing, the sound slightly strangled as you tried to avoid moving your nose too much. “You think?” you teased, giving him a playful shove. “Maybe next time don’t kiss someone who just got their face rearranged, genius.”

Chip chuckled, his embarrassment giving way to a genuine laugh as he looked at you. “Noted,” he said, his grin growing. “Maybe I’ll, uh, ask for permission first next time.”

“Good idea,” you replied with a smirk, your hand still gently holding your nose. “But hey, points for effort, I guess.”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get.”

As the laughter faded, the two of you sat there in the quiet, the moment lighter than it had been all night. And despite the throbbing in your nose, you couldn’t help but feel a little warmth spread through your chest. Even if his timing was terrible, it was still Chip—and maybe, just maybe, there was something to that.

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tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 

[darlingkikki]

omg, late to your ghoap post but au where you’re just crying asking if johnny doesn’t love you or take the relationship seriously because he kissed someone else while ghost is sitting there waiting for his kiss. thinks you’re so pretty hiccuping and crying but damn he wants that kiss already

Warnings: Manipulative Ghost, bitch boy Johnny (lmao but seriously), dubcon (mostly for the illusion of choice but the kiss is consensual)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I am in a writing funk but I forced myself to at least explore more of this because I so badly want to but my brain is mush :( (not edited so just focus on the vibes)

initial post linked here

Something dark and insatiable claws at the inside of Ghost’s skull. To repress it, his blunt nails bite into his palms. He watches Johnny’s hands cup your crestfallen face, his expression knotted with the heaviness of remorse. Above the sound of your hiccuping questions, he can just about pick up Johnny’s attempts to soothe your broken heart. 

“Course I love yeh. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Nah, dinnae say that. I did a dumb thing. I’m always doing dumb things. It’s nothin’ to do with yeh.”

“I pushed them away, just not quick enough. I didnae do anything more, I promise.” 

He’s unyielding in holding your gaze. His thumbs trace gentle, methodical circles on your cheeks, wiping away the moisture under your eyes. Selfishly, cruelly, Simon wishes you would stop sobbing already so he can take over. Johnny promised him a kiss from you, so a kiss is what he’ll be leaving with.

You seem to be a gentle, sweet thing so far, even with a pouty frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. Sensitive too. (What other parts of you share that same description?). A few tears evade Johnny’s thumbs. They roll down the swell of your cheeks. Ghost licks his lips, imagining his tongue following the wet trails down to the collar of your shirt.

Fuck, he needs this kiss bad.

If Johnny is desperate enough for your forgiveness, maybe he can push this further with you. Convince him that a kiss isn’t enough. That you deserve—no, need something more. Johnny will be easy to sway. You, however, he’s still figuring out as Johnny calms you into soft sniffles. 

“There you go, now yer ready to meet my Lt.,” Johnny coos. He steps around you, putting his hands on either side of your face and angling you to look where Ghost has been standing this entire time. “Go on, give me hell Ghost.” 

Fucking finally. Ghost doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not when the sight of you has him sucking in a sharp breath. 

Christ, what a sight you are.

His body moves, driven by greed when you stare at him all confused and teary-eyed. His favorite combination.

“Good finally meetin’ you,” Ghost says. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor. He hasn’t even taken his boots off.

Johnny’s fingers tighten to keep you looking straight at Ghost. Like a puppeteer, though it’s clear who has the ultimate hold on the strings. 

“Why is he here?” You ask, trying and failing to turn your head towards Johnny. Nope, not yet. It’s Ghost’s turn now and Johnny bows out of the equation.

Their positions have switched seamlessly, like dancers performing around your body. Or soldiers following a meticulous plan only they are privy to. The smell of alcohol leaves your nostrils, replaced by mint and heady tobacco. It's sense whiplash and your confusion makes for an excellent distraction from your heartache. A distraction Ghost can use to worm his way in.

“I’m here to make it better,” Simon answers after a beat. His eyes are devilishly dark, indistinguishable from a starless night sky. Inky like pools of tar. He says your name with the familiarity of a lover. An undeniable hunger laces his voice and a shudder slithers down your spine. 

Oh yes, he thinks, smirking like a starving lion, you won’t need much convincing. Your reaction speaks volumes. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “Your boyfriend's hurt you, yeah? You shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

He’s right, you know that. To forgive Johnny would only lead to a forever-repeating cycle of tears and heartache. But what choice did you have now? 

The luxury of choosing for yourself is a privilege these men have taken for themselves. 

Ghost leans in until his lips are just a hair’s breadth away. He’s dangling a carrot in front of your face—the answer to all your pain. 

Johnny's grip on your head loosens. Without it, you'd have forgotten entirely that he was still here, acting as the hard place Ghost urges you towards with a coaxing grasp on your hips, leaving you in his cage and Johnny a willful voyeur. 

He’s tied your neurons in knots, effectively cutting off any chance you have at making a less rash decision. He’s infiltrated your senses and made you his prey. No one could fault you for believing him when he tells you he’ll make it better. Let the warmth of his mouth be a band-aid for your pain and a knife in Johnny’s chest.

"Let me fix it," Ghost whispers, just before his lips are about to claim yours.

It's not a question.

[cube-cumb3r]

How did people answer the Dungeon Meshi question? (aka. how the Hell do you parse through free-form responses?!?)

(art by Ryokō Kui)

This first part is just going to be babble about google sheets and excel functions, feel free to skim or skip to the results.

Here's how the question was formulated: "Which Dungeon meshi character is objectively the best one If you are unfamiliar with dungeon meshi but still have an answer to this question, you can still answer (you don't need to know the character's name)."

As you can imagine, this made the responses exactly as creative as you'd expect. Which has made them both delightful to read through, but also painful to convert into usable data.

I started with making a list of the most frequently used words, excluding common ones. Here's an excerpt.

From this we already can see some hints as to the character most frequently mentioned, but if I were to make a chart of this it'd be a zillion categories, when ideally the responses obviously referring to the same character should be in one group, so we can truely see how many times a character was mentioned, no?

Although I could individually read every answer and categorize them manually I am NOT going to do that because, 1. it's tedious 2. I don't want to 3. I won't learn anything

If I ever work with a dataset of 1000 observations, doing it manually is absolutely not even feasible, therefore it's good to already know a better way to do it.

I was initially hoping to utilize xlookup, but I realized that xlookup doesn't actually do what I think it did. What I was HOPING it would do was to be able to identify keywords within longer answers, such as "cat girl" or "beardy dwarf" and then match them to some sort of index, where it'd be like Oh "cat girl"? That's obviously "Izutsumi". This is not how xlookup works. Xlookup cannot pick out a keyword from a longer response, it can only identify a partial phrase (example, if the full index phrase was "Delicious In Dungeon", a response saying "Delicious" will match, but a response saying "My favorite anime is Delicious in Dungeon", will not match, because xlookup cannot match a PERFECT MATCH from within a longer chunk of text.)

So instead I had to rely on my long-time good-time pal Regular Expression functions and combine them with xlookup. With my reliable sunday lover Regexextract I can Extract keywords out of answers in one step, and then in the next step match said keyword to my index.

INDEX:

^here is the index. Any non-blank response that doesn't match these gets counted as "Other". I tried to make the keywords as short as possible, that way they'd catch as many alternate spellings as possible without me having to write every variation out myself (LAZY!). For example, "bear" and "beard" don't need to be separate keywords (if they like in this index, correspond to the same character), as the keyword "bear" will match both the word Bear and Beard. Though, and as you will see later, making the keywords too short will result in false matches.

I made some Liberal Assumptions as to who a responder meant, such as in answers mentioning 'lesbians' or 'elf', which could in theory mean many characters. I went back and checked and adjusted the index to see that every answer got coded reasonably, but this has resulted in an index that is extremely adapted to this specific dataset, and it would not be as effective or reliable on a different dataset of Dungeon Meshi Answers.

Also, if a responder mentioned multiple characters, the first match is the one they got counted as. This could also be incorrect, depending on the answer.

RESULTS!!!

Here are the results! The title of the chart is wrong, I was obviously asking about the objectively best character, not "favorite"! Oh well. According to 24.4% responders, the objectively best character is Senshi, which is the correct answer (<- JOKE) (<- actually answered 'Marcille' himself)

You might notice quite a large "Other" category of 21.3% too, this is every response that was difficult to match to a specific Dungeon Meshi character, for a variety of reasons. Check out this hideous pie chart.

I don't know who "the one with teacher vibes" or "the one who is secretly a neutron star" is. Sorgy. Some of these were also referring to characters from other media, which is allowed and I respect it, but none of them recurring sadly. Wouldn't it be crazy if like 4 entirely separate people independently answered Sans. What Would It Mean?

Full responses:

With every "identifiable" response just being coded into a category, you don't actually get to see the beautiful ways in which THOSE people responded this question. So, here they are, in ascending order.

Izutsumi (7.5% of responses)

I was expecting more alternate spellings on this one, I personally think her name is tricky to spell, but that didn't seem to be the case. Also, seems that many people who think she's objectively the best one also don't actually know her name.

Falin (9.4% of responses)

Two of the responses here contains the two keywords, "chicken"/"bird" (which would categorize it as "Falin") and "lesb" (Which would actually categorize it as "Marcille"). Luckily, chicken and bird happened to be written first, so those responses got correctly coded as Falin.

Chilchuck (10.0% of responses)

Nearly everyone who think Chilchuck is the best one also seem to know his name. Maybe you need to be familiar with the show to truely appreciate the Chilchuck?

Laios (12.5% of responses)

Here, due to my laziness of not wanting to account for every possible spelling of Laios, "Ludmila" gets miscategorized as Laios because it contains the keyword "la". However, "The paladin" (which I do think actually is referring to Laios) gets accidentally categorized as Laios for the same reason, correctly.

Marcille (12.5% of responses)

The reason I made the controversial judgement call that responses containing the word lesbian would be coded as Marcille, is because I made the very liberal assumption that anyone responding with just "The lesbian" probably did mean Marcille, anyone familiar enough with Dungeon Meshi to mean Otta is probably be familiar enough to know her name. There is one response here saying "Lesbians", and they probably meant both Marcille and Falin but responders only get one character, so it got counted as Marcille.

Senshi (24.4%)

(You might notice as I just did that a response clearly meaning Chilchuck got coded as Senshi because they happened to mention Senshi first. That's my mistake for not making "halfling" it's own keyword. Sorry!)

Similarly to Izutsumi and Falin, Senshi seems to be a character many responders don't know the name of, in fact it looks like he most out of any character had the most responses mention him without knowing his name. Given that, I would make the assumption that most people who are only vaguely familiar with Dungeon Meshi, and perhaps don't even watch the show, overwhelmingly think Senshi is the Best Guy. Does that make it more of a correct answer, or less?

Anyway,

That's that for Dungeon Meshi. Happy Meshing everybody

[LINK TO MASTERPOST]

Does anyone want to do my new google form

[this-lovely-universe]

Lore Drop/Open Starter/who knows: Throw a punch

Finley & Anastasia

(I got a little carried away here and accidental wrote more then an open starter

anyways if you don't want to read the writing part, just skip to the *** and the open starter starts there)

It was a peaceful day, surprising.

Finley and Anastasia were just sat out the front of the Chaos cabin together, as they normally were.

It was a nice moment. Until it wasn't.

A girl had come up to them. "Are you Darrel Baird's daughter?"

Anastasia immediately tensed. "sadly."

"Why the hell would you lie about him? He did nothing wrong."

"Why the hell would you just come up to her and say that?" Finley asked, standing up.

"No one asked your opinion, you-"

"I suggest you think before you speak." Anastasia spat.

"Oh please, no one finds you intimidating." The girl sneered.

"Do you want to get punched?"

"Fin that's really not-"

"Oh yes, it is. You know it."

The girl rolled her eyes. "You gonna answer the question, Annabelle?"

"That's not my name and you know it."

"Sorry, Anaya."

Anastasia took a breath. "Whatever my father is spewing on his twitter account is bullshit."

Finley put a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to tell her this." She whispered.

Anastasia smiled weakly at her. "It's fine."

"You sure?"

"Would you two stop whispering about me? I'm right here." The girl crossed her arms.

Finley rolled her eyes. "It literally wasn't about you."

"Oh yeah, sure. That's as truthful as what you said about your father."

"Would you mind your business?" Anastasia asked her.

"It is my business." She defended.

"How?" Finley eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh whatever, you clearly just want a fight." Anastasia gently pulled Finley's arm. "Come on, Fin."

The girl threw something at Anastasia's head. "Don't walk away from me, you useless sack of-"

She didn't get to finish her statement before Finley had punched her straight in the face.

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"Finle-"

The girl glared at her for a second, holding her nose, before punching her back.

She stumbled back, before smacking her head on the stairs.

"Finley!" Anastasia, crouched next to her as Finley groaned.

The girl, having probably realised what she'd done, ran.

Anastasia paid her no mind, just looking at Finley.

"Shit- you're bleeding." She said shakily. "Come on, just stay awake and I'll get you to the infirmary."

"It's not that bad." She sat up.

"Finley, it is- woah, slow down!"

She blinked the dizziness away. "It's-"

"Finley Morgan Zavala, if you say it's fine right now, I will tie you to a cot." She slowly pulled her up and put some of her weight on her.

Finley huffed, but struggled to not let Anastasia take care of her. "Fine."

"Good. Come on, you need patching up."

***

Anastasia came into the infirmary, helping a bleeding Finley.

It wasn't anything serious, nothing some ambrosia couldn't fix, but Anastasia looked one comment away from losing her shit.

"Can you help?" She asked.

"Anastasia, this is the fucking infirmary." She groaned.

more Annie and Fin content yippee

I can't tell if it's good or shit

oh well, it's here for the vibes

@arisdaughter @childofthewargod @dianedantedominic @theorphicforest

@this-rose-has-thornes @ithacas-prince @daonedaonlyskh @hispanic-child-of-hermes @aria-pane @unhinged-waterlilly

@chaos-pers0nified @ariathemortal @i-was-never-sane @gaygirldoodles @smileyalater

@if-i-could-cry-i-wouldnt @hellincarnation

If you want to be added, removed or if I forgot to tag you, let me know :)

[arpicityandneed]

Congratulations on 100! Also-- gradschool apps can be draining, please make sure you're taking care of you! We care about you <3

For your 100 prompts, I'd like to request 3 or 10 with Bucky? But I'm excited to see everything and anything you do!

Thank you, as always, for sharing your work and congratulations again!

This was so sweet omg ♡ I really enjoy writing on tumblr because of the interactions I can have with readers like you. Thank you for the support, it really means a lot cause these applications child...

Bucky (#3 fully clothed x stark naked)

18+ f!reader. Avengers!Bucky. Creampie. Light spanking. Daddy kink. Established relationship.

He punched in the code to his rooms at Stark Tower with a silent thank you to that asshole for making the technology whisper quiet. He frequently came back from missions in the dead of night and never wanted to wake you accidentally. He abandoned his bag at the entry way and crept deeper into the modern space moving without a sound until he reached the master bedroom.

Inside he found you sleeping in his bed, naked and so cozy it mended his fractured heart all over again. You slept deeply, like you knew down to your bones nothing could touch you without incurring his wrath.

His woman.

He crouched beside you and took a moment to just look at you. The slope of your cheek bones, the curve of your jaw, the little pout of your lips. Every inch of your body was bare to him with such trust it made him hard. He couldn't resist brushing his lips against yours and smiled as you woke up with a sleepy murmur of his name.

"Missed you doll. C'mere." He tugged you into his arms easily, your soft body pressed against his tactical gear. The dark grey and gold of his arm glinted in the low light of the room as he grabbed your ass cheek and pulled you closer- guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hm, missed me real bad didn't you baby?" You blinked awake as you felt his erection pressed against your core, smiling and taking in his handsome features. "Hey." You mumbled softly before kissing him properly this time.

"I want you just like this, soft and sweet just for me." Bucky was lost, hands roaming over your body like he couldn't settle for just one touch.

"Then have me, Bucky, you don't gotta ask twice." You smiled at the way his eyes lit up, a small squeak escaping you were lifted by one bionic arm. His other hand went to his belt buckle. He didn't bother with the rest of the gear, only taking out his cock and dragging it through your folds- groaning when he felt how wet you were.

"Were you-?" His eyes shot to yours, hopeful.

"How else do I pass the time while I'm waitin' on you? Get's lonely at night in this big bed without you, Sarge- fuck!" You couldn't focus on finishing your teasing when the blunt head of him was pressing into you. Inch after thick inch filled you until you were trembling in his lap, rocking your hips and rubbing yourself against him like a bitch in heat.

"Then I expect this, warm welcome, fucking hell-" He growled biting down on your shoulder as he tighten his arm around your waist. "Every time I come home."

"Anything, just come home to me." You promised, feeling him throb inside you. Somehow it was the tender confessions that seemed to bring out his urge to ruin you.

"Anything?" His voice was low, heavy with intention as he planted his feet firmly.

"Anything, baby. Anything you want." You nodded and kisses his nose, your last coherent action before he used his arm to hold you still- fucking his fat cock up into your drenched heat again and again until you were dizzy with need.

"Gonna let me use you? Whenever I want? However I want?" Bucky was feral, his flesh hand slapping your ass when you were too fucked out to answer quick enough.

"Yes!" You cried out as you felt the tip of his cock kiss your cervix wetly as he buried himself balls deep inside you.

"Tell me why. Say it." He growled in your ear, smirking when he felt your nails try to scratch at his shoulders through his kevlar. Your clit was grinding against his fingers before you remembered his hand moving.

"Love you!" You squealed as he pounded you through an orgasm so forceful you saw stars.

"That's right baby, louder." He groaned, losing his rhythm as he got close. "Tell me again, fuck."

"Love you, daddy," you slurred, drunk on his cock and the orgasm that drenched his shaft.

"That's just unfair-" Your fluttering walls were soaked in his seed as he grinded up into you, cradling you against his chest and kissing your temple.

"But I love you too doll."

[simp-ly-writes]

Dressing Up for the Role

─────── · · The Professionals

Pairing: Russell Adler x Fem!Spy!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You and Adler are husband and wife on paper yet you both need to appear the part. You take on the city for the elements to make your relationship appear authentic: rings, clothes, and chemistry? Well that couldn't be right... and who the hell is this "Bell" person Adler always flicks past... a continuation of this.

─ · · TAGS: no use of (y/n), non-canon compliant, flirting, use of pet names, teasing, fluff, only one bed trope at the end, Adler being a bit on an ass (but we love him for it).

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,826

─ · · A/N: I had to stop myself so many times from writing, "and then they kiss" lmao. Let me know what y'all think. Thank you for the support on the introductory part!

─────── · ·

Two days left was all you had with your new "husband," to make yourselves seem like you had been married for years. You both had rented a camera to make sure you had pictures of your "honeymoon" ready if anyone searched your bags or took a look at your wallets.

You had decided on a picture of you both in the local Park underneath the multi-coloured tree's, the other an image of Adler smoking out on the balcony while casting you a wink. Adler had yet to show you the picture he placed in his wallet and teased you every time you asked saying it was the worst picture possible so that other's wouldn't get jealous- you did not know weather to be offended or thankful.

The day would be packed full of clothes shopping, speed get-to-know one another lunch dates where more than twenty question rounds were asked to ensure that any question directed towards each other or your relationship could be answered or deflected with ease.

─────── · ·

You were in the fitting room, trying on various outfits for your trip. Needing thicker clothes for colder climate than you were about to be operating in. Adler was in a chair outside your door, a large mirrored room to see every angle of the fabric draped against your body.

Leaning back against the leather that groaned more than he did. Adler rose his pointer finger, twirling it around and watched as the fabric of your dress spun with your shoes before falling back to the floor. You smiled watching as the glasses slipped down his nose. "You look very nice but we do need clothes for six months not six weeks and we are running out of daylight."

"Well its not like these dresses have super accessible zippers or anything! Takes me a solid ten minutes to just get out of the fucking things since you waved the associate away!" you argued with a pointed finger at his chest.

Adler stood before placing a hand on your hip, reaching up and around to slowly unzip the fabric from your body as to not catch any or your skin. "No harm in asking for help, you know that?"

"Not when the help gets all preachy, Adler," you retort, "but thank you." Holding the front of your dress up you run back to the fitting room, a smile dusting against your lips as your heart fluttered in your chest.

─────── · ·

Throughout the day, you had to consistently remember that the information you were getting out of your husband was not for just your ears and the guilt only built in your gut as Adlers answers slowly went from satirical to genuine as the day progressed.

You could sense the hidden truth underneath the smiles and cigarettes he would present to you behind closed smiles and doors. Telling you about the team he had back at home and the slip of the name, "Bell," that was never mentioned again.

Looking through the database while Adler was out buying another box of cigarettes and lunch for the day, you had yet to find anything for a member under the CIA with that codename or a mission of any kind.

This point lingered at the back of your head as he told you his days during the Vietnam war and you were most surprised over your third cup of coffee that day that he had a wife before you. In actuality, you forgot just how long you both had been working in the field for that it was silly of you to think of yourself as the only one... if only a fake one.

Smiling and nodding along, Adler raised a brow at your drop in reaction to a concealed one- you hated that he could instantly pick up on your tricks and perfected charisma you thought to have mastered over the years. "Have something you want to say?"

"Nothing, just... was this "Bell" person your wife?"

Adler laughed harder than you had ever seen before yet it felt distantly hollow as you shrunk back into your chair as he leaned forwards onto the table. "No, though we wouldn't have been far off if things worked... differently."

You both let the words sit in the tension-filled air, unsure of how to continue conversation you decided to end it all together and move on to the next activity. "Ready to get married, old man?"

"Thought we already were?"

"Not without a ring on your finger, we arn't"

─────── · ·

Wedding band shopping had taken a majority of the afternoon as Adler had to keep up a pleased facade as you hung off his arm, smiling widely and rubbing up and down his arm while speaking with the consultant.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, honey," Adler commented with an overly sweet tone yet after the few hours that you had known the man. Those sweet-toned words were heavy with sarcasm, his eyes appearing dead underneath his shades that he insisted upon wearing- even indoors.

"Well, honey," you add just as if not more sweetly back, "I want to make sure we have the most authentic and delicate piece on your finger to make everyone know we're together." Adler chuckles, smiling while glaring daggers at the side of your head as you laugh with the consultant who is practically leaning over the display case to converse with you.

A sudden hand falling from your arm down to your waist is a comforting weight as your attention shifts back over. Adler pulls you back slightly to his side so that you stand up-right before leaning down and whispering in your ear, "we do plan on paying for these right? Don't need you sweetening the deal with anything with wandering eyes."

You look up at Adler, eyebrow raised in question, "and here I thought you wanted a good deal?"

"Not my money, honey. I could care less about what you spend the budget on as long as we both make it back with majority of our pieces." you nod with a shrug. "We'll take these thank you."

The consultant blinks before smiling, "yes, let me ring these up for you two." Adler had yet to take a hand off your back until you both were a block away from the store before offering you his arm.

���────── · ·

Arriving back at the hotel, you ordered room service for dinner on the balcony before going over the plan for tomorrow. You both would be boarding a commercial plane, a car waiting to take you to an empty apartment across from the venue you would be attending to gain more information on the Russians space plans. An insider under the name red-gloves had slipped the information to your agency saying that this was a cover for the missiles they were building.

There would be five people you would be on the look out for, the Space Agency Director, his wife (and mistresses attending), the directors assistant, and surprisingly enough, a USA ambassador that was supposed to have returned a year ago.

Adler nodded along to the information as you wrapped a blanket over yourself, the wind catching and picking up as a few napkins threatened to join the breeze. A sudden clicking sound had you looking over to watch as your husband lit a cigarette, offering it to you before lighting another one for himself.

You both sat there in silence overlooking the city below you before stuffing out your cigarette and closing your eyes for a moment. You knew that this would be your bit of peace before the act actually started but in this moment, life felt so natural in an odd way as you began to understand why people did this, got married, so much so that you didn't realize yourself drifting away.

─────── · ·

"Hey, hey," Adler shook your gently before snapping his fingers in your face. You had not moved, instead burrowing further into his side with a smile- he scoffed. Flicking the bud burning his fingers to the ground and pressing it out he rolled you up in the blanket before picking you up in his arms and bringing you towards the bed.

He watched as your head found the pillow, debating of weather or not to move the covers on top as well, he decided against it but before he could step away from the mattress. Your hand gripped his shirt. "Stay."

"I'm not your husband just your co-worker," Adler retorted watching as you slowly woke back up from the change in temperature.

"I know that and I also know how miserable you were complaining about your back hurting all throughout the day. Now lay the fuck down, Russell Adler and get some good rest. I need my co-worker, work-ready in the morning not a grumpy husband, right?" you said back before rolling over to the other side and flicking the lamp off, "Goodnight."

Adler stood at the side of the bed, shaking his head. He couldn't believe you spitting his words right back at him before shrugging off his shirt before crawling underneath the covers.

─────── · ·

Waking up, you were surprised to find your pillow and blanket had changed as you head rested upon Adlers chest- his arm your blanket before you were leaning over the sleeping man to slam the alarm back to sleep. "Morning, sunshine," you teased, stretching in a groggy tone, bones cracking as Russell deeply groaned. The sound going directly through your spine with a shiver watching as Adler rose, his back flexing as he stood and reached down for his shirt while turning around you got a glimpse of his stomach before it was hidden away.

"If you keep looking at me like that, you'll get sick of me before the mission even starts, wife," Adler says before turning towards the kitchenette for a cup of coffee.

Rolling your eyes and falling back underneath the covers you could hear Adler shaming you from the next room. "Don't make me pull you out of that bed. It was your idea for us to make the earliest flight, sweetheart."

"Then do it and see what happens," you commented playfully yet tone coated in a sarcastic flair. "I think you'd be into it from what you were telling me yesterday," Adler says with a laugh before walking back into the room, two mugs in hand.

You silently take a mug, glaring as you bring it up to your lips to cover your heated cheeks. Adler looks out the window, hair tousled as he stretches his neck, fingers twitching for nicotine in the morning.

You watch the way the suns rays gently cast upon the gold locks of hair wanting nothing more than to stand and feel the softness of it underneath your fingertips.

"I thought we went over the starring thing already."

"Fuck off, Adler."

"Now thats more like it."

─────── · ·

[hybridhideoutstory]

CHAPTER 2

Payton could feel themself shifting in their bed, stirring and tossing around. “Woah” they thought in their groggy state. “That was one of the weirdest dreams I’ve ever had in my life.” They heard knocking on their bedroom door. 

“Oh my gosh.” Payton thought “it’s Sunday. I gotta get ready to see my grandparents. They got up and rushed to the door. “I can’t wait to see grandma and grandpa, wonder what sweets and treasures they have for me this week.” They opened the door and low and behold,

It was Omf, they Young Adult novel hybrid 

“Good morning Pay Pay! :] ready for the-“

They slammed the door in his face.

They rushed to their bed and grabbed the orange stained pillow from last night’s sobbing session, then promptly screamed bloody murder into it. Of course! This stupid dream was real it was all real! There’s no escape from Lizard boy and his crazy Hybrid shenanigans. They walked back to the door and opened it again to see that Omf was still standing in the doorway as cheery as the when the door was served to him.

He cleared his throat, “Good morning Pay Pay! :] ready for the tour?”

“I’m ready to kill myself right about now…” 

“NOOO!!! :[! No no no! Look I know this is hard for you but the hideout is gonna be great alright??? You’re gonna be okay a promise!” He peered into Payton’s room and saw a gift basket sitting on their nightstand. He walked in and held it up

“Look! You got some goodies! Isn’t that fun? ,:]”

“I did not say you could enter my room.”

He sat on the ledge of the bed and invited Payton the sit with him. “It’s just a smart idea to have someone who knows things help you go through this, there could be important stuff I here!” He started shuffling through the basket wondering what Payton was given. 

 Payton protested. “Hey that’s my new stuff!” 

“I’m just checking if something is in here. Aha! Yes I found it!” He held out a pamphlet that looked like an advert for a children’s story time at the local library. It was all cutesy with bright colors and “How to Care for Me! A Hybrids’s care book!” Written in rainbow comic sans. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

Payton reluctantly flipped through the pages, which had random care facts that seemed to be answered by someone writing in a pink glitter pen. For example, the pamphlet would ask, “And to eat my hybrid needs…” and Pink Pen would reply with, “No food, No water, Nothing except for paint, if the hybrid loses too much paint the poor thing dies. Just make sure it eats Acrylic and drinks some watercolor so it can be healthy.” 

“Jesus Christ…”

“Hey >:[!”

Payton flipped through even more, each page felt more dehumanizing Than the next, Payton wasn’t vibing with the way Pink Pen referred to them as an “it”.

“For fun my hybrid can do…” “NO WATER!!!! Water will KILL it when the water distills in the paint. Absolutely NO water unless it’s mixed in with watercolor paint. No swimming!!!” 

Payton was on the verge of orange tears again, no swimming, no normal showers, they couldn’t even eat their favorite foods anymore! Omf was constantly over their shoulder trying to absorb the information from the pamphlet. 

“Hey!” He rummaged through Payton’s gifts again. “Whoever sent you all this gave you some paints! If your hungry that is.” 

“You know what?” Payton said trembling. “Fine! You know my life basically screwed now anyway!” Orange started to bead from their eyes. “Might as well drink this, whatever the hell harvest red color is! That’s just what freaks like me need to stay alive haha…!” They uncapped the paint and brought it up to their mouth and started eating. 

Surprisingly, the paint didn’t taste like anything chemical or the sorts. It tasted like crisp apples and cherries, it was delicious. 

“Holy… what the…”

“What’s wrong?” Omf asked

“Nothing it just- tastes good?” 

“Ooo lemme try! :]” Omf Without thinking took Payton precious food and took a swig. He quickly spit is out just as fast as he chugged it. 

“It just tastes like paint!” He cried as he coughed as spat the paint all over Payton’s bed. 

“Ew stop that! Not on my bed! Stop gaging all over my goddamn bed!” 

“I’m sorry :[“ He said. “I’ll just be outside. When your ready for the tour just come outside. He then left Payton alone in their room. 

Payton was left to contemplate more things in their room. Now they wish that had swam in their local pool more often, because they couldn’t do that anymore. Also, why did that paint taste like a delicious combination of fresh red fruit? Does all paint taste like that? Or does the flavor change with each color? They didn’t want to think about any of this at the moment, it was hurting their head. They figured it was best to distract themself from their misfortune.

Payton opened the door. “Okay Lizard boy” they said as if the first Thirty minutes of the day had exhausted them. “What are you going to show me first?” 

Omf perked up, wagging his tail. “O O I CAN SHOW YOU THE ARCADE :]>!!!” He grabbed Payton by the blue hand and sprinted with them to the elevator. “WOAH!” Payton shouted. “SLOW DOWN!” 

Omf practically slammed the poor kid into the elevator wall and clicked one of the big red buttons. The label next to this one saying “arcade”. The two descended, or ascended? Payton couldn’t tell. 

The door dinged at they were in a maze of mechanical marvels. Tons of games and machines of the sort lit up the room. Payton felt they they were in the Dave n Busters headquarters. “Pretty OMFTASTIC huh?” Said omftastic Omf. The two wandered along in the neon paradise for a bit. Payton noticed other kids playing around in the arcade. 

“Who are these kids?” Asked Payton. 

“They’re other hybrids of course silly! Not all hybrids look as hybrid as you y’know. Though most of these guys must be video game hybrids, there’s been a spike of those lately from what I’ve heard.” 

“Woah.” Payton paused. “There can be more than one hybrid of something?” 

“Yeah pretty much.” Omf said. “Human teens are more susceptible to certain demigod possessions. Also kinda depends on the demigod too y’know. Like for example, I don’t think the one that got you is very fond of hybrids. That explains why your the only one of your kind.”

“Wow. I feel so special.” Payton said sarcastically. 

“Hey don’t be like that…we still don’t know what your fully capable of.” 

Payton scoffed. “What could paint to anyway? Make whatever I paint come to life?”

“Hmmm” Omf scratched his beard, or what can barely be considered a beard. “That sounds possible, but not really effective in combat.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

Suddenly a kid popped up from behind Payton and tried to whack the living color out of them with a cheap plastic sword that was so amazing that the green light started to die. 

“Hey!” Omf shouted. “What is wrong with you? >:[!”

“Level up!” Said the kid before he ran off he spoke like he was trapped in a PlayStation 1, but other than that he damn near looked exactly human. 

Payton got up grasping their head. “God… what, what was that.”

“You just got hit in the head by one of the kids.”

“Oh so he thinks he’s hot stuff?” Payton claimed in a daze. “Well what’s his stick gonna do against a gun? God I wish I had a gun.” 

“Okay… maybe we should move on to the next part of the tour…” Omf picked Payton up by the shoulders and took them to the elevator. 

The elevator dinged. “This is our next stop!” Omf said cheerily. “It’s my favorite:]!” Payton observed that they were in a training Dojo. There were dummies and weapons all over the place. Omf picked up a sword from one of the racks. He sighed dreamily as he looked around and sniffed the air with his lizard nose as if he was on a hiking trip to the great glorious outdoors. “Awesome ain’t it?”

“No” Payton responded flatly.

“>:0! Uh well your gonna be spending a lot of time here Pay Pay, after all, Luna said your gonna be on patrol! Which means you have to train with me! And I’m gonna be the best trainer you’ve ever seen got it?”

“ ‘Kay” 

“I- uh oh…” Omf sounded defeated but he didn’t push Payton any further. “Let’s… let’s go somewhere else now.” 

When Payton and Omf got off the elevator again, they were In a massive movie theatre. “This is the hideout movie theatre!” Omf exclaimed. “Since hybrids can’t really go out and see the latest stuff, we ask the demigod of cinema to supply us with all the all the latest films. Plus you can basically ask for any movie one night and they’ll play it for you in the theatre. It’s awesome, and all the snacks… are free…. >:].” 

Payton was amazed. Now THIS was something they could vibe with. Imagine all the sick film dates they could take Lynn on. Or all the dumb comedies they could watch with their friends. Just how many memories they could make with their friends. Oh right, they could never talk to them again. 

“Uh… this is neat I guess. I’ve been meaning to see that new My girlfriend is a goth Vampire movie… I was… gonna watch it with my girlfriend.” 

“Oh… :D.” Omf suddenly realized the pain in Payton’s voice. “I’m- so sorry.”

“It’s alright I guess, I suppose you miss your friends and family right?” 

“Well- erm, uh…” 

Suddenly a bell rung through the through the entire building. A voice on PA system rung out. “Good evening residents of the Hypnos Hideout, United States. As of this moment the cafeteria will be serving lunches. Have a good afternoon.” 

“Welp!” Omf said, losing his previous train of thought. “It’s lunch time! Uh- don’t worry I’m sure they’ve made accommodations to the menu for you Pay Pay! Come on let’s go! :D” 

When the go to the cafeteria floor, it looked like one of those food courts you’d find in a mall. The room was decked out with star shaped lights, moons and dreamy clouds. It looked more like nap time than lunch time. Teenagers and adults gathered in tables. Some of them looked like normal humans. Except maybe their eyes were an odd color. Some of them had horns, some had tails, some had big feathery wings, some looked like cyborgs. They all varied table by table. It was odd seeing all these people, Payton could feel some glares of the other kids. They passed by a group of what mainly consisted of girls, “O M G, who’s the freak with Mr protagonist over there?” The whole table had kids with small pink horns, some of them had pretty pink wings. 

“Don’t listen to them Pay Pay,” Omf said quietly. Those are the drama hybrids, they’ll try to get under your skin. Just try to ignore them. Let’s get you some food. It should be at the accommodations booth.” 

They walked up to the booth together. Omf stepped up “Hey um, we were wondering if you had any Paint, for Payton Varro?” The dude behind the counter sighed and reluctantly gave a palette of the six basic colors, and a cup of green watercolor paint. He looked as if the same breed of magic night creature as Luna. Omf got a strawberry treat from another stand. 

Payton took some scoops of paint from the pallet with a spoon. None of these were as flavorful as the harvest red they tried that morning and the watercolor paint just tasted like water, but it was doable. The pair wondered the room looking for a place to sit until Payton spotted a round table in a corner. 

“Bingo!” they said “let’s sit here to avoid those stupid drama girls, don’t worry this works at school all the time lizard boy, just sit in the corner to get away from whatever bull is going on.” 

“Uh… Payton.” Omf said wearily. “I don’t think you should be sitting there…” 

“Why not?” They retorted. “No one’s sitting here!” 

“Yeah well… she usually sits there. I don’t think that’s a good seat, let’s go somewhere else :[.” 

“And be bullied by some pink weirdoes? I’ll pass.”

Suddenly Omf stiffened up. “Payton… Payton she’s right behind you. Get out of there now.” 

“Oh what? Is some big ugly monster behind me? Yeah rig-.”

BAM

Someone had hit the table square in the center. The table was completely destroyed and Payton’s food had gotten everywhere. They stumbled and landed on the floor by Omf’s feet. 

“WHO YOU CALLEN MONSTER, COLOR GIRL?” Bellowed one of the largest hybrids in the hideout. She stood about six and a half feet tall, she was a large girl, but she was only 15. She had two horns on her head, but one was bent and contorted. She had a large maroon tail, but some of it was wrapped in bandages. She wore a purple leather jacket with spikes on her shoulders, the shirt under it was black with a skull on it. She wore chains around her wrist and neck. Like she was a rabid dog who had to be contained. Her hair was the color of a burning fire. The look In her eyes said, “I’m gonna kill somebody today.” 

“HEY >:[!” Omf protested. “Payton is NOT a girl,  and they didn’t know you said there Pattie! They’re new! Cut the poor pal some slack!” 

Pattie picked payton up by their head as if they were a rag doll. “Look, Dragon guy, I see a punk in my seat, they get kicked out.” She tossed Payton across the cafeteria with full force. All the hybrids saw them flying though the air. Payton hit the wall at full force, and fell to the ground. 

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” Omf cried out. 

“Nothin, kid just looked really throwable.” 

Payton groaned on the floor, they had no idea on how none of their bones were broken. They looked over at where Pattie and Omf were standing. They used all the force in their body to stand up. 

“Ooo!” Said one of the drama hybrids from the corner of the room. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” 

Suddenly all the hybrids were calling for a fight. Chanting the word over and over, which gave Pattie an unnecessary strike of confidence. 

“Well!” She turned to Omf Smugly. “I guess everyone here wants to see a fight, hm?” She cracked her knuckles. “I guess I gotta give them the beat down of a lifetime.”

The moment Payton heard that they knew they had to be screwed. I mean, this girl stood over a foot taller than them at it looked like she ate weights for breakfast. Plus, they had no clue on how to fight. Maybe they should’ve trained with Omf for a bit. All they knew was that they did not want to get hit by this girl. 

She charged toward Payton like an angry bull. Omf was petrified. All of the other hybrids stood on in curiosity and awe. As Payton watched her get closer, they saw the fist about to land on them. They flinched, closed their eyes, and prepared for the worst. 

BONK!

“WHAT?” Shouted Pattie.

BONK!

BANG!

“WHAT IS THIS?” 

Payton was just as confused as Pattie. They slowly opened their eyes. None of Pattie’s punches had actually landed, but why? Payton looked down at their hands. They had fused together, forming a teal color. They weren’t shaped like hands anymore, instead their hands had formed a giant shield. 

BANG!

BONK!

“HEY LOSER! STOP HIDING BEHIND THAT SHIELD AND FIGHT ME!” 

BANG!

“:0” said Omf. “PAYTON!!! :D! LOOK AT WHAT YOUR DOING!!! THAT’S INCREDIBLE!” He shouted, he really wanted Payton to know he had their back.

Suddenly an idea crossed their mind, they morphed the shield into two big teal boxing gloves on their hands. While Pattie was in shock from the sudden change, they wound up and hit her square in the gut. She crouched over in pain. 

“YES!” Payton shouted. They looked at Omf with a proud smile on their face. “Hah! I did it!” 

Omf didn’t look as convinced. 

WHACK!

Just like that, Payton was out cold

When Payton opened their eyes, they were in the infirmary again, this time Pattie was laying on the bed next to them. At their feet stood a doctor, poor Omf, and a VERY angry Luna. 

“So.” She said in a very disapproving tone. “I hope you two are proud of the commotion you caused today. Because we need to replace a wall.” 

Then flew the accusations of “she/they started it!” But Luna wasn’t hearing any of that. “The two of you,” she said sternly. A day of washing dishes together, and I’m only being generous because Payton is new. Omf, watch over them for me.” 

“Yes ma’am…” Omf said wearily. 

Luna walked out of the room. 

The doctor kid spoke up, he was another one of the purple folk who helped around the hideout, he looked more like a lamb with his hair looking like a lavender puffball on his head, “uhh, the good news is that none of you got any major injuries. You two will be fine in like an hour” 

“Thanks Puff.” Omf sounded defeated.

“Hey no problem and,” he placed his and on Omf’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened. It was out of your control.” 

Omf sighed. “Okay :[…” 

Payton shifted in the bed. Today was a mess, and it was all their fault. They wanted more than anything to just go home and get out of this crazy nightmare, to be a normal human again. They were getting sick of the nonsense. 

“Hey,” 

Payton turned to see the voice came from Pattie. “What…?” 

“Your kinda alright kid, I’m sorry for tossin’ you like that.” 

“I’m sorry for hitting you like that…” 

“Eh, it happens. Sometime you just gotta hit somebody y’know.” 

“Eh…”

Omf interjected “Well I think we shouldn’t of fought each other >:[! That wasn’t very nice of either of you!”

“We’re sorry” the both of them said. 

“Well you should be! Now you two get some rest, you have dishes to get to tomorrow.”

<<PREV (you are here) NEXT>>

[latexb0n3z]

Unrequited Love, Lots Of Blow, and a Visit From Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

CW; self-harm, sexual mentions, drug use, mental illness yadayadayada.

This was kind of a vent in some weird way. Crashed out earlier and had to write something to cope.

Logan woke up to the sound of something(s) shattering. Again.

“Goddammit, Wade,” he muttered, dragging himself off the couch. It wasn’t even 8 AM, and his roommate was already tearing through the place like a tornado.

Roommate. Logan still wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened. Wade had been crashing at his place “just for a few days” six months ago, and somehow, he’d never left. Logan had considered kicking him out more times than he could count, but something about the mercenary’s manic energy—and the raw, broken humanity underneath it—kept him from following through.

Logan pushed open the door to Wade’s bedroom, which looked like a war zone. Clothes, weapons, and takeout containers were scattered everywhere, and Wade stood in the middle of it, panting, holding the remnants of a lamp in his hand.

“Morning, sunshine,” Logan grunted. “What’s this about?”

Wade didn’t look at him. His face was bare, his scars catching the dim morning light. “It was an ugly lamp anyway.” The more Logan looked, the more was wrong. There was blood, literally everywhere. The bathroom mirror was broken, glass and MORE blood everywhere— the living room was a disheveled mess, a broken bottle of Jack, and a shattered cup like Wade had just grabbed the first thing that was near.

Logan crossed his arms. “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, or should I start charging you for broken furniture?”

Wade flinched, then dropped the lamp base to the floor with a clatter. “What’s the point, huh? You don’t care.”

Logan frowned. “You think I’d let you live here if I didn’t care?”

Wade laughed, sharp and bitter. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Logan. You let me stay because you feel sorry for me. Big, bad Wolverine, taking pity on the ugly stray.” He gestured to himself. “Well, guess what? I don’t need your charity! I’ll leave— and like you said, it’s ‘God’s best joke that I can’t die’ and it’s on all of us!” Even though dying is all he wished he could do.

Logan stepped forward, his voice low and steady. “This about the girl?”

That did it. Wade’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Oh, so you did notice. Good for you, Sherlock.” He took a shaky breath, his words spilling out in a torrent. “Yeah, it’s about her- and everything else- and- and, It’s about how you’ve been all smiles and soft eyes around her. How you go out on these little dates, come home smelling like flowers and happiness or whatever the hell normal people do!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”

Wade barked out a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “Oh, I’m so jealous, Logan. Not because I want her or anything—God, no. I’m jealous because she’s… she’s normal. She’s pretty, and soft, and someone you could actually care about.”

His voice cracked, and his hands clenched into fists. “Not like me. Not like this.” He gestured to his scarred face, his mismatched, worn-down body. “You could never like something like me, right, Logan?”

Logan stared at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the room was silent except for Wade’s heavy breathing, his manic pacing, his sniffles.

“You done?” Logan finally asked.

Wade blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said, are you done?” Logan stepped closer, his voice gruff but calm. “Because if you’re waiting for me to tell you you’re wrong, I’m not gonna do it.”

Wade’s face crumpled, but Logan kept going.

“You’re a pain in the ass, Wade. You’re loud, and messy, and half the time, I don’t know whether to strangle you or buy you a drink.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t let you stay here because I feel sorry for you. I let you stay because you’re worth putting up with.”

Wade looked up, his eyes glassy. “You’re just saying that to make me stop crying and breaking things!”

Logan snorted. “Trust me, I’m not the type to say things I don’t mean. And I don’t give a damn what you look like.”

Wade swallowed hard, his hands shaking. “I don’t believe you.”

Logan grabbed him by the shoulders, his grip firm but not unkind. “Then believe this: If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. Got it?”

Wade nodded slowly, his breath hitching.

“Good,” Logan said, letting go and stepping back. “Now clean this mess up before I start charging you for rent.”

But Wade didn’t move and inch. He just looked down at the floor, and cried and cried. He just stood there, vulnerable, without any quips or witty comments to defend himself. Logan thought it was a pain in the ass, but he was still himself— empathetic no matter just how much he wanted to just tell the son of a bitch to get out.

“Wade?” He was sort of at a loss for words. Wade having outbursts wasn’t anything new— but just… standing there, crying. That was a sight to behold. His expression dropped,

“You have no idea, Logan.”

“You think you’re special, bub? I’ve been alive for two-hundred fucking years. I saw the invention of machine guns for one. You have no fucking clue what ideas I have, Wade.”

Wade finally looked up at him, his milky, yellowed eyes glazed over.

“Do you think I’m hideous?”

“What? I just said I don’t give a shit what you look like.”

“That wasn’t my question. I didn’t ask if you cared- I asked if I’m hideous.”

Logan gave him a once over. Wade already had the answer made up in his mind regardless of what Logan said.

He didn’t think Wade was hideous, but he wasn’t attracted to him by any means.

“Okay, Wade! Yes, fine, you’re hideous— that’s what you wanna hear right?! Seems like you’ve already made up your damn mind about the answer.”

Wade gave a half smile, and then just turned on his heel and left, slamming the door so hard it made the whole apartment vibrate.

—

And then weeks passed, and Wade never returned. He’d left all his things there, and Logan considered throwing them out after a while. He’d even left his mask on the couch, which Wade never left without.

Annie was her name, the girl. Soft, brown eyes and strawberry blonde hair, and a round face full of freckles. She wore blouses and skirts, and wedges with white little bows on top.

And Logan liked her. Loved her even. Fell for her harder than he’d wanted to. At first their relationship was casual— cute little dates that made Logan feel normal. And the best part— she was a mutant too. It was nothing impressive, mild telekinetic abilities. She could lift small objects from across the room and shut doors without touching them.

She was peaceful, and domestic and a soft body to lay on. He felt safe with her. She’d spend nights at his place since Wade had left- cooked food for him and let him rest his head on her lap while he stroked his head. Things had gotten serious between them in the weeks Wade had been gone.

They had hot, passionate, electrifying sex- made each other laugh so hard they cried and kissed- and then had more sex. Logan would take her against the counter, in the bathroom, on the couch, in the bedroom. Parts of their lives mingled together. Some of his stuff stayed at her place, and parts of her lived at Logan’s. It was unlike anything he’d had in a long long time.

Meanwhile Wade had been doing as much blow as possible and fucking off. Logan wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard from him. Nobody had. He was torturing himself. He knew he couldn’t die, but he could feel pain. One night he’d played Russian roulette with himself off so much coke it would kill a normal human. He savored what intoxication he could get from alcohol for a couple minutes before the joy was killed by his healing factor.

He’d shoot himself in the head, blow his brains out only to come right back with only half the memories. He’d slit his own throat to choke and watch his ever replenishing blood gush out. He’d cut his fingers off one by one after each line, only to watch them grow back after a couple of hours.

He hadn’t showered in weeks, and smelled like death, blood and straight ass. He didn’t change his clothes, didn’t speak to anyone. Just restarted the same routine he did when Vanessa died. Trying to kill himself but never really dying.

Oh how he missed her. He wondered what she would say to him now, what she would think of who he was. He wondered if she’d be horrified seeing him, or if she’d have loved him anyway. He’d escaped the Weapon X program only to find out from Weasel that she’d been shot and robbed while hooking after he’d disappeared.

He’d had a couple years to reconcile with that… only to fall in love with Logan. What a fucking idiot he was, right?

Unrequited— though he knew Logan had considered him… sort of a friend.

Wade knew he was a pain in the ass, and pissed himself off too most of the time.

It didn’t matter though. He was hundreds of miles away from his life now, taking his shit show all the way to New York City, in the good old United States of America.

—

The New York alley smelled like garbage and rain, a mixture Wade found oddly comforting. The dumpster beneath him was cold and sticky in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about, but it didn’t matter. He was home. Or something like it.

He lay flat on his back, arms spread out like he was trying to make a snow angel on the grimy metal surface. His mask was half-pulled up, just enough to let him belt out an off-key rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart.

“There’s nothing I can dooooo… a total eclipppse of the heaaaart!” he howled, his voice echoing through the narrow alley.

Somewhere nearby, a rat squeaked in protest.

“You’ve got an audience,” came a voice from above.

Wade froze mid-note, craning his neck back to see a familiar figure hanging upside down by a thin strand of webbing. The bright red-and-blue suit was unmistakable.

“Spidey!” Wade gasped, sitting up so fast he nearly fell off the dumpster. He was hopped up on cocaine, meth, angel dust, anything he’d managed to get his hands on tonight. “My second-favorite insect-themed hero! What brings you to my garbage palace?”

Spider-Man tilted his head, his mask’s lenses narrowing. “You’re laying on a dumpster and singing power ballads. Should I be concerned, or is this just a Tuesday for you?”

“Wednesday, actually,” Wade corrected, wagging a finger. “And I’m celebrating my triumphant return to the Big Apple! Came here with nothing but a bag of cash and a dream. And maybe some mild emotional baggage. But mostly the cash.”

Spider-Man flipped down to the ground, landing lightly. “I’m pretty sure that was illegal cash.”

“What isn’t, these days?” Wade said, waving him off. “Besides, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. Unless you count your ears.”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “You’re avoiding the question. Why are you really here, Wade?”

Wade leaned back against the dumpster, sighing dramatically. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a tale as old as time. Boy meets mutant, mutant moves in, mutant gets jealous of said boy’s weirdly functional romantic life and flees to New York to sulk in an alley and reevaluate his choices.”

Spider-Man blinked. “Okay, wow. That’s… more personal than I expected.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the Deadpool Show.” Wade gestured broadly at himself. “We like to keep things raw and unscripted. Keeps the audience engaged.”

Spider-Man crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know we don’t… vibe exactly, but you seem like you’re going through something. Do you need help?”

Wade laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. “Oh, Spidey, my sweet, built like a gymnast summer child. I’m beyond help. I’m like a car that’s been totaled, set on fire, and then run over by a tank. But thanks for asking.”

“You’re not that bad,” Spider-Man said, though his tone was hesitant.

“Aw, you think I’m redeemable,” Wade said, clutching his chest. “You’re adorable! Like a little web-slinging therapist.”

“Seriously, Wade. You don’t have to do… this,” Spider-Man said, gesturing to the dumpster and the alley. “Whatever’s going on, there’s got to be a better way to deal with it than running away and singing ‘80s ballads in the rain.”

“It wasn’t raining when I got here,” Wade pointed out. “But, fine, I’ll bite. What do you suggest, Dr. Spidey?”

Spider-Man hummed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Maybe talk to the person you’re running from instead of hiding out here. Have an actual conversation.”

Wade snorted. “You think I’m the ‘talking about my feelings’ type? Adorable. Really, top marks for optimism. I already tried- got blood all over the poor guys’ apartment and broke his mirror… Oh- you know Wolverine- Wolvie- Logan? Yeah he’s alive again and I haaaave itttt bad, Spidey.”

Spider-Man sighed. “Wolverine… like? Like… The X-men’s Wolverine? He died! How the hell is he alive again?— wait, don’t tell me he came from a different universe or something.”

Wade tilted his head, clicked his tongue and made finger guns, “Ding Ding Ding! That’s exactly right.” He dropped his hands but remained looking up, studying Spider-Man for a long moment. “You’re way too good for this city, you know that? It’s like watching a Disney protagonist in Gotham.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Spider-Man said dryly.

Wade slid off the dumpster, landing with a flourish. “Fine. You win. I absolutely cannot go back to Canada anytime soon but— I will try to stop doing massive amounts of narcotics and cutting off my limbs are even though they just regrow.”

“You’re really a strange guy, you know that, Wade?”

“Yes— quite intimately actually. Very large part of the reason I’m torturing myself out here in the good old United States of America.”

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Quit your sulking, grab my hand.”

Wade raised a… well… what would be his eyebrow if he had any, but said, “Fuck it,” and took his hand.

Suddenly, he was suspended in the air, wind whipping past his ears as they swung through the towering skyline of New York. Wade let out a loud, exaggerated scream. “OH MY FUCK, SPIDEY, THIS IS THE CLOSEST I’VE BEEN TO FLYING SINCE THAT TIME I STRAPPED FIREWORKS TO MY BACKPACK!”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Spider-Man shouted back, his voice barely audible over the rush of the wind.

“BECAUSE I’M AN ICON OF CHAOS!” Wade cackled, twisting his body mid-swing to strike a pose, one hand outstretched dramatically. “LOOK AT ME! I’M PETER PAN BUT WITH MORE TRAUMA!”

Spider-Man groaned. “Do you ever stop talking?!”

“Do you ever stop being an uptight boy scout?” Wade shot back.

Spider-Man didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead twisting midair and flinging a web to the next building. The sudden shift sent Wade swinging wildly, his legs flailing.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Wade yelled, clutching Spider-Man’s arm like a terrified cat. “Careful there, Spandex Man! Some of us are delicate flowers who bruise easily!”

“You literally can’t die,” Spider-Man said, exasperated.

“Emotionally, Spidey!” Wade quipped. “Emotionally!”

Spider-Man sighed, expertly landing on a rooftop and depositing Wade less-than-gently on the gravel.

Wade sprawled out on his back, catching his breath. “That was either the most fun I’ve ever had, or I’m having a stroke. Maybe both.”

Spider-Man stood over him, hands on his hips. “You’re impossible.”

“Ha! Logan says that too!” Wade sat up, pulling his mask back down. “So, what’s the plan, boss? You didn’t just web-nap me for a heart-to-heart, did you?”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “I didn’t exactly plan this. But you’re clearly in a mood, and I figured some fresh air might knock some sense into you.”

“Aw,” Wade cooed, “you do care about me! Admit it. I’m growing on you, like a sexy barnacle.”

“Don’t push it.”

Wade leaned back on his hands, glancing out at the city below. The lights of New York twinkled like stars, and for a rare moment, he was quiet.

“…It’s kind of nice up here,” he said after a beat.

Spider-Man sat down beside him, still keeping a cautious distance. “Yeah. It is.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the noise of the city far below fading into the background.

Finally, Wade broke the silence. “You ever feel like you’re just… too much? Like you’re this big, messy disaster that everyone tolerates but no one really wants around?”

Spider-Man glanced at him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability. “I think a lot of people feel like that sometimes., and trust me, you’re definitely a disaster. But… you don’t have to be.”

Wade turned to him, his tone light but his voice just a little too tight. “Wow, Spidey, you’re really laying on the compliments tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.” He said, sarcastically.

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Okay, and we’re back to that.” He blushed under his mask, a bit bashful. Everything was an innuendo to Wade somehow.

“Hey,” Wade said, nudging him with his elbow. “Thanks for this. The swing, the chat, the unsolicited life advice… it’s nice to know someone’s got my back, even if you are a dork in pajamas.”

Spider-Man smirked under his mask. “Anytime, Wade. Just… try not to end up sulking on a dumpster again, okay?”

“What a sweetie pie you are, Peter.”

“How the hell do you know my name? It’s not like yours is a secret… but I thought I was doing a good job at this secret identity thing…”

“I’m a mercenary, I know everything even if I don’t want to.”

Peter huffed. “That’s not an answer but… okay, Wade.”

Wade huffed and then tried to push his luck.

“I don’t suppose your kindness extends past swinging… like- a place to-“

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come onnnnn! I thought you were all about being helpful.”

“Hey- I’m all for giving a little support but how do I know you won’t just break my stuff too?”

“One night?”

Peter bit his bottom lip under his mask in thought.

“Ugh, you’re such an ass. Give you an inch and it turns into a mile.”

Wade just stared at him, expecting.

“Fine! One night and then you’re back to whatever you have been doing.”