#Yeah Ill Be Real Accepting That Youre Gonna Make Some Stupid Takes or Over Your Head Will Happen and Thats Fine

[mumpsetc]

Hi again Harmie <:) I wanted to write this to recommend you something else, but also for other things, I also wanted to thank you for the recommendations because I forgot to earlier, Even though I can't actually engage with them yet for multiple reasons, I hope to actually interact with them somewhere in the future when I'm in a better headspace <:) (Though if you could recommend some things that are more lighthearted that would be nice, only if want to of course <:) The second-

I'm Not Puttin the Other Asks Here for Sake of Brevity (And So I Remember, I Pulled Up Indistict Chatter in a Different Tab and It Looks Super Interesting. Its Gonna Be Spring Break Soon So Ill Actually Have TIME to Check Out Your Reccs :] )

ANYWAYS Anon I Reallly Do Wish You Luck on Your Journey Into Deeper Analysis. I'm Trynna Think of Any Tips I Have But Honest to God Entering With an Open Mind and Keeping an Eye Out for Reoccurring Anything, Symbol, Musical Sting, Line of Dialogue, Similar Occurrence, All That Will Help. Most Things Are Made With Atleast One Layer More of Meaning, if Something Doesn't Make Sense or Seems Confusing Think About What Could Help Explain It, Not in an In-Universe Way But If This Absence is Purposeful or Atleast Could Add to a Thesis Regarding Your Own Interpretation (Like With Your TPOS Example I Am Pretty Certain The Creator Wasn't Thinking About The Nature of The Self But There is Something There). You Can Draw Meaning From Works Not Originally Intended By the Creator, and Everyone Can Take Something Different From It Too. Being Open to Other Interpretations of Things You May Have Missed Also Helps a Lot, I Know Ive Watched and Enjoyed Movies and Then Talked to My Friends Who Picked Up On Unsavory Undertones I Missed and Thats Not a Moral Failing At All!

Overall What Helped Me Figure Out How Im Gonna Analyze and Engage With Media is Knowing Nothing That Happens on the Screen is Real or Accidental, Its There Because a Person Put it There Intentionally or Otherwise, and Trying to Discern Meaning From That Can Be Very Rewarding.

Movie Reccs Below Readmore

On a Happier Media Side I'm Going to Class Soon So I Cant Provide the Best Content Warnings RN, Check DoestheDogDie.Com, But Imma Fire Off a Few Movies That are Relatively Lighthearted In Tone But Still Worth Watching and Considering: Truman Show (Its Good for Starting to Think About Movies Deeper But Again If Youre Delusional Be a Little Wary Here), Magnolia, Dreams By Kurosawa, Paprika, and Night's Short Walk On Girl. Have a Good Day Anon and I Wish You Luck :]

[luveline]

zombie au with Steve where he trains reader in a little hand to hand after she was nearly attacked because the thought of losing her makes him physically ill? I've been thinking about them a lot recently and I miss them

hell yeah kisses u. thanks so much for your request! ily ♥︎

When Steve wakes you up, he's neither kind nor cruel. He shakes your shoulder insistently, and you blink against the starched fabric of his jeans.

"Up," he says.

You blink some more. You've learned to accept Steve for how he is, which is, under the circumstances, sort of strict. You owe him a lot — he's kept you alive this long. You can't find it in yourself to be annoyed at him, even as he slides your face off of his leg and you get a mouthful of leaves.

"I thought we got to lie in today?" you ask drowsily. You're camping a couple of miles from the state line, waiting for signs of life.

"I know I said that, but I've been thinking, and I have some stuff I want to go over with you."

You sit up and stretch until your back clicks. Steve's already standing, folding your tarps and blankets up to stuff back in your backpacks.

"What kind of stuff?" you ask.

You like Steve more than he knows. As in, you harbour an ill-timed affection, and so getting to sleep in his lap has made you stupid. You're feeling better than you have in weeks, about as good as you'd felt when he hugged you after the hot pretzel incident. He bends at the waist and you look over his face fondly, the soft slope of his cheeks, his lashes skimming the delicate skin under his eyes.

"Self defense."

You try not to dawdle, re-lacing your shoes in a hurry and standing up to help him kick out the smouldering remains of your campfire.

"You know self-defense?"

Steve looks at you, and you get all excited because he doesn't look mad. "Not really. I'm hoping we'll learn as we go." He strokes his overgrown hair out of his eyes. "I don't want you to get cornered again."

You wince. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No, don't be."

You still feel awkward. It had been a point of contempt between you both for a few tense, quiet days. You'd been cornered by a girl, a real, living girl, and she'd hit you hard and stolen your pack. Your lucky she hadn't killed you, double lucky that all she managed to steal was pudding and stale twinkies.

Steve had been so mad.

Or so you'd thought.

You'd apologised to him, unable to stand the distance between you both, and you'd cried buckets from the guilt of it all. I'm sorry, Steve. I'm stupid. I'm an idiot. I let her get the better of me.

And he'd broke, said, "That's not what's bothering me. You could have been killed."

Steve Harrington cares about you undeniably. It's maddening, and it's fuel for your misbegotten cursh.

Steve gets you across from him in a clearer part of the forest. "You gotta concentrate, okay? We need to make sure there's nothing come at us while we do this."

"I know, Steve," you say softly.

His eyes narrow at you. There's nothing mean in it. "Alright. I'm thinking we'll start with just plain old punches."

"You want me to hit you."

"Yeah. I want you to hit me well."

Everything you both know about fighting comes from Rocky II. You tuck your thumbs, try to brace your wrists as he'd done. Neither of you know the exact specifics, and you're unsure.

"Just hit me," Steve says.

"I don't want to hit you."

"I know that's not true," he jokes mildly. "Hit me. I can take it. Hit me in the chest."

You hit him. It's a love tap, really, your knuckles barely pressed to his front. He pushes your hand away. You hit him again. The force this time is enough to make him smile.

"Alright. Now hit me in the face."

You gawp at him. "Steve, I'm not gonna do that."

"It's my face or my crotch." There's a lightness behind his eyes you haven't seen for a long time. "Come on, hit me."

You genuinely can't hit him. You swing your hand toward his face and hesitate every time you close the gap.

He takes a step toward you and grabs your hand, lifting it toward his face. He presses it to his cheek. "You gotta try. I promise I can take it," he says lowly. His head tilts ever so slightly to one side. "I need to know you can hold your own."

He lets your hand go, and seems pleased when you pull it back toward your chest, gearing up. You put as much effort as your body will allow into punching him, and though you feint at the last moment, your fist connects with his cheek.

He doesn't flinch, to his credit. "Good, good job." His smile fills you from head to toe with pleasure. "Again."

You hit him again, fist slapping against his cheek with an unfortunate slap. He laughs at your shocked expression, the sound unfamiliar and sure to play on your mind for days to come.

You gear up for another punch, and this time he catches your fist in his hand and twists your arm around.

"Steve!" you yelp.

He lets you go quickly. "Did I hurt you?"

Your arm had twinged, but no. He hadn't hurt you. You square your expression and get back into position. "No. C'mon, let's go again."

You spend an hour or more like that, throwing punches, and then you swap. Steve tries to hit you, instead, and you deflect, you dodge, you redirect his hand. And despite how he'd made you really hit him, he refuses to hit you in the face, his hand stopping shy of your skin every time.

It's an admirable effort, though you don't know how effective it'll be.

He grabs a stick from the forest floor and wields it at you threateningly. "She'd cornered you because she had a knife. I know it sounds impossible, but you need to be able to knock it out of her hand. Out of anyone's hand. Don't let it touch you, okay?"

He goes for fleshy places. Your chest, your neck, your stomach. He aims for your face and you grab it on instinct, which prompts more of his impossible laughter.

"You can't do that," he denies through chuckles.

"Why?" You're sweating, hair damp and cooled with every passing breeze.

"You can't grab a knife."

"Maybe I could."

His smile fades. He holds your eyes. "Maybe you could, if you needed to. But please don't try."

You nod, breathless, and not from the exercise. "Yeah, okay."

"Are you hungry?" he asks, letting his arms fall to either side.

Steve's forehead shines in the sunlight. You resists the urge to wipe his sweat away with your sleeve. It would be so easy, to close the gap, to dote on him like you want to. But you're not sure that's what he would want, and so you don't.

"No," you say. You're always hungry these days. That question usually means, Are you starving?

"Do you want me to pin you?"

You choke on spit and breath. "What?"

He smiles and it's King Steve. "What are you thinking?" he asks, delighted. "Because we might be on different pages, lovergirl."

"Lovergirl," you repeat, dazed.

"Somebody's gonna get you up against a wall. You need to know where to aim."

Your heart pounds. You worry you've heard a footstep, turning to glance over your shoulder, but there's nobody. You and Steve alone, and he wants to pin you up against a wall and- what? Let you target practice on his crown jewels?

"Or you could pin me."

You glare at him forcefully. "You're making fun of me."

"I'm not," he says, and then, slower, "no, I'm not, I'm... Joking around."

It felt like he'd wanted to admit to something else. You're flustered and it's the apocalypse so all your senses are confused all of the time, but you think maybe, maybe, Steve might've been flirting with you.

"Okay." You throw out your arms. "Pin me."

He smirks at you. "You asked."

You let Steve pin you, and realise quickly that this isn't going to be what you'd hoped. He pushes you hard against a tree and taunts you when you can't escape, smiling and sweating. It's isn't a heated make out session or anything close, but his proud smile when you work your way out is nearly as good, and he's nice enough to help you unzip your coat when you complain of numb arms.

-

more steve zombie!au

I missed this au so much!!!!

[f10werfae]

Home CHRIStening

pairing: Construction!Chris × GF!Reader

summary: Chris and Y/n take a new approach to a house blessing

- can be read (not necessarily) as part of My Wife, My Love

Disclaimer: This story is fiction and should not be taken literally, the behaviour is simply imaginative and the content may be inappropriate

warnings: Age gap, degradation, dirty talk, kissy sex, spit, kissing, tit play, breeding kink, ass play, fingering, cockwarming

Requests are open!

Likes, Comments and Re-blogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Evans Masterlist

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︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Let’s just say as soon as Chris' visit to Y/n was over, he did not come home alone. The warm summer air blew through their hair, Chris' hand gripping onto Y/n's thigh tightly, her body clad in a thin tank top and shorts. Her boxes of belongings piled up on the back of Chris' blue pickup truck.

“Ya excited bunny?” Chris asked peeking over to his girl, her beautiful smile gracing her face, something he always found irresistible.

“So excited babe, I can finally wake up to your pretty face everyday” She laughed scratching his beard playfully before leaning over and placing a kiss onto his warm cheek. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little bit of excitement when she patted his thigh playfully when they arrived at their home.

“Nuh uh bunny, you wait inside n' ill bring ya boxes in” Chris said pulling the box away from Y/n, a small pout making its way onto her face before she gave up and turned to walk inside, Chris groaning at the sight of her ass just bouncing in the blue denim.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

(Chris' P.O.V)

“Ya don’t think your pa is gonna kill me when he finds out you’re here right?” I asked taking a drink of fresh lemonade, watching Y/n take out some of her things out of the boxes while we were in the bedroom.

“mm I don’t really care anymore hun, he’s gotta accept we’re in it for real now” She said placing her clothes into the new wardrobe I built, knowing much she loved her clothes and shoes.

“Come on baby don’t ya wanna take a break for now? It’s melting in here”

(No one's P.O.V)

Chris stood up, having taken off his clothes once they got inside, he was fully in the nude. His girlfriend on the other hand, had decided to stay clothed for the unpacking process, something he thought was crazy.

He could see droplets of sweat falling down her skin with the Texan air, her hair pinned up with a claw clip above her shoulders, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Come on hun we’ve got better things to do”

“Yeah like what Chris?” She asked turning around, her hand settled onto her hip

“Christening?”

- The Bedroom -

(Y/n's P.O.V)

“Oh baby your tits are so fuckin pretty” Chris purred groping them under my top, pulling down the neck line to pop them out to expose them.

Somehow he had managed to string me into this stupid plan of his, but he’s just so frickin loveable and his stupid face is so handsome.

With one swift movement, Chris had gotten me onto the bed with him tugging my tight denim shorts down my legs aggressively. I felt embarrassed when I heard him whistle at the sight of my panties which I knew I had completely ruined at that point.

“Bunny all this for me?” He teased pulling down the edge of my underwear, flinging them playfully off to the side. I could feel my hair sticking to my forehead with how warm it was,

Crawling up to hover over me, I felt him spit onto my face before his tongue licked all over me before landing into my mouth,

“I’m gonna fuck you so raw the only word you’re gonna remember is my name”

Chris then stuck his tongue out and I couldn’t help but latch onto it with my mouth and suck on it like some dirty whore, his whore. I felt his finger reach down and play with my hardened nipples, his fingers flicking and tugging on them like they were some toy.

“Please Chris, need you now” I whined feeling my hips buck up to rub onto his leg, rutting against him helplessly.

“Aww you want your man to play with your little pussy? Wan' me to keep it all nice and creamy like it should be?”

“Mhm” I whined out, his hands gliding down my body until they were at his cock, which he positioned right at my cunt's lips. His lips continued to kiss my neck and lips in short sweet pecks, his tongue toying with mine, the collection of our spit starting to dribble down my face before he licked it all back up again. This was fucking filthy and I loved it.

“Baby you’re so filthy, what would your pa say if he knew about this?” Chris teased slowly pushing his cock into my wet cunt, his lips groaning out beside my ear.

“He’s not gonna know until you’re fuckin round with my baby, isn’t that right bunny?”

“Mhm, r-round with your baby” I whimpered feeling my head go all fuzzy once he bottomed out inside me, his lips attaching to my breasts as he sucked on them without mercy, teeth and everything.

“And you’re gonna be my wife ain’t ya? Gonna sit there n look all pretty for me when I come home, bake me treats that are as sweet as your fucking cunt”

He groaned, his hips starting to smack into mine with a steady rhythm, my legs hooking themselves around his waist and caging his body in with mine.

“Gonna be your w-wife?”

“Mhm baby remember what I said? A pretty rock on your pretty finger is comin pretty soon” He charmed, one of his fingers starting to toy with my clit, his heavy balls slapping my pussy at the same time.

(Chris' P.O.V)

Y/n looked up at me dazed, her mouth hung open with her hair spread beautifully around her head. Her arms suddenly wrapped around my neck and pulled my lips to meet hers, her tongue thrusting itself into my mouth. Her eyes looked at me cutely as she kissed me wetly, her mouth once again sucking on my tongue relentlessly.

“Love kissin you Chris” She moaned out pulling away, her lips kissing around my neck and jaw affectionately.

“N’ I love you so much bunny” I whined slowing down my thrusts but making sure they went deeper, her breath hitching in her throat that was now covered in hickies .

(Y/n's P.O.V)

“Youre hittin me up here” I smiled lazily pointing to somewhere on my abdomen, feeling his cock drive into me so deep I felt cock drunk.

“Really baby? all the way up there? You feelin' floaty n everythin?”

“Mhm mhm” I replied succumbing to the pleasure of his thrusts hitting and abusing my spot over and over and over again. A smirk on his pretty face when he realised I was close to coming when I couldn’t help but clench over his dick.

“But what about your ass baby? Don’t it need some lovin too?” He asked, and all of a sudden I felt his finger prodding at my asshole as he sat up while thrusting, my eyes widening in pleasure as I felt him rim me with his finger.

“Chris, I-I’m gonna cum”

“Me too baby, just let it go okay?”

Nodding I felt his finger start to enter my ass, his thrusts speeding up, the feeling of all this started to make me feel crazy with the ecstasy I was feeling.

“God your ass is tight, we’re gonna have train you up aren’t we Y/n?”

Just nodding at his words my hips started thrusting up to meet his own, his face contorting as I clenched again hurrying to chase after my release.

“ok fuck Y/n, where do ya want me to cum”

“Fucking cum inside me” I groaned feeling my clit twitch as my orgasm washed over me, my pussy feeling all warm as I felt Chris' seed fill me to the brim, feeling some of it leak out onto my thigh

(Chris' P.O.V)

“Ya alright bun?”

I whispered pushing back some of the hair from her face, cleaning her up with a tissue from our bedside table, a dopey smile on her face as she nuzzled into my chest when I moved up beside her.

“I’m perfect”

- The Kitchen- (2 Days Later)

(Y/n’s P.O.V)

“Hey baby you near done out there?” I called out towards the back porch, watching put up another one of his creations, the swinging porch bench. Wearing nothing but his work trousers, the unbeaten Texas heat caused his skin to glimmer that bit tanner, his tattoos shining in the sunlight.

“Alright bubba, jus give me another few minutes yeah?” He groaned hammering in another nail into the foundation, I couldn’t help but feel myself swoon at the sight of him being so concentrated, don’t even get me started on his arms.

“Come onnn, I made ya lunch” I whined stomping my foot a little, lifting his head he nodded and walked over, his hands outstretched for a hug,

“No way sir, you stink” I laughed running back inside

“You wasn’t complainin two days ago now were ya?” He teased coming over and kissing me on the forehead, sitting at the kitchen table, patting the seat beside him for me to sit down too.

Chris had really started to make this our home, already building in new things outside, like benches and a barbecue station.

On the other hand my pa had been texting me non stop, almost as if he knew something was up. Either way he can’t stop me now, ma said it was alright and i’m an adult, he can’t control me for life.

(Chris' P.O.V)

“What ya thinkin about bug?” I asked looking at her, spooning up some of the chicken and rice she had made me. Her pretty yellow sun dress fit over all her curves so beautifully, the colour making her skin tone even that more gorgeous.

“Nothin' jus thinkin' thoughts” She smiled laughing

“Here we go again” I smirked remembering what happened the last time she said that, her smooth thighs just peeking up at me from under the table, I couldn’t help myself.

Settling one hand on her thigh, I watched her scroll on her phone mindlessly, her body only reacting when my fingers were at her underwear.

“No underwear?”

“Nuh uh too warm” She smirked back, her head laying on the palm of her hands. Her teeth pulling in her bottom lip, her free hand then went under her dress and put my hand onto her pussy. Despite it being warm outside, it almost felt cool under here, a part of me not wanting to take my hand out just for that reason.

Pulling my hand out I told her to spit onto my hand which she did, and used it to lube up her clit, before I started rubbing slow circles on it. Her breaths becoming more airy as she hugged onto my bicep, her head on my shoulder almost as if she was sleeping.

“You okay?”

“Mhm keep goin” She moaned, her hips starting to grind against my fingers as I thrusted them in and out of her, her newly painted nails digging into my arms.

“F-fuck” I heard her whisper before her body shook and her thighs clamped my hand in, her hole twitching around my two fingers as if it was trying to milk my cock.

“That’s all you needed wasn’t it baby?” I teased pulling out my hand and keeping eye contact as I licked up my fingers, before shoving another spoonful of food into my mouth.

- The Living Room -

(Y/n's P.O.V)

coming in from a day of work at my new bakery, I saw Chris laying down watching one of his T.V shows on the couch, wearing his usual white vest and grey sweatpants.

“Hey baby, how was work?” He said noticing my presence once I shuffled into the room, my limbs feeling that much heavier with all the standing I did.

“Fun, but tiring. So tiring” I said motioning for him to move over a bit to let me in beside him. Settling myself beside him, I used his arm as a pillow as hid hand moved up and down my side carefully. His face in the crook of my neck as he kissed my neck and nape cutely. A smile making it’s way onto my face when I felt him pulling down my work pants and underwear,

“This okay?”

“Mhm”

Feeling him pull down his sweats, he pushed his cock deep inside me and just let it settle there. His arm then wrapping around my waist to pull me into his chest, his warmth radiating onto my back as we stayed connected.

“I love you so much honey” He whispered kissing below my ear, his fingers rubbing over my stomach comfortingly,

“I love you too” I whispered feeling my eyes grown heavier, his cock keeping me nice and warm, and most importantly close to him

———

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[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Riverdale//what are friends for?

Request: Riverdale imagine the reader has an older brother who is a northsider to his core and wants his sister to date his friend but she knows his true colors and it won't do well and the reader hates her older brother and the core 4 watch what happens and stuff and the reader tells them about the hardships at home and w/ her brother who she's afraid of.

hey! so trigger warning: men being verbally abusive and just plain rude. please don’t read if this will upset or trigger you. the last thing i want for you is to be sad. other than that, i really hope you like this! 

You feel like you can finally breathe again when the bell rings above your head. After an excruciating 7 minutes and 32 seconds of being stuck in a car with the older brother from hell, the two of you can finally go your separate ways and pretend the other doesn’t exist for a few hours. 

And even though you know that in three hours you’ll have to get back in the car and suffer through another 7 minutes and 32 seconds until you can go to your room under the pretences of doing homework/studying, the anxiety still picks away at you. It still remains, it’s just buried under the excitement at seeing your friends. 

It’s not like Oscar is the devil incarnate, he’s just the devil’s second in command. He some sort of Northside monster, a mascot for all things privilege and pettiness stuffed inside a rich boy suit. 

He insults and teases and makes fun of anyone he deems lesser than him, which is basically anyone...including the people he calls his friends. Really they’re just people he hangs around with to boost his ego and make him feel better about whatever is going on inside his own head. 

Oscar practically shoves past you as soon as you step foot in the diner, a bright smile already lighting up his expression when he see’s the majority of his friends sitting in the corner, and you’re left standing by the door searching for your own friends. 

To your misfortune, it seems like you’re the first one to turn up so you send a quick text to them all to let you know that you’re here before sitting down in the opposite corner. 

The world passes slowly outside, people leave and enter the restaurant and you sit and play with the napkins put down by the waitress while you wait for someone to arrive. You’re halfway through your third paper napkin airplane when somebody does sit down opposite you, only it’s not who you hoped it would be and your face falls when you make eye contact with them. 

“Peter.” You mumble and try to focus on folding the wings. 

“Y/n.” He replies, a smile evident in his tone and you can feel his eyes looking you up and down. It makes your blood run cold and you’re not even looking at him, just the thought of him looking at you like that makes your skin crawl. “You’re not sat in here all by yourself are you?” He asks, his tone sickly sweet and you pull a face before looking at him, trying your best to seem unfazed by his presence. 

In reality, Peter is the worst person in the world. He insults, he fights and he schemes. And he always takes the wrap for it, even if it was Oscar who came up with it in the first place. However, because Peter does all of this for Oscar, and because your brother likes to have friends that act more like pets, he thinks that Peter can do no wrong. 

And the past two months he’s been pestering you to accept Peter’s offer to go out with him, despite trying to tell him how much you actually hate him. He may seem innocent and sweet when others are around, but when it’s just the two of you he says stuff like this. 

“Because I can always keep you company...if you know what I mean.” He says and reaches out towards you. You watch his hand slowly come towards you and you sit up a bit straighter so he can’t reach. His confidence flickers as he look from you to his outstretched hand before he drops it on the table and his horrible smile comes back. “Oh, I get it. You’re playing hard to get. I like that in a woman. It’s no fun if they give it up easily.” He grins and you have to refrain yourself from rolling your eyes again. 

A pit opens up in your stomach and the more he smiles the more it grows. You feel more like you’re hunted than talked to and you really wish that someone would show up soon so it gives him an excuse to leave. 

Today however, fate doesn’t seem to be on your side. Because somebody does turn up, it’s just the last person you want. 

“Oscar!” Peter smiles and the two of them fist bump. Peter’s whole demeanour changes when your brother turns up and you watch the walls come up. The smirk is replaced with a smile and he moves his hands away from you. 

Oscar looks between the two of you and knowing smile appears on his face. 

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” 

“Well actuall-” 

“No.” You interrupt. “We were just talking. But now that you’re here I’m sure you all want to hang out. So goodbye Peter.” You say through gritted teeth and force a smile. Peter pouts and Oscar shakes his head at you. 

“You know, you could do a lot worse than Peter.” He says while Peter smirks behind him. “You should give him a chance.” 

“I’d rather stick two pencils up my nose and then smash my head against this table.” You reply with a sarcastic smile and Oscar rolls his eyes. 

“You’re gonna die alone with that attitude.” He says before walking away. 

“That’s better than spending a lifetime with him.” You reply and stare straight at Peter. His face reddens and his cheeks puff out a little while he tries to figure out a response, but you’ve already unlocked your phone and started texting again. 

“You know one day you’re going to realise what you’re missing out on and then you’re gonna beg me to take you out because you’ve realised you’re nothing but a sad little woman who nobody loves.” He seethes, his face inches away from yours and his face reddens with each word. 

His breath makes you feel sick and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying or doing anything. Just look straight forward and he’ll leave soon. His floppy blonde hair pokes at your forehead making it itch and you wonder if maybe there’s something in the industrial strength gel he uses that you’re allergic to. 

“Hey Peter.” Veronica greets cheerily and he quickly turns around, the familiar fake smile coming back. She looks at you and then him before sighing and saying “Remember, I dated you and we all know she wouldn’t be missing out on much.” 

Your jaw drops a little and you have to stifle a laugh as Veronica waves him back to his table, his feet stomping against the linoleum. 

“Is he always like that?” Archie watches him walk away before asking you, his tone filled with concern and you feel yourself shrink under the pressure. Betty and Veronica send him a look before sitting down. Betty opposite you and Veronica beside. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a hug and the smell of expensive perfume floods your senses. 

You know that they’re looking at each other, none of which know what to say or do. They may be able to solve crimes and take down criminals, but when it comes to real life stuff like this, they’re next to useless. 

So they do what they do best, or at least Jughead does. 

“I’ll go get us some milkshakes, Y/n do you want your favourite?” He asks and you nod quickly. You sniffle and take a deep breath, you’re not going to let Oscar or Peter or any other stupid boy make you cry.

Jughead nods and as you lift your head you watch him quickly walk away, he sends a glare in the direction of your brother and his friends and a small smile twitches at your lips. 

Jughead Jones has never once been threatening, at least not to you, but you’re glad he’s making an effort. And you’re glad he offered to get the drinks instead of staying and saying something awkward. You love Jughead, but he isn’t the best at comforting people. 

Archie pulls a chair up, already accepting the fact that it’s his turn to sit at the end of the table...again, but today he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too focused on you and trying to make you feel better. Even if he just gets a small smile from you, that’ll be enough and then he won’t have to kick Oscar, Peter or anyone else’s ass...right now. 

Oscar laughs loudly from his table on the other side of the diner and Betty rolls her eyes before looking at you and her expression softens as she reaches over the table to hold your hand.

“Y/n?” She asks and you force yourself to look at her. The tear in the leather seats isn’t the most interesting thing to look at usually, but when you’re avoiding talking about something, it becomes the most fascinating thing in the world. “What was all that about?” She adds and her and Veronica share an unsure look.

“It was nothing.” You shrug and try to force a smile. Archie knows it’s not real, they all do and even Jughead looks sad when he sits back down, carefully placing the milkshakes down. “Oscar has just got it into his head that me and Peter would be a great couple. I dunno, I guess he thinks Peter’s like the perfect Northsider or something like that. A part of me thinks he just does it to annoy me because he only ever brings it up when Peter’s around. But Peter’s been around an awful lot lately so I’ve never heard the end of it, plus he’s a total dick. He’s rude, mean and stuck up, only whenever Oscar’s around he acts like he’s god’s gift. But I can’t say that to Oscar because if I speak ill of anyone he considers a friend, he goes crazy. He shouts and screams and calls me names and I guess I’m just scared of them. Both of them really.” You rant, letting out a deep breath at the end and the four of them stare at you wide eyed. “Sorry, I’ve been keeping that in for a while.” You add and force an awkward smile.

“Shit Y/n.” Betty sighs. “We’re sorry.” She adds and squeezes your hand. 

“Yeah.” Jughead adds. “What can we do to help?” He asks and you look at him surprised. 

“I-er. I don’t know.” 

“Well then we’ll figure it out together.” Veronica smiles and hugs you again.

“Yeah.” Archie nods and leans over the table to grab your free hand. “What are friends for?”

support my writing! if you want! 

[narrators-journal]

Months of tolerance

So, I was looking back at my ranpoe valentines story and I got an idea. Why not write a little collection? A little trio or so of Valentines-themed sort of ship stories?

And so, I wrote a second one for Shin-soukoku! Though, please be forgiving, I’m not a super big fan of Atsushi, so I don’t have a lot of ideas and experience on how he works and behaves, so I kinda took inspiration from the rp me and my friend did for BSD and their sort of rendition of Atsushi mixed with canon.

Atsushi had never really experienced Valentines day or White day, so when Dazai offered to take him out on one of his days off and introduce him to the basics of the event he accepted it. He was quick to find it to be a bit depressing.            “Dazai, I don't think I have any real...reason to be here," The tiger sighed, putting down one of the little Valentines bears he'd been looking at in the shop and looking over at the bandage-clad brunette that was to be his mentor in the ADA. The rail of a man just pouted at him,            "Nonsense, Atsushi! You're learning about romance," he assured, giving the white-haired man a sweet smile, which made Atsushi grimace,            "Yeah, but this holiday is obviously for couples, and I don't have any romantic partner of any sort," He pointed out, a stone of loneliness settling in the bottom of his stomach as he spoke, but his mentor simply snorted as if that point was moot.            "Sushi, you don't need a romantic partner to celebrate Valentines day, you can just as easily get gifts for friends. After all, I don't have a partner but I'm gonna get a gift for someone." He assured, and while the tiger was still a bit unsure, he just nodded.

After that, he just went back to milling around up and down the aisle as he poked at the little toys, knick knacks, or sweets scattered about until Dazai clapped his hands together in an idea,          "Atsushi! I have an idea for what you can do on Valentines day!" he chirped, bouncing on his feet in some childish, giddy high, "Why not get a gift for Ryuunosuke!" The tiger blinked and scowled at the idea,          "Why the hell would I do that? I don't have any sort of feelings for him," he about spat, almost feeling his lip curl in a snarl at the mere mention of the wheezing, gothic, Dazai fanboy. However, the brunette simply rolled his eyes at his venom,          "There is a very common phrase, 'kill your enemies with kindness', you ever hear it?" before the weretiger could answer, he continued, "Akutagawa doesn't like you. At all. Hates your guts. But! If you get him a gift, maybe be as friendly as you can be, you can get him to warm up to you!" the weretiger's scowl only deepened, which made his mentor huff and drop the excited, bubbly tone, "If you get him to like you, you won't have to spend quite as much on shirts every week." Atsushi ended up buying a cheap little gift for the goth. However, that now left him with a question. How was he to get the cheap plush cat to Akutagawa? He'd been pondering the question all through out the three days that led up to Valentines day, going back and forth on whether or not he should even bother with Dazai's stupid idea. Is it really worth risking getting stabbed again? Just to give this cheap little thing to a bastard like Akutagawa? He thought bitterly, though his cheeks burned a slight pink while he glared down at the floppy little beanie baby cat that was sprawled out on his meager little coffee table, staring up at the tiger with glassy amber eyes while he sat on his couch the evening before Valentines day. I'd sooner drink my own piss then give Akutagawa a Valentines gift. He told himself firmly, getting up from his couch and plucking the toy from the cheap table to get rid of it. To do this, he threw it out of his livingroom window into the darkness of the cold night and listened to it land in the dumpster across the street with a soft thud thanks to how hard he'd thrown it. And, with that, he shut his window with a decisive 'humph' and went to bed. Dazai was a smart man, but Atsushi was not going to have conflicting and confusing feelings plague him just to placate a violent asshole with a hateboner for him. An hour later, the tiger went out to the dumpster he'd heard the cat slam against and dug the poor thing out to be washed. Not that the weretiger had changed his mind or anything, he'd just spent money on the derpy little toy, he didn't want to waste it. Or, so he told himself. So, he instead returned it to his bedside table after washing it a few times, trying to see if he could somehow rub the new crack out of his amber eye while doing his best to get the dumpster stench out of its fur. If he really was going to 'kill Akutagawa with kindness' like Dazai said, the least he could do was make sure the gift didn't reek of three day old take out and dog vomit. When the next day came, he took the toy to work, then walked home with it draped over his arm after a day of dealing with petty couple squabbles that had turned nasty, or helping Ranpo to and from the smattering of robberies he'd been requested on. Y'know, this just proves why I should've kept this thing in the garbage, he fumed to himself, staring at the sidewalk ahead of him so he didn't see even more lovey-dovey couples for the day, If I gave this to Akutagawa somehow, all that would happen is I'd be a statistic. Nothing more. He hates me too much, it'd probably off- Atsushi's ill-tempered thoughts were cut short when he ran into someone else on the sidewalk, sending them both sprawling to the pavement.           "O-oh my god! I'm so sorry, are you hurt miss?!" The weretiger squeaked, hopping up to his feet at record speeds to offer a hand to the pretty lady in white. She had long black hair, and a familiar style of dress on, but it was her light, steel-colored eyes that finally got her face to click in the frazzled tiger's irrational mind.          "Oh!...Gin, right?" he asked as she took his hand and let him help her up while she nodded,          "Sorry, I didn't mean to run you over," she said, her voice as quiet as the first time he'd met her with Katai and Kunikida, but her words shot a nebulous sort of anxiety into his veins,         "Oh, no no no, it was my fault, I wasn't looking where I-I was going," he stammered, trying desperately to comfort her as he reached to dust her off, but then changed his mind half way, doing that would be super weird, so he instead tried to think up another way to make up for running into her. He felt awful for knocking her over, but had no clue what to do, so he just ended up putting a hand over his anxious heart and staying quiet. Gin, meanwhile, had spotted the saggy stuffed toy on the sidewalk,           "Um, is that yours?" She asked, picking it up and dusting the little thing off gently, snapping Atsushi out of his thoughts,          "What? Oh! Yeah, that's...actually, I bought it for...Akutagawa." he admitted, not knowing what else to say to explain why he had a stuffed cat. Gin blinked at him, raising an eyebrow,           "No offense, but why did you buy my brother a toy? Is it for Valentines day?" Atsushi gaped for a moment, for some reason his brain struggling to give even the simplest answer for a moment,          "I...D-Dazai suggested getting him a gift..." he muttered, his cheeks beginning to heat up as he spoke, which Gin seemed to notice, but she said nothing,          "Well, how about I deliver it to him? He likes cats, I'm sure he'd enjoy this one," she offered sweetly instead, and for a moment Atsushi could only stare at her while his cheeks undoubtedly glowed a healthy pink until he cleared his throat, get yourself together Atsushi! This is a fine way to get the damned gift to Akutagawa, then Dazai can get off your ass, he told himself, pushing down the weird flustered feeling in his chest,         "Um, t-that would be helpful," She nodded, smiling a bit at the toy cat. With that, she wished him well as the sky darkened from the yellow-purple gradient of Atsushi's eyes, to a dark, star-speckled blue, leaving the tiger to walk home and contemplate his day. For the next few days, the weretiger was on edge, just waiting for the wheezing goth to pop out from behind every corner ready to stab him. However, it never happened. Atsushi was expecting it, always at the ready to defend himself, but for the entire month he didn't even see his nemesis on jobs, let alone when he was walking home or too work. So, he began to relax. Maybe he really did enjoy the stuffed toy, he thought a month or so later on his walk home from the ADA. The thought brought an odd warm feeling to his chest, but he was swift to stomp the detested feeling back down into that part of himself he refused to acknowledge. He could accept his tiger, but he was not ready to face anything like that emotion. Then, something slammed into the side of his head. In an instant, Atsushi was knocked onto the sidewalk with his world swimming for a moment or two. In those moments, he laid there in a daze, forced to wait for his senses to return and the throbbing ache in his skull to die before he could finally stumble to his feet. When the pain stopped and he could bare to stand once again, the white-haired man looked around for what might've hit him in the head, but the only thing he found was a can of soda. A soda that, upon closer inspection, he found to be one of his favorites, which was weird enough, since usually his favorite soft drink doesn't fly at people's heads, but, no one was currently around to explain why an unopened, very dented can of his preferred soda was rolling around at his feet after knocking him on his ass like it had. He'd tried to look around, taking advantage of his improved night vision to try and spot anyone trying to hide from the blame for throwing it at him, but the street was currently sparse in other people in the area. However, after a moment of thinking, and examining the near-bursting can, it slowly dawned on the tiger who might've thrown it. Then, the date set in, bringing a stronger wave of hot embarrassment to his cheeks.           "Um?? T-thanks I guess?" he called out into the swiftly growing darkness, and then swiftly continued home, before the hiding goth caught sight of the way his cheeks tinged a small shade of pink or decided to come out to maul him for acknowledging him.

[demigoddreamer]

Addressing Batman’s Abuse

Damian: I killed someone

Bruce(and the rest of the batfamily but mostly bruce): It’s ok it’s because of your childhood, you were raised to be an assassin as long as you didn’t murder anyone innocent and do better next time

Dick: I killed someone

Bruce: well i saved them didn’t count bye

Tim: I killed someone

Bruce: Seriously Tim? ok I’m kinda disappointed but i’ll be ok in a little bit(actually idk cause I can’t recall if tim ever killed someone)

Jason: I killed someone

Bruce: HOW DARE YOU BREAK THE NO KILL RULE YOU LITTLE PIECE OF **** WE HAVE MORALS YOU’RE JUST ANOTHER CRIMINAL, A MURDERER, A MONSTER YOU LET THEM WIN IF YOU KILL

Alright enough with the jokes let’s get serious, let’s talk about the abuse. I have a lot to unpack and if you’re like me who doesn’t have the patience to read long things if they don’t matter then i’m sorry . I can read school stuff but fanfiction more than like 30 chapters irritates me which is stupid because I love to read but the human brain is A FUCKING ANNOYING HYPOCRITE. I love the batbros with all my heart and we hate to see bad stuff happen to them. but Bruce...he can get away with hurting the people who he should see as sons and who in turn consider him a father figure. He is essentially taking advantage of their love for his cause. Because the most important thing is batman and the mission which he will hold above his own children, the people in his life who care about him and support him in his insane crusade. Batman is someone who is consumed by this darkness that causes him to sacrifice everything for the mission. It is stated multiple times that his Robins are supposed to be better than him, they’re not needed as assistants in the battlefield but rather emotional support as they bring a little light to Bruce's pain and vengeful darkness. The Robins become better people than Bruce. 

There are obvious examples of Bruce’s abuse such as his second Robin now Red Hood Jason Todd. Now I may be biased as he is my favorite but I love all the robins dearly so FREAKING much. Jason is constantly remembered as Batman’s greatest failure. Why is that? we are led to believe it’s because Bruce didn’t save him but really it’s because Jason didn’t fall in line with Batman’s code which is where we see the flaws in Batman’s philosophy. Why doesn’t Batman just kill the Joker? Jason makes some very valid points saying that all Joker does is cause pain and he keeps breaking out of prison and causing more pain and it’s a vicious cycle, a revolving door that Batman refuses to end. Joker and Batman are almost obsessed with each other. But Batman refuses to kill Joker saying if he does he can’t come back and Joker will win. It’s a war between numbers and moral high ground. But in reality who cares if Joker wins? It’s vague what does it even mean? Joker keeps on killing and if he was gone the world would be safer? It doesn’t matter if he wins as long as people live. Jason Todd is someone who is constantly hurt by the people who are supposed to love him. An example of this is Batman choosing to save Joker rather than his own son in the Under the Red Hood storyline. Jason is clearly heartbroken over the fact that Bruce refuses to kill the person who MURDERED HIM saying “I thought I’d be the last person you ever let him hurt” Jason obviously has lots of trauma PTSD depression and he probably just wants to feel safe pleading with Bruce to just kill Joker that’s it saying “doing it because he took me away from you” which Batman refuses just saying I can’t. 

Now there’s other instances that make my blood boil such as Batman and Robin #20. Damian died in Batman Inc. and obviously since Bruce can’t ever deal with pain in a healthy constructive way, he goes full dark and rage and sadness. He becomes desperate to bring Damian back, being abusive to Tim even when Batman tried to experiment on Frankenstein to bring Damian back and Tim blew the lab up. But Jason...oh god...Bruce wants Jason on a mission in Ethiopia to bring the people who tried to kill Damian justice . (Talia put a bounty on his head) and then Jason agreed, excited at the chance of working with someone he considers a father again. Jason has ceased his killing he has calmed down from when he tried to hurt them all, his mind was damaged by the lazarus pit and he went insane with pain and rage. From my pseudo psychologist perspective I think he thought hurting them would make his pain cease if he tried to hurt the things that caused his pain it would fix him. Anyway Jason is on kinder terms with them but it’s still rough. They’re not all that kind with him sure he’s made mistakes but they all have and he’s really sorry about it. Anyway after taking those bad guys down they talk about family and trust and faith. Then...Bruce does it and reveals the real reason why they came to Ethiopia. Bruce wanted to bring Jason to the place he DIED. WHERE THERE IS A BUTT TON OF TRAUMA. Jason is just so shocked at first he stands there looking numb. He isn't even angry yet. He stands there feeling the pain of that horrible day saying”You lied to me. this wasn't about taking down those mercenaries. You wanted to bring me here..to the worst place in the world...and here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith” He sounds broken which he is he’s been broken by so many people and now Bruce who isn’t supposed to break him just did by taking advantage of him and bringing him to somewhere of horrible trauma. Bruce reveals that he brought Jason here so he could figure out how to bring Damian back to life explaining “Those killers were the mission but this was something else something I couldn’t ignore I thought bringing you here could jog your memory-maybe retrieve a buried buried deep in your subconscious that could help piece together how you came to life so I” and Jason finishes this saying “-could apply it to getting Damian back. Yeah I get it. Did it ever occur to you I might like keeping whatever the hell happened to me buried deep?”Obviously, Jason doesn’t want to relieve his trauma, he doesn’t want to deal with what happened to him a second time. He just wants to move on but Bruce won’t let him. Bruce doesn’t seem to acknowledge Jason’s trauma nor does he seem to care for his well being. “If you cared about me, you wouldn’t want me to dredge up the one thing I've been trying to forget. I don’t want to remember the most horrific day of my life, all right? You may like wallowing in your tragedies but I’m done looking back” which is true all Batman does is sit in the pain of his parents death and he can’t heal like and he spreads pain to others at this rate the dead parents excuse gets a little old. BUT THEN BRUCE HAS THE AUDACITY TO SAY “If you cared about me and what I’ve lost, you’d want to dredge this up! Don’t you see-there’s a chance you can help me erase one of the worst days of my life. You can give me the greatest gift of all and help me figure out how to bring my son back!” Here he uses a lot of pronouns referring to himself, CARED ABOUT ME, I’VE LOST, HELP ME, MY LIFE, GIVE ME, HELP ME, MY SON. Yes Bruce, make it all about you, cause we definitely want you too. You’re a grown ass man and Jason is the more mature person here, honestly all the Robins learn to process grief and heal and grow and they’re just generally better people. Bruce is basically saying I care more about Damian than I care about you and my needs are greater than yours so screw your feelings, your feelings don’t matter. He really only seems to care about himself and he wants to erase his own pain. He doesn’t even seem to consider what Damian would want and what being brought back to life would do to him. Jason knows what it’s like, the pain of it, he’s probably the only person who would understand why someone wouldn’t want to come back. After All of this Bruce doesn’t even apologize and makes some half assed promise for unconditional truth but Jason still accepts this and helps Bruce get Damian’s body back from Darkseid even though he didn’t have to. 

Also there’s battle of the cowl which I desperately try to ignore but what I can tell Bruce *cough* died *cough* at this rate whenever Bruce dies or some crap I’m like ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT??? But sorry back to the topic. Bruce had a message for Jason for everyone else was just like I hope you’re doing well I love y’all live your life for JASON HOWEVER. He was all like you’re a failure not because I didn’t save you but because I don’t like how you turned out. Also you have problems, you’re mentally ill(I know but don’t have to be so awful about it)and there’s a secret I shouldn’t have kept and bye. And he suggests help but WHY DIDN’T HE GET JASON HELP WHEN HE WAS YOUNGER HMMMMM? It’s so obvious Jason’s childhood is full of abuse of course he has bad mental health and all that jazz. Also he puts Jason in Arkham where the Joker is 5 DOORS DOWN. I don’t think I have to say anything but they could literally put him in ANY OTHER PRISON. Why this one idk?

Bruce beat Jason and was probably about to kill Jason in RHATO #25. All beacuse Jason shot penguin and since Red Hood is a criminal blah blah blah Bruce has to do something. Actually he doesn’t as he just assumes Jason killed him which he didn’t also he didn’t seem to consider mind control or clones or whatever and he thought it was a good idea to beat the crap out of his sons. Jason even points this out”You are a character, I’ve never seen you beat Joker that hard and you hate him”...Bruce is beating him harder than the Joker. BRUCE IS BEATING HIS GODDAMN SON, SO HE HATES HIS SON MORE THAN JOKER??? Here we see how Bruce constantly chooses Joker over Jason.

Let's also talk about Dick his first son (I love my circus boi). After Jason died *sob*(i’m gonna cry) Dick is pretty darn sad and Bruce didn’t tell him shit so he’s obv like hey what’s the deal and BRUCE HAS THE AUDACITY TO BE MAD AT DICK. and he tries to kick Dick out of his life and be like leave your key get outta my face and he punched Dick LIKE BOI YOU DIDN’T TELL HIM ABOUT THE FUNERAL OR THE FACE THAT JASON DIED. We already knew it was bad because Bruce and Dick argued like my parents argue which is pretty bad. Lo and behold Bruce doesn’t apologize.

Also Nightwing #30 after Dick was outed as Nightwing and fake died on telelvision. Bruce used like WAAAAAAY excessive force. They were sparring but it got real violent real fast. And Nightwing wasn’t in the right mindset he was traumatized and Bruce totally took advantage of him by asking him to work for Spyral which Dick obv didn’t want to do but Bruce fucking FORCED that crap onto him after something as awful as that and he probably knew Dick would give in eventually that bastard. No, Bruce doesn’t apologize either.

Most recently Batman #71...now see this is Tim’s turn and I love my big brain boi Tim... and when you love a fictional character you know something bad is gonna happen. Bruce’s abuse, it’s kinda worse cause he’s a fucking KID. now Bruce be like let’s meet and shit so most of them are there and some evil villain is doing their thang and Tim is tryin be nice comforting Bruce, telling him that Tim will always be there and that Tim will help AND BRUCE FUCKING PUNCHED HIM. HE WAS JUST TRYIN BE NICE AND HELP YOU FEEL BETTER YOU POS. Now do we see Bruce apologize? NOOOOO. What did you expect? Honestly it’s not that hard it’s a simple sentences even a dumbass like you can manage it

Now I’m not totally familiar with any abuse on Damian but it’s there. Bruce is allergic to emotions, and it’s hard for him to be emotionally supportive and show any affection whatsoever. Showing any semblance of pride to Damian is like me trying to do pushups it’s FUCKING impossible for Bruce to show any compassion toward his son whatsoever (seriously though push ups are a pain in the ass I’m not athletic whatsoever why do you think I waste my time venting on tumblr the only thing I’m good for is being the smart kid in school and even then some people outshine me in that.)...sad but I’m not here to complain about that. Anyway Dick is a BAMF and openly shows Damian hey i’m proud of you and I love you. IT’S NOT THAT HARD BRUCE.

Bruce can’t ever be happy, he doesn’t let himself be happy because he can’t move on from that tragedy that happened to him. And he doesn’t allow anyone around him to be happy either. Shown as when Dick is like hey I can be in love with someone and we can be long term we can be happy together. BRUCE BE LIKE NUH HUH VIGILANTES CAN’T BE HAPPY WE HAVE TO SACRIFICE FOR THE MISSION. Let your son be FUCKING HAPPY. I know I sound like I hate him and maybe I do a bit but I don’t think he’s like completely Joker evil and irredeemable. I just can’t deal with how DC handles abusers like Bruce and having characters enable this behavior. We need to know that Bruce’s behavior is not ok and his children are completely numb to it, it’s normal to them and it’s disgusting. Bruce needs repercussions and he needs to know that he can’t do that to kids who love and trust him.

LINK TO PART 2:

https://demigoddreamer.tumblr.com/post/639314330465222656/addressing-batmans-abuse-part-2

If a loved one is hurting you reach out and seek help. You deserve the world

[kkryboygayman]

little personal reflection rant thingy about my mental health progression

i am so fucking self aware that i metaphorically beat my mental illness half to death with a log

for the past 5-6 ish years i had the mindset of "i'm not gonna make it to 18. i don't want to be here. everyone hates me." i was so insecure of what people thought of me, i hated myself so much for any small thing that could be considered a "flaw".

and then i realized. you literally just don't have to care. everything is what you make of it. you can just do and think whatever you want. you just have to deal with the way things are. it's not "things happen for a reason" per se, more of a "things happen. yeah. what can you do?"

you just have to. go with the flow and accept most things. i don't like how my nose looks? welp, i can't change that, can i? that's how i was born, it's a crucial part of what i look like, what makes me distinct from another person. i'm trans, and yea, dysphoria is a bitch, but i've just accepted that fact. not the fact that i was born afab, but the fact that i'm trans. i'm not a cis guy, and i wouldn't be who i am if i was cis. i'd rather be perceived as a trans man than a cis man at times. i'm proud of it even (haha cringe pride month yea yea). it's not a girl body, it's a trans man's body. the parts that give dysphoria, they're not girly or feminine, they're just parts to some dude. people might disagree, but i know i'm right so it doesn't matter.

i used to be so uptight. i used to force myself to be emotional because people said i "wasn't empathetic enough." i used to get upset over the smallest things and jokes because i had the "that's problematic >:(" thinking process (i blame twitter. that site gave the worst mindset). i used to be so pressed over what people thought, if they didn't like me.

and then i came to the conclusion. "just don't give a fuck." and it has worked tremendously. i can let myself breathe, i don't worry much about those things anymore. i can laugh at the youtuber's insensitive joke. i can jam out to my favorite band even if they say faggot. i don't care if someone doesn't like me, at least i have other people who do, and that's so much more important. and y'know what they say, "any publicity is good publicity." ; in the words of patrick stump, "i don't care what you think, as long as it's about me."

it's really fuckin annoying and difficult when people tell you "don't worry about what they say" or something along those lines. but it is just like that. the only thing about that though, is that those phrases only work once you figure it out on your own. you don't understand until you just do. i just became self aware, that i'm a real person, and i have a whole life ahead of me. you never truly understand until you process these things on your own accord.

i don't want to die, i want to experience all the things i want, i want to try and live out the small dreams i have. i want to be a rockstar. like genuinely that's my dream. seems impossible and stupid, right? well, you won't know if you don't try. and so what if i don't become one? i have so many other things that could happen, i'm just gonna see where life takes me.

yeah, i still do have my moments, but this is an overall thing, not just my occasional breakdowns.

whenever my mind tries to run into the "what if"s and anxieties, i just distract myself, even if it's not completely. put on a youtube video, not something you have to focus too hard on. put on some music, sing along. one thing i find that really takes my mind off of things is reciting lyrics of a certain band's songs. it has to be the same band, and if you mess up you gotta start over.

tldr; the whole mindset that made my life so much easier is just "go with the flow, don't think about it too much." y'know what they say, ignorance is bliss. it truly is.

[dannypuro]

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?” 

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters. 

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves. 

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance. 

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words. 

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa. 

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!” 

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders. 

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this. 

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin. 

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive. 

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course. 

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat. 

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-) 

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly- 

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly. 

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered. 

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

.

They watch a documentary. 

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he- 

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new  constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so. 

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not. 

Damn it.

.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching. 

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again. 

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return. 

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question. 

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.” 

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close. 

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

[vinylhazza]

Can you write a lil thing about confiding in your best friend (either twin) about your abusive relationship and then he helps you leave and shows you real love. I'm in a abusive relationship atm and I wish I had it :(

LEAVE HIM FOR ME (G.D)

warning: mention of physical abuse, trauma, mention of sexual abuse, angst, fluff

*italics are flashbacks/past conversations*

grayson would have been trying for so long to figure out where the bruises were coming from. he stopped at nothing to try and pry the information out of you until he finally started to back up after you got angry at him one evening for not letting it go.

“just let it the fuck go grayson, i fell. i told you that.” or “yeah straightener is a bitch you know? you’re not a girl you wouldn’t understand gray, i’m okay.”

you knew he was trying to help, but feared that giving them the knowledge would only make it worse. your jackass of a boyfriend was dangerous, you knew it even if he didn’t. he could hurt him, and that was the last thing on earth you would ever want - for grayson to be hurt. you would get teary eyes and a flustered blush when he noticed your frown at the mention of the bastards name. it was like a shock to your system. with grayson...everything was different. you weren’t weak. you weren’t some piece of meat that could be abused and used whenever he pleased. you weren’t a derogatory name that seemed to define you.

he kept you safe. he kept you warm when you shivered. he made sure you ate when he notices you haven’t touched a single piece of food all day, takes e time to cook your favorite meal of all. he would care for you, wait on your every hand and foot when you felt ill, make that special soup his ma taught him when he was younger, he knows how much it helps. he braids your hair to help you calm down, and he’s actually very good at it. something about the tenderness and care he gives you when he’s messing with your hair immediately eases your stress, and you don’t know it, but he has a small smile the entire time.

God that man would love the fuck out of you, just waiting in the shadows for you to see that he was right there, waiting to give you all the love that he could give. Grayson’s love language was physical touching, he loved to have his hair played with, back scratches, hugs that last too long, having your legs propped up over his lap as you watch a netflix special. he often watches you close in those moments, running his own fingers through your hair, deep slow massages, and sometimes....he even leaned in for a kiss on your cheek, your forehead, and when he was especially clingy, your neck. you didn’t think anything of, even tried to ignore the fluttering in your stomach - the butterflies swirling around like a tornadoe. and you especially ignore the clenching in your lower region, trying to convince yourself it’s not him in particular but the lack of affectionate touches you never receive from your boyfriend.

deep down, you know your heart tells you different. but you aren’t a cheater and how could you leave? you know he would come after you, after your family, after grayson, even after ethan if he’s as crazy as you thought he was.

the first time he hit you, was the first night he ever yelled at you as well. it had been sudden, out of nowhere, shocking. he was...not right that day. he was irritable, not really speaking to you all that much...just quite frankly being a dick. your love language is physical touch just like graysons, but...not that kind. you had just wanted to hug him, maybe give him a reassuring squeeze to let him know you were there to help him and be there for him through whatever it was he was struggling with. you know how hard it is to be in your own head and have no one to share your pain with.

but his hand slapping into like a tidal wave prevented that from ever happening.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?! can’t you see i want to be left the fuck alone?! are you fucking dumb?! get out!”

you spent the whole night crying, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you tight, a bag of frozen peas pressed up against your right cheek. in the morning when you woke up with a groan, you stumbled into the bathroom to find a black and blue bruise right along your cheek bone - a hateful looking mark. this...this wasn’t love.

“such a slutty, dumb little bitch. thinking you can wear that out and strut around like a whore? then i’ll treat you like a whore.”

he never apologized and the violence never stopped. the punches became more frequent, and it was getting so hard for you to hide them that you began making excuses: falling, fluke accidents that sometimes made no sense, dropping something, bumping into things. but everytime you made up a lie, it took a piece of you away. a piece of you that you felt would always in some way be connected to him. to his viscous words, actions, and those little moments that kept convincing you to stay.

you stayed for the rare moments he would smile, the times that would remind you of the man you fell for - the one that didn’t exist anymore. you knew you were foolish and anyone with a brain could see right through your stupid lies and excuses, but you simply avoided talking about him. he made you think it’s what you deserved. and after a while you believed it.

you stopped being sexually attracted to him in the very beginning, when the hitting first began...but he...he was a man of selfish desire. take what he wants and be on his way, keep treating you like dirt, keep kicking you while he knew you had no fighting chance. he took advantage of your body, used you like a toy and threw you away. made you think it was a yes even when you screamed no. a hand over your mouth, his tongue down your throat, you didn’t have a choice.

grayson knew it all along. he knew the bastard hit you. he knew the disgusting filth of a man you would go ‘home’ to. he knew it wasn’t your true home. your home was him. your home was grayson. but you had to keep him safe, hence the reason you never admitted to the consistent mental, physical, and sexual abuse. but grayson refused to do nothing, stand by and watch the women he loved suffer all alone, determined to be your knight in shining armor, save you from the villain trying to ruin your beautiful life so full of purpose.

“what am i supposed to do e? he’s hurting her, like really hurting her. the bruise on her neck isn’t a fucking burn it looks like a goddamn hand was choking her to death. what am i supposed to do? tell me what to do.”

Distraught was an understatement when it came to a teary eyed grayson sitting at the foot of his brothers bed. you had left after a movie night, having to lie to your boyfriend and tell him you were at a girlfriends house, you’ve already been beat up for even mentioning graysons name. you would never make that mistake again.

ethan sat straight up against his headboard, pulling at the stubble on his chin, brow furrowed with a concerned, and angry, scowl.

“the asshole thinks he can just get away with hurting her because she sits there and takes it...it’s killing me. God how did she get herself into this mess...i just feel...useless. i’m supposed to protect her e, that’s what you do for the people you love and i fucking fail her over and over again everyone i let her walk out the front door of this house,” grayson grumbled, leaning over the bed with his head in his hands. his shoulders were tensing, something that usually happens when he’s especially stressed or upset about something.

“i’m sure ‘taking it’ isn’t exactly what she’s doing. she’s scared. he’s a big guy gray, a dangerous guy, he can really do damage to her if she tries to fight him back,” ethan mutters, not wanting to make his brother more upset. it didn’t seem to be working, “you know this isn’t her fault and so do i gray. a man like that will stop at nothing to control her every move. it’s an act of dominance, control, he wants to rule every action, every thought, every move she might make. if we do anything, we need to do it fast, and do it in a clever way that won’t get her fucking killed by that psychopath.

“it’s just impossible to sit here and have her flinch when i try to touch her...i would never fucking hurt her. i never have. and i know it’s so hard for her to trust anyone with all of the shit she has to deal with...but God dammit i would move heaven and hell for that girl and i need to save her,” grayson sits up, a noticeable tear streaming down his face. his love was evident in his every word, “i’ll take my time. make her see she deserves better. whatever the fuck she needs to convince her to leave that dumbfuck, i’ll do it. i just need help e, that’s all i’m asking.”

“of course gray, you know i got your back. and i have y/n’s too. we are gonna get her away from that creep and show her what real love is. not that fake disgusting shit he claims it is. doesn’t even know what the fuck it means and he has no business using that word frankly.” ethan’s tone is clipped, sharp, and deep - he would do whatever he could to get away just like grayson would. granted he’s not in love with you, but he doesn’t have love for you, and he would still do anything to protect you, “but be patient with her. a guy like that stops at nothing to tear down a woman until she thinks she deserves what’s coming to her. she accepts the pain because she is trained to live in silence. we need to break that silence and make sure that she knows it’s okay to tell us and we would never put her in danger.”

there is silence for a moment, full of tension, worry, for their friend. graysons worries if he speaks, he might cry. instead he ops for bouncing his knee in a steady rhythm, something you taught him to do when he felt restless. and it helps. but with a deep breath he’s turning back to ethan.

“okay so, how do we do it?” grayson stands, ready to take on whatever it is to get her in his arms safe and sound. even if that means hurting her jackass of a boyfriend. hopefully soon to be ex, he thought.

“well, i think maybe tricking her into a little intervention is the only way to go about it. or maybe one of us can convince her to spill the beans. it might be too much on her if we both start hounding her with questions she’s scared to answer. i’m sure some of them are very personal. we can’t freak her out, she’s already so fragile.” grayson knew he was right. he needs to proceed with caution. maybe if he could convince her he’s who she belongs with...confesses to his desires and wishes maybe she would have the strength to leave. if that’s even what she wanted. if not it would ruin their friendship and she would still be in a bad situation.

“true...if we go to their apartment fists up and ready to fight, it will probably make it worse and fall back on her. she’s doesn’t need any more problems than she already has. i mean hell, she’s even scared to sleep anymore,” grayson ponders. he remembers the nights she would stay over when her boyfriend was away gallivanting with whatever floosy he could find. cheating abusive bastard that he was. then it dawned on him.

“what if, and hear me out, what if we just move her out and have her live with us? i mean the guy doesn’t know where we live and fuck it i’ll get security if i have to. we’ve been needing it for a while anyway. she would be safe, protected, and with her closest friends who wouldn’t let a damn thing happen to her,” grayson tried to explain himself, gauging ethans reaction to see if he had a disapproving face.

to his surprise, he didn’t. in fact, it was like a lightbulb clicked inside of his head. with a clap of his hands he’s standing.

“that’s actually a great idea. i don’t know when he leaves or whatever the dumbfuck does but when he does we can go over there and get all of her stuff out and move her in here. we just have to make sure we know when he leaves, when he comes back, and most importantly if she will even say yes.”

it was three days after when you finally stopped by. the bruises on the left side of your neck and cheekbone fading away. graysons heart broke every time he saw the purplish hue on your face. he would kill him if he could. he would do whatever it took to keep you safe. he just had to do it like a civilized human being. he knew that at least if you’re on his property and your stupid bitch if a boyfriend came by...well let’s just say he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

he pulled you into the backyard with the sun just sinking under the horizon. he wondered how you managed to sneak away without a scratch, but hopefully it would be the last time you had to.

“i need to talk to you about something,” grayson started, pulling at your hand to bring you further into the backyard, standing in the grass just beside the pool. he was nervous, palms sweating already. this was a big moment, and it could change everything for them.

“is it about the last piece of banana bread? cause i ate that like a week ago and if you just now noticed maybe you don’t really love it like you claim you-“ you started, teasing him with a smile. always the jokester. he wondered how you found the strength the smile. but he cut you off before you could finish. his frown had your smile wilting.

“i know he’s hitting you. don’t try and hide it either like you always do. you always try and cover up his abuse and his fucking disgusting behavior. and i understand you’re scared, y/n. but this ends now. i don’t care what i have to do to make you see you deserve better but this...this isn’t it. you have so much to give and deserve someone that would burn the whole fucking world down to keep you safe. so stop pretending and tell me the truth.” there it was. that face he was dreading. the face of absolute terror.

he knew. he fucking knew.

you thought you had been good at hiding it from him, from everyone really. even your mother loved your boyfriend. she often said he was “good for you” that she was happy you found him when you did because “he’s the only one that’s really ever gotten you under control”. you haven’t talked to her in months, to say the least.

grayson recieves a chest rattling silence. something he wasn’t expecting from a girl that was known for word vomit and stuttering all over herself trying to get a thought out fast enough before it slipped away. but you stared at him with wide, misty eyes. you were scared - frozen in his backyard. you couldn’t believe he had come right out and called you on your bullshit. but you knew it was coming, you tried your hardest to hide it, but grayson wasn’t stupid.

with a slow shake of your head, you swallow the tears threatening to escape your eyes. you won’t be weak in front of grayson. you spent so much time being weak because of him, but no, not in front of grayson. he deserved better than someone that couldn’t even escape a white boy she fell for after a run in at the movie theater. he deserves someone that can fight for herself.

“so you know. you and ethan i’m assuming?”

a nod with more silence. he is watching you, not exactly staring, but certainly focused on watching you try and hold yourself together. you know ethan is somewhere close by, watching this go down from his own little hide out. you’re half tempted to yell out to the house and tell him to get the hell out there and face you, but then you know you’d have to confess the truth in front of not one, but two of the most important people in your life.

“...what then? you want me to sit here and cry? you want me to break down and talk to you about all the times i’ve come over here and lied? pretending everything was okay and putting a smile on my face? because believe it or not this is my safe place and i’d rather not think of him. you make me forget. i just wanted to forget and i know that hurts you that i didn’t say anything but i don’t know what i’m supposed to do right now gray...” your voice is thick with emotion, hands coming up to twist at the flowy tank top resting on your torso. it suddently became very chilly in the backyard that felt previously warm in the suns dying moments until morning.

“i’m not letting this go. not like all those times before. i had my suspicions, had those little clues that would pop out when i reached to tuck your hair out of your face, or help you with the laundry you still do even when you don’t have to. you would jump, y/n...from me. and i would never,” he swallows, you can feel all the strength it’s taking him not to show you just how much he wants to cry, “i would never, hurt you. there isn’t a bone in my body that would ever touch you in any way other than love and adoration. i know it’s because of him. he’s - he’s fucking sick, y/n. he’s twisted and made it almost impossible for you to live a normal life. you snuck over here didn’t you? it’s nearly 8.” you know he won’t let it go until you answer, so you give him another small nod, biting at your bottom lip and flinching at the tear that drops down onto your cheek. it would wash away that pathetic layer of concealer you put on, exposing more of the purplish bruise he left there.

“where is he? let me guess - he said he was going to “tanners” right?” his voice remains calm, with just a hint of a grit there to show how truly disgusted he was by the man that abused you time and time again.

another nod and small sniffle.

you felt like a child getting caught by your parents for sneaking out.

you and grayson both knew there was no tanner. there was and never would be. it was just another girl he decided to fuck around with before coming back to control you, make you feel like the disloyal one. make you feel like the monster.

“and what happens when he comes back and you’re not there huh? what happens if he comes back early and wants you to text him a picture of where you are? actually fuck that have you even thought that maybe the psychopath put a tracker on your phone? ...why are you back away? hey hey come here it’s okay i’m not mad at you,” grayson is trailing off into an apology when he notices the distance beginning to grow between your two bodies. he was near yelling at the end of his little speech and you’ve learned enough to know what yelling means. of course he said he wouldn’t hurt you, but that’s exactly what he said in the beginning too. and look where you are now.

before you can back away from his touch any further, he’s tugging you into a hug, cradling the back of your head against his chest. his heart beat was steady, the calm thumping easing your own nerves. he never held you like this. grayson wasn’t him. it was unfair to be afraid of everyone because someone tried to stifle your fire. with your body tucked into his arms, grayson rocks side to side on the bottom of his shoes, eyes closed and chin resting on the top of your head. you liked to be held when you’re upset and overwhelmed and he knew it. it helped ground you.

he’s pulling away too soon, swiping a hand through his hair in frustration. you know it’s hard for grayson to express his emotions sometimes. giving him the same patience he gives you is the least you could do. you stand quietly in front of the tall block of muscle, arms crossed once again - a comfort mechanism you’ve taken up over the past few months - and wait for him to sort his thoughts out and try again.

“i didn’t mean to yell but dammit, y/n. i mean it when i say you can trust me. i know he’s ruined so many things but this - us - isn’t going to be one of them. he doesn’t get the satisfaction of pushing us apart. you -“ a huff “you’re too...special to let go. and it’s his own fault he can’t see it.” from the dead serious look in his hazel eyes, you know he means every word.

you wouldn’t say grayson is entirely closed off, especially when he’s always touching you in secret, tender ways when no one else is looking. he tells you secrets he’s scared to tell anyone else. he’s not a secret. he’s just in some way...scared just like you.

“gray i don’t know what to tell you...it’s not as easy as you’re making it seem. and yeah he has ways of tracking me i’m sure, but i can’t just go without you you idiot. that would kill me. it would fucking break me and i hate that you’re making me admit it.” he frowns at the break in your voice.

“leave him,” graysons voice is soft, but more serious than you’ve ever heard it. so deep rooted with...something you can’t quite catch...that it makes you shiver.

“gray...”

it’s not that simple. you can’t leave a man that has his grip on you too tight. you can’t just leave a man that has made it his goal to make sure it never happens. you can’t just leave because you wish to be with the love of your life...you can’t just...want love when you’re trapped with no hope of escape. especially when that very same person whose love you yearn for is promising it to you, unknowing of the sure consequence.

he doesn’t give you a chance to turn him down, say anything more that will certainly be a way to weasel yourself out of this. he knows you’re in denial, denial of what there is blossoming between you, the bod consuming desire to always be touching whenever you are together - whether it be a pinky hooked around another, an arm over your shoulder, an arm around his waist, fingers massaging at your scalp. whatever it was, it was real.

“might i make a suggestion gray?” ethan frowns, biting at the skin of his bottom lip, now raw with his anxious assault.

“whatever it is make it good because i’m not changing my mind,” grayson grunted, slicing his bananas at a quicker pace. he’d have to build up strength for this conversation, lord knows it’s going to tire him out. you’re a tough one to crack. another reason that he fucking loved you so much.

“tell her how you feel before it’s too late. i’m sure you’ll be pleased with the outcome.”

how could he be so sure?

fire twists in your tummy as grayson inches towards you, eyes narrowed right at your own misty orbs. with irises blown out and black, he tucks that cussed piece of hair behind your ear. with his fingers feathering across the skin of your cheekbone, another tear drops to your cheek. it streaks a hot river across the skin, chipping away that milky concealer, a mask to hide the evil. the way he gazed at you like you were and always would be the most beautiful treasure, only made you confirm to yourself that it was torture to love someone you were scared to have.

“i know you feel this...don’t fight it...just let me show you how good this can feel...how it’s supposed to feel” his voice had switched from one of raw emotion to one of earnest and...need.

within an instant he is grabbing your face and pulling you close by the back of your neck, a hand digging deeply into your mane of hair. he made a fist to secure you to him, afraid if he let go you might disappear. another hand was pressed against your cheek - being careful to not apply direct pressure to your bruise, instead rubbing it tenderly with his thumb. his touch not only eased the pain, but the memories that matched themselves to it. soft plump lips landed on yours perfectly with a hum resonating in his chest. it was a pathetic, needy sound - one that made you aware that he really meant it. he’s been waiting for this. to have your lips smashed up against his. it was like an itch he’s been waiting to scratch, now relieved. he takes his time to let himself feel his way through the kiss - initially feeling your shocked lips at a stand still.

he almost backs away in defeat, but then... you’re sighing, a satisfied, eager sigh tossed between the two of you. biting at his bottom lip felt like a burst of unashamed power coursing through your veins. your tiny nimble fingers are tugging at his white cotton t-shirt and pulling him even closer if possible, goose flesh tracking from your shoulders down to your fingertips. youve kissed let that be known, a guy here or there, but none of those kisses had ever felt like this. before registering how much trouble you would get in if he ever found out what you were doing and how good it felt doing it, you are tilting your head to the side and moving your lips against his greedily. humming into his mouth and pushing your front against his flat. fuck his kiss felt so good. his lips were patient and languid, lapping like smooth waves of the ocean. persistent.

his hands made sure to move your face just the right way, get just the right angle, sure he could feel you turning weak at the knees already. not anything like any other kiss you’ve been given. it’s patient, tender, purposeful - that purpose being to convey just how much you mean to him and always will mean. the way he’s kissing you is a desperate move to tell you how he feels without having to say it just yet. this is everything you’ve ever wanted but never knew you could have, or feel, or want.

his tongue is slipping into your mouth when you gasp in shock at the electric fire burning through your senses and into every nerve in your body. your hands feel tiny on his massive biceps, but he loves the feeling of your thumbs rubbing at his skin while he kisses you so deep. your tongues danced together, the kiss stealing your breath away. it was fierce and passionate, everything you thought kissing him would be like. you had daydreamed about this moment forever, and you couldn’t believe it was finally happening. especially not like this. not when you’re a damsel in distress, waving your pathetic hand at the top of the tower in hopes your knight in shining armor would come and save you. the day had finally come.

he’s pulling away slowly, begrudgingly, panting from working his mouth so hard against yours. wanting to take it farther than a kiss, but understanding enough to know it would take a lot more time to be at that poin - no matter how bad you both wanted it. your trauma lurked beneath the surface, a fight for another day. he poured everything into that kiss. the rosy red color of his skin being a testament to that. he hoped you knew just how much it meant to him. from the way you stared at his mouth in a trance, he knew it meant just as much to you. the look of wanting in your eyes made him shiver.

“you want me?”

the best you give him is a puffed out “yes” between your lips, staring at his own longingly. it was a pathetic sound, a cringe fighting to shrink in your shoulders and hide yourself from him, but you accepted it as it came. you wanted more. you thought for a split second that you couldn’t imagine never feeling that again. electric. strong. like fireworks igniting in your body over and over. your eyes travel slowly from his mouth to his soft wishful eyes, feeling the sudden urge to cry again.

“leave him for me,” his whisper is pained, vulnerable and aching for you to want him back. need him back. love him back.

“but i can’t have you, you know i can’t. he won’t allow me to leave him.” God it killed you to even say it. You wanted to throw caution to the wind, and in a way you had, but to throw it all out would mean putting him in the line of fire - and you didn’t know if you could bare seeing him burnt.

“yes you can, you can have me. every hour of everyday. you can fucking have me. you have always had me, y/n. i think you know that. i can’t lie anymore. not when it means this much to me. he won’t keep you a prisoner. i refuse for it to happen. i know you want this as much as i do. i feel it. i’ve always felt it. if you don’t leave for you, then leave for me. just...you have to let me protect you.”

the way he says it, just holding you in place, forehead resting against yours in an attempt to stop the tears bubbling behind his eyes. it killed him to see you caged like an animal when you wanted so badly to be free. he would do whatever the fuck he needed to do and he swore his life on it. whether you believed it or not.

“but how? he’s a psycho grayson the man beat me for getting gas without telling him. i was gone for 5 minutes.“

“i know sh, i know it sounds crazy and reckless,”

“really reckless,” you tutted, popping your lips out in a dissatisfied pout. it was cute but he needed to focus.

“- just hear me out. me and ethan have a plan that involves no contact, and if he does show up i don’t think you are underestimating the lengths we will go to, to make sure he doesn’t lay a finger on this beautiful body of yours. he doesn’t get to have you anymore, he abused that privilege, literally. he didn’t appreciate and cherish what he had so now it’s over. you won’t ever have to see him again. but it’s gonna take a little cooperation and for you to be that sneaky little detective i know that you are.” he waits for your reaction, confused that your eyes are still closed, your thumbs still rubbing at his forearms. it was peaceful. for the first time, you felt protected. and really understood. important. valued. loved. whole fuck you felt loved.

“i don’t know how much help i can be,” you choked, voice a lot weaker than you wanted it to sound. truth is, it was taking every bone in your body not to kiss him again, get that fire ignited again. but you had to focus. one battle at a time. beat the dragon, then you get the prince.

“how about this, you and i, we go back in the house, i’ll sit you down on the counter - yeah that’s right the counter - because i don’t give a fuck if ethan thinks it’s unsanitary. i’m gonna cook you you’re favorite meal, kiss those beautiful lips for as long as i want,” he pauses to dip his head down, pecking your lips slowly as an example, a butterfly flew through your core, wings licking at the buzzing nerves, “and explain every tiny detail until you understand just how serious we are about getting you away from that sick creep. i may be persistent but my brother is a determined mother fucker too and he cares about you, y/n. as much as he loves to tease you and throw his little tantrums when you eat the last piece of pizza - he cares so much. and he wants you to be safe. to be with us. be with me...if that’s what you want.”

“as in like...live with you? are you sure that’s a good idea? i mean i kind of have a crazy guy on my back you sure you guys want that baggage?” you’re tone is lighthearted and witty, but he knows that’s just you trying to hide how nervous you were.

“you know, when you love someone, their baggage becomes your baggage. you have that weight together and find the strength to carry it along the way. at least that’s what i’ve found out.”

when you love someone

when you love someone

when he loves someone

when grayson loves...

he loves you

“you love me?” the gleam in your eye is too obvious to miss, the excitement of a child, the joy of a rich man, the satisfaction of a sinner, the bliss of a saint.

“maybe a little,” he grins, lips dropping onto random areas of your face, making their way slowly down, down, down to your blush pink lips. the feeling of them puckering had him pulling you closer again.

“is it too much to ask that you say it again? just for good measure.” your request has him chuckling in your ear, hair tickling you when he bobs his head in a nod.

“i love you,” he sighs, finger hooked under your jaw to tilt your head to the side, sealing his lips down onto yours again. breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume. it drowned his every sense.

it felt so fucking good to say that.

it sounded like your favorite melody. and somehow, as cheesy as it sounded, it gave you strength. gave you that extra power you needed to know that this life did have a purpose beyond pain and misery. it had people like grayson. people like ethan. people that cared about you. people that protected you. people that were ready to do anything they had to do just to make sure you knew how loved you really were.

“i love you too.” it slipped out without you knowing. your hand itched to slap over your mouth, cover up the ultimate betrayal against the monster somewhere off in LA cheating on you again, planning his next attack against you. but no, you wouldn’t feel guilty about loving him. not when it’s the strongest emotion you’ve ever felt. not when it was the truth. and not when he’s cradling you in his arms promising a future beyond the pain and sadness you’ve been stuck in for so long. so for good measure, and just because it felt like a breath of fresh air, you say it again, “i love you.”

“oh fuck,” he breathes through a disbelieving grin, picking you up by the back of your thighs and spinning you around in circles. your legs hooked around his waist tightly, squealing laughter echoing throughout the backyard. this is the freest you’ve felt in so so long. he slows down to a sway once again, turning your head to kiss you slowly, pushing his tongue between your lips to dance with yours again.

“slow down, slow down, we still have something to do yeknow,” you breathe, a lazy smile aimed at his own delighted eyes. he looked so free and it shocked out for some reason that you were the cause of that look.

“no no you’re right i’m sorry, i’m just happy. feels good when you know the girl you love is safe for once. but i guess we do have to go talk to ethan about the insufferable douchebag you chose to date for whatever ungodly reason. must have had a magical dick or something cause the man is lacking in all other categories,” grayson mocks, setting you back into the flats on your feet and imtertwining your fingers together, leading you back toward the house where you presume ethan is waiting somewhere close by.

“actually no, he never really uh...finished the job in that department. was kind of selfish. but i managed,” you tut, rubbing your thumb over the skin on his hand, loving the feeling of him against you in any way you could get. you knew you were so touch starved, but didn’t care if it felt this good.

he stopped at the sliding glass door, face dully lit by the yellow of the light from the kitchen, pointing a defined eyebrow at you in a displeased scowl, the fucker didn’t even make you cum? with a shake of his head he’s sliding the glass door open, ready to talk to his brother and start the plan for your escape. hes ready to see you thrive again. he knows neither he, nor ethan will rest until you have shaken every form of contact with the spineless monster you’re controlled by daily. this plan will be his religion until it is completed. he turns his head to look at you, a smirk on his delicious soft lips, licking at them quickly.

“we will be changing that, make no mistake.”

[obsessive-ego]

sweet dreams

musical!beetlejuicex fem!reader

waning nsfw, 

summary, beej gets a wet dream while spooning you

i apologize for this

ever since you earned beetlejuice's respect with a sucker punch to the jaw after a simple jump scare went wrong, the man had weaseled his way into your everyday life, hanging at your apartment while Lydia was in school. your friendship with the demon was an odd one, he seemed to take great pleasure in messing with you, making lewd jokes at your expense or just straight up scaring you, as annoying as this was to deal with, his nonsense was always funny in the end, especially when it was directed at someone else.

Beetliejuice had made movie night a weekly habit, and would normally end up crashing at your place, sometimes he'd sleep, sometimes he'd just mess with your ps4, it was an odd thing to get used to, from living alone in a small apartment, to having a very loud wild card of a house guest, and yet you did. having the demon spend the night at first was very nerve wrecking, you would text Lydia to summon him back to their place and she would leave you on read as if this was something they planned, probably knowing her. the first few times of having him stay over were fine, he was weirdly respectful, but as time went on, unbeknownst to you he started pushing his luck, like always, while you slept he would watch, no ill intentions, Beetlejuice liked watching breathers sleep, and you were his faveourite, kind, creative, tough, he could go on and on, not that he would every tell you in a serious tone. you never caught him, you were a heavy sleeper and the ghoul would always duck out before you woke up. then he pushed his luck again, a little harder this time, 

it was another end to a normal movie night, it was very late and you were already dead asleep in bed with the demon in question standing at your side. 'bet it'd be alot cozier with them under those covers huh?' he muses to himself 'they're so oblivious, they wouldn't even notice' and with thar thought he crawled in next to you, and God slash Satan he was right, breathers are so warm, this was like heaven or as close as he was gonna get.

but in the morning, beetlejuice was so comfy, he ended up spooning you and forgetting to duck out before you woke up, which lead to a very long lecture on boundaries where the demon only chuckles with the response "you know i'm just gonna keep snuggling up to that warm body babes, and besides i'm not doing anything dirty to ya, unless you ask me nicely~' he cooed with a wink, then laughing at how fast your face turns red. 

another thing to add to the list of things beetlejuice does that you get used to. it was weird being spooned by by a demon every other night, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't make you feel warm in lower places, so you accept this fate. tonight was like any other post movie night, being dead asleep with beetlejuice spooning you, it wasn't uncommon for you to wake up in the middle of the night for a moment from a shock of anxiety forgetting you had said ghoul beside you, but tonight was different, when you woke up in the middle of night, it felt different, not beetlejuice's arms wrapped tightly around your waist, that was normal, no, what shocks you out of your sleepy daze, was the hard thing pressed against your ass, this had to be a joke right? he was messy with you right? he always pull shit like this to get a rise out of you. you nudge the ghoul, but he gives you no response, he was out cold, snoring away, fuck.

what the hell is a person supposed to do in this situation?! you decide lets pretend this didn't happen, yeah, that’s the safest, least embarrassing choice right? yeah. with that thought you try to ignore this little issue and try to fall back asleep.

then it starts, a gasp caught in your throat, beetlejuice begins dry humping you, fuck, this sure as hell wasn't a joke, this was real he wasn't messing with you, this can't be ignored, as embarrassing and wrong this whole thing is was, in a twisted way it was kinda hot.

you had to wake him up, you can't ignore this or worm away from his grip thanks to his strong arms wrapped around your waist. your snapped from your thoughts with a low groan, accompanied by light panting, beej didn't need to breath but yet mimicked the behavior

. you have to wake him up, this is too much, a werid mix of panic and arousal fill you-

"y/n"

fuck, he was  thinking of you? that's even worse, was he trying to kill you?! this so wasn't fair, you liked beej, you liked him a lot, the way he'd make you laugh, his stupid smirk he would wear when he'd tease you, his cool mood ring hair, and his stupid sexy gravely voice, fuck.

as if on cue beetlejuice began picking up pace, moaning a little louder, babbling your name. the room was now illuminated by beej's hair, a very bright electric pink.

this wasn't fair, this wasn't right, and yet you were burning, you could feel how wet this whole thing was making you, would it be so wrong to release some of the tension?

before you could even finish that thought you gasp, Beetlejucie now moving at a punishing pace, you felt as though you were going to go crazy with his cock being pushed roughly against you ass, his whining didn't help either. you had to wake him up, right? yeah it would be awkward, and embarrassing, but it was the right thing to do. right?

it felt like an eternity before you built up the courage to do so, taking a deep breath to yell for the ghoul to wake up, he stops moving and groaning, now only soft panting, did he finish? which a slight movement of your hips, you received your answer, yup, wet...

the lighting for beej's hair slowly began to dim and return to its default green, as you lay there with a massive pair of lady blue balls you try to fall asleep and forget what happened, you decide it's easier for the both of you to never ask or tell beetlejuice what he did and how you were awake, cuz lets be honest he probably realized what he did when he woke up. sometimes its better to play dumb.

[thgfanficinspo]

Fear of the Water - Ch 18

Finnick deals with the fallout from Annie’s breakdown (some sexy Capitol Finnick) (Henry Cavill was my fancast for Finnick before the movie came out)

My AO3 - Chapter 1 - Jonsa - Coryo - Discovery of Witches

(ANNIE)

When I wake up, I’m in a white tube. It’s small so small and I’m strapped down – arms, legs, body, even head. There’s a whirring, buzzing sound coming from within the walls. Then there are voices.

“Aw, shit, she’s awake.”

“Should we put her back down?”

I struggle against my bonds. Are they going to kill me? Why am I here? What are they doing to me?

“Yeah, she’s gonna fuss.”

There are footsteps now – coming toward me. I try to tear my arms out of their bonds but nothing happens. I scream. The voices yell to one another and I scream and I scream and I scream. I don’t want this. Finnick and Mags said it was over now and I was safe and I don’t think they’d lie to me but maybe they did or maybe they never said it at all I don’t want to die.

There’s a sharp pain in my right thigh. Then it goes dark.

(FINNICK)

We’re supposed to go back to that damn waiting room with the grey walls and floor-length windows and fake orchid.

I skulk around in the hallway after the others have gone inside, hoping to catch a moment alone with the female doctor who flirted with me. She comes out through a doorway which she locks behind her. She’s too distracted by the papers in her hand to notice me. I clear my throat and she looks up.

“Mr. Odair. Shouldn’t you be in the waiting room?”

“It’s a bit stuffy in their for my taste,” I say. “Especially after all that drama.” I straighten up and close the space between us.

“Yes, that was really something,” she agrees. Her eyes rake my body up and down. She has to turn away.

“Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

“I haven’t personally.”

“No?” I’m not nearly as smooth as I usually am. I’m too anxious to be charming. “Annie’s something special then.” I step up behind her and move her hair away from the side of her neck. “Like you.” I press my lips to the side of her neck and she nearly collapses. I keep my arms tight around her waist and pull her against me.

She gasps my name.

“Will you tell me something?”

“What?” she asks breathlessly.

I flick the tip of my tongue over the pulse-point of her throat. “What are you planning to do with Annie Cresta?”

“Anthea!” We both look up. Her male colleague is standing at the other end of the hallway. He’s a good ten years younger than she is, but he has an air of superiority about him. And he looks pissed.

The woman – Anthea, I guess – goes ramrod straight and tosses off my arms. “It’s not –”

“We need to talk,” he says simply, his glaring eyes locked on mine. Anthea hustles down the hall and through the door the male doctor came through. He and I maintain eye contact as long as possible, until the door shuts behind him.

I growl under my breath. “Fuck.”

I’ve definitely made things worse. If that other damn doctor hadn’t come in . . .

Mags is pacing around the room with one of her hands over her mouth when I come in. Proteus stands a few feet away from me, apparently deep in thought. Eefa has made a surprise visit, which she clearly regrets. No sign of Broadsea, but that’s no surprise. He’s probably passed out in his own puke by now. I normally wouldn’t care but I feel that since Eefa made it here, he should’ve at least tried.

Proteus raises an eyebrow at me, silently asking what I found out. I shake my head.

The same two doctors as before come out to speak to us after about twenty minutes of waiting. They’re much more serious. “She did suffer trauma to the head while in the Arena,” the man says.

“But you don’t think that’s what’s causing her issues,” Proteus says.

Anthea nods. Gone is the quivering woman in the hall, replaced with someone cold and angry. She’s going out of her way to not look at me. “The tasks we had her do when she first woke up didn’t indicate any neurological or physiological issues. We did scans, too, after her tantrum at the recap, and they didn’t show anything out of the ordinary.”

“Tantrum?” I repeat.

“Then what’s wrong?” Proteus asks over me.

“We believe it’s mental illness,” the male doctor says.

None of us know what that means. We don’t have mental illness in the districts, at least not the words to describe it, but the Capitol has words for everything. They have enough leisure time to think about things like that, to come up with ailments to explain their every mood.

Our faces must betray our inability to understand because they take a different route.

The female doctor is the one to speak. “We are going to have Annie Cresta declared mentally insane.”

“What?” I spit.

Proteus speaks over me again. “Isn’t that a bit premature? She hasn’t been out of the arena for long.”

“We believe a swift announcement is in her best interest at this time,” the male doctor says.

“Her closing interview with Caesar Flickerman has been canceled,” the female says, totally ignoring our reactions. She may have succumb to my charms and looks before, but now she seems immune. “President Snow will make the announcement during that time slot instead.”

I don’t know what to say.

“What would you like us to do in the meantime?” Proteus asks after a moment, voice totally neutral. The crease between his eyebrows is the only sign that he’s troubled by all of this. The only sign.

I could kill him.

“She’s currently under anesthesia, but I recommend you board the train back to your district soon,” the woman continues. “Before anyone gets wind of this.”

“Why?” Eefa asks, brows creased.

“What do you mean, Why?” I ask.

“Why are you declaring her insane? What exactly is wrong with her?”

“Why do you think?” I snap. The first thing I hear her say in a week and she asks something stupid like that?

“I’d like to hear the diagnosis,” Eefa says.

The woman doctor sighs and looks down at her clip board. She knows we won’t understand any of it. “She shows symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, attention def –”

Proteus holds up his hand. “That’s enough.” He has no idea what any of it means, either. “Eefa?” he asks, turning to her. She nods, satisfied with what she’s heard. Maybe she was making sure they covered their bases; we generally accept that mad people are mad, but you need real proof to declare a victor mentally insane before the whole country.

“There is one piece of permanent physical damage I ought to mention,” the female doctor says. “Due to the stab wound in her abdomen, she won’t be able to conceive or carry children. There’s too much tissue damage.” No one really cares about that right now. What we care about – what I care about – is getting Annie out of here without adding to the damage that’s already been done. “I thought one of you ought to tell her once you’re back in your district and she’s had a chance to calm down.”

“I think you should get ready to leave,” the male doctor says. “She’ll be up in –” he checks his wristwatch and bobbles his head as he does the math in his head “– ninety minutes, give or take.”

“Yes,” Mags says distractedly. “Yes, of course.” She blinks several times.  “I’ll start preparing. And have Brae send for the train. Proteus, please get Annie’s stylist so we can get her ready to go.” The others go – Eefa practically sprints out – and I want to move, too, but my muscles won’t let me. Mags’s hand finds my shoulder. “She’s alive, Finnick. That’s what matters.”

I nod again because I can’t think of anything to say.

“Go. Clean up. Clear your head. I’ll be along in a few minutes. I just want to check in on her.”

When I get upstairs to our rooms, Greer rushes towards me and starts making a lot of gestures. I’m not sure what she’s asking until she runs her hand down her hair in a smooth, wavy motion. Like the way Annie’s hair falls.

“Annie?” I guess.

She nods.

I’m too tired to explain it all. “She’ll be all right.”

I start undressing before I make it all the way into my room, discarding my clothes as I go. Somes picks them up as he follows behind me.

I blast the water in the shower to its highest setting and make the temperature as cold as I can bear. I only take hot showers in the Capitol when I’ve just seen a patron. Different temperatures for different problems. It helps me compartmentalize. Keep my head straight.

I’m good at that. Compartmentalizing, keeping my mind focused on the task at hand. I always have been. A lot of victors simply can’t do that – it’s why they turn to drink or drugs. But I haven’t. And I won’t.

I don’t notice the slip of paper folded on my pillow until I start dressing. The paper is off-white and thick – the sort of expensive, heavy stuff they only use in the Capitol. I open it up, and the custom watermark at the top of the page informs me that this is from C.X.S.

President Snow has left me a handwritten note of congratulations.

The others have all gotten them, too.

Mags says he always does for the victors of the winning district. Etiquette, she says, is the most important thing to Coriolanus. Not for the first time, I wonder how well Mags knew him when they were young.

Broadsea whips a lighter out of his pocket and sets the note on fire before dropping it in an empty metal bin. He hasn’t even opened it. Eefa drops her own note into the bin; Mags gives Broadsea her letter to burn, too. I don’t know if she’s read it. Proteus tucks his away in his jacket pocket and tells me to do the same if I want to be smart. I don’t have a reason to save it; I’ve already memorized every word. But I decide to keep it anyway. In case I ever need a reminder.

Mr. Odair,

Congratulations on your very first victor. This is an exciting time for your fellow victors and all of District 4. It is an especially important time for you, as this is your first time mentoring a victor.

Of course he adds a little statement of regret at the end of my note containing a veiled threat:

I hope that you will not be bogged down by the weight of responsibility. It would be unfair for anyone to expect a young man such as  you to take on the burden of Miss Cresta’s care.

It seems innocuous enough, but it’s another little reminder to stand back and just let things unfold. Men like Finnick Odair don’t get involved with that sort of thing, and girls like Annie Cresta never really go home.

My best regards to you and your new victor,

President Coriolanus X. Snow

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 16

TITLE: Love and War

Warnings: profanity, mental illness

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty​

“You know, I’m really fucking sick of your cheating,” Tyler snarls.

“I am NOT cheating! “ Esme cries, and refuses to make eye contact with the man sitting beside her; aware of the temper that’s slowly boiling. He’s agitated; eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, jaw tightly clenched. She’s seen and heard it all before; the bitterness and the irritation and the rash jump to conclusions. “You’re imagining things!”

“Bullshit I’m imagining it. I have eyes you know. I CAN see. And what I’m seeing? You’re cheating.”

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but there’s no cheating happening. You’re just pissed.”

“Damn right I’m pissed. I know what you’re up to. I can’t fucking believe you think you can get away with it. I know YOU. I know when something’s up. And something is up.”

She rolls her eyes. “The only thing that is ‘up’ is your temper. Take it down a notch, Australian. Or I’ll take YOU down a notch.”

“I’d love to see you try,” he scoffs. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? What other shady shit are you going to pull?”

“There you go with your paranoia again. There’s nothing going on. No shady shit. Can’t you just accept that you’re losing?”

“I’m losing my mind is what I’m losing.”

A derisive snort. “Not much left to lose.”

He scowls. “I have had just about enough of your lip.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me? Shoot me? Throw a grenade at me?”

“I’m going to beat your ass is what I’m going to do. Go all fucking HAM on you.”

“You’re going to start now? Have you been napping for the last hour?”

“Is that a shot at my age? I’m pretty sure that was a shot at my age.”

“It was a shot at your poor skills and your lapses of judgement. You’re slowing down. No wonder you’re suffering so badly.”

“I’m going to make you suffer in a second.”

“Bring it. There’s nothing you got that I can’t handle.”

It’s been sixty minutes of this. The snarling and the scowling and bickering back and forth; nasty exchanges fuelled by his hurt feelings and damaged ego and her refusal to back down or admit any wrongdoing. It’s a battle of both wills and personalities; two strong and resilient yet extremely stubborn people, neither giving the other an ounce of sympathy or allowing any breathing room. And it comes to a head; a growled ‘fuck!’ on his behalf followed by the xBox controller being tossed onto the cluttered coffee table in pure frustration. Letting loose a groan of both defeat and annoyance, he leans back against the couch and rakes both hands through his hair and then runs his palms over his face.

“Cry some more!” Esme shouts, and gleefully bounces up and down on the cushion beside him. “Unleash your inner bitch baby! Because you just got knocked the fuck out. AGAIN.”

“I really, really, REALLY do not like you right now.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t handle defeat." She reaches for the open bag of red licorice that sits on the arm of the sofa; yanking a strand out and pointing it at him before taking an aggressive bite from it. “That you’re way too competitive even with the stupidest of shit.”

“This!” He wildly gestures towards the flat screen television across the room. “Is NOT stupid shit!”

“It’s a goddamn video game, Tyler. Stop taking this so seriously.”

“It isn’t just a video game,” he argues. “It’s my fucking pride! My manhood!”

“I highly doubt your manhood is in any danger because your wife beats you at Call of Duty. You need to simmer down, son. I can’t help it that I’m THAT good.”

“Is this what you do all day back home? When I’m not around? You hone your video game skills?”

“No. I just happen to have the magic touch. I can’t help it that I’m a natural. I even beat TJ AND Millie and you know how good those two are.”

He places his hands behind his head and laces his fingers together. Sighing heavily and then turning his gaze towards the ceiling. “They’re amateurs compared to me.”

“Well you’re the one who has been looking like the amateur, so…”

He shoots an annoyed glare in his direction.

“Look, in real life you may be the king when it comes to this shit; shooting people and beating the shit out of them. But in video game land? I’m the fucking master. And you WILL accept defeat and bow down to me.”

“Like fuck I will.”

“You know the rules. You’re the one who wanted to play with these kinds of stakes. Now get to it. Pay your dues to the true Queen.”

Sighing heavily, he reluctantly gets to his feet, fingers pausing on his belt buckle.

“Do it,” Esme orders. “All is fair in love and war.”

“You know, this isn’t over yet. Even without these on, I won’t be totally naked. Which means you haven’t won a damn thing.”

“I’ve won five out of seven games. You have way less clothes on than me. Now suck it up and take them off.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and angrily yanks the leather from its clasp and rips the belt from the loops on his jeans; glaring at her as he tosses the item aside. “Happy?”

“Pants too.”

“Pants and belts are two separate things. I only need to take one off.”

“Pants and belts go together. They count as ONE item.”

He frowns. “Says who?”

“Says the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“Listen, I don’t make them, I just enforce them. A belt isn’t a piece of clothing. It’s an accessory. So it is counted WITH the pants. Stop being such a baby and play by the rules!”

“Your imaginary rules you mean. I didn’t make you take your underwear off when you lost YOUR pants. Aren’t those an accessory? Shouldn't they have come off too?”

“Underwear can be worn alone.”

“You can’t go out with just underwear on, Me. Give me a break.”

“You can walk around the house in just underwear. But you don’t walk around in just a belt now, do you? Stop whining, suck it up, and drop your drawers.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he grumbles, and finally relents; popping open the button and reaching for the zipper.

“Yeah baby!” she hollers, and scrambles up onto her knees; whistling noisily and once more excitedly bouncing up and down. “That’s what I’m talking about! Take ‘em off! Let me see that sexy ass of yours! This is way better than any peeler bar!!”

“If you’re going to objectify me, shouldn’t you be tucking money into my underwear?”

“You don’t wear any. Where am I supposed to tuck it? In your ass crack? Does it work like a debit machine? I just slide my card in? Is that how it works? I have to slip something up your butt?”

“You come anywhere near my ass with the intention of slipping something into it…”

“Like you’ve never enjoyed a little ass play. Don’t act so innocent. You damn well know you don’t mind a finger up there every now and then. Don’t act like you’ve never allowed it to happen.”

“I was drunk.”

“Each time? Something like a dozen? You were drunk EACH time? Listen, there’s nothing wrong with admitting it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having that kind of kink. It’s only when I’m going down on you and you’ve been extra….well...EXTRA.”

“Enough! Why do we have to talk about it? Isn’t it enough to just to do it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable? Discussing butt stuff? Well now you know how it feels. Not literally, because your dick is way bigger than my finger. So you DON’T know how it feels. Now shut up and do what I say. Drop your pants!”

Sighing, he slides the zipper all the way down and allows the denim to slide off his hips and ass; letting it pool at his ankles before kicking them off.

“Wait a second…” her eyes narrow and she points the remains of her licorice strip in his direction. “What the fuck are those?”

A grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “What’s what?”

“Those.” She gestures at the extra layer of clothing. “What the hell, Tyler James…”

“It’s a pair of those UnderArmour things you bought me. You said I should start wearing them. That they’ve been sitting in the drawer since we bought this place. I’m finally wearing them.”

“You’re supposed to wear them outside! To keep you warm! You don’t wear them in the house!”

“Says who? I can wear them where the fuck I want.”

“You…” she snarls, and glares at him. “...you did this intentionally. As soon as you declared this strip Call of Duty, you went upstairs and put those on. You weren’t wearing them earlier. I KNOW what you wore out. And I saw you take those clothes off when we got home from picking up the food and you were NOT wearing those underneath. You sneaky bastard.”

“Don’t hate the player,” he says, and drops down onto the couch and reaches for the controller. “Hate the game.”

“You absolute dick. I can’t believe you did that. Now THAT’S cheating.”

“It’s not cheating. It was purely a strategic move. And you call me an amateur.”

“You went calculating mercenary on me. You pulled out THAT card. You shit!”

“You may be kicking my ass at the game, but I outsmarted you. I’ve always been able to. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

“Oh, it’s on,” she declares, and snatches up her own controller and plops down beside him. Scowling and moving away when he attempts to slide closer to her. “Don’t even think about it. We’re enemies right now. Mortal enemies. Your treachery will not go unpunished.”

“And you say I’M taking this too seriously?”

“You totally upped the ante. You crossed a line, mister. Accusing me of cheating and all along it was you that was up to no good. I see how it is.”

“Does it make it any better if I tell you that I love you?”

“Save your ass kissing. Because when I win, I’m going to make you get on your knees and pucker up. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“I’m not scared of you. Much.”

“Be afraid. Be very afraid. I will destroy you.”

Grinning, he reaches over and presses the start button on her controller. “Bring it, short stuff.”

*****

She emerges victorious. Easily handing him a crushing defeat that leaves her still clad in an oversized plain shirt and wool socks and him relegated to stripping off the last layer of clothing. And his smirk is one of both annoyance and amusement as he watches her, standing on the couch with a foot on either side of his thighs and partaking in her victory celebration; a mixture of wildly tossing her hair -or what’s left of it -around and suggestively bumping and grinding her hips while repeatedly chanting: “I did it, I did! I beat you, I did!”. She’s had a little too much to drink; enjoying nearly three quarters of a bottle of wine and then indulging in two hot chocolates infused with Kahlua. And between her somewhat inebriated state causing poor coordination and her penchant for being clumsy on even her best and most sober of days, he keeps a firm, protective hold on the back of her calves. The last thing he needs is a trip to the ER and an awkward explanation of just how she fell and busted her head open. In Telluride she’d once slipped on loose stone in the driveway and went down hard; catching the back of her head on one of the truck’s running boards and creating a hell of a gash in her scalp. And for someone that had spent years in the military and on the job and who’d inflicted gnarly injuries and gruesome deaths on others, he’d been the one close to panicking; convinced he’d seen he’d never seen so much blood in his entire life and nearly hyperventilating at the mere thought of her being hurt. She’d been the calm one; trying to talk him down on the way to the hospital while he drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a blood soaked towel to the back of her head.

But it had been what had happened once he’d gotten her help that caused the most trauma. For both of them. The nurse in charge of administering the first line of care had taken one look at the sheer size of him and the amount of scars and tattoos covering the visible parts of body and had gotten her guard up. His behaviour had been the nail in the coffin. His PTSD (undiagnosed at the time) triggered by hospitals and all of the sounds and the sights and the smells that accompany them. He’d been irritable and short tempered and unable to sit still; alternating between vigorously bouncing or shaking his legs or aggressively pacing the floor. He had sent off a number of red flags, and no sooner did they make it back to an exam room, a handful of cops showed up. Explaining the nurse's worries and how their arrival at the ER and Esme’s injury was being treated as a possible ‘domestic abuse situation’. That had only made his mood even worse; being accused of the one damn thing he’d always vowed never to let happen. No matter how dark and dire a situation got, no matter how bad their problems or volatile their arguments, he’d sworn he’d never hurt her; promising to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger if he ever ‘blacked out’ and physically hurt her. To this day he’s still amazed that he never caught an assault charge. Shoving one of the officers that had attempted to escort him to a different room and grabbing the throat of the other; triggered the second they made physical contact with him.

Six hours later they’d been sent home with five stitches in her head, a prescription for pain meds and a half assed apology. The next day, Child Protective Services showed up on their doorstep; receiving the hospital report and hearing about how he’d assaulted two cops and wanting to further investigate. Nothing had ever come of it; their case file quickly closed when it became apparent that the children were well taken care of and there were absolutely no signs of abuse in the house. But it had done a lot of damage; worsening his PTSD and helping his distrust in the general public grow to epic levels.

“Are you done?” he asks now, when the celebration finally comes to an end. Her hair messy and wild, cheeks flushed from a mixture of her erratic movements and the alcohol she’d consumed, chest heaving from exertion. “Got it all out of your system? Or are you going to gloat some more?”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s all in good fun. Everything I do and say, is done with love.”

He smirks. “Sure it is. You good? You finished? Or do I have to boot you to the couch tonight?”

“I’m good. I’m done. It’s over. I won’t gloat anymore and further hurt your delicate sensibilities.”

Smirking, he runs his hands around to the front of her calves and slides them upwards. Briefly lingering on her thighs before snagging the bottom of her shirt and yanking her downwards. She gives a startled yelp when she initially loses her balance and then begins to giggle when he easily and effortlessly gathers her into his arms; knees on either side of his hips as he pulls her tightly against him.

“I know I got a little out of hand,” he says. “Over the whole video game thing. I get a little...intense.”

“You think? Intense is putting it lightly. You’re a little competitive.”

“Yeah, just a tad.”

“And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you’re a sore loser.”

“Excuse you,” he chuckles, and she laughs and squirms against him when his fingers dig into the sensitive areas below her rib cage. “I was trying to be nice. I was trying to apologize. In my own way.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know what you’re like, Tyler. I know how you are. You’re insanely competitive. I’ve seen you while playing xBox with the kids. And I’ve seen you after when Millie’s kicked your ass.”

“First, she doesn’t really kick my ass. It’s a small margin of victory. Second, it doesn’t happen often.”

“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Regardless, I know you. I know how worked up and intense you get. I don’t take anything you say seriously when you’re like that. Especially when you ARE losing. It’s all in good fun. You don’t say shit to be mean. Same way I don’t. It’s just who we are. We shit talk each other. I think that’s pretty cool, actually. That we ARE like that. That we’re not just husband and wife and two people raising a family together. We’re friends too. I know you’re my BFF. No doubt about it.”

“You’re definitely mine. But let’s be realistic; how many BFF’s sit on your lap with no underwear on?”

“I lost them an hour ago. One of the three games you actually won. And speaking of which…” she glances down between them. “...technically, things aren't over yet. There’s one thing that remains. That you still have to do.”

“I admitted defeat. I watched your stupid little victory dance. I let you rub it in my face. Isn’t that enough?”

“Nope.”

“What more do you want from me? My right kidney?”

“I want you to do what you’re supposed to. The rules were made very clear at the very at the beginning. And YOU’RE the one that made them. So…”

“I thought maybe you’d go easy on me. Cut me a break. Have some sympathy.”

“You’d have zero sympathy for me and you’d totally enforce the rules. So, you have no choice in the matter.”

“Me, come on, you already hurt my pride. You want to decimate it entirely? Take pity on me.”

“Sorry. I have none to give. You know what you have to do.”

“You know, I was thinking maybe you’d do it for me. Give you that last piece of victory. Give you that feeling of power.”

“Mmm...hmmm. You know what I think? I think that you were hoping getting me down there would weaken me. That I’d do a little something for you.”

“Well I DO need comforting,” Tyler reasons. “You did beat me pretty bad.”

“I totally kicked your ass. But comfort? I don’t know…”

“Be nice to me. You already humiliated me. What more do you want?”

“Don’t turn this around. This isn’t about what I want. This is totally about what YOU want. Because you know if I give in, it puts you at your twice a day. You just can’t handle change. Even when it comes to THAT.”

“I’m a creature of habit. I need my routine. I can’t help it. You know how my OCD acts up when my routine gets fucked up.”

“I love how you just so casually play that card to get what you want. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous tonight. And a little drunk.”

“Just a little?”

“Maybe a lot drunk. Or at the threshold between still being able to make conscious and wise decisions but not drunk enough to pass out and have you carry me upstairs. But, seeing as I’m in a generous and giving mood and you HAVE been on your best behaviour lately, maybe I could give you a little something.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? A little something, huh? This is where I’m going to miss the hair the most…” he uses gentle fingers to push wayward strands out of her hair; looping dark tresses behind each ear. “...when you’re getting to business. I always knew just how much effort you were going to put into it when you’d put her hair in a ponytail.”

“I thought you liked it. My hair. I thought you didn’t mind it like this.”

“I do like it. I love it. It suits you; shows off your cute, tiny little face. I’m just used to it being long, that’s all. You know, being able to grab it and shit.”

“There’s still some length to it. Enough for you to get even your humongous hands on. And as for the whole ponytail thing, I promise I’ll find another way to let you know when I mean business. When I’m all in.”

“I’m not too worried. Even when you haven’t put your hair back, you’ve never put in a bad performance. Let’s just say, it’s not just Call of Duty you’re a master at.”

“I figure I must not be too bad. I must be doing something right. I haven’t heard one complaint in twelve and half years.”

“Baby, you’re doing everything right. You will never hear a complaint from me. Ever.”

“Have you ever thought maybe I’m not actually that talented? That maybe you’re just very easy to please?”

“Me, no one has ever gotten as quick of reaction out of me as you have. Right from day one. So I don’t know what hoodoo voodoo black magic you’ve got through those veins of yours, but all those other women? None of them even come close to you.”

“Not a single one? Not even the stripper in Thailand you once told me about?”

“Not even her. I actually had to concentrate really hard to get it up. With you? You just look at me a certain way and that’s it. You’ve got some power that I can’t even come close to explaining.”

“Maybe it’s the fact it’s lust AND love?”

“That’ll do it.”

“Speaking of lust, I really do want you to see you with your pants off. I know what a tremendously beautiful sight that is. And I’m actually feeling very generous and giving right now.” She pushes her fingers through his hair; tightly gripping the longer top strands as she leans in to kiss him. Nothing soft or slow about it; lips demanding and her tongue insistently pushing against his teeth. Even after twelve and a half years, it’s rare for her to be the aggressor; preferring him to take charge and enjoying being dominated and ‘man handled’. And it took him a while to get used to letting her have even the slightest bit of control; liking his usual role of being the one fully in charge.

His hands briefly rest on her shoulders and then slide down her arms, pausing at her hips before reaching around to slip up the bottom of her shirt and grab her ass. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh; pulling her even tighter against him and bringing her bare crotch in direct contact with the beginnings of his erection. Twelve and half years later and he still wants and needs her just as much as he did that first time in Dhaka. Maybe even more so. There’s nothing mundane about it; he enjoys the changes in her form and the familiarity that comes with their love making. Their bodies know each other so well; always eagerly responding to one another and knowing exactly how to both torture and please.. And he can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else; completely content and satisfied knowing that what they have extends far beyond passion and sexual gratification.

She’s cradling his face in her palms when she slowly pulls out of the kiss, and he winces when her teeth capture his bottom lip between them; hard enough to draw tiny beads of blood. It’s her way of letting him know just what she’s in the mood for; the slight hint of aggression and the darkness in her eyes betraying the combination of primal want and need. Even after twelve and a half years she never actually verbalizes it; the self conscious side always leery about being that honest and open and fearing rejection. So he’s become a master at reading her signs; the assertive and domineering way in which she’ll kiss him, the way her hands hungrily and needily paw and grab, the darkness that appears in her eyes and the little smirk upon her lips.

That smirk is there now. Tugging at the corners of her mouth and she slides off his lap; her dark hair slipping through his fingers and his legs parting when she places her hands upon his knees. Something changes when she settles herself between his thighs; the softness returning to her features, the smirk transforming into a delicate smile. In that moment she seems so delicate pure; that smooth, porcelain skin accentuated by the dark hair that frames her face, those enormous eyes sparkling in the glow given off by the fireplace. There’s so much trust and faith and love evident in her eyes that it almost takes his breath away, and he reaches out to lay a hand on her cheek; fingers splayed over her ear and his thumb brushing over her lips. And she turns her face into his palm; gaze never leaving his as she presses a kiss to the calloused skin. And suddenly, despite the earlier bantering and sexual innuendos, the time doesn’t seem quite right; the comfortable silence between them, the softness of her hands resting upon his knees, the dainty curve to her lips and the innocence in her eyes. And he slides his hand to the back of her head and tangles his fingers in her hair as he gently draws her forward. Her arms circling his neck as he pulls her into him; the kiss long and deep and passionate, leaving them both breathless.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he says, forehead resting against hers. “Do this right.”

“I think you’re going to have to carry me. My toes are tingly.”

“I think I can manage. How should we do this? Do you feel like caveman style of Rhett Butler in Gone With The Wind?”

“Caveman style. Makes your muscles bulge more. And gives me a chance to stare at your butt.” She gives a small shriek when an arm wraps around her waist and effortlessly hoists her up onto his shoulder; yelping when a hand clamps down on her ass he pushes himself into a stand. “My big, strong man,” she giggles. “My knight in slightly tarnished armour.”

“Just slightly?”

“Your armour is perfect as is. It’s beautiful and it’s sexy and man, does your ass look extra good from this angle.”

“Speaking of asses…” he brings his palm down on one of her cheeks in a ringing slap. “....this one? This ass? It’s all mine.”

“All yours,” she agrees, tightly grabbing hold of the waist of the UnderArmour pants he still sports as he begins the journey up the stairs. “Don’t drop me! Don’t let me fall!”

“I’d never let you fall, Me,” he vows. “Ever.”

****

The confines of his arms are the most secure and comfortable place on earth; strong and muscular, even the lightest of embraces always possessing intense power and protection. Affection -both receiving and giving- had once been foreign to him; deprived of a loving parent when his mother passed away and left with one that was cold and menacing and did nothing but inflict torture and abuse. His first wife hadn’t been one for the more quiet and relaxing moments following sex, and his life after his divorce had consisted of no strings attached hook ups; out the door as fast as he could flush the condom. So it had been a learning process; a slow yet steady journey of travelling outside of known behaviour and comfort zones. Now he’s a master of it; the aftercare and the snuggling and the long, sleepy conversations as they lay in midst of tangled sheets and sweaty limbs. And he readily seeks and offers physical contact in all aspects of his life; quick with the hugs and the taking of a hand or little random kisses when you’re not expecting them.

She lays tightly tucked into his side. Head resting on his shoulder and her arm draped across his midsection; fingertips lazily following the lines of his ribs and drawing feathery patterns on smooth, warm skin. She knows every inch of his body; able to blindly find each scar and trace the outline of every tattoo. His body is hard and strong; tall and broad shouldered, athletically built. It’s reminiscent of how he’d looked when they first met; lean and muscular, impossibly strong without any extra bulk. She’s seen him every shape and size. Rail thin and sickly looking when he’d finally gotten out of the hospital; an almost staggering loss of both weight and muscle. And the 'lumberjack' stage; thick and powerful; his build phenomenal, extra weight gathering at his stomach and just above his hips. She’s loved him each and every way; during the best days of his life and the worst. Her heart breaking at his struggles with his thin and weaker body during his convalescence five years ago; the days he hated what he saw in the mirror and would fly into rages directed at Nathan and how he’d managed to break him both physically and mentally. And she’d supported him through nearly two years of physiotherapy. The weeks filled with gruelling and painful appointments; comforting him the best she could when it all became too much to bear and he’d cry tears of both frustration and agony. Trying not to break down herself when he claimed that it would have been easier had he died. That he felt useless to both her and the kids. Lamenting that he wasn’t even half the man he was when they’d first met. But she’d gotten him through it; gently leading him out of the dark place in his head and doing whatever she could to encourage him to keep going.

Five years later and he’s come a hell of a long way. There will always be issues; long lasting effects both physically and mentally. The damage Nathan had done causing permanent and life altering problems; vision loss in the right eye, post concussion syndrome, nerve damage in the small of his back and into his right hip, a leg limp that becomes even more pronounced when the cold weather sets in and irritates the arthritis that thrives in his knee and femur. Yet he never complains; down playing the pain and refusing to let it control his life. He’ll need another operation when he hits sixty, if not before. The knee not healing and bouncing back as well as it should; the surgically repaired ligaments and tendons far weaker than they had hoped they’d be. But he doesn’t let it slow him down; even on the days he can barely move and she has to help him get out of bed or in and out of the shower. It’s a bitter pill for him to try and swallow; occasionally needing assistance when it comes to even the smallest of everyday things. She sees how it both annoys and embarrasses him; someone his size and possessing his skills and capabilities needing help from someone as tiny as her. Holding onto that one shred of toxic masculinity that tells him the roles should be reversed; he’s the one that should be taking care of her and doing whatever it takes to make sure she’s safe and healthy and protected. And she handles it the best way she knows how; quietly and efficiently. Never calling attention to his struggles and keeping his mind from travelling down a dark and dangerous rabbit hole by encouraging random chit chat; keeping things light and happy and her hands soft and loving. And in the future, never bringing up what he’d needed or what she’d had to do.

She presses a kiss to the scar that mars his left shoulder. “You awake?”

“I am.”

“You okay?”

His fingers continue to comb through her hair; slow and soothing movements. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re extra quiet tonight. I mean, you’re always quiet. But you’re even more so.”

“I’m just lying here enjoying it. The post orgasmic bliss.”

She lifts her head to look at him, admiring the line of his jaw and the beard that’s beginning to fill out and thicken and those impossible long and dark eyelashes that rest upon smooth skin. “Hey, that’s MY line.”

“Not tonight it’s not. I beat you to it.” As the fingers of one hand continue to move through her hair, the others drift along her upper arm; calloused tips occasionally pausing to trace slow and lazy patterns. “You alright?”

Nodding, she slides further up the bed. Nose pressed against the sensitive spot right below his ear and her hand reaching up to rest on the top of his head; thumb repeatedly brushing against his brow. “I’m good. VERY good, actually.”

“You were fucking amazing,” he praises, and turns his face into hers and places a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “You always are. But that? That was…”

“Extra?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Very extra.”

“I don’t want to ever hear that you’re complaining about me ever again. Because you are extremely spoiled and there are many men who would envy your sex life.”

His eyes flicker open and a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t complain about you.”

“Like hell you don’t. All couples complain about each other. I admit that I complain about you. About some of the shit you do that drives me insane. Doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“There’s not really anything to complain about when it comes to you.”

“Right…” she laughs. “...don’t go sparing my feelings, babe. I know what I’m like. I know what kind of bullshit I bring to the table. And yet you’re still here. You still keep hanging around.��

“It’s not that bad; dealing with your bullshit. Besides, I kinda like you.”

“Kinda, huh?”

“Just a bit.”

“I kind of like you too. And I wouldn’t mind if you hung out around here for the next...I don’t know...fifty years.”

“Good. Because I think I’ll stick around. I’m kinda comfortable. I can think of worse lives. I’ve LIVED worse lives.”

“Well now you’re spoiled. Insanely. You’re like that mangy little kitten someone finds in a gutter and nurses back to health and they get all fat and happy and get to sleep all over the furniture.”

He grins. “Did you seriously just compare me to a stray animal?”

“Hey, you needed some work when we first met. You were a little...feral. You were living in a shack with a chicken as a roommate.”

“Roommate? That’s my child you’re talking about.”

“You were pretty rough around the edges. You needed some big time TLC. And I was more than willing to give you that. You had potential. I saw it. You weren’t as scary as you liked to think you were.”

“Maybe not to you. I wasn’t like that with you. I was trying NOT to be.”

“Until you had your meltdown over having the feels and you tried to choke me out.”

“Not one of my finer moments,” Tyler admits. “But I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to scare you. Because I didn’t want you getting all caught up in something and then have me fuck it up and disappoint you. I was trying to protect you.”

“From you?”

He nods.

“I wasn’t afraid of you. I didn’t think you’d hurt me. I could tell you weren’t that type; to put your hands on a woman. No matter how angry you got.”

“It wasn’t about hurting you THAT way. It was about us taking things too far and feeling things for each other and trying to make something of nothing. I wanted that to happen, but I was scared that it would. Doesn’t make much sense, I know.”

“I think you were trying to protect yourself more than you were trying to protect me.”

“Maybe. I guess I worried I was feeling too much, too soon. That you’d find out who I really was and you’d run. I didn’t want to get attached and have you take off because you couldn’t deal with my shit. In the same way I didn’t want you getting attached and finding out I was too much of a mess and regretting what happened between us.”

“That was NEVER going to happen. I knew you were different. I SAW you, Tyler. Who you really were. Behind those walls you built up. Behind that whole hardened and emotionally vacant mercenary act you put on. I saw it the second we met. It was all in your eyes. That you weren’t like everyone else.”

“I think you give me way too much credit.”

“And you don’t give yourself enough.” Her thumb moves to the scar on the left side of his forehead; thin yet jagged, running vertically. “I was thinking about that first night. In Dhaka. After we...you know.”

“Fucked? Four times?”

“Normally I’d tell you not to be so crude and that it was a little more softer and meaningful than that, but…”

“There was nothing soft or meaningful about ANY of those four times. It was fucking. Let’s not sugar coat it.”

“Whatever it was, it was amazing. YOU were amazing. But do you remember afterwards? When I cuddled up to you? And you wondered what the fuck was going on? You didn’t know how to react; you sort of froze up and didn’t even budge. Were you angry or…?”

“Why would I have been angry? There was nothing to be angry about. I’d just gotten through having the most incredible sex of my life. FOUR times. I had a beautiful, amazing woman in my bed. Still naked. I definitely was not angry.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Surprised. I wasn’t used to that. The whole afterglow thing. I was used to just getting shit done and getting the fuck out. And my ex wasn’t into that kind of shit. She was a roll over and go to sleep kind of girl.”

“You poor, neglected man. Never getting to enjoy the aftermath. You made up for it though. With me.”

“That I did. I was just surprised when you did it. Cuddled up to me like you did. But I definitely wasn’t angry. Or uncomfortable. It was just different. YOU were different. Doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. It felt good. It felt right. And I figured if something feels that right? There’s no way anything could be bad about it.”

“I love this side of you,” she declares, and presses a kiss to his temple. “This softer, sweet side. I mean, I love all sides of you. But this? This is always a breath of fresh air. And it did; feel right. What was going on with us. And it kind of scared me too. I wasn’t used to that. Feeling things so quickly for someone. Trusting them the way I trusted you.”

“It was a little unnerving. I was a little spooked. But all’s well that ends well, yeah? I mean, here we are. Twelve and a half years under our belts, Me. Seven kids. I think it’s safe to say that we weren’t wrong about what we were feeling. Even if it did seem too soon. I kinda knew I was in trouble pretty early on.”

“When? When you saw me on your porch?”

“I had a feeling you’d be a handful,” he grins, and turns his face into hers; placing a kiss on her brow before resting the side of his nose against hers. “It was the second night though. When I told you about Austin. It had been years since I talked about him to anyone. And I just let it out. Something told me I could. But it did scare me.”

“What were you scared of?”

He shrugs. “Being that honest about things. So soon. I was worried I’d tell you what happened...what I did...and everything would change. I thought you’d be disgusted. That you’d look at me like I was a huge piece of shit. And I would have deserved it. If you did.”

“You made a mistake. We all do. You’re not perfect, Tyler. None of us are.”

“It wasn’t just a simple mistake. It was a horrible fucked up one. I took off. My kid had cancer. And I couldn’t handle it and I ran. Like I always do when shit gets too hard. I wasn’t even there. When he died. I left him and he spent the last of his days wondering where the fuck I was and asking what he did wrong that made me hate him enough to leave.”

“You were a different person back then. You couldn’t handle it. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to. And you had a lapse of judgement. Unfortunately, it ended up being way worse than you thought it would be.”

“I was worried once I told you about all of that, you’d hate me. That it would make you sick to even look at me.”

“I have never once hated you. Not even back then. I didn’t feel disgust. You know what I felt? I felt sad. For Austin. For you. That either of you had to go through that. My heart hurt for YOU. That your child got sick and you had to watch him suffer and that it was so painful to see that you made a bad decision. I was sad for you. Like I still am. But hate you? I could NEVER hate you. You have enough hate for yourself. To last a lifetime.”

“Yeah…” Tyler’s voice quivers with emotion. “...I guess I do.”

Smilingly softly, she combs her fingers through his hair. “You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately, haven’t you.”

He nods.

“I know it gets extra difficult around this time of year. At Christmas. I know how hard it is for you. Trying to be happy and enjoy things while it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest.”

“It’s not normally this bad. I mean, it’s bad. But THIS?” He swallows heavily around the rock of emotion sitting in his throat. “Never like THIS. I don’t know what it is. Why it’s hit me this hard this year. I don’t know if it’s ‘cause I see how much Millie and TJ are growing up. Or I see so much of Austin in both of them. It’s normally not like this. This bad.”

“It’s okay, you know. To feel this. You don’t have to hide that from anyone. Especially me.”

“I don’t want the kids seeing me like this. I don’t want them thinking they can’t be happy. It’s Christmas. They deserve to be happy and excited and to have the time of their lives. I don’t want them thinking they have to walk on eggshells because of me. Or that I’m not happy being with them. Because I am. Happy. With them. With you.”

“I know you are. You don’t have to convince me of that. I know how much you love us. How happy you are. I never doubt that.”

“I guess sometimes I feel guilty. That I am as happy as I am. That I did move on and have other kids. That I didn’t do it right by him but I turned around and made more kids I could screw things up with.”

“You are NOT screwing anything up. You are a great dad. An amazing dad. And your kids love you so much. They idolize you. You’re their daddy. There’s no one they love the way they love you.”

“He loved me. Idolized me. And look what I did. Look how I betrayed that. How I betrayed HIM.”

“It was a mistake.” Gentle fingertips brush away the tears that glisten on his cheeks and the sides of his nose. “You made a bad decision. But that doesn’t make you a monster, Tyler. It just makes you a man who screwed up. And you know what? Austin would want you to be happy. He’d want you to have a life. To have other kids. Because he’d know how much love you have and he’d want you to give that to other people. He would never deprive you of that; having other kids.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean it makes it any easier. The fact he died. Alone.”

“I know it’s of little consolation, but he wasn’t alone. His mom was with him. And I’m sure she told him how much you loved him. That she probably told him you had to go. Not that you chose to.”

“You give her a lot of credit. I can assure you that she DIDN’T say any of that. That he died knowing I abandoned him. That he died hating me.”

“A mother will do anything to protect their child from getting hurt. And I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what she did. He was vulnerable and he was sick and I highly doubt she’d make that worse by shit talking you. I know I wouldn’t. That I’d never let any of my kids hear any of that. That if it had been me? I would have made sure he knew how much you wanted to be there and couldn’t. I would have told him how much you loved him. And would always love him.”

“You’re a different person, Me. She’s nothing like you. Not even in the slightest of ways.”

“I know at one time she loved you. And you loved her. That it wasn’t always bad. That there were some good memories too.”

“I did love her. But not the way that I love you. Not even close. What I have? With you? What I feel? That’s the real deal. Her? I don’t know what that was.”

“She was your highschool sweetheart. You thought you were destined to be together. It just didn’t work out.”

“Which is a good thing. Or I wouldn’t have what I have now. Which is why I’d never go back and change things. Even if I could. Because I change one thing, it changes everything. And I wouldn’t give you or my kids up for anything in this world. Which makes me feel like shit. That I wouldn’t bring back my first kid.”

“Tyler, don’t let your mind go there. That’s a very dark place and that is not where you need to be. I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry Austin got sick and died. That you had to go through that. But comparing what you had then to what you have now? That will lead to nowhere good. Stop tormenting yourself like this. You have a good life. One that you’re more than deserving of. You have people that love you. Don’t overlook that because you’re so busy looking back at things. You’re not betraying Austin because you had other kids. Because you found love and are loved. And I can guarantee you that he would not want you doing this to yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.” He frantically swipes at the tears that freely roll down his face. “I wish it was. I wish I could turn this all off. That I’d never feel a damn thing again.”

“And that’s not good EITHER. It’s okay to feel. You’re a human being. But dwelling on what you did? You’ll never really enjoy what you have if you keep doing that. And one day the kids WILL notice it. They’ll see the difference in you. And they’ll wonder why they weren’t enough. Why you didn’t love them the same way you loved him. And I know you don’t want that.”

“I do love them. They’re my kids. You have no idea how much I love them.”

“Then you need to let it go. Not Austin himself. But what happened. The decision you made. Because it WILL destroy what you have. It’ll destroy you. And you’ve come way too damn far to let that happen. I won’t LET it happen.”

“I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to keep going through this. I just want it over. I don’t want it to hurt so much. And I don’t know why it does. Why it’s so hard this time around. I don’t have an explanation, Me. I don’t why I’m like this. But trust me, I don’t want to be this way.”

“Come here…” she encourages, as her one hand finds the nape of his neck and the fingers of the other tangle in his hair. And she pulls him down into her; both of his arms wrapping tightly around her torso and his face nestled against her collarbone. “...it’s okay, Tyler. These times are going to come up. We were told this would happen. That you’d feel this way from time to time. You’ve had a great five years. You’ve avoided these kinds of moments. It was bound to creep up; sooner or later. Christmas is always a hard time for you. I get it. I know you can’t help it.”

“I don’t want to be this way,” he sobs against her. “I just want it to stop. How bad it hurts sometimes. I just want it to stop.”

“You’re going to be alright.” Her voice is soft and soothing; fingertips lightly massaging his scalp. “It’ll pass. You’ll get through this. Same way you’ve gotten through so many things. So many bad, BAD things. You’re a tough cookie, Tyler Rake.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do this if you weren’t here. If you didn’t keep giving me chances. Putting up with all this shit. I wouldn’t even be here. Alive.”

“I love you. More than you could ever know. I love you more and more every day. And I’m not going anywhere. You know how you always say ‘I got you’? Well I’VE got YOU.”

“I love you. So much. I wish there was a way of telling you HOW much.”

“You don’t need to say it." She drops a kiss on the top of his head. “I know. You make it perfectly clear. In your own way.”

“Thank you. For this. For everything.”

“You’re going to be okay,” she assures him, and runs her fingers through his hair. “I won’t let you fall either.”

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

You can’t possibly come in a T-rex costume to your own wedding

crackfic taken very seriously, pairing: saiouma, words: 1813

from orginal tags: Wedding Planing, how did it spiral down to that, Slice of Life, I should not have taken the wedding prompt, The Author Regrets Everything, except for the “do you ever wonder about...” but this is the part that you will hate

I don’t even know for what event I’ve made the T-rex trilogy anymore, but enjoy

No. No way. This is not an option. No. Stupid. He can't possibly be actually considering that. Momota must have been trying to prank him and he will not fall for that. His relationship with Shuichi is the one thing he can't afford to fuck up. This includes their wedding day, it has to be perfect, no foolishery that could destroy that, definitely not a T-rex costume. Not in a thousand years, even if he already had one and maybe deep down would want to wear it on big occasions instead of a boring suit, not on the wedding.

He had to admit it at least to himself. All of his life he's been a clown, never a serious person, there was a lot of dumb and irresponsible things he did just for the hell of it. That's the part of him that Momota knew, but there was more. Something he definitely wouldn't show in front of others. That is - he cared about Shuichi. A lot. It wasn't just some sort of fascination, they wouldn't be getting married if it was about curiosity or the looks, that could have been what initially brought them together. Now he couldn't imagine life without the other.

The years they spend together, it was already eight that they knew each other and five of dating. So much time is bound to change a person. Their beginings were... shaky, both of them had issues and they were still in high school at the time, so nobody believed they would last. But they learned from all the misunderstandings, fights and especially that one time when they techinically broke up, but made up soon after, if nothing else, then that incident surely taught them to communicate with each other. Therefore, what Momota was trying to tell him really didn't make sense. He was not only telling him that Shuichi was into dressing up as a dinosaur, he was telling him that he accidentaly discovered something Shuichi was hiding even from him and that it would be a good idea to use this knowledge to make a "nice" surprise for Shuichi and wear said costume to their wedding.

He took in a deep breath, whether Momota was serious or trying to prank him or whatever, he didn't have the strenght to think deeper into it, but at the same time he had to hold in the urge to punch that idiot. He thought that by know they were over their conflicts from school years or at least that Momota valued his friendship with Saihara enough to respect his relationship with Ouma, but apparently not. Doing something like this would obviously make him look like he wasn't serious about the marriage and most likely tear them apart and yet the astronaut had the gall to suggest him doing that. It was disrespectful to Shuichi's privacy (if it was true), too.

Masking his anger with a fake smile he promised to himself that he's going to hold on to that grudge, perhaps trash the guy's wedding when the time comes, assuming that he ends up having the balls to propose... it's more likely that Harukawa will, it was clear who's wearing pants in that relationship. For now, he told him that he'll "think about it" and that "it could be fun". Which, little did the spaceman know, was a code for "I'm gonna talk about it with Shuichi as soon as I can and avoid any and all unnecessary drama you could cause with this ploy."

Feeling mentally exhausted after Momota left he sat dawn on the couch and sighed. How was he going to approach the subject?

It could be said that Momota was always there, technically they all knew each other since the beginning of high school, but Kokichi was distant for the first two years while the other two became friends right away. It was obvious that Shuichi considered him a dear friend, it would be wrong to start with accusing the guy of having ill intent. It would be just cruel and unnecessery, they already had arguments about Ouma not mixing well with his boyfriend's friend group in the past, it resolved with an agreement that they don't have to like each other's friends, it's enough if they don't fight over them.

They both have their own judgement and free will, it's a part of trusting your partner to let them be and don't be forceful about who they should hang out with. Controlling behavior is such a big red flag and they were above that. Yeah, jealousy on his part and wanting people he cared about to get along on Shuichi's side started the argument, but what they did was talk it out. So yeah, implying that perhaps Momota wanted to sabotage their wedding was not an option. It would make him the asshole who made Shuichi choose between who's side to take.

He didn't want to accept that, but he knew what he had to do. Looks like his plans for the evening just got interesting.

Busy as a bee,it was usual for Saihara to come back late, but recently he was trying to come back home earlier, but the part that worried his soon to be husband that it was not to rest, did he ever? He was coming home to do more work related to wedding preparations or he was sneaking his real job in, Kokoichi was doing his best trying to stop the latter, knowing that this workaholic habit has to stop and made sure he had equal share of the first one. Actually, they tried to do most things together, when it came to the wedding it was of great importance to them for everything to be mutually agreed upon. They mastered the art of compromising a long time ago and knew their preferences well enough, which could cause people to wrongly assume it would be a piece of cake.

Bad wording. The thought of cake made him slightly nauseus. How many cakes you have to try before you pick one? How many places you have to see before you know which is the right one? How many designs of an invitation do you have to look throug before they make you choose between two nearly identical? What about decorations? Music? Having to learn the first dance? Panicking in the dressing room while trying on a suit, because you've seen the price and you don't deserve to wear it just as much as you don't deserve the love of your partner, but you can't stain this shit with tears and you start to doubt if the last five years was just a dream and you're gonna wake up being a teenager with nobody who'd care and acne again?

Do you ever wonder about those things?

Anyway. Shuichi coming home meant he had to get moving, today they had plans, they were going to visit his uncle to personally hand him the invitation. Good thing, that he lived close, but even better that not next door. Coming over for dinner was not a problem, but they had their privacy, it was perfect.

First though, he had to prepare a relaxing bath for Shuichi, he needs a break before continuing the day and won't give it to himself, so somebody else has. If the whole purpose wasn't for his fiance to rest, he'd gladly join him in it too, but maybe some other time.

Meeting partner's family seems to be the thing that always make people nervous, but reality is that after a while it becomes normal, it depends on how confident a person is, some people relax after making the first impression or maybe that just happens in books he read and it's normal to need more time like he did, but nonetheless it fades and eventually there's nothing to be nervous about, because at this point they'd either openly disapprove or started to treat you as a part of the family. For reasons unknown to him he got accepted and got called "son"which felt weird.

Today wasn't a typical visit, though, so a shred of familiar nervousness appeared. With how much of a big deal they did out of engagment everyone knew about them getting married, so technically it wasn't like they were breaking the news. Hell, he consulted with and asked for approval of Shuichi's uncle as the closest family he got before proposing. And yet it felt as if he was doing it for the second time. This time, thankfully there was Shuichi with him, it was always easier to face situations that challenged their insecurities together. Especially situations that stressed them both out, it boosted their protectiveness of each other and with the mutual support built they could face anything, even Shuichi's parents when they visited once. Speaking about them, they weren't invited.

He quickly realized that his worries were baseless, the man happily accepted the invitation and congratulated them, deep down he knew that he shouldn't expect any diffrent, but he still was relieved.

The rest of the evening passed in more relaxed atmosphere. They talked a bit more about details of the wedding and plans for the honeymoon - they were going to spend two weeks by the sea before coming back to the mundane life. During that conversation he managed to bring up the subject of costumes in a subtle way.

Casually, after taking a sip of his tea, he looked at Shuichi to see his reaction and dropped the bomb. "We could indulge in some untraditional aspects, for example apply a theme, some people pull that off pretty well, I've seen a couple get married on a boat with a Love Live theme or some others had everyone wear costumes and it was just stellar. Our is going to be rather small, roughly thirty people, so that would be doable."

He din't have to say that it's because there would be no one to come from his side as he's an orphan, it hung heavy in the air anyway, so he kept speaking to chase it away. It was impossible to tell if Shuichi's eyes widened because of the mention of costumes or at what his last sentence implied.

"It's just a random thought, since everything's decided by now and we kept it pretty simple, but it's such a special occasion that I understand wanting to have an extravagant wedding and even take said extravagance to another level, why not, it is once in a lifetime."

Shuichi didn't have any strong reaction to that and only asked if he's pointing at something in a tone that suggested nothing, it wasn't nervous at all and Shuichi sucked at hiding his emotions. The only possible conclusion was that he had no idea about the whole thing.

"Silly Shumai, I said it was a random thought, didn't I?"

[alright--okay]

you ever been to a basement show? pt. 1

tsukishima kei x reader

summary: Tsukishima sees you everywhere, and for a big school thats weird. And it’s not like he’s gonna do anything, that’d be even weirder, but one day in your shared lecture he sees you wearing a shirt with some small band’s name. A band he know. And well, now he has to know who you are.

word count: ~1.5 k

a/n: this is college au where Tsukki is basically into really indie/alt music and so are you so you guys start as like concert buddies/friends and grow as more. I started this a while ago and have been posting to ao3 but I’m trying to find motivation to write more so imma start posting to tumblr lol hope anyone reading enjoys <3

read on ao3!

pt. 1 Polite Company - Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Tsukishima saw you everywhere, it didn’t make any sense. If the University of Tokyo was so big, why was he seeing the same girl all around campus?

Particularly in his one stupid archeology elective. The class was a joke compared to everything else he was taking but it gave him a break from his other more intense courses and he wasn’t about to refuse the opportunity to slack off. You were not only in the large lecture portion of the class but also in his recitation, meaning he saw you three times a week, not including the glances he caught of you just from walking around.

And he wasn’t stalking you (he swears), it’s just that you were … everywhere. Sitting in the last row of the lecture hall (just a few seats to the right of him), waiting for the TA outside the classroom for recitation (usually on your phone), or doing work in the student center as he passed through (always with your headphones on, always).

He had no clue who you were. You most probably weren’t an archeology major like himself, he would have seen you in the intro classes or any of the higher-level courses. Yeah, Tokyo was big but he could at least recognize some other people in the major, and he had never seen you in the three years he had been attending the University of Tokyo. Or at least didn’t notice you before, but that also seemed unlikely.

Today was no different. The lecture portion of the course was a little too early for anyone’s liking, so Tsukishima went to take his usual seat in the back row, ready to half pay attention, half play on his phone. You were already there, headphones atop your head as you continued to look at your phone, the faint sound of music escaped the padding by your ears but it was too muffled to make out an actual beat.

Tsukishima said a quick “excuse me” as he moved to step over your legs and bag on the ground. You remained quiet, giving a polite smile as you tucked your legs in, attempting to give him more room to pass. That’s when he caught sight of your sweatshirt. Normally he paid no mind to what you, let alone anyone, was wearing but the bubbled blue outline of the word “Forests” gave him pause. That was a band. That was a small band. How the fuck were you aware of their presence.

Tsukishima quickly made his way past you as he realized he really shouldn’t be staring at your chest (even if it was just to read your sweatshirt, he swears). He tried to nonchalantly maneuver his way into one of the old lecture hall seats a few down from yours before quickly pulling out his phone.

No way is it the same Forests, he thought as he brought up the band’s website and quickly scrolling through there merch.

Starring back at him was the same fucking sweatshirt. That meant you knew this band, this tiny band. He was so used to being alone in his music taste. Akiteru only listened to what was on the radio and Yamaguchi entertained Tsukishima when he went on rants about music and bands, but he didn’t really listen to any of it. Tsukishima had come to accept that his music-listening experience was mostly gonna be reserved for laying in his bed alone, staring at the ceiling, and absorbing the lyrics. This was fine, he could still enjoy the music just fine. But … you knew some of his music.

~~~

Tsukishima tried to ignore the thoughts of you. He didn’t know you, you were a random person who just so happened to maybe, possibly listen to the same type of music as him. Who cares?

It was a little later in the week and Tsukishima was making his way to the recitation for this stupid elective. The TA, as usual, was late so Tsukishima made his way over to the wall to wait, his own pair of headphones supplying a flow of music.

When you made an appearance from around the corner, Tsukishima couldn’t help the extra attention he paid to your clothing. And god fucking damn it. That was a Mom Jeans shirt. There was someone who listened to the same music as him. Or at least similar. But that was enough for Tsukishima to decide he wanted to talk to you.

To yama:

i have a situation

From yama:

oh ?? care to elaborate ?

Tsukishima paused. This was weird, wasn’t it? He had never interacted with you besides the time he had to move past you to get to his seat. And the lecture was huge. Nobody talked to each other unless you were already friends or were in desperate need of notes. Tsukishima was in neither of those situations.

To yama:

okay so theres this girl and before you say anything no im not trying to ask her out but she was wearing a shirt for a band i listen to

From yama:

that you listen to? not to say youre some hipster indie boy…. but you tend to listen to v obscure music

To yama:

yea i know that thats why im kinda freaking out like do i say something?? and if i do say something what would i even say

From yama:

go for it !! if shes anything like you she probably doesnt get to talk about music much either so just bring up her shirt or something itll be fine tsukki

To yama:

yea ill think about it

Tsukishima put his phone away as someone held the door open for him. Apparently the TA arrived sometime while he was texting Yamaguchi so he quickly made his way into the classroom, taking a seat a few rows behind you.

He would talk to you.

Just not today.

~~~

After the recitation the day before, you had pushed your headphones back onto your ears as soon as the TA was finished and made your way out of the room, his eyes following as you did so. Tsukishima had gone back to his apartment only to be further interrogated by Yamaguchi. What band? There were multiple bands? Did he know you? What class was this again? Are you cute? That’s where Tsukishima cut him off, moving into his room to attempt some work.

It was now Thursday morning, meaning it was time for the second half of the lecture. He was gonna do it. Tsukishima was going to talk to you.

He walked into the lecture hall, you again were already sitting in your seat at the back. Tsukishima (calmly, obviously he was calm) walked over to your seat and sat beside you.

~~~~~~

Who the fuck was this guy?

Yeah, you had seen him around, but he never talked to you, or anyone else in the class for that matter. And yet here he was, sitting next to you and gesturing for you to take off your headphones.

“Can I help you?” you said, complying by slipping the headphones around your neck.

He took a small, almost hesitant pause, “I noticed your shirt the other day, you listen to Forests?”

Your eyes grew slightly wider, “You know who they are?”

“Um, yeah and I’m not used to people listening to the same music as me so I thought I’d … I don’t know … say hi? Introduce myself?”

“Well, you haven’t done a very good job on that plan so far,” you paused to give him a small smile, “just saying.”

Tsukishima gave you a smirk of his own, “Hi,” he emphasized, making you smile wider, “I’m Tsukishima Kei. And you are?”

“l/n y/n,” you replied, smile still in place. “So you listen to Forests. Anyone else I might know?”

Tsukishima paused for a moment, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. Bands you listened to every day were not necessarily what everyone else listened to (which let’s be real, understandable), so replying to a question like this meant either replying with more popular bands people had likely heard of or going full-on obscure and have the person stare at you in confusion. But after a moment, Tsukishima responded with his own small list.

“I know a couple of them actually,” you saw his mouth give a small uptick, probably not used to that response, “what-” The two of you were interrupted by the professor being the lecture, but you quickly turned back to the boy at your side, now in a quieter voice you asked, “what were the names of the other bands? I’ll look them up.”

Tsukishima slowly listed them off again as you typed them into your phone, excited to see what this random guy in your lecture listened to.

Time passed slowly as you and Tsukishima put your attention back to the material at hand, but as the class came to the end and the two of you were packing up your things, your mind drifted to the coming weekend.

Yeah, you just met the guy, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. He seemed kinda nice after all, and he’d probably be into it.

“Hey Tsukishima,” you called to get his attention, “you ever been to a basement show?”

[bgn846]

One Giant Warp - FFXV Promtis

         Summary:            

Noct wants to show Prompto how he warps, how hard could it be? Very hard, like the wall he just threw himself into attempting to demonstrate.  However, the one nice side effect of his miscalculation is Prompto fawning over him.  Maybe he should throw himself into walls more often. a.k.a. Noct likes Prompto and doesn't know how to tell him.

--

It turns out the old adage of keeping your eye on the ball wasn’t just meant for sports. The same reasoning applied to warping. This fact made itself known when Noct decided to risk a quick glance over at Prompto. The prince had wanted to ensure his friend could see the feat he was about to perform.  Sure, his best friend was paying attention, and subsequently got to watch as Noct slammed himself into the wall of the training room.  One small note of comfort being, no one else had been there.  

The feeling of pain was first and foremost in his brain as he writhed on the floor.  Thank the six, the walls were covered in mats. Though he was pretty sure they weren’t meant for warping into. Noct was dimly aware of the floor vibrating as Prompto ran over.  His frantic shouts also helped clue Noct into his approach.

“Noct! Buddy! Oh em gee please tell me you’re alright?!” Prompto yelped in a panic.

Only able to manage some sort of guttural sound in acknowledgment, Noct reached out his hand to grab Prompto’s arm. Squeezing firmly he held on in hopes the gesture would calm his friend. Typical to Prompto, it didn’t work.

“Dude, shit, are you dying or something? Why are you holding me like that? Say something I don’t know what t--.”

“M’fine!” Noct blurted. “Hurts, give me a minute.”

“Did you break anything? If you did then you shouldn’t move. How’s your neck feel? What about your back?” Prompto rapidly fired as his blue eyes darted to and fro. “When you said you wanted to show me how you warped, I didn’t think you’d do it so forcefully!” he finished with a wince.

The shock of literally throwing his body at an immovable object was wearing off, and Noct attempted to roll on his side, albeit slowly. Thankfully, nothing twinged and the only part of his body that was starting to throb was his head. A headache he could handle.  Having to explain why a potion was missing later due to a broken bone wasn’t something he’d been looking forward to.

He knew he’d never be able to say the real reason why due to certain people like Ignis being able to see through him in a heartbeat. That was the only issue with practically growing up with someone, they knew all your tells.  Fibbing to Prompto, on the other hand, was easy.  Not that admitting he’d merely been trying to show off for his secret crush would work well either.

Noct simply had to survive this moment and move on, or rather move up. The floor was very comfortable right now, and the idea of even attempting to walk wasn’t sounding promising.  Fighting gravity combined with relearning how to balance was the least of his worries. He already knew he’d need Prompto’s help getting back home. The prospect of having to hang onto the blond was proving to be a worrying thought.

He didn’t mind being close to Prompto, quite the opposite, he wanted nothing more than to stay close. Having a crush on your best friend was fun and torturous all at the same time. Resigned to keeping his fantasies in dreamland Noct focused on trying to sit up.  No need in delaying this process any longer.  He needed to rest and forget this ever happened.  However, when Noct did sit up the room spun.  Guess he’d hit his head harder than he thought. Muttering a curse under his breath Noct clamped his eyes shut and reached out for the nearest thing to steady his movements. Prompto’s warm and slightly clammy hand enveloped his a second later.  Right, he forgot, Prompto was the nearest thing.

Laughing nervously to detract from his now equally sweaty hands, Noct began rambling. “I’m fine, really, it’s all good,” he lied opening his eyes once more.  Big mistake. Prompto’s blue eyes were right there, brilliant and bright, staring straight at him.

“You don’t look so fine, buddy. You sorta look ill.”

“You try throwing yourself at a wall and see how you fair.”

“Not funny, you didn’t see it from my perspective, or hear the noise either.”

“What noise?” Noct asked bewildered. “Did I yell?”

Prompto huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “No, dude, the noise I’m talking about is when your body hit the wall. It sounded like a sack of potatoes dropping.”

“Oh, yeah it wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

“We should get you to the clinic or something, just in case.”

“Huh? Clinic? Six, no, I’m not going to the doctor.  I’m fine,” Noct defended while attempting to stand and promptly grabbing his friend for support.  Stupid head, spinning around and making the simple act of standing an issue.

“Whoa, I gotcha,” Prompto supplied as he slung Noct’s arm over his shoulder.  “I know I just started crownsguard training but I’ve already learned about first aid,” he beamed proudly.   “Which means we need to go to the clinic.”

“Seriously Prompto, I’m good, I’m not gonna go,” Noct tried again as they hobbled along to the door.

“I’m not going to be responsible for killing the crown prince of Lucis because I let him bully me.”

Noct scoffed, “I’m not dying, my head hurts I need to sleep it off.” This statement got Prompto even more animated.

“Your head hurts? Shit, dude, that’s worse. You shouldn’t go to sleep.”

Noct was about to tell Prompto that he was perfectly capable of reading his own injuries when an idea struck. If he needed to stay awake then this was a perfect excuse for them to spend the rest of the afternoon and night together. Prompto slept over all the time but always used the guest room if he hadn’t already fallen asleep on the couch.  This time Noct had a valid reason for him to share his bed.

Impressed by his own cleverness Noct voiced his brilliant idea without pause. “Why don’t you keep an eye on me then, make sure I don’t pass out or something worse.”

“I’m already doing that dummy, and I’m going the extra mile by taking you to the doctor.”

Thinking fast Noct remembered that Cor might still be around. “What if Cor clears me? Would you accept that instead of the doctor? He’s got a medic certification too, remember?”

Prompto pouted but eventually nodded. “I trust his judgment, but I still think you’re being a baby.”

Noct waved Prompto off with his free hand motioned for them to go in the direction of Cor’s office. Needless to say, Cor was not amused by his appearance five minutes later.  The man took one look at the pair of them and scowled. “Noctis, why do you have a rather painful looking bump developing on your forehead?”

“I hit the wall with my head, but that’s not what’s important right now. Can you make sure I’m not going to die so Prompto won’t make me go to the clinic?”

Taking a deep breath Cor stood from his desk and sauntered over. “I warned you not to take your eye off the ball.”

This time Noct scowled and gave Cor a look that he hoped would stop the older man from pressing further. “You can’t even warp,” he grumbled.

Cor hummed in agreement, “I still saw your father do plenty of stupid shit, so I know the principle behind the magic.”

“Yeah, yeah, am I okay? You’ve seen real dead people before so you’ll know what to look for.”

“Noct, shut up,” Prompto whispered. “He’s the immortal for six sake.”

“Yes, I know,” Noct hissed. “That’s why we are here.”

Cor took all their comments in stride and if Noct was being honest he would swear Cor had a slight smile on his face. After some cursory questions about how he was feeling and Cor examining his head, he was given the clear to go home. A stern warning to call if anything changed was given out as Prompto steered them out of office once more.

The next challenge on the long, terrible journey home was transportation. Noct knew he shouldn’t drive, and he was not going to call Ignis for a lift. If he could keep this little accident a secret it’d be even better. Ignis wasn’t even scheduled to visit later. If Noct played his cards right he’d have Prompto all to himself for the whole night.

Convincing Prompto to drive the car back to his condo was tricky.  Noct laid out how terrible it would be if Ignis showed up, and how degrading it would be if Gladio found out.  They were best friends this was a moment between them, and them alone.  Noct was babbling and he knew it, but it worked.  Prompto finally took the driver’s seat and slowly navigated them to his place. Noting to never ask Prompto to drive again Noct focused on staying upright on the walk to the elevator.  Having someone to lean on was immensely helpful; otherwise, he was sure he’d have fallen over in the parking garage.

Curse living on the ninth floor, the elevator made his head throb painfully and he wasn’t about to take the stairs. Prompto noticed immediately when he sucked in a labored breath once the elevator began moving.

“You’re still feeling awful aren’t you?”

“I’m not in pain if that makes you feel better.  My head still hurts, but not anything unbearable,” he added quickly.  Prompto might take this admission as a sign of weakness and decide to call Ignis or something worse.

“Cor said to make sure you ate and to take it easy, let’s focus on that for now.”

“We can order pizza!” Noct exclaimed making them list sideways. This using his crush as a crutch was great.  Maybe he would stay ‘dizzy’ for a little longer. He was starting to enjoy this moment for all the wrong reasons.  Noct wasn’t even sure if Prompto liked him back that way. Asking that question of his friend though was another matter entirely. Noct didn’t want to risk losing one of the best things that had happened to him.  Prompto’s friendship had been a relief from the mounting daily pressures he faced.

Ignis and Gladio always had his back but this was different, Prompto didn’t come from their world. He wasn’t familiar with all the pomp and circumstance of being a royal. They were friends because they got along and had fun together, nothing more and nothing less. Noct was loath to ruin such a great thing by offering up his true feelings. Something about ‘hey I like, like you’ felt like a good way to seriously rock the boat.  Things were smoothly humming along; there was no need to destroy a perfectly good friendship.    

Lost in his own thoughts about how nice Prompto’s body felt Noct didn’t notice they’d reached his front door. It wasn’t until a hand began patting his pockets did he realize the issue. Prompto wanted his keys to get in.   “Huh, sorry, they are in my other pocket,” he offered sheepishly.

“Well then, we gotta switch sides for me to reach them,” Prompto announced right before ducking out from under his arm and moving. The sound of jingling keys erupted soon after.  

Noct was about to whine at being jostled until Prompto’s body pressed up against him once more. Smiling like an idiot he leaned further into his friend.  Unfortunately, his timing was terrible, and Noct merely made them both fall forward. The newly unlocked door swung open forcefully, and Prompto barely had the strength to keep them both upright.

“Dude, warn me when you’re gonna do that!”

“Sorry, you feel really good,” Noct murmured sleepily.  It wasn’t until a healthy blush developed on Prompto’s cheeks did Noct pick up on what he’d said.  Shit. This was bad. “Ya know like ah, um--,” he trailed off completely at a loss for words.  There wasn’t really a good way to explain away what he’d just said.

“You should sit down, I’ll order food,” Prompto quickly cut in as he looked everywhere but Noct’s face.

The walk to the sofa was deathly quiet as Noct desperately tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind. Prompto eased him down gently a minute later and then disappeared like his butt was on fire. Groaning at his own inability to function like a normal human Noct leaned back and stared at the ceiling, resigned to drown in his own insecurities.    

--

Prompto’s hands were shaking by the time he made it into the bathroom.  Noct’s apartment was open in the main living area so he couldn’t seek refuge in the kitchen.  He also knew he couldn’t stay in here forever. He needed to keep an eye on Noct and hiding in here wasn’t the way to do it.  His mind was still reeling from the simple comment his friend had made.

‘You feel really good’ was a benign statement in of itself, but combined with all the soft smiles and other things Prompto had noticed recently, it took on a whole new life. Maybe he hadn’t been imagining all of it before.  Maybe Noct liked him as more than a friend.

Pulling his phone out he called the one person who might be able to give him some advice. Prompto had wanted to let someone else know what had happened, just in case they needed help later, despite Noct’s protests.  He wasn’t about to put his friend in harm’s way.  Suddenly worried he opened the bathroom door and looked down the hallway.  Noct’s fluffy head of hair was still visible over the couch.

He was about to wander closer to really check when Noct’s hand came up and touched his fresh bruise.   Thank the six, he was still okay. Going back to his little haven, Prompto hit the call button and waited.

Gladio picked up on the third ring. “Hey Prompto, what’s up?” he asked jovially. “We didn’t have a training session today, did we? I thought it was on Monday.”

“No, no, you’re good I uh just need to tell you something real quick.”

The shield must have picked up on the stress in his voice due to his next reaction. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Where’s Noct? Is he hurt? Are you hurt?”

“Whoa big guy, calm down, I’m fine.  Noct’s mostly fine. Cor checked him out if it makes you feel better.”

“What do you mean Cor checked him out?”

Prompto had to cover the speaker on his phone for fear Noct might heard Gladio hysterically laughing. The tale of Noct’s great warp strike to the training room wall was very funny to him. After Gladio had quieted down again he continued. “So yeah, I wanted you and Ignis to know, so you could like be prepared if something else happens. I felt like it was the wise thing to do considering the circumstances, and the fact that he refuses to go to the doctor.”

“Okay blondie, I’ll alert Ignis and make sure he promises to keep his mouth shut.  I appreciate you callin’ You’re a good friend to Noct, he needs more people like you in his life.”

Gladio’s comment made Prompto remember the other reason he’d called.  “Uh, so you were also right about the other thing.”

“Huh, what other thing?”

“The thing you relentlessly tease me about when I miss a move in training. The thing about Noct like, liking me and being to chocobo to admit it.”

“Seriously?! What’d he say?”

“Nothing much but I think hitting his head has made him a little loopy.  He’s super relaxed and saying things and hanging on me.”

“You gonna tell you like him back?” Gladio asked.

“Should I? I don’t want to ruin things.”

“You’re not gonna ruin anything. Noct likes you, just tell him and see how it goes.  I’d suggest you not try to ya know do anything tonight, he’s injured after all but talking about stuff is fine.”

“Oh em gee too much info Gladio, I’m not gonna jump him tonight, he needs to rest.”

Gladio laughed again but there was no malice behind it. “Go back and sit with him. You’re hiding in the bathroom, aren’t you? I can tell by the echo.”

“Yes!” Prompto hissed. “I got nervous, shit, I still need to order pizza.”

“Hey, calm down. Go sit with him and I’ll order for you. I can use his account to pay and then you can focus on making sure he’s alright.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure kiddo, you’re my friend too.  Besides, I know what you two like to eat.  Go check on him; make sure he’s not passed out or somethin’.”

“Okay thanks, Gladio.”

“No problem, call me straight away if anything changes. It sounds like he needs to rest and take it easy for the weekend.  I’ll let Ignis know so don’t worry about that either.”

“Alright, I’ll keep you posted. Thanks big guy.”

Pocketing his phone once more Prompto opened the door to check on Noct. His friend was still in the same spot and moving his arms around like he was having a conversation. Expect no one was there.  Wondering if he’d gone temporarily insane Prompto slipped out into the hallway and listened.   Sure enough, Noct was talking, but after a second Prompto figured out he was simply talking to himself.

The dialog was all over the place. Noct was berating himself for being stupid and messing everything up. What in the hell was his friend going on about? Not wanting to see Noct act so self-deprecating Prompto ran back into the room. “Hey you didn’t mess anything up,” he chided while coming to a stop next to the sofa.

“You’re still here?” Noct exclaimed with a pained look. “I thought maybe I’d messed up so bad you’d snuck out.”

“You’re such a dork, I’m not gonna leave. I told you I’d take care of you and I meant it.”

“Oh, you’re not mad at me?”

“Dude, how hard did you hit your head? No, I’m not mad at you.”

‘Sorry,” Noct mumbled as he looked away and stared at the floor.

“Sorry for what? Pizza is on its way and we get to hang out for the rest of the night and watch movies and like uh, you know be idiots together.” Prompto offered with a smile.

“What kind of pizza did you get?” Noct asked with a pout. “I’m hungry.”

Unable to stop the burst of nervous laughter from escaping his mouth, Prompto blurted the first thing that came to mind, “It’s a surprise buddy. You’ll love it don’t worry.”  

“Okay, I trust you.”

“So ah, how’s your head feel now? Is it still pounding?”

“It’s getting better, but I think I’ll be glued to the sofa for the rest of the night.”

Sitting down next to Noct, Prompto gathered his thoughts. He wanted to talk to Noct about how he felt, but he wasn’t sure right now was the best time. Gladio’s words flashed through his mind at that moment. Prompto should try and talk about stuff. He didn’t think he was reading the signs wrong, Noct sure seemed like he was interested in him.

“Um, what did you think you’d messed up?” he asked finally.

“Huh?” Noct whispered as he settled down into the cushions further.

“You were saying something earlier about messing up, what did you mean?” Prompto was sure Noct’s face was turning pink. That had to be a good sign. No one would blush if they didn’t have feelings to admit. Noct looked stricken; he clearly wanted to speak but couldn’t seem to find the energy.  Time dragged on as Noct stalled.  Gladio has been right, Noct was never going to say anything first. Prompto couldn’t believe he was about to do this but his friend needed him, now more than ever.   Taking a deep breath he voiced his own feelings in hopes it would prompt Noct into revealing his own.

“You--you felt good too,” he managed through the lump in his throat. Noct didn’t immediately react. Prompto watched as various emotions played across his friend's face. Noct was confused at first; it was an odd statement to make when they weren’t actually touching. It was understandable that he’d be wondering about the context. Then, in a flash Noct turned his head and looked at him with wide eyes. He’d figured it out, hopefully.

“Say it again,” he demanded, but not in a condescending way.

Licking his lips Prompto gathered what little bravery he had left and repeated his comment, “you felt good too.”

“You mean it?” Noct checked as he leaned forward and gripped Prompto’s arm. “I didn’t destroy our friendship?”

“Is that what you thought would happen?” Prompto exclaimed. “I’m always gonna be your friend. I don’t know what life would be like without you buddy.”

Noct instantly relaxed and flopped back into the sofa, “I was so worried I messed everything up.”

“What? By telling me how you really feel about me?” Prompto asking hoping this might bait Noct into saying more.

“I’ve had a crush on you for soooo long, I just didn’t know how to tell you,” Noct admitted with a relieved look.

“Were you trying to impress me with your warping abilities?” Prompto queried with a smirk.

“Maybe, but don’t tell anyone else that! I don’t wanna get yelled at for abusing my magic just to impress someone I like.”

“You’d already won me over the moment we met.” Smiling at how that made Noct blush even harder Prompto continued on. “I’m flattered that you were willing to risk life and limb to impress me, but next time, tell me how you feel.”

Noct laughed and winced immediately afterward, “Shit, oh man I gotta take it easy tonight.  That sucks.”

“Sounds kinda nice actually.”

“We could be trying out so many different things tonight, but I can’t even stand up without the room spinning.”

The true meaning behind what Noct had said, sunk in a second later. Oh, damn he was referring to those kinds of other things.  One idea did come to mind that they could do. “So, we can always cuddle until you feel better,” Prompto suggested slyly.  “Ya know, and then later we can do some other uh, stuff.”

Prompto didn’t have much warning before Noct slumped to the side and tackled him in a hug. “Thanks, buddy, falling asleep against you sounds really good.”

“Hey, no sleeping yet, you need to eat.” The sound that came as a response didn’t sound like the English language. Had Noct already zonked out? “Dude, no come on wake up!”

“Sleeeeep nowwwwww, pizza laterrrr.” Noct mumbled as he began to rearrange them on the sofa.

Prompto patiently waited until Noct was fully sprawled across his chest before he pulled out his phone again.  He needed to send a text to Gladio but he was waiting for the inevitable. Noct falling asleep.

However, once Noct had stilled he took a breath to speak. “Why is your heart racing?”

That was an easy one to answer. “We just confessed that we like each other more than friends and now you’re lying on top of me.  Why do you think my heart is racing?” He questioned jokingly. “I’m excited and nervous, and happy all at the same time.”

“Sorry, my macho display delayed our fun.”

“Honestly, I’m okay taking things a little slow. I like what we are doing right now and maybe later after dinner, we can uh, you know, try kissing?”

Noct giggled like a freaking two-year-old once he’d finished talking. “We can kiss now if you want.”

“Nope, gonna make you wait since you laughed at me.”

“Hey, I can’t help it, you sounded really cute.”

“I’m not cute bro, I’m manly just like you.”

Noct laughed again even moved his arm to hit him in the shoulder. “Fine, you sounded really handsome and strong. How chivalrous of you to wait on my account, so as not to spoil my virgin body.”

“If you weren’t injured right now I’d have shoved you off on the floor already. You should thank me for being so nice to you.”

Snorting and groaning in pain Noct stilled again. “Stop making me laugh. I gotta take it easy remember?”

“Sure, buddy,” Prompto drawled out. “You’re taking it easy, and picking on me at the same time. I don’t think that should be allowed.”

“Okay, truce, I’ll stop until I feel better.”

“Deal, but I’m gonna fight back once you get better too, don’t forget.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Noct asked indignantly.

“If you pick on me I’ll retaliate.”

“How? You can’t hurt me I’m the crown prince.” He offered haughtily but Prompto could tell Noct was teasing.

“I have my ways. I know someone who’d be more than willing to tell me where you’re ticklish.”

“Iggy wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Shhh, enough talk about that, lets enjoy this moment before the food gets here.”  Noct went so far as to cover Prompto’s mouth with his hand to silence him. One well-placed lick of his tongue had Noct crying out in disgust. “Not fair, no licking.”

“Ever?” Prompto asked coolly.

“Never!” Noct replied but he seemed to realize what that might imply and quickly changed his tune. “Licking s’okay,” he nearly whispered a second later.

“I thought so, but that’s for later remember.”

“M’sleep nowww.” Noct hummed.

Prompto let Noct rest this time.  Once his friend's breath had evened out, he texted Gladio to get an ETA on the food. For once the Friday night rush meant the hour-long time was actually welcomed, considering his current situation.  Gladio had of course asked how it went and Prompto was happy to reply that they’d confessed their feeling to each other.  He was graced with a thumbs-up emoticon and a smiley face.

Putting his phone down Prompto hugged Noct closer and rubbed his back. He was going to make sure they had the best weekend ever! Happy to simply be with Noct and hold him Prompto drifted off until the door buzzed.  The night was just beginning as was their new relationship.  Prompto couldn’t wait to have more adventures with Noct.  So long as he didn’t throw himself into a wall again!

AO3 Link

[dungeondicedivaarchieve]

🍋 - Does your muse complain about things to you? If so, what? 🥔 - What’s the dumbest mistake you’ve made in rp?

1. These two don’t very often. Otogi might pipe up about all the shit I put him through on occasion but Aigami’s very quiet (probably because I haven’t thought of ways to put him through as much shit yet.

2. It took me a while to answer this because I needed to be in the right headspace to type this out. I’m gonna stick it under a readmore because it’s loaded with negativity. 

I feel like this question is actually referring to something silly like “I accidentally wrote the name of my character’s ex-boyfriend when answering an ask from her current boyfriend and made a really cute love declaration make it look like she was really hung up on her ex,” but I’m gonna go a little deeper. (That did happen though. In my defense, both characters’ names started with S. PS, if your rp partner makes a mistake like that and tells you that’s not the way they meant, let them change it, or take it the way it was intended. Don’t make them rp out the scene with the mistake included. That’s just really freaking mean.)

Now for the going deeper: 

My biggest mistake in rp is actually pretty recent, and it’s the reason for my three-ish month hiatus from this blog and Tumblr in general. 

It was getting involved with the Fire Emblem: Three Houses fandom. 

Now, I love Fire Emblem. It’s been my favorite video game series since Fire Emblem: Blazing Blade came out in the US in 2003. This has nothing to do with the game itself. It’s a great game. I wish I could still enjoy it.

But there are members of that fandom who are so incredibly toxic that I can no longer play the game or even discuss the game without feeling physically ill. Sadly, this is pretty common, because a lot of my friends know I’ve been known to breathe Fire Emblem and want to talk about it with me. I don’t feel like I can tell them what happened because it’s a pretty big damn can of worms. 

I feel so stupid that I let the emotional abuse I got from certain people in that fandom go on for as long as I did. I guess I was blind because I love the series so much. Well, that, and, like all good abusers, when I would catch on and ask if they wanted me to leave them alone, they would say that any negative transgressions I was feeling were in my head. No, we don’t dislike you, we want everyone to feel welcomed and have fun.

Well, that gets harder to believe when more and more people start treating you like hot garbage because the people I managed to make enemies out of were very influential. One of their friends started rping a character I played (I’m not going to name names because that might make it easier for people reading this to find out who these people are), and despite my rules saying I don’t rp with dupes because of a bad experience, they continued to interact with me on the dupe blog, saying it was all crack and it’s just for fun.

I got numerous messages from people telling me that (x) character was a copy of my version of that character made to make me feel inferior and make me abandon the character altogether. I don’t know if that was an assumption or something this mun said aloud, though based on the number of people who told me about it, I’m assuming it was the latter. 

When that didn’t make me leave, they got ahold of another friend who I was involved in a ship with. The influential mun’s character and my ship-partner’s character cheated on my character explicitly in our verse. I think I’ve said before on this blog that cheating on a muse without discussing it with the mun first is one of the worst things you can do? Well, everyone probably already knows that, unless you’re trying to make someone feel so bad that they abandon a blog. 

Surprise, surprise, each time I tried to talk to ship-mun about it, they would ignore me. They would talk to me about other things, but any message I sent about wanting to plot out how our characters could either resolve this or if they should break up was missed. Yeah, that’ll be believable maybe two times. After that, it’s blatantly dodging and you’re being a douche. 

During this time, while I was still trying to get some closure for that muse, I was on a different 3 Houses account and sent a message to another one of the influencer’s friends. They started griping about how certain muns use their muses to start shit, like the person who writes (my cheated on muse.) I hope they felt like a real fucking idiot when I sent a message saying “Well, actually, that muse is also run by me, and nothing you’re saying ever happened.”

I realized very quickly after that this particular mun wanted to run me off the site because they wanted to ship with the muse cheated on muse was in a ship with. Because multi-verse isn’t a commonly accepted thing I guess. 

About a week ago, I logged onto that account just to prove to myself that I could without throwing up, and those two are together now. Even though I told ship-mun how horrible they were and how they were spreading false rumors to make me look like a horrid person. 

Congrats, you two deserve each other. 

I know it’s on me for letting it go on as long as it did. I know it’s on me for not realizing what was going on for months. I know it’s on me for making excuses for their behavior and continuing to go on because I wanted to stay in the fandom and have fun, because the world was pretty much shut down and there wasn’t much to do to escape the world ending besides try to lose yourself in the internet, but what they did was absolutely the scummiest stuff I’ve seen in my seventeen years of rping. 

PS, I lost 23 pounds over the last two months of being involved in that fandom because I was constantly making myself sick trying to fix whatever I had done wrong that made them treat me this way. 

When I finally gave up I completely shut down, and that’s why I wasn’t here for a few months. 

I left everything as vague as possible so that no one is called out, but if, by some miracle, the people involved see this and figure out I’m talking about them:

Fuck you. Fuck you for ruining my favorite video game series. Fuck you for hurting so many people. I know two other muns who said they can’t enjoy Fire Emblem anymore either because of the shit you pulled. Fuck you for being so entitled you think you have the right to destroy someone’s reputation and chase them away from something they love because you don’t like something about them. Fuck you for being so manipulative that you can turn friends against one another. Fuck you for manipulating people with Autism (not me, another person they were shit to.) 

Fuck you. Fuck you and the people that enable you. 

Go to hell.