#TW MENTION OF DRUGS/PILLS AND OTHER SENSITIVE TOPICS!!!!

[n07453cr374cc]

@neocrash1101

I made a little animation of days with P and FP :3c

It took me two days to make this so I hope you like it ":3

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rose Tinted.

Pairing: Yandere!Kuroo/Reader, Yandere!Kenma/Reader, Yandere!Akaashi/Reader & Yandere!Bokuto/Reader.

Word Count: 3.9k.

Synopsis: Life is stressful. It was stressful when you were your own person, when you were free, and it is now, when you’re relegated to a captivity spent in the arms of your four captors. It’s only natural that you adapt to your current life by modifying the details of your old one.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationships, and Implied Non-Con.

Kuroo reminds you of your old roommate, sometimes.

It’s a sickening comparison to draw, but you can’t help yourself, not when you’re with him, not when he’s acts so much like her. Kuroo’s a morning person, and with his busy schedule and all the time he spends traveling, he tries to steal every minute he can with you, every second you’re not wrapped in Bokuto’s arms or sitting on Kozume’s lap or doing whatever Akaashi does, after he forces those little white pills down your throat and your mind gets too fuzzy to form memories, even if that means he has to fish you out of bed before sunrise, deposit you on the countertop, and mutter one of his favorite threats in your ear, just to ensure you won’t make another lunge at the knife block. You’re almost grateful for that last step. It gives you an excuse not to strain yourself, so early in the day.

It’s a vague link, but it’s there. In the way he hums to himself as he cooks, how absent-mindedly he moves around the kitchen as he puts together the meal you’ve watched him make a thousand times. He’s more rushed than she used to be, though. Whereas your roommate would still have one eye shut as she cracked an egg over a sizzling pan, Kuroo’s already fully dressed, even if his shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened and his blazer draped over your shoulders despite your attempts to subtly shrug it off. That was something she’d done, too, but differently, more innocently. She’d ruffle your hair as you collapsed on the kitchen island, commenting on ‘another late night’ or how helpless you’d be without her help. Kuroo doesn’t have to ask. He knows where you are, where you were, all the time, every day, and if there’s a lapse in your schedule he isn’t sure how to fill in, then you wouldn’t be watching him cook.

You’d be locked in a closet, left without food or water or warmth for however long it took for you to swallow your pride and admit that you’d spent two hours trying to break the deadbolt on your bedroom’s window yesterday, all while Kuroo sat on the other side of the door and congratulated you on finally being honest.

You almost don’t notice when the humming stops, Kuroo turning the stove off before he shifts, his eyes flickering in your direction while a soft grin tugs at the corner of his lips, more patronizing than endearing. You can almost bring yourself to hate him for it. In the moment, you think you do. “You’ve been awful quiet,” He starts, once you fail to say anything on your own. “Something on your mind?”

Lying to Kuroo is useless. Bokuto never catches it and Kozume doesn’t care, but Kuroo doesn’t allow it. He thinks it’s a sign of disobedience. He thinks it means you’re falling into old habits. “Just my roommate,” You mutter, hoping you sound disinterested enough for Kuroo to drop the topic. “She used to cook a lot, too.”

There’s a hum of acknowledgement, a collision of wood on wood as he opens the nearest drawer. Idly, you wonder if Kuroo can do anything without making noise. “Blonde hair, brown eyes? The same girl who always skipped out on rent?”

“She couldn’t keep a job.” You almost glance towards him, if only to smirk and tell him that, whatever he’s making, she would’ve made it better, but you stop yourself before you can. He wouldn’t like that, and as bland as Kuroo’s cooking is, your roommate probably would’ve burnt the pan beyond repair and left the mess for you to find, hours later. “It wasn’t her fault. She always got stuck with strict bosses, and she wasn’t good with schedules. She was really nice, though.”

Kuroo chuckles, taking a second to prod at your side. “C’mon, sweetheart, nicer than me?”

You don’t answer, but Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind. There’s another laugh, another prod, and he steps in front of you, positioning himself between your open legs and supporting himself against the cabinets lining the wall, caging you in. It’s probably supposed to be a playful gesture. It’s probably supposed to be, he probably wants it to be, but somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to feel so light-hearted.

When he raises a hand, you don’t flinch, but you have to fight the urge to recoil as he cups your jaw, tracing his thumb over your cheek. You don’t want him to touch you, but you know better than to push him away. “We’re in a good mood today, alright?” The question is soft, well-meaning, but you frown regardless, tightening your grip on the edge of the countertop. “No fighting, no tantrums, and no trying to get away while I’m gone. I know the others go easy on you, but when I come home, I don’t want to hear a word about your behavior.”

They don’t go easy on you. No one goes easy on you. Kuroo’s just too harsh.

Kuroo’s strict, but… he makes good on his promises. If there’s anything about him you like, it’s that.

Apparently, you take a little too long to respond. Again, you're forced to think about your roommate when he sighs, the same way she used to when you had to tell her you wouldn't be able to pick her up from that bar or go to this party, that you were too tired, that you didn’t want to see her face after working yourself to the bone so the two of you could afford to feed yourselves. Like she was disappointed. Like she had the right to be disappointed.

“I know you’re still getting used to this, but try to give it time. The guys and me, all of us love you, and none of us want to see you sulk. I’m not asking you to cheer every time I walk through the door, just…” There’s a pause, another sigh. Kuroo straightens his back, pressing a long, lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Just try to smile a little more, alright? I promise, I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Your answer is short, but you can still feel Kuroo’s smile against your skin. And, just for a moment, you think you might be grateful he bothered to ask.

“I’ll try.”

~

Bokuto reminds you of your boyfriend, in a certain way.

Out of all of your captors, his intentions are the most unquestionably romantic. Akaashi and Kuroo seem to think of you as more of a pet than a partner, and you’ve never been able to figure out what Kozume wants from you, but Bokuto’s straight-forward, Bokuto doesn’t feel the need to hide his intentions behind pretty words and selfish gifts and mantras about how much he loves you, even if the last still comes naturally. You don’t appreciate him for it. You don’t like him for it, but it makes Bokuto bearable. If you had the luxury of choosing a favorite, he’d probably be your first pick.

It helps that he’s still so convinced your relationship is normal. When he’s the one to wake you up, he lets you decide what you want to wear, and when he kisses you, you don't have to kiss back. You’re allowed to say no, with Bokuto. You’re allowed to refuse, and he won’t push you to change your mind.

Tonight’s an exception to that rule, obviously.

You think you’re in Akaashi’s bed. The sheets are white, tucked in a little too tightly at the corners, and the lighting is dimmer than it would be, if Bokuto’d had the patience to carry you somewhere more private. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you don’t have time to forget waking up. The jarring dip of the mattress, the strong hand on your shoulder, barely bothering to shake for a second before pushing you onto your back and pinning you down, thighs straddling your waist and his chest pressing against yours before you can do so much as open your eyes. You only realize it’s him, realize that it’s Bokuto when he kisses you, taking advantage of your stupor in that messy, clumsy way that always leaves you breathless and gagging. That leaves you hurt, more so than you would be if any of the others treated you so roughly.

He’s smiling, when he pulls away. It’s not soft and it’s not subtle, and it hasn’t faded by the time he finds your neck, latching onto the sensitive spot just above your jugular. If he had been your boyfriend, you might’ve laughed as his teeth graze against your skin, you might’ve found it exciting when he bite down. But, it isn’t. Your boyfriend would’ve asked, and Bokuto isn’t your boyfriend.

“I asked,” He cuts in, not waiting for you to finish. That’s fine. It’s expected, honestly. Bokuto’s like a puppy, too eager for his own good, a trait that borders on endearing at times, but only manages to come off as frustrating, now. “He’s always really busy, and you just looked so sweet, I didn’t know of I could leave you all alone.” There’s a laugh, abrupt and bright, the sound soon muffled against the crook of your shoulder. “Just an hour, alright? Then you can go back to sleep.”

“Kotaro,” You try, pushing lightly on his chest. It’s a futile effort, one that only results in a groan against your skin and an arm around your waist, but you try regardless. You’re not sure you’d be able to forgive yourself if you stopped. “It’s supposed to be Keiji’s turn and… I don’t know if he’d be alright with--”

That sounds like something your boyfriend would’ve said, too. Just an hour. Just an hour, then you’d be able to go back to sleep, or back to work, or back to whatever you did to pass time when you didn’t have any time to pass. And when you didn’t have an hour, when you tried to explain that, you two would spend an hour fighting, instead. At least you didn’t have to fight with Bokuto. He made that part easy, with his willingness to pout and cry and fuck you into the mattress with tears in his eyes because, although you could say no, he doesn’t care if you do. It just makes things easier when you don’t.

“I-” Again, you’re interrupted, the words fading into a small, high-pitched shriek as his canines sink into your shoulder. And you’d just gotten your hopes up that he might let his last set of love-bites heal without interruption. “I don’t want to do this.”

Now, that makes him pull away. It’s almost surprising, how little relief there is to accompany the gesture, how much guilt comes with having to meet those wide, glassy eyes and swallow the apology playing on your tongue. You didn't apologize to your boyfriend, not the last time, not the most important time. Or, your ex-boyfriend, you guess. You’re pretty sure you broke up with him, or he broke up with you, or someone said something that made you angry enough to storm out of his apartment and into Bokuto’s waiting arms, Akaashi beside him with a length of rope and a needle full of sedatives. 

His voice shakes when he speaks. ”Are you… Are you mad at me, again?”

You aren’t. It’s hard to be mad at Bokuto, and you’re so tired of always doing the hard thing.

“Wouldn it matter if I was?” You mumble, falling back onto Akaashi’s bed. “It’s not like you’d listen to me.”

You’re looking at the ceiling, now, but there’s a shift, a slight change. Soon, you can’t feel his weight on your chest, and you have to suppress the urge to mourn his stifling presense. “I’d try to.”

You almost wish it was Akaashi on top of you. At least then, you might be able to believe he knows he’s lying. “You wouldn’t,” You sigh, trying to sound exasperated. Trying to sound genuine. “If you listened to me, you would’ve let me go, by now. If you really loved me, I wouldn’t still have to tell you how much I hate it here.”

Less than a month ago, you’d yelled the same words. Screamed them, repeated them, told Bokuto how much you hated him and his friends and everything they’d forced onto you. Now, it’s all you can do to say them with enough strength not to crack under the pressure, not to give into the temptation to throw yourself at his chest and claw until he’s the villain again and you’re helpless, just an uninvolved bystander in your own suffering.

To your credit, it’s a fleeting urge, one that’s gone by the time you roll onto your side, away from Bokuto, curling into yourself as he settles against your back. There’s a heavy sigh, another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist, but there’s no attempt to drag you closer, no attempt to go any further. You almost wish he would.

It’d be easier to cry yourself to sleep, if you could blame him for forcing you to.

~

Akaashi reminds you of your co-workers, all the time.

He spends so much time working, it’d be impossible not to draw the connection. He smells like an office, like ink and metal and more chemicals than an editor should use, and he feels like one, too, his skin always cold and his hands always quick to clamp down around anything warm and kicking and alive. It reminds you of the receptionist who used to give you a hug every morning, a sourceless gesture that was always a little too tight to be comfortable. Of Kuroo’s handshake, when you were first called back after your initial interview. You suppose he has more right to the position than Akaashi, you must’ve worked under him for months, but Kuroo invited you out for drinks, he made small talk, he could take off his suit and defrost when he wanted to.

Akaashi couldn’t. Akaashi can’t.

That, or he won’t, and you don’t know which option scares you more.

It doesn’t help that he works so often, either, even when he’s home. You can try to block it out, try to ignore the constant click of his keyboard, the occasional creak of his chair whenever Akaashi tries to reposition himself, but there’s only so much you can do on his lap, your arms strung over his shoulders and your face buried in his chest, your sleep-deprived mind momentarily forgetting its distaste in favor of seeking out as much comfort as it could.

That might be what drives you to speak, to break the silence as Akaashi bows his head, his lips brushing against the dip of your shoulder while his hands fall from his laptop to your hips. As always, his touch is cold, unnerving, the shirt he’d forced you to borrow doing little to protect you from the chill. “I hate you.”

There’s a tap to your side, a noise of acknowledgement. “I know, angel. You’ve mentioned it before.”

“So much,” You go on, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. “More than the others. Every night I fantasize about slitting your throat and stuffing one of your stupid toys in the wound. I still have a scar from that fucking collar.”

This time, you get a hum, low and absent-minded. “A small one,” He adds. “Kenma’s done worse, and I’ve already apologized.”

He has. This is an old argument, one you’re still mad about, but one you know you’ll never resolve, not with someone so apathetic. So, you try a different approach. Not something more honorable, but something different. Something that wouldn’t leave a coat of ash on your tongue, hopefully. “My friends probably think I’m dead by now, my family too.” It feels good to say, but it feels awful, at the same time. Like you’re admitting defeat. Like you’re submitting to the same man who's been whispering those very same words to you since your first night spent in his loving care. “Even if I get out, you’ve already ruined my life. I won’t have anywhere to go back to, not a job, no place to--”

“That’s a good thing, right?” It’s an innocent question, judging by his tone. You try not to take it as one. “You always hated your job.”

It’s almost a reflex to defend yourself. “I never--”

“Yes, you did.” If it was Bokuto, you could’ve told yourself he’d been fed a lie, or pushed into a delusion that featured you as a damsel in distress and him as your big, strong, brave hero. If it was Kuroo, you could’ve told yourself that he wanted you to believe you hated your job, your old life, everything he was kind enough to rip you away from. Kozume would’ve been uninterested enough to stop the conversation before you started to spiral, but you’re not talking to Kozume, or Kuroo, or Bokuto. You’re talking to Akaashi, and Akaashi doesn’t care whether or not you’re happy. He doesn’t have a reason to lie to you, not about something so mundane. “That’s why we had to take you home. You were too stressed, I was getting worried.” He pauses, his hands moving to your sides, pulling you away from his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look up, either, not until he cups your cheeks in his palms, his voice suddenly going from sterile to soft in the space between one breath and another. “It was painful to watch, it was painful for all of us. I know it’s hard to see from your perspective, but you used to cry so much, and you were so close to falling apart. We just did what we thought would help.”

“So you decided to kidnap me?” It’s the harshest you’ve been in weeks, even if you barely manage to raise your voice. You grab his wrists, but you don’t try to jerk him away. Instead, you settle on digging your nails into his skin, and in return, Akaashi ignores your minor show of rebellion. “You’re not doing me a favor. You’ll never convince me I want this, because I don’t. If you have to tell me I’m happy, it’s only because you know I’m not.”

“You’re not happy, but you’re happier than you used to be.” He doesn’t try to make light of the revelation, but his neutral expression still cracks, leaving the smallest smile in its place. Not amused, but not sympathetic, either. Not malicious, but certainly not kind enough to spare your feelings. “It’s easier, and I think you know that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just couldn’t handle life without a little help.”

You pull away, jerking your head out of his hands and crossing your arms in front of you, putting as much distance between you and Akaashi as you can. “You’re lying. You’re lying, and you’re not even doing it well.”

You can feel him let out a breath of a laugh, leaning forward just enough to push a kiss into your temple before drawing back, content to admire the long-awaited results of his work.

“Of course I am, angel.”

~

Kozume doesn’t remind you of anything, and it’s unbearable.

You’d worked with Kuroo, intimately. He’d introduced you to Bokuto, and you’d met Akaashi at his games, even if the two of you never shared more than a few polite niceties about the match at-hand. Kozume’s the only one who’s new to you, he’s the only one who’s just your kidnapper, even if he fit the role well. You can’t sympathize with him, because there’s nothing to sympathize with. You can’t understand his irrational connection with you, because he’s never bothered to offer an explanation. It shouldn’t upset you as much as it does. It shouldn’t be as awful as it is. He shouldn’t make you feel as disgusting as you do, but he does. You don’t know why, but he does, and you can’t forgive him because of it.

It’s almost a relief when you wake up alone on the edge of Kozume’s bed, tucked under heavy black sheets with sunlight already spilling through the open window. You consider rolling over, trying to go back to sleep, but you can already hear a lock clicking in the distance, light footsteps moving over wood as Kozume steps in, leaning against the doorway as he watches you start to stir. You’re purposefully lethargic, taking the time to sit up and rub your eyes until it doesn’t hurt to blink, but Kozume’s content to stare on. Part of you hopes you’ll get used to it, soon. The rest of you tries to smother the idea before it can spread.

“Mornin’,” He calls, when you make it clear you’re awake. He’s dressed, not formally, just jeans and a hoodie, but it’s more than you’ve come to expect from Kozume. Somehow, it only makes him seem more alien. “I’ve got few meetings today, Tetsuro’s out of town, Bokuto’s training, and Akaashi doesn’t get off until this afternoon, so you should have the house to yourself until sunset, at least.” There’s a glance to the floor, a quiet laugh. Despite everything, he can still seem shy when he wants to. “If you promise not to break anything, I could forget to lock you up before I leave. It’s not like you’d try to get out, anyway.”

“I would.” It’d be a damning confession with anyone else, but Kozume doesn’t blink twice. He’s already made up his mind, which means nothing you say matters. “I hate it here, and all of you know that.”

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t leave.” His voice is calm, his tone playful, but Kozume’s eyes narrow as he steps forward, and you square your shoulders, trying to glaring at the sheets rather than him. Still, you can feel him hovering over you, making you squirm as he goes on. “I mean, why would you want to? It’s not like have anything to go back to. Hell, from the way it looks, we might’ve been the only ones who stil pretend to miss you.”

“Of course I’d want to,” You snap, trying not to ball his sheets in your fists, trying not to acknowledge how reasonable he sounds, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming for you to calm down before you make things worse for yourself. “I have a family. I have friends. I have a life outside of lying down, closing my eyes, and letting you live out whatever sick, perverted fantasy you’re trying to--”

“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t try to talk over you. He doesn’t have to, not when there’s already so little strength behind your argument. “You should want to escape, but…” Finally, his smile falters, but the unbothered frown that takes its place is no less comforting. He shrugs as he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to shrink into yourself. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. You open your mouth, then you close it again, then you close your eyes and drag your knees up to your chest, glaring childishly at the mattress, behaving exactly how they want you to. Kozume doesn’t try to push you any further. He doesn’t ask another question, he doesn’t force you to anwer, only sighing as he drapes an arm over your shoulder, slotting himself against your side, holding you. It’s cruel of him to do. It’s a small mercy. It’s nothing, it means nothing, but he’s mocking you, at the same time, belittling you, humiliating you. You hate him for it, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can. You’re so tired. You’re so, so tired, and you’re not sure you can be anything else, anymore.

You’re not sure you know if he’s wrong, anymore.

[boncorner]

HUMAN HERMES ADHD HEADCANONS

TYPE :

Hyperactive-Impulsive ADHD

DIAGNOSIS :

Has been diagnosed since early age, for all his father's flaws, he could tell this was one hyperactive child.

MEDICATION :

Has tried many different medications but decided on methylphenidate in the end, since the immediate effect worked best for his lifestyle.

THERAPY :

Has received therapy throughout his life and still sees a psychologist who specialises in the condition every now and then, but he often cancels on them since he feels like he's got no need for it anymore.

FIXATIONS :

Has more past interests than Aphrodite had lovers. Here's a list of things he's fallen in love with at some point then just kinda continued on enjoying but never really mastered because he found something new :

Biking | Gymnastics | Swimming | Dirt-Biking | Skateboarding | Rollerskating | Parkour | Streetdancing | Breakdancing | Cars | Motorcycles | Comics (specifically comic strips) | Quick live sketching

And a short list of things he never gets tired of ever because they're his eternal fixations :

Running | Animal care | Horseback Riding | Astrology | Gambling (more on that later)

STIMMING :

√ Body

Can't sit still, always on the go, drumming his fingers or hands against a surface or humming to a tune that isn't playing anywhere. He'll also occasionally make his own sound effects, like shwoop, clang, bang, pa-chah!

Mainly stims using his feet; tapping, kicking, switching weight from one foot to the other, jumping, rocking back and forth. He'll also play with his piercings, like the smiley right below his lip, or softly spinning his nose piercing while he's thinking.

√ Jewellery

Has jewellery that's subtly designed to work as stim-toys, like dangling earrings or chains with parts which you can spin or flick. At first he thought it a little overkill, but it really does help him focus on what he's doing when he's making a trade or studying somebody's pokerface.

√ Wings

If your human Hermes has wings a la reincarnation or some other fun flavour, he could also ruffle the feathers or stretch them subconsciously every now and again.

PROCESSING :

√ Thoughts

His mind runs faster than most people's do, and he can get frustrated when others aren't understanding what he's talking about, when he's really jumped ahead of the conversation by like 4 steps and the other doesn't even know what happened at step 2 or 3, or what topic they're on. It can almost feel like time travelling sometimes! Where most of what actually happened is still stuck in Hermes' head, and you just can't get him to share it because how do you not Know This already??

He's also prone to getting distracted mid-conversation and interrupt you with his own thoughts on something, or to throw something in that he Just thought about, which will later feed his RSD (see later)

√ Speech

If you speak too slowly or don't get to the point fast enough, you also risk causing him understimulation fatigue, and he'll get antsy and restless, or even bored and tired. More often than not he'll end up losing track of your conversation, start thinking about his own thing, then realise you're still talking and he has no idea what you're talking About and Oh No time to Bullshit his way outta this one!

That, or he's already started talking about something completely different out of nowhere like how water isn't actually wet or something.

The risk of speaking to him also of course comes with the risk of his brain just deciding to Not Process That Right Now, and he might have to act like he totally knew what you were saying but really it all sounded like complete gibberish.

Also sort of on the topic but needless to mention he speaks very quickly and will sometimes almost run the conversation all on his own, and occasionally stumbles on his words and has to let out a little Bluh while sticking out his tongue til he finds his words again.

✓ Sound

He's pretty good with sound and loves a good beat, and turning up the volume way high, but low repetitive noises are his enemy, and they will completely throw off his focus when he's trying to do something. The sound of a dog barking a bit away over and over every 3 minutes is driving him mad, and the soft ticking of a clock is throwing off his thoughts something insane. Talking in another room might make him unable to think clearly, and writing and listening at the same time is just Not happening.

√ Touch

He comes across as really inviting and friendly, but he doesn't like being touched unless it's on his conditions and his conditions alone. He can initiate hugs, but if you suddenly go for him without him being totally for it, he might panic like a bird being grabbed by a big hand. Just like with a bird, you need to show him what you're about to do next. He may seem hasty and wild, but he's really more delicate and alert.

Worth mentioning is also clothes, he loves loose fitting yet stylish outfits, and you can notice him fidget and twist when he's wearing things just a little too stiff or fancy.

√ Sight + Smells

He's fine with most lights and smells, save if he's overstimulated of course.

ADDICTION (TW: Drugs)

Addiction is a Problem when you have ADHD, especially when it turns out to be a way to self-medicate if you don't have the means to do so yourself. While he does have these means, he's slipped into gambling (slot machines, dice and cards are his favourites), mild drug use (pills mostly), smoking (with the help of Charon), as well as those damn energy drinks...

Auctions are also dangerous cough... And buying things you don't actually need. But the worst one is the rush of stealing. When he's feeling down or stresses about money, taking something valuable makes him feel more in control, giving him a rush and a spur of confidence. You'll sometimes find outfits in his wardrobe that just don't match his bank account...

RSD [Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria]

He may seem cool and aloof, but he overthinks everything you say about him. His family says he talks too much? Now he'll ask you if he should shut up, apologise for going on tangents, and stop himself in the middle of talking about something he loves because he caught himself talking "too much". You tell him one thing in the wrong tone of voice, and he'll laugh it off, then go home and spiral into the dark abyss of "I guess I'm an annoying piece of shit and they actually hate me haha". It also works against him that his impulsivity makes him blurt out things that he ends up regretting down the line.

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

So after rereading the most recent addition to the ghost hunter au I locked on a line about Spot being the one Race has called after he put down the pills and I really want to hear that conversation. I totally understand if you don't want to though, it's a sensitive topic, so feel free to just ignore this

Lots of Sprace requests!

A prequel of sorts to the ghost hunter au, based on a couple of things mentioned in this fic.

This is under a read more for tw: suicide mention right from the start, as well as tw: slurs later on. It’s still pretty happy though, I promise.

Race was staring down at the pills in one hand and his phonein the other, trying to decide which was the better choice. He was alone for atleast another couple of hours so the pills – dozens and dozens that he’dliberated from the drug store and prescription bottles and hoarded over a fewmonths, just in case – would have time to kill him before anyone found him andtook him to hospital. He wouldn’t have to deal with the death threats and therape threats and the graffiti on his locker and the kids who spat at him whenhe walked down the hall. The bruises on his back from when Morris had shovedhim against the hard metal of the shower when he’d accused him of staring athim after PE, like Morris was anything to stare at. He could still feel thedull throbbing just below his left shoulder. That didn’t even touch on the craphe got from his father and his uncles. It would be so easy to just make it allgo away.

Just as he was about to throw his phone away and turn hisattention to the best way to swallow so many pills, the screen lit up with anotification. It was nothing important, some app he didn’t even play anymoreletting him know to log on and get his daily coins. But it brought up hislockscreen, dim and in the background, but there. The picture was of hisfriends, hanging out at Romeo’s on the couch as they watched TV. He had wanteda constant reminder that he wasn’t alone, and it had turned up at exactly the rightmoment.

Tears flooded into Race’s eyes as the muscles in his armsuddenly collapsed and spilled pills all over the floor. He scrambled for hisphone, clawing at the screen to get the passcode typed in and navigate to thecontacts page. He just needed to hear someone’s voice, pulling up Spot’scontact and stabbed at the dial button.

“Please, please,please,” he mumbled, begging his friend to pick up as the dial tonesounded. When someone picked up, he sobbed.

“Spot,” he managed, holding onto the phone with both handslike it was his only lifeline.“Race, what’s wrong?” Spot asked, confused by the sudden phone call and worriedby the desperate tone to Race’s voice. He was up off the sofa and pulling on apair of converse before he even got a reply. Race clearly needed someone andwhat kind of friend would he be if he didn’t help.“Talk to me,” Race begged. The pills were still as tempting as candy scatteredall across the carpet and he was a moment away from collecting them all up.“Shit, man, what happened,” Spot asked, frowning. He was well aware that Racehad a rough time at school, and he didn’t even begin to pretend to understandwhat kind of crap he got at home.“Nothing. I promise,” Race lied. “Just talk.”

“About what?” Spot said, feeling helpless and far too faraway as he grabbed his keys and headed out. Race’s house was fifteen minutesaway and it had never seemed further.“Anything,” Race said, scratching at his arm with blunt nails to get some kindof relief from all the pain in his head. He needed a distraction.

Walking as fast as he could whilst still being able to keepup his conversation, Spot sifted through his thoughts to find anything harmlessto bring up. Something that wouldn’t make whatever Race was going through anyworse.“That homework we got from Mrs Lindan was pretty harsh, huh?” he tried,continuing when he heard a mumbled agreement from Race. “Thirty pages ofreading overnight.”

Race wanted to be able to keep up a conversation normallybut he couldn’t focus on something so mundane when his was so close to the edgeof nothingness. “This isn’t working,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry. I want to help,” Spot promised, walking a littlefaster.“I know…” Race sighed. He appreciated that Spot was trying, he really did, buthe needed to hear something specific. “Tell me I’m not wrong.”

Usually he didn’t need the validation. He was perfectly finetelling himself he was okay without anyone else needing to do it for him. Butwhen there were so many people telling him he was dirty and perverted and sick,it helped to have someone state the opposite. If whatever Spot could say would removejust one shout of fag or poof or fairy then that would take him one slur away from wanting to killhimself.“What?” Spot asked, even more confused.

Race groaned. “Tell me you don’t hate me for finding menattractive.”

There was a beat of silence whilst everything settled inSpot’s mind and this phone call finally made sense. “That’s what this is about? Shit, Tony, no one hates you,” he promised. Then hewinced, because clearly there were some people with an issue. So he reworded.“No one important, at least. Those idiots who do stupid shit don’t know thatthey’re talking about. You’re not wrong for being gay. When we get out of thisdump, everything’s going to be better. You’re going to find yourself a greatguy who treats you like you deserve, yeah?” he encouraged. He just wanted tosee Race happy.“What if I don’t make it that long?” Race whispered.

Spot flinched. He hadn’t known his friend was close to givingup on everything and he made up his mind to pay more attention.“You will. I promise. I’ll help you,” he said firmly. “Now, do you want me tocome over so we can raid your parent’s fridge and watch horror films?”“God yes. Please,” Race sighed, relaxing a little to know he wouldn’t be alonefor long. He climbed up from his bed with shaky legs and left his room, and thepills, behind him. It was easier to ignore them if they were a shut door away.

“Already on my way,” Spot grinned, turning the corner ontoRace’s road.

He was always going to be there when Race needed him.

[neocrash1101]

I never thought they would make a fan animation!

Thank you so much! Thank you so much! It's a nice present!

@neocrash1101

I made a little animation of days with P and FP :3c

It took me two days to make this so I hope you like it ":3