#also there is another reason why there is some teeny tiny annoyance for the fact that THIS game is the one that induced The Great Emotions‚

[emstargazer]

I just finished the campaign of Titanfall 2... No game has been able to hit me the same as RDR2 did years back, the only ones which came close that I can think of being Outer Wilds and ULTRAKILL (Outer Wilds probably could've succeeded at that if it wasn't for the fact I was mentally way deeper into the pit back then than I am now). But the level of immersion that has been cast upon me by its beyond fun gameplay, clever level design, beautiful voice acting and TITANS MY FAVORITE CREATURES OF METAL AND LOVE BABYYY(OBVIOUSLY WHAT ELSE DID YOU EXPECT) was able to induce feelings I craved to experience from a game for so, so long. DAMMIT THIS GAME MADE ME FEEEEEL SOMETHING AND MORE!!!

Funny thing is it actually contrasts RDR2 in many of its core aspects, yet it hit the same spot for me, just through a completely different method.

Despite me having a fair share of criticisms that I could give, I WON'T BE SHUTTING UP ABOUT IT ANYTIME SOON.

[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[godzillerd]

Heisenberg vs Rose Winters: The Drunkle Files

So a common theme seems to circle back around to Heisenberg being a sort of hobo yeehaw drunkle figure for little teeny tiny Rosemary Winters. 

Yet I ask myself: Self, does this man not exude child-hating energy? Why would this man ever willingly submit himself to the whims of a toddler - nay, an infant?

I present to you: A Theory. 

Jumping off point: Ethan agrees to the deal. Awesome. They now have four baby chunks and a general agreement not to kill each other. 

In order to reassemble Rose, they have two options: Either allow Miranda to do it and also put Rose directly in her hands, or find another solution. 

Ethan doesn’t want a crazy Mountain Mommy touching his baby and Heisenberg doesn’t want Miranda holding their ace so they look for another solution. 

In the end, Donna (RIP Donna) has the solution. Specifically, that Donna split her Cadou dozens of times to create her dolls. 

You see where this is going 

Local Hobo Saws Into His Own Guts 

It takes more Cadou than either of them expect to trigger Rose’s pieces to reassemble, but they still end up with a whole baby. Miranda ends up dead. Everyone is happy. 

Plot twist: Sharing a Cadou does some weird shit. 

It starts with Heisenberg - who historically does not need to sleep at all - routinely passing out without rhyme or reason. Conveniently, it corresponds with the baby’s nap times. 

Ethan overdresses baby Rose because he’s a paranoid single father doing his best? Heisenberg feels like he’s locked in a sauna. Ethan forgets to give her an extra blankie at night? Heisenberg’s fucking freezing. 

When Rose dreams, whatever connection they have is even more fluid. Heisenberg can even share them at times. For the first year after the Village, this is the only way he ever interacts with Rose at all, in fact.

He picks up on the situation faster than Ethan and starts dropping hints, such as sending mean texts to stop smothering his baby from two countries away.

Ethan only clues in when Heisenberg starts eating shit like apples and carrots, because Heisenberg doesn’t eat. 

It is a testament to how fucked up this man’s life is that he doesn’t actually freak out that much. Instead, Heisenberg gets to start his new life as a living, breathing baby monitor. 

Rose becomes fascinated by cows at age 2. So does Heisenberg. He hates every second of it and yet he can’t look away from those majestic, horned monstrosities. 

She also has a fixation on all things dinosaur which, again, Heisenberg regrettably shares. He hates himself every time he looks up a dinosaur fact. 

Heisenberg can sense when Rose is in pain extremely vividly.

The opposite is true. They find that out when Heisenberg nearly cuts his hand off with a fabricating machine. It’s traumatizing for everyone involved.

Splitting his Cadou muffles Heisenberg’s actual powers. He can no longer transform, and although he doesn’t quite age, his appearance changes over time. 

Their connection doesn’t necessarily strengthen or weaken as years pass, but it changes as Rose becomes more self aware. As a young child, her thoughts and feelings are an open book. By the time she’s five, Heisenberg only gets the broad strokes of whatever she’s thinking. 

Unless she decides otherwise, which happens a lot when she’s overwhelmed or flustered. Then he gets a deluge of everything and has to pick out a root cause from the mess to explain to Ethan, who is usually cut out of the entire process (much to his annoyance).

A child’s influence does wonders for Heisenberg, but Heisenberg’s influence on a child is less amazing. 

Rose develops an attitude problem before she even hits school age. She has a temper and an issue with authority figures. She often rebels just for the sake of rebelling.

She also grows into a severe introvert and has little interest in other children. 

and my goodness, the potty mouth. 

She never manifests the same abilities as Heisenberg, but she does have a very natural talent for mechanics. 

It’s a common argument debate between Ethan and Heisenberg as to whether Rose’s behavioral quirks are because of the connection, or just Heisenberg’s presence in her life, or if she was always destined to be that way. 

In the end they usually drop the subject because it pisses everyone off. 

At age 10 Rose discovers boys 

Heisenberg’s scream of anguish can be heard worldwide all the way from Alaska.

[itsclydebitches]

YYH Recaps: Episode 4 “Requirements for Lovers”

Hello, everyone! It's been quite a while, huh? Ah, the endless cycle of wanting to write and yet, astoundingly, not writing. I know it well.

Good ol' writer's block has skedaddled for a time though, so let's make good use of that and dive into Episode Four: "Requirements for Lovers." 

Ohhh, YYH getting spicy with its titles 😏

Actually wait, I shouldn't be making dumb jokes just yet. First I want to acknowledge a slight change to future recaps: YYH, RWBY, and anything else I might try my hand at. Namely, a lack of pictures moving forward. A few weeks ago — months? I honestly can't keep track — tumblr implemented a new limitation where no post can have more than ten images in it. It's a move that, while I'm sure has its justifications, makes sharing analyses of visually-based media all the more difficult. I'll be doing my best moving forward to describe scenes as needed, as well as combining connected images together to stretch out my limit, but I'm not going to pretend that it'll be the same as getting the visual play-by-play we’re used to. 

Tumblr certainly is a website, huh?  

Anyway, we open on Yusuke once again lamenting the difficulty of hatching a spirit beast that doesn't immediately devour him from the head down. On the one hand this is an admittedly easy way to reset the story over the course of this arc — the storytelling equivalent of waking your character up each morning — yet I cannot deny that if I were undergoing a resurrection test, it would consume my every thought too. Can't really blame Yusuke for endlessly bringing the conflict up when the conflict is this deadly.

Well, deadly for a ghost, anyway.

Specifically, he's worried about how embarrassing it would be to get eaten by something that came out of an egg this tiny. I'm torn between reminding a fictional character that things grow — a pissed off chicken could kick my ass and it started out in an egg too — and just shaking my head over the absurdity of worrying about embarrassment when, you know, you would cease to exist. It's not even a matter of, "What if I die and then I'm embarrassed about it in the afterlife :( " Yusuke is already IN the afterlife. He's got nowhere to go but oblivion!

Luckily, Botan takes a more practical approach to these worries, pointing out that he'll be just fine provided he does some good deeds. Yusuke starts a rant about how do-gooders are only ever out for themselves.

Yusuke, you dumb-dumb, you're a do-gooder now. What was all that help for Kuwabara, hmm? As said, these early episodes exist in a semi-reset loop, where Yusuke needs to stew in his main character flaws for a while before any real growth starts to stick. Those flaws being, primarily, "I'm a pessimist" and "also I hate myself."

Case in point, Botan accuses him of always seeing the glass as half empty. Which, while true enough (outside of his confidence in fighting, anyway), by now we've got a pretty good sense of where Yusuke developed this attitude. He affirms this by talking about how Koenma's got him by the balls, "just another idiot abusing his power!" With an alcoholic mother and those teachers from last episode, it's no wonder Yusuke thinks this way. Mr. Takenaka's interest and Keiko's care aren't enough to combat the rest of Yusuke's experience, not when Takenaka is an outlier and Keiko is Yusuke's peer. Her desire to keep him on the right track reads only as an inevitability at best (the downside of having a perfect childhood friend), or a legitimate annoyance at worst. Or, as we'll continue to see in this episode, a way for them to flirt.

Is it any wonder Yusuke would sneer at Koenma's offer then, expecting the worst? The fact that Yusuke is still undergoing the challenge at all, no matter what he says, speaks volumes to me.

However, Botan is less than comfortable with his criticisms. She panics a bit at Yusuke insulting the (junior) ruler of the underworld so blithely. That, and the fact that he's carelessly tossing his egg around.

(Yes we’re using precious picture space for memes are you SURPRISED?) 

Anyway, Botan isn't just concerned for the sake of concern. She cautions Yusuke against speaking too freely because there may be investigators checking in on his progress. No sooner does he ask what those investigators look like than one appears.

Thunder! Lighting! An energy so intense that Yusuke is briefly blinded! It is, as he says, quite the entrance. What kind of being could possibly be at the heart of such an astounding show?

Why, this teeny-tiny cutie, of course.

Remember, few appearances in YYH coincide with the character's true self. Would you ever assume this is the all-powerful investigator who holds Yusuke's future in her hands? Of course not. That's the point.

The investigator introduces herself as Sayaka and immediately demonstrates that she has no more patience for Yusuke's attitude than Botan does. "These damn kids," he mutters and my brain briefly blue screens because Yusuke. You're fourteen.

Plus, Sayaka and Botan clearly have some sort of eternal youth situation going on, so there's that too.

Sayaka is, in a word, fantastic. She pulls no punches with Yusuke, teleporting away from him with what can only be described as a shit-eating smile, all while refusing to tell him what exactly she's investigating. “I’m sorry, but that’s a secret!” However, Keiko is clearly at the forefront of her interest. She refers to her as Yusuke's "girlfriend."

Botan is more than happy to point Keiko out — because of course they're still following her around! — and pulls a Et tu, Brute? on Yususke, leading Sayaka right to her. Like most of the Underworld, Sayaka is rather shocked that the pretty, popular, scholarly girl is supposedly into the delinquent. It's the power of childhood friendship, you fools! Specifically, Sayaka references the "positive markings" that Keiko has accumulated, but the audience already knows by now that such markings are suspect at best. Yusuke himself is proof of that. So if his terrible marks don't preclude him from being a young kid's savior, should we really view Keiko's as proof of superiority?

I mean, Keiko is fantastic, but that's not really the point here.

Starting her own investigation into Yusuke's life, Sayaka begins with one hell of a bombshell: "There's no point in doing [the resurrection] if the people closest to you don't care." WOW. Not only is that a harsh assessment, it's one I don't think I can personally get behind. The offer to restore Yusuke to life is built on the acknowledgment that their system is flawed (even if there's no work to change or dismantle that system): they thought he was worthless, his sacrificial death seems to have proven them wrong, and now they want further evidence, in the form of this trial, that Yusuke is a good person at heart. The whole point of this challenge is to give him a second chance, with testimonies like Mr. Takenaka's emphasizing that Yusuke has always been capable of more, so long as he applies himself. This, as we'll see throughout the series, applies to relationships too. The Yusuke with one friend he play-fights with, a distant mother, and a school worth of kids who are terrified of his very name is not the future Yusuke they expect him to become, so... why base his resurrection on what he's already (not) accomplished? Granted, the show is very unclear about what, if anything, Sayaka will do if she decides that Yusuke doesn't have a life worth going back to (even if I have my own theory discussed at the end), but the fact that this is suddenly a factor at all seems grossly unfair, not entirely unlike Kuwabara's rigged promise. We as the audience know that people love Yusuke. Yusuke himself is beginning to acknowledge that. But if this fourteen year old delinquent truly had no one that wanted him back from the dead... isn't that all the more reason to allow a resurrection and give him the chance to build a life where he would be missed? 

This stupid shonen got me thinking too much istg. 

Yusuke, ever the self-deprecating pessimist, bypasses all of the above thoughts and jumps straight to, "It's clear if [Keiko] had any sense she'd want me gone." I'd find that attitude incredibly sad if I wasn't distracted by how cute Botan and Sayaka are, sitting on the oar together. The spirit girls who fly together, thrive together! 

Botan starts teasing Yusuke about having a crush, which just feeds his temper and Sayaka's confusion. Deciding that she needs to gather more info, they follow along for an average day of school because these earlier episodes are, apparently, ghost-stalk Keiko hours. 

We see her reading aloud in class from Heart of Darkness (not the easiest book for some middle schoolers), scoring a point during volleyball practice, refusing to let one girl cheat off her homework, but happily helping another who runs up with a question. So she's pretty, athletic, and academically successful, the trifecta for any good love interest. Sayaka is impressed not just with her "nearly perfect" scores, but also the maturity that Keiko demonstrates, such as maintaining her morals about cheating while remaining compassionate. 

Actually, I really love the contrast this provides for us, the viewer. Meaning, Keiko is shown to be at her least mature when in Yusuke's presence. Not that her responses aren't justified, but watching her dramatically snatch gum from his mouth, slap him across the face, or pull crazed expressions as she yells at him is a far cry from this calm, poised, soft-spoken Keiko. It's a way to visually show us that she's comfortable in his presence, despite the suspect humor attached. Not that the Keiko we see at school is faking or anything — she is legitimately that kind and articulate — but we see that being with Yusuke allows her to relax in a way she doesn't with others. School!Keiko is, as Sayaka says, pretty much perfect, 24/7. Yusuke's Keiko is a little rougher around the edges, in a way that implies a multifaceted personality shining through. 

However, the only conclusion our trio draws is that, given Keiko's accomplishments, any attraction must be one-sided.

Poor Yusuke lol. 

In a plot move that is so ridiculously contrived, just as Yusuke is grappling with the accusation that Keiko couldn't possibly like him back, a "handsome boy" arrives to ask Keiko out. He says that he couldn't bear it when she stopped reading Heart of Darkness because he's fallen in love with her voice. "Will you be my girlfriend?" 

Please excuse me while I lose my shit over how ridiculous this is. I legitimately straight up cackled when I watched this scene. 

Luckily for Mr. Absurd, Keiko takes him seriously — and lets him down easy. She says she can't be his girlfriend and when he presses the "Why?", asking if she already likes someone else, Keiko confirms that she does. This is done through a shot of her feet. Not a POV shot given the angle, but close enough that it feels like we're stepping into Keiko's shoes (haha), shyly staring down at the floor in embarrassment and regret. 

Rejection complete? The guy screams. 

I mean he screams. 

I mean this nobody we're never gonna see again unhinges his jaw and lets out an unholy shriek the likes of which makes me shriek in utter GLEE. 

It's insane. It's wonderful. I'm going to use one of my coveted image spots to show you his face: 

Look at that and tell me this show isn't amazing. 

Okay, I'm focusing again. As Keiko runs off Botan and Sayaka start dragging Yusuke, teasing him about how Keiko chose him over that "charming handsome boy." 

...Please scroll up and look at that image again. I find YYH's definition of "charming" and "handsome" to be hilariously wrong. 

Yusuke, as per usual, throws himself into damage control, claiming that Keiko didn't say who she liked, so really it could be anyone. They're not buying it. “'I like Keiko' is written all over your face!” Botan crows. Meanwhile, Sayaka is scribbling in her little investigator's journal that feelings on both side are severely misunderstood. "Suggest serious counseling." 

Fantastic idea, Sayaka. I'd personally suggest counseling for the whole dying/best friend getting resurrected thing... but relationship woes work too! 

We cut to later when school is out and Keiko has gone over to Yusuke's. To say that Atsuko has done a poor job of keeping the house clean lately would be a serious understatement. 

Keiko points out the old food and broken glass specifically, cluing us in that this isn't just a messy environment, but a dangerous one as well. This is proven when she accidentally knocks a stack of books over and a used bowl falls onto Yusuke's face. What's interesting is that Keiko says that things are "back to normal" now, though I'm not sure if that's in reference to the state of the house, or just the note Atsuko left behind, asking Keiko to take care of Yusuke while she's out. I'm inclined towards thinking it's just the note, partly because of Keiko's shock when she first arrives, because the house wasn't shown to be in this state prior to Yusuke's death (first image above), and because the note is accompanied by a great voiceover that makes Atsuko sound quite sloshed when she left. That's what's normal, the drinking and carefree attitude, not the state of her home. If we buy that reading, it allows for another fantastic look into Atsuko's mental state. If she's already an alcoholic, the trauma of her son's death and the following revelation that he's coming back might make her struggle in other ways. Like finding cleaning to be an impossible task. 

She's depressed. It doesn't excuse the state she's left Yusuke in and, as previously acknowledged, YYH is definitely not a show interested in this nuance, but I still find it fun to take what little we've gotten and run with it. 

However, Keiko is firmly on team "WTF Atsuko." She hurries to make sure Yusuke wasn't hurt by the falling bowl, bemoans him being "covered in garbage," and says that leaving him in this state should be considered a felony. Knowing it's far beyond her power to fix Atsuko's failings, Keiko swears to come here after school every day until Yusuke regains his body. It's as she's cleaning him of the dust that's gathered that Keiko becomes entranced with Yusuke’s features. Particularly his lips. The soft lighting returns, their theme song swells, and Keiko gets thiiiis close to kissing Yusuke for the first time. 

Which is a little weird, right? I mean, we know why Yusuke is freaking out. Beyond the embarrassment of a middle schooler receiving his first kiss while two ghost girls eagerly watch on, he's made a hobby of denouncing his interest in Keiko to anyone who will listen. But for the average viewer — for Keiko herself — don't we care the he's, you know, dead? Or if not technically dead, very unconscious? Don't get me wrong, I fully understand the appeal of this situation in a generalized, cultural sense (with the side disclaimer that I'm reading a Japanese product through an American lens). Sleeping Beauty exists for a reason and there's definitely an element of that here: a gender-reversed setup where Keiko’s kills may break the "curse" of Yusuke's untimely death. Even his in-between state of being mirrors the "death like sleep" of the fairy tale. But when you strip away those Disney-esque thoughts, we're left with a girl about to kiss an unresponsive body, not as a common gesture of care (the parent who kisses their child while they sleep), but as a first time, romantic milestone. 

It's a little weird lol. 

But embrace the romance! As well as its inevitable interruption. Just as Keiko is about to land a peck, the neighborhood watch committee announces a heat and fire warning, startling Keiko out of her thoughts about Yusuke's "beautiful face." (There's another gender reversal for ya.) She gasps at her almost-action, conveniently remembers that her mom wanted her to do some shopping, and hightails it out of there before embarrassment can really kill them both. 

So she runs off for food... in a sweater? The outfit is cute and all, but I wonder what the animators were thinking, putting Keiko in a puffy pullover during an episode all about a heat wave. 

It's about at this point that the plot goes from cute romance to absolutely buck wild. The fires the neighborhood watch committee mentioned are not, in fact, due to the overwhelming heat, but an arsonist that's going around tossing molotov cocktails through open windows. Why is he doing such a thing? I don't know. Arsonists be doing arson, I guess. The important bit is that Yusuke's place is his next target, considering that Atsuko forgot to lock the windows when she went out. Within seconds all that garbage is set ablaze, quite obviously putting Yusuke's resurrection chances at an all time low. 

"Wake up, stupid!" he shouts at his unconscious body. Mood, Yusuke. That's me every morning. 

So this is a full scale emergency now and everyone is scrambling trying to think of something to do. Yusuke comes up with the idea to possess himself like he did Kuwabara — nice attempt at a loophole there — but since it would technically count as his resurrection, no dice. Botan decides to go get Kuwabara himself, even though he's too far away to do anything. It's still worth a shot. Sayaka, meanwhile, watches all this unfold with a somewhat clinical detachment. She's not quite indifferent and she's definitely not cruel... she’s just not as emotionally invested in this as the other two. Which not only re-emphasizes her purpose here, as an observer judging Yusuke, but also highlights the bond Botan is forming with him. As mentioned before in regards to her hanging out with Yusuke rather than ferrying souls, Botan is well past someone assisting Yusuke simply because it's a part of her job. He's her friend. 

We get some shots of the growing fire which includes a hazy texture to the animation I quite like and then we cut to Keiko several blocks away, shopping bag in hand. Word of the new fire spreads, with one bystander mentioning that it's the twelfth today. 

"This is eerie.” 

“Yeah, I can’t help feeling we’re under attack.”

That's because you are! Someone stop that man! 

Sadly, I don't think the arsonist is mentioned again, let alone captured. We'll just have to relegate that to my incredibly niche fic wishlist. 

Keiko also overhears that the latest fire is on fourth avenue, which of course is where Yusuke lives. Recognizing that he might be in trouble, she takes off at a run. 

Meanwhile, Botan finds Kuwabara practicing his kicks against a Yusuke dummy. Amazing resemblance, right? 

Watching for the purpose of recapping, I'm picking up on a lot of details in the animation I quite enjoy. I don't think anyone would claim that YYH, at this point in time, has the most impressive or flashy animation (the fight scenes later are another matter entirely), but there's a clear love for the product that shines through. The scared expression on Kuwabara's dummy. His unexpectedly dainty kick, complete with pointed toes. Botan's more translucent coloring to emphasize her supernatural status compared to Kuwabara. There are a lot of nice touches despite the overall simplicity. 

Plus, you can't forget the lovely irony of Kuwabara fighting a defenseless "Yusuke" while the real guy actually lies defenseless amidst a fire. We already know that despite his tough talk, Kuwabara would be horrified to learn that his friend rival had died (again) in such a manner. 

Capitalizing on that transparency, Botan runs a hand through Kuwabara's back to catch his attention. He gets his "tickle feeling" and instinctively looks around towards Yusuke's house, seeing the smoke. "Something tells me I should go that way." Gotta love a guy who drops everything to chase a vague, supernaturally induced hunch. 

As Kuwabara leaves we cut back to Keiko arriving at the house, staring in horror at the blaze. We get an audio flashback to her talk with Yusuke where she promised to take care of his body until he got back. So she tries to run in, only for a couple of the onlookers to snag her, quite correctly keeping her from undergoing a suicide mission. We learn later that Keiko absolutely would have died without Yusuke's sacrifice, so her "You cowards!" is born more of emotion than justified accusations. It's not cowardly to look at the raging inferno in a small apartment and realize that recklessly running in will only result in two dead teens, not one. 

I mean, the flames are already right there, licking the door. Even if Keiko somehow managed to avoid burns, the smoke alone would do her in. Still, Keiko tries to mitigate the damage by dumping a bucket of water over her head. As a kid I remember thinking this was the smartest thing ever. Utterly inspired. Keep that in the back of your mind, kid Clyde, for future reference. As an adult... I have no idea whether this would actually help or not lol. Any firefighters doubling as YYH fans? 

Recklessness and iffy precautions aside, I can't express how much I appreciate the story giving Keiko things to do. Yusuke recognizes that she's the only one with the maturity and open-mindedness to believe in his resurrection. She's the one picking up Atsuko's slack regarding his day-to-day needs. She never hesitates for a moment, heroically throwing herself into this blaze for Yusuke's benefit. Yeah, a lot of that still falls into the emotional/domestic sphere — what we expect of the love interest in a 90s anime — but too often action stories don't have a clue what to do with their non-action characters, not even when it comes to just supporting the fighters. They're simply... there. Keiko, however, isn't window dressing. Whether it's helping Botan survive an upcoming, supernatural plague, or cheering the team on at the Dark Tournament, Keiko is an important part of the story, despite lacking the fighting prowess of the rest of the cast. 

Just as important, this episode establishes a core equality between her and Yusuke. We just watched Keiko reject a (presumably) accomplished guy for him, telling the audience that these surface differences — academics, power levels, popularity, looks — don't matter to them. Yusuke is not Keiko's lesser just because he doesn't have the same scores in Sayaka's book and Keiko won't become Yusuke's lesser just because she doesn't have spiritual power like he does. The only important thing here is that they love each other and they're both willing to sacrifice everything for the other. In the span of about ten minutes, Keiko nearly gives up her life for Yusuke and, in turn, Yusuke gives up his resurrection for her. The level of care they show towards one another is balanced, despite those differences. 

They’re a good ship, y'all. Even if this recapping's got me noticing Yusuke/Kuwabara potential lol. 

To get back to the plot, a drenched Keiko charges into the fire, yelling Yusuke's name for the drama of it because we all know he can't respond. Despite the audience (hopefully) recognizing Keiko and Yusuke's equality, that memo hasn't reached Yusuke yet. "You're a lot more important to this world than I am!" he yells, hammering home that despite everything — knowing he instinctively saved a child, watching his loved ones grieve for him, helping Kuwabara just because he can — Yusuke still, deep down, believes that he doesn't deserve to come back; that he doesn't measure up to those around him. The self-sacrificial nature this insecurity produces shocks Sayaka. She points out that if Keiko doesn't save his body, he's not coming back. "What's the point of being alive if Keiko has to get killed for it?" 

Keiko means more to Yusuke than the rest of his living existence. Jot that down in your notebook, Sayaka! 

Kuwabara arrives and runs into one of his friends who informs him that Keiko just went inside. “Yusuke’s girl? The one we saved from those thugs?”

BOY does that tell us a lot about their rivalry! I mean yeah, we've already established several times over that Kuwabara — just like Yusuke himself — is not the cruel street thug he'd like to present himself as. If these characters actually wanted to hurt each other outside of a martial arts challenge, don't you think Kuwabara would capitalize on the "Yusuke's girl" bit? Everyone seems to know that they have feelings for each other, but Kuwabara never once wields that as ammunition against Yusuke. There are no taunts about him not being good enough. Or rather, I should clarify there are no serious taunts — Kuwabara is well known for his teasing. There's also no attempt to steal Keiko out from under him, the common treatment of the love interest as a "prize" that many stories fall into. Indeed, later this episode YYH will deconstruct this a bit. Yusuke sees Kuwabara grab Keiko's hand and yells that he better not be getting "fresh" with her. But it's purely Yusuke's worries shining through. The audience gets a crystal clear picture of the situation and knows, categorically, that Kuwabara has only the most innocent of intentions in holding Keiko's hand. 

(Well, running from the police isn't innocent, but...) 

I keep getting sidetracked. Plot! Keiko makes it to Yusuke's room and finds that he is already on fire. She then proceeds to try and put it out by patting it with her hands. I take back what I said about Keiko's smarts in this scene. Now we know where that supposed recklessness comes from though. Apparently they're both immune to fire! Nothing to worry about here, folks. 

JK she's actually in danger, despite the animation choices. By this point everyone, including Keiko, realizes that there's no way out: the fire has blocked the door. Sayaka then reveals that there is one way to save her. If Yusuke throws his egg into the fire, the energy of the spirit beast will release and guide her to safety. The catch? Hatch the egg early and it won't complete its intended function of guiding him back to his body. This beast is gonna guide one person and that is it. 

Cue Yusuke's near immediate decision to sacrifice his life for Keiko's. Granted, it's not precisely one life for another. Yusuke's resurrection was always contingent upon the beast not devouring him whole — something Koenma claims would have happened at the end of the episode — meaning that it's not technically a fair trade. Yusuke might have sacrificed Keiko's life for his own... only to fail to get that life back anyway. (There's a tragedy for ya.) To say nothing of how Yusuke is currently dead and has been for at least a couple of days, whereas Keiko very much is not. There's some sort of philosophical discussion there about potential being pit against current reality. 

BUT that's not the point! The emotional point is that he sacrificed his life for hers — the potential of his resurrection, the potential of that life he might have led — all technicalities aside. And I, for one, think that's very neat of him. 

A blue light shines as the egg's energy is released, providing a lovely contrast to the fire surrounding them. A path forms to the door and Keiko, recognizing Yusuke's presence, follows it. "We'll make it, Yusuke," Keiko says, which is one hell of a sucker-punch now that we know she's just carrying a corpse. Unbeknownst to Keiko, Yusuke is very much not making it. That's the only reason why she is. 

Kuwabara appears to help them the rest of the way which is also a pretty awesome thing considering that, from everyone else's perspective, the fire is still raging and blocking the door. Despite his spiritual awareness, Kuwabara gives no indication that he noticed this strange light, or Yusuke's hand in the rescue. Which basically means he lunged into a bunch of deadly fire for Keiko and doesn't question how in the world he isn't burned. 

Keiko's hands are fine, Kuwabara's whole body is fine... fire immunity must run in the friend group! 

Yusuke has another rare moment of vulnerability — "They're both okay" — and I cackle happily at the "both" because see. You love Kuwabara too, Yusuke! All this bluster about hating him and finding him annoying. The second he rushed into that fire you were crawling up the walls. 

Except then that happiness gives way to something that sounds a little more shocked. Devastated. "Well, I sure am... relieved..." Kudos to Cook's voice acting. You can hear the exact moment Yusuke realizes what he's done. Not that he regrets it, but the consequences are finally sinking in. He's relieved that they're safe, yes, but now he's never going to be able to rejoin them. 

As Yusuke has an(other) existential crisis, Kuwabara peels back the blanket Keiko had wrapped Yusuke in, revealing his face. “What are you doing with Yusuke’s body?! Are you some type of sick grave robber?” he shouts. God I love when a story actually keeps track of who knows what. Kuwabara, for all his recent involvement in the plot, doesn't actually know what's going on. From his perspective Yusuke died, he made a scene at the wake, he saved "his girl" from a bunch of thugs, lost a huge chunk of time only to wake up with her randomly hugging him (then slapping him), participated in a bet with his awful teacher and had a couple weird, Yusuke related dreams while studying, and has felt the presence of ghosts perhaps a little more frequently than usual. Now he's trying to help save Keiko from a fire only for her to reveal she risked her own life for Yusuke's body. Of course he's freaking out! What's she doing with that? 

What's utterly fantastic though is that Kuwabara takes all of five seconds to process this and then enters immediate Ride or Die mode for Keiko. She's been hoarding Yusuke's body for undetermined reasons? Well, who is he to judge? The important thing here is that people are arrested for keeping bodies, so they've gotta skedaddle before the firefighters show up. 

Hence, hand-holding and avoiding arrest. 

As Yusuke starts threatening Kuwabara not to get "fresh" with her, Botan sadly reminds him that he no longer has a say in who Keiko does or does not fall in love with. The switch in tone is jarring. Whereas before Botan would have teased him mercilessly for the crush, now she knows that nothing can come of that — and it would be cruel not to remind Yusuke of that too. 

"Oh no. I didn't think..." Yusuke whispers, further establishing that he knew the risks of using his egg, but hadn't allowed them to sink in yet. Now they have. 

He gives a fake little laugh with, "Just when it was getting good" and I cry at the development in the span of just four episodes. Despite what I said at the beginning about the show resetting each week, there has been a lot of change thus far. Yusuke wants to live now! He wants to be there for Keiko! He looks down on his tiny family and screams at the unfairness of it all! They're talking about how they can't wait for him to come back and now that's never gonna happen!!

It hurts, friends. It hurts a whole lot. 

During this conversation between Keiko, Atsuko, and Kuwabara, we see that a couple of hours have passed (it's nighttime now, the fire is out) and Atsuko is apologizing for putting them all in danger like that. And by that I mean yes, she does technically apologize with an "I'm sorry" and everything, but it's also a one sentence apology pit against... well, near death for the three people standing (and sitting) before her. Atsuko seems just as concerned by Keiko losing her hair as she does Keiko nearly burning to death and she kneels by Yusuke's wheelchair, baby-talking to him about how he forgives her, right? I love Atsuko, she's great, but objectively speaking she is not a good mother. Not right now, anyway. 

Oh yeah, and just to reiterate that: Keiko's hands are fine after patting down Yusuke's on-fire body, but her hair, which I'm pretty sure never catches, has to be cut short. Ah, anime logic. Funny thing is, YYH isn't the only story to take the love interest and give her a cool, short cut thanks to a traumatic event. Anyone read Ranma 1/2? 

During this conversation we also learn that, sometime between the fire and now, Keiko filled Kuwabara in on everything that's happening with Yusuke. Makes sense. He kneels beside the wheelchair, joining the others in telling Yusuke that they'll wait patiently for his return. Yusuke, above them, continues yelling about how they're waiting on a dead man. 

“It can’t be helped. He made this decision on his own." 

Except it can, in fact, be helped!

Just as all hope is truly lost, Koenma appears and announces that Yusuke will be returned to life. Why? Because sacrificing his egg for Keiko is a better indicator of his worth than the egg itself could have been. Despite feeding on his negative outlook and heading towards biting Yusuke's head off — something the animation backs up by showing us teeth during the fire

— Yusuke's act demonstrates a tendency towards being a "decent human being" that is "so rare." Wow. That's depressing. Still, yay that Yusuke has those qualities! And this, to my mind, helps explain Sayaka's presence. Koenma recognized that judging Yusuke couldn't be left to the egg alone and indeed, Sayaka took note of his worth before he ever threw the egg into the fire. First it was questioning why someone as amazing as Keiko would go for him, then it was solidified through the shock of Yusuke announcing that coming back to life was meaningless if she wasn't in it. Even if Keiko had somehow, miraculously escaped the fire before Yusuke's sacrifice, I bet Sayaka's report would have tipped him in resurrection's favor anyway. 

Everyone is, of course, overjoyed and my heart swells at the intense gratitude Yusuke displays. My favorite part though is when Koenma cryptically says that “Your added experience with death could make you very useful" (a nod towards future events that goes right over Yusuke's head) and his response to this is a yelled, "YOU THINK I'M USEFUL?" This poor kid. The God of everything ever is chucking out revelations left and right, about resurrections and spirit beasts, but the only thing that really penetrates is the realization that someone thinks he's useful. Talk about relatable. 

You know, I've been thinking about why this moment works so well. I mean, there are a lot of other stories where undermining the consequences our hero faces — either with humor, or by erasing them completely — can feel like the audience was cheated. I think YYH dodged that with a couple of crucial factors. First, Yusuke's consequence isn't something new that he's now avoided, it's just a permanent extension of something he was already dealing with. We did get to watch him inhabit the space between life and death, grappling with whether he'd ever be able to return. The story didn't deny us that growth, it just confirmed something we all instinctively knew: this tale won't end here with Yusuke permanently going to some afterlife. Second, the Deus ex Machina fix doesn't happen too soon. Yeah, it's only a couple of minutes in a single episode, but we (and Yusuke) still get to sit with that outcome for a while, soaking it in before its removal. Finally, there's no doubt that Yusuke earned this reprieve. Koenma's timing might be sudden and (if you're not genre savvy) unexpected, but looking back at the series as a whole thus far, we're able to agree absolutely that Yusuke deserves this. Far from feeling like we were cheated, this solution invites just as much celebration as we're seeing on screen, for the simple reason that we can buy into Koenma's reasoning. We know now that Yusuke is a good person. We saw him selflessly sacrifice his future for Keiko. We agree that he deserves a second chance. 

Thus, the episode ends with Yusuke flying up to fill the screen in his joy, a far better, final shot than Harry Potter and The Prison of Azkaban managed 😰

And that's it for Episode 4, folks! See you later for Episode 5 💕

[honestlyzenoouh]

Aaron Goes Big Instead Of Home (And Poor Kevin Dies A Bit Inside)

This fic is also on AO3 if you prefer to read over there :) 

This was all Neils fault, 100% the little assholes fault. It was a simple bet, a very small one indeed. The fact that Neil even agreed to the bet, should have tipped Aaron off from the very start. But sadly, Aaron is nothing but a salty bitch when it comes to Neil, and the fact the bet involved his brother was even better. He could kill two, no actually tree birds with one tiny victory. Convince his brother that his relationship with Neil was nothing but loveless sex, prove Neil wrong whilst also getting to humiliate him. Win win win.

Teeny tiny flaw in his plan though. Neil won. Neil actually got Andrew to casually display relationship like PDA. With Andrew initiating. Holding hands, kisses goodbye, softly touching hips to get by each other, the whole shebang. Fuck. Damnit. Crap. He wasn’t suppose to readily showcase his emotions towards Neil, he was suppose to prove to both Aaron and himself that the relationship was a fad, and let it fizzle out like his and Katelyns. Okay, he might have been a little bit bitter, as well as the usual annoyance Neil brings out in him, when he made the bet. Whatever.

So here Aaron stood, almost exactly six months after the bet started, in Katelyn’s bathroom just looking at the offending clothes. Katelyn and him might have broken up, but they still consider each other their platonic soulmates. The sex kinda spelled that out for them, not really enjoyable for either of them. Katelyn found out she definitely was on the asexual spectrum, where sex was only enjoyable for her sometimes. When they first got together she had laid all the cards on the table, and told him her feelings about sex, and Aaron had been very understanding and patient with her. It took a long time for their relationship to turn physical, other than the casual kissing and hand holding, and in the two and a half years they had been together, actual sex had only happened a handful of times. And only one of those times had been somewhat satisfactory for both of them.

It was after the last time they had sex, one of the worse experiences for both of them, that Katelyn suggested they might be right for each other. Aaron had wanted to argue with her, wanted to be hurt she would say such a thing, but Aaron had been having the same thoughts for a while before. Because while Katelyn might be asexual, Aaron sure as fuck wasn’t. He got urges and fantasies, and whilst he understood Katelyn didn’t, he also knew it wasn’t her fault they weren’t clicking right sexually. So they mutually decided that they might be better of as best friends instead of partners, but weren’t ready to tell people. Katelyn wasn’t ready to come out, and Aaron would like to keep his pride and not be pitied.

(The sexual identity crisis that sprung forwards in Aaron when he actually realized that it was not only Katelyn that didn’t find pleasure in their sex life is not to be spoken about. Internalized homophobia and too much alcohol doesn’t mix, too many tears, understanding Nickys, and not nearly enough answers. Whatever, he has time to figure it out when the time is right.)

The uniforms material felt way too heavy in his hands, considering it was only a two piece, yet it was surprisingly soft. He guessed that’s what happens if you actually use fabric softener, but what was he suppose to know? He didn’t care enough about his clothes to spend the extra cash on that shit. Katelyn does though, or whoever she borrowed the clothes from did.

He shifted the fabric around his fingers and actively considered forfeiting his dare. However the mere thought of letting Neil win even more, made him visible recoil and slightly nauseas. Fuck that, a thousand times over. A simple knock on the door and a voice asking if he was okay in there, got him out of his staring contest with the outfit, and mumble something even he wasn’t sure what meant.

Taking a deep breath he finally shimmed out of his pants, and pulled the undergarment of the uniform on. A bit shorter than he was used to, but not too bad. Taking off his hoodie and replacing it with the top, made it all a bit much, and way too real. He’s gonna lose his dignity as well as his masculinity to this. The bright orange Vixens uniform sat tight against his chest, but flowed nicely the rest of the way down. Turning a bit this way and that, he got to study his whole body. His ass which normally was kinda flat, popped a bit with the skirt accentuating its shape flatteringly. His shoulder and biceps got the same treatment with the tanktop’s broad straps. So maybe not all masculinity is lost to this. Gathering a bit of his spite for Neil, and general courage, he finally unlocked the door. Finding his last fucks to give after a couple of more moments, he also opened the door. Luckily, it was only Katelyn waiting for him. She moved her head from her phone and smiled from her upside down position on the couch.

“You good?” She simply asked him. Kneading the fabric of the skirt, and pulling at it a bit he nodded.

“As good as I’m gonna get, wearing a skirt because of a stupid fucking bet. I’m so stupid.” Pulling  a bit more on the skirt, he looked around. “Where are the others? I just really wanna get this over and done with” Katelyn helpfully pointed downward, hopefully meaning Fox Towers third floor and not the parking lot. Sighing and looking at her with tense shoulders, a question all by it self, she only raised an eyebrow and gave him a look. Obviously not the parking lot, who did he think she was? A monster? Him lifting one of his now unclenched shoulders, no, but you do enjoy to slightly bullying me, so why not. Katelyn snorted and finally got up from the couch.

“I thought about it, not going to lie to you, but your face when I gave you the uniform made me reconsider. You looked like a kicked puppy, it was so sad.” Aaron grunted to make his displeasure know, but followed her to the front door. He only hesitated a bit going through, so little only people who really knew him would realize. Luckily, (or unluckily, depending on how you view it) Katelyn was one of those very few people, and she put an arm around his shoulders for comfort. Together they walked the short way to stairs and down the two flights from fifth to the third floor, thankfully without running into anyone. The hallway of the third floor also blessedly empty, gave Aaron a false sense of fortitude. Holding on to it, until it became as genuine as it’s gonna be, he looked up to Katelyn, “Which room?”

After a quick glance at her phone, she nodded towards the upperclassmen’s room. Great, so Neil roped the whole team together to witness this. Fucker. Shaking off the rest of his nerves, he shrugged off Katelyn’s arm and walked up to the door. Opening and stepping inside made his heart start pounding, but nothing happened. Literally nobody was even looking at him, or acknowledging his presence at all. All eyes seem to be on his twin, currently laying face down on the floor. “This is the worst day of my life” came muffled from the floor. Looking from face to face, Aaron finally made eye contact with someone. Sadly that someone was Neil.

Raising an eyebrow at him, Aaron silently dared him to comment. Unable to backdown, Neil did just that. “Okay Minyard, that’s a bit low, even for you” Nodding towards Aarons chest area whilst he said so, made Aaron look down at the v-neck. Sure it was a bit deep, considering his lack of boobs, but it wasn’t that bad. The v stopped at about the middle of his chest, pale blond hairs exposed to world for once. Bracing himself once again for all the attention that was bound to come his way, now that Neil had spoken to him, he took another step into the room, Katelyn right behind him. But still, all eyes except for Neils’ were on his twin as an unenthusiastic “fuck you” came from the floor. This time it was Neil that raised an eyebrow, want to make a game of this? Aaron nodded once, intrigued with this whole situation.

“Seriously A, isn’t this a bit over the top?” Neil gestured a bit with his hands, presumably meaning the Vixens uniform. Fair question, when the forfeit only specified a skirt. But Aaron kinda lived by go big or go home, and when he asked Katelyn if he could borrow a skirt, and the only thing she had he would be able to fit in was the uniform he said fuck it. To answer Neils question he nodded towards Katelyn, who gave a tiny wave. A look of understanding crossed his face when an answer came from the floor. “This is a perfectly reasonable reaction” This startled a laugh out of Nicky, and made Kevin look up from Andrew towards Neil. When he saw him looking nowhere near Andrew he followed Neils eyesight and caught sight of Aaron. His eyes widened and he stood stock still, but not a noise or word passed through him. Aaron didn’t get the time to analyze that particular reaction, as Neil once more spoke up.

“Right, sure. Kevin, what is your take on the situation? I mean, he only lost a bet, isn’t that a bit overly dramatic?” The mischievous grin he wore didn’t bore well for Aaron. He knew something Aaron didn’t, that fucker. When all Kevin seemed able of answering was a stuttery mess, the foxes finally shifted their attention away from Andrew, most likely to laugh at Kevins inability to talk. Yet, once they saw Kevins now slightly awed expression, and both his and Neils direction of sight, they subsequently came to look in Aarons direction.

What followed was probably the most awkward five seconds of Aarons life. It started as a stunned silence, which was broken by Kevin sadly saying “This is a very bad time to have an identity crisis.”, after that all hell seemed to break loose. Nicky and Allison were actively trying to get Kevin to elaborate on that, and close some bets for them. Matt and Dan were looking at each other, and then at Aaron seemingly trying to work out how best to approach the situation. The new foxes tried to gently blend into the background and disappear with no luck. Only Renee was brave enough to face him. “Hello Aaron, I like your outfit. Is this a new thing we might see more often?”

The innocent question floored Aaron for a bit, and shut the foxes up again. Sure he was still trying to figure out his sexuality, but his gender identity was never a question for him. But now that he was thinking about it, he didn’t actually mind wearing the skirt. Sure it wasn’t completely comfortable, but it was a sports uniform. His own was made of the same kinda fabric and had the same feel, so he was use to that. But if he found a more modest skirt in more comfortable fabric, he didn’t think he’d mind it all that much. I did make his ass pop. Really thinking about that fact made his brain momentarily shut down. Once rebooted he looked Renee in the eyes and answered

“I don’t, I don’t think so? I mean, I’m not sure? It might? Can I get back to you on that one?” Trying to be more open with foxes had been a thing he’s been working on as a new years resolution, but here two months later, it was still really hard. Admitting that hurt a little. Shifting his attention towards Neil again he suddenly realized something. “You didn’t tell them did you?”

“No, I didn’t actually think you would go through with it.” He shrugged his shoulders and smirked at Aaron

“Tell us what?” Came from floor. Andrew had finally decided to join the conversation, apparently. He had only turned his face from directly down, to towards Aaron at the door. He didn’t seem too judgmental, only a bit confused. Ever since Bee had finally convinced Andrew to try a new type of medication, to treat his bipolar disorder and depression, Andrew had become a whole new person. A much more readable person, but you still can’t be a 100% sure with him.

“I made a bet with Neil, and obviously lost. So my punishment was to go out of my comfort zone in the clothes department, considering and I quote; I bitch so much about his. I thought a skirt was the most out there for me. Why are you lying on floor?” Ah, the dreaded communication they needed to better. They were getting there, albeit slowly. Bee helped a lot.

“Andrew got cocky about his biceps, and Matt challenged it with an arm wrestle match. As you can probably guess, Andrew lost.” Dan cheerfully informed from beside Matt, who looked rightfully smug. This made Andrew turn downwards agin and groan sadly. “I benchpress more than any of you” was spoken into the floor. This made the foxes laugh once more. Aaron shuffled a bit from foot to foot, and made the tactful decision to leave with all the focus on his brother. He technically did do the forfeit after all. Get out of his comfort zone and show at least 4 different foxes. Whether it was individually or in a group was up to him.

When he got to his room and about to close the door, he got stopped by a hand on the frame. A very uncomfortable looking Kevin was the owner of said hand. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, and took a big breath, but didn’t say anything. He then got into motion and just walked into the room. Well then. “What do you want Kevin?” Crossing his arm across his chest, Aaron “patiently” awaited an answer.

“Go on date. Me with. I mean, uuuhhh” Aaron’s brain shut down once more, and this time the reboot apparently took a little too long, because when he refocused in on Kevin once more the man was fidgeting. Which wasn’t something Aaron had ever seen him do. What the fuck was happening here? Was Kevin actually asking him out? And more importantly, why was he asking him out? As far as Kevin was concerned, him and Katelyn was still happily together. He tried to come up with an answer, but Kevin’s flickering eyes threw him off. They kept going from his face to the skirt and then landing on the v neckline. It was almost a pattern. His eyes went from the skirt to his face again when he suddenly spoke up again.

“You need to change. I just. I can’t think, and I really want to talk to you, because I overheard Nicky one time, but I don’t really know if it was just Nicky being Nicky or if it’s actually true. I did ask him but he shut down and wouldn’t even look at me for three days after, so I don’t know for sure. So can you make me think? I mean change. Pl- if you could be as kind.”

Aaron thought he nodded before he turned and walked in to the dorms bedroom, but he honestly wasn’t sure. So many thoughts swirled around in his head, made it hard to concentrate on getting changed. Had Nicky really been so careless he accidentally outed him? It was with Nicky he had had his sexuality revelation and cry with, that cursed night after a Trip to Eden.

It had been a few weeks after Katelyn and him had called it off relationship wise, and Aaron had been having these weird feelings and his mind kept supplying him with these random observation. Objectively speaking, your Chemistry 102 TA is attractive. His sharp cheekbones and plumb lips are attractive features to have. The boy sitting across from you smells nice, wonder what cologne he uses? The man behind the counter at the coffee shop had really nice eyes. They were a warm brown you could get a little lost in.

He had just crossed the doorway into the house when the thought hit him. What if the reason that sex with Katelyn wasn’t satisfying for him, wasn’t because of the fact that Katelyn was asexual and weren’t as in to it as he was, but because she was a girl? What if the reason he seemingly couldn’t have as good an orgasm with a partner then alone, was because he had the wrong gendered partner. He had had earlier girlfriends in high school, both before and after Andrew had arrived, but he always seemed to excuse the bad sex as inexperience. But what if it wasn’t?

That had floored Aaron completely, and he had taken a stuttered breath and stumbled to the couch so he could sit down. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind, hopefully just chalking it up to drunken behavior, not the life revelation it had been. Neil and Andrew hadn’t been drinking that night, and they wasted no time bringing their things up to Andrew’s bedroom to go to bed.  Kevin had stayed at Palmetto to spend the weekend with his father, but Nicky had bargained with Andrew for them to go to Columbia anyway, and gotten his way somehow. (Aaron hadn’t asked, didn’t really want to know.) When they arrived at Eden he had all but begged Aaron to drink with him. So Aaron had matched him drink for drink, and actually had a good time. He even danced a bit with a random person with a pixie cut and let a little loose.

He hadn’t realized the tears gathering, nor the way his breathing had picked up until Nicky appeared out of nowhere sitting down next to him. He had swirled his head to look Nicky in the eyes, and the easy going smile he had on his face died when he saw Aaron’s face. He must have looked terrified because Nicky sounded completely sober when he spoke,

“Aaron are you okay? What’s wrong? Did something happen at Eden? Should I go get Andrew?” The more he spoke, the faster the words spilled out and the more panicked he sounded. Aaron tried to draw in a breath to answer him, but it got stuck in his throat so he just shook his head desperately. He really didn’t want to include Andrew too, and rather die than include Neil. Nicky had nodded his head, but still looked at him worriedly. When he finally mastered the art of breathing again he blurted out what he should have said ages ago, even before his little revelation.

“I’m sorry Nicky, I’m so sorry” He crumbled while he said it, and his head had landed in Nicky’s lap. The tears had started to fall about halfway through his apology and he didn’t predict them to stop anytime soon. But neither did the muttered apologies, I’m so sorry spoken softly into Nicky’s thigh. Nicky was bordering on hysteric at that point, franticly petting his hair and seemingly answering Aaron’s apologies

“It’s okay, I forgive you! I don’t really know what you’re apologizing for, but it can’t be that bad! Sure, you’re kinda an asshole, but you’re apologizing so you’re not that big of one. Why do you keep apologizing? It’s okay, I’m right here. Whatever you did I’m always gonna be in your corner, so please stop crying I don’t know what to do! How can I help? If you don’t calm down I’ll have to go get Andrew because I really don’t know how to help you if you don’t speak to me, and I’m starting to get really worried now. Please talk to me.”

It was only when Nicky had started to shift around, as if trying to get up, that Aaron finally snapped out of it. He wrapped his arms tightly around Nicky’s legs and shook his head, turning around to look up at him with pleading eyes. Nicky had looked back at him, tears in his eyes as well and shifted once more. “I’m giving you two minutes to start explaining or I’m getting him. This will not go unspoken of, do you hear me Aaron? I’m pretty sure you’re having a mental break down or something, and you can’t keep that all inside. That is super unhealthy and can cau-“

“I think I might be gay” Nicky had gotten very quiet and still, just looking at Aaron and blinking rapidly. Aaron took a steadying breath and wiped his face free of tears, head still in Nicky’s lap. Figuring fuck it, I already said the hardest part he continued speaking, voice croaking making it deeper than normal.

“I don’t actually know, I just. I keep having these thoughts ever since Katelyn and I broke up, which we did like, a month ago, and I think my brain is just now connected the dots because apparently I’m fucking stupid, and can’t figure out that sex wasn’t as satisfying as regular masturbation, was not because the people I’m with are bad at it, but because they don’t have what I need. Or is it the bad thing and I’m only overanalyzing? The only thing I’m really sure of right now is the fact I’m a huge asshole for giving you and Andrew such a hard time for being gay, when I might be it too. That and apparently I find my chemistry TA hot, and like the way men smell and what is wrong with me?” Aaron sniffed and a few more tears fell from his eyes. They were starting to feel a bit sore now. Aaron had jumped when Nicky suddenly took a huge breath and whispered something that sounded like okay, you can do this. Making eye contact with his older cousin he got a small smile. He reached down wipe the last of the tears away, and began petting his hair again. Much more soothingly this time around.

“So this is a lot to unpack, so what do you say we take it in small bites hmm?” When all Aaron did was nod, he continued on, “So you and Katelyn broke up? Are you okay in regards to that?”

Aaron looked down at his hands, playing with his fingers but answered him, “Yeah, about a month ago. Maybe a little longer. It was an actual mutual decision, something we both felt needed to be done. We had a big fat discussion about our feelings and called it quits. We just aren’t ready to tell just yet. Might not for a while to be honest. She has some things to work through, and she’s my best friend so of course I’ll put it off for as long as she needs.” Shrugging his shoulders he looked up again.

“Okay then, I’m happy to hear you’re doing okay there. These… thoughts you mentioned, what exactly do you mean?” Wincing a little, Aaron had tried to clarify his brains jumbled observations. They sat on the couch talking about each and everything Aaron had been feeling and thinking about those past two months. Aaron found that Nicky could be surprisingly quiet and understanding, and that it was really cathartic to talk about it all. So apparently Aaron could see the attractiveness about guys, but he didn’t know if he wanted to date them. Kissing had crossed his mind once or twice, but quickly shut down because he wasn’t ready to think about it.

The last thing Aaron had asked of Nicky before they went to bed that night, a few hours later, was that he kept quiet. He wasn't ready to explore his sexuality, let alone come out. Nicky had given him an understanding smile and sighed out of course.

A knock on the door startled Aaron out of his memory and into the present again. Shrugging his hoodie over his head he decided to just get it over and done with. Fucking Kevin sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. When he was fully dressed once more, he walked over to the door and ripped it open.

"What do you want Kevin?" He said maybe a little too forcefully. Kevin had moved away from the door, and was sitting at the couch Matt had supplied the living room with. He gestured to the other end where he was sitting. Sighing to make his displeasure known, he got to the couch and plopped down. Looking over at the other boy he repeated his question, a bit more mellow this time. Kevin was sitting with his legs curled up under him, his right hand playing with the fabric of his pants.

"A date, ideally. With you, specifically." His face was set in a small smile, eyes sparkling hopefully. Aaron's heart sank a little, so Nicky had outed him. Accidental or not, that still shot a pang of panic and hurt through him. Before he could muster up the energy to answer him, Kevin continued,

"I don't actually know if you'd be interested, or even actually into boys. About three weeks ago, I overheard Nicky speaking to who I assume was Erik, considering he was speaking some german. He kept switching between english and german though, and going on a tangent about queerness being genetic, the twins, and breaking up with girlfriends. Never mentioning any names. So I don't- I'm not actually sure it was you he was talking about. I tried to ask him but he just shouted no, hung up the phone and all but ran away from me. He haven’t really spoken to me yet. I think he feels bad, because I overheard him.”

A feeling of relief spread through Aaron. Even though Nicky had spoken about their conversation from months ago, he had worded it so only people who knew Nicky intimately would have a clue. Or simply think he was talking about Andrew. Still feeling some of his earlier panic, Aaron opened his mouth to profusely deny deny deny, not at all ready to talk about his sexuality again, he remembered a tiny detail from Kevin’s explanation. If he had overheard Nicky three weeks ago, why in the world hadn’t he said anything? Either to him or the others? Closing his mouth again, Aaron tried to calculate what would happen if he “came out” to Kevin. He wasn’t even sure what the ever-loving fuck he was, other than not straight, but if Kevin had held tight for those three weeks maybe he would for however long it took for Aaron to figure it out. One small parentheses made the equation hard though. Kevin’s apparent desire to date Aaron. Aaron might not be the best at math, but a huge glaring pair of parentheses in an equation needed to be addressed first, in order to solve said equation. Right? Aaron’s pre-med not a simple math major, how was he supposed to know?

“Why?” It had slipped out of Aaron’s lips without permission, but he really needed to know before they got any further in this equation. Why now? Why him? Kevin furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, apparently not getting Aaron’s question. Aaron elaborated his inner thoughts, and the questions made Kevin pause. A slight flush rose across his cheeks, but it didn’t take long for him to gather his thoughts, only a shake of his head.

“So, I’ve been talking to Bee right? In the process of becoming sober” Aaron nodded, not really in the mood to actually talk right now. Luckily, Kevin continued on.

“Okay, so. She hasn’t just been helping me getting sober, also just. Better? In general. We have been talking trough my growing up, and Riko and Andrew. Just. Everything I guess. It made me realize some things, and she has been encouraging me to do something about it. I haven’t wanted to, until three weeks ago, where I heard I might have an actual chance.” He shrugged his shoulders, now looking down at his lap, really focusing on the piece of fabric between his fingers. Aaron’s mouth went a little dry at that implication, not that he really knew why.

He thought all bravery had left his body, after having to endure his forfeit, but apparently not because he felt himself reaching his right hand across and over Kevin’s left. It made him start and look up at Aaron. Sitting there with his hand over Kevins made him feel the same sense of fuck it, as he had with Nicky all those weeks ago. So throwing caution into the wind, he unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, and asked what he thought was the most pressing matter.

“What did you realize?” Kevin’s face went from flush to straight up red, but he kept his eyes locked with Aaron.

“Apparently it is possible to admire people of the same sex aesthetically, and not just because of their exy skills. And that I find your personality and general body incredibly attractive.”

Kevin’s voice had gone down an octave, and the sound of it sent a shot of something, through his stomach. The very same something he has been feeling pertaining his chemistry TA lately. Great, now he also found fucking Kevin hot. Not that that might be a problem with Kevin considering the resent confession. Though now that he really thought about it, Kevin really is an attractive person. He has sharp cheek bones, but his green eyes softens his face up, so he doesn’t look so severe. His nose is slightly upturned, but with a tiny bump on the bridge, which is something Aaron hadn’t noticed before. Wonder where he got it from? Exy most likely. His thighs has the same kind of muscle definition that Katelyn has, which is something Aaron has always found arousing.

He should probably say something though, instead of just mindlessly looking at Kevin. The poor dude looked about one breath away from a minor break down. He shook his head to clear it from his Kevin related epiphany.

“Fuck it okay, all cards on the table?” He gestured with his left hand, just now noticing his right still laying over Kevins. When he got a hesitant nod from him, he continued on now determined.

“I don’t actually know what I am, other than maybe not straight. Katelyn and I are broken up yes, but we haven’t actually told anyone. Not ready yet” A slight flush rose across his own cheeks when he thought about his next admission, “And I kinda find you aesthetically pleasing as well.”

A small smile spread across Kevin’s face and he opened his mouth, but Aaron cut him of before any words could come through. “But! But, I really don’t know what that means. And I don’t think it’s fair for you, if I didn’t make that abundantly clear first. Your face is attractive, I think, and I know you enough to feel safe maybe starting a thing with you. Just, some minor things before you ask me again?”

Kevin nodded his head quickly and opened his mouth again, but once again Aaron cut him off before he could speak. “Okay so one;” He held a finger up on the hand not holding Kevin’s. 

“I’m nowhere near ready to tell people about anything related to my sexuality, so if we do this. It’d have to be in complete secret,” Another finger joined the first one and he went on. “Two, we’d have to take it slow. I don’t know what I’m comfortable with, or how far I’m willing to go, so you’d need to be patient with me. Possibly really patient with me.”

He raised a third finger to go with his last bit.

“And lastly but most important, you need to tell me if things isn’t working for you anymore. I know I come with a lot of rules and regulations, but I need to figure out if this is really for me. You feel safe enough for me to try with specifically, but if that ever ends up not being enough for you, you tell me. Immediately. That is very important to me. If there is one thing my relationship with both Katelyn and Andrew have taught me anything it is honesty is super important. Well, and consent but you know Andrew too so of course you know that. Okay, you can talk now.” He unfurled his hand, and waved it at Kevin’s to demonstrate his point. Kevin looked a little shell shocked after being loaded with all that information, and he took a moment but finally he spoke, his small smile lighting up his eyes.

“Yeah, I can work with that.”

It was spoken softly, and it took Aaron an extra two seconds to realize what Kevin meant. He still wanted to “date” Aaron, even with all these rules. And he had not seen that coming, expecting Kevin to give up and find someone new to pester about dating. He hadn’t really taking his stubbornness into consideration, which really was an oversight on Aaron’s part, and predicted this would happened.

“Ask me again.” He challenged him, a small part of him still excepting him to not go through with it. And by now, Aaron kinda really wanted to go on this gay adventure with Kevin.

Kevin’s smile grew in size, and made a dimple appear in his right cheek, another thing Aaron hadn’t noticed Kevin do(had, could?), and he shifted closer to Aaron. He shifted his left hand so they were holding hands, rather than Aaron holding Kevins, and took hold of his right hand as well, placing both in his lap. Aaron could feel his cheeks warming up, but didn’t hinder his movements.

“Would you like to go on a date with me? And maybe hold a little hands with me? That’s all I ask for now, and we can figure adjustments out as we see fit in the future. And secrecy is okay with me at the moment, and I promise to tell you if I change my mind.”

Aaron’s whole upper body felt warm now, most likely a blush, but he also felt surprisingly excited. This had suddenly turned into a thing Aaron really wanted to explore. Mirroring Kevin’s smile he answered, feeling confident in his mental math. This equation wasn’t so hard to solve as the first one.

“Yeah okay, I think I’d really like that”

Part 1 of “Aaron Tries His Best”

1 - 2(coming soon)

[emeraldtawny]

Kenshin x MC: Happier

The 150 follower appreciation fic for @cailannuesugi who requested some Kenshin angst~!

Today was a floofy day so it ends with some floof. I apologise this took as long as it did, but I hope the wait was worth it and that you like it! :3 Enjoy~~~ Also this is the first time I have ever written Kenshin so I am only a teeny tiny bit nervous dbzsfklfbgzk

She always smiles with such radiance, such unblemished joy that he can’t stop the myriad of binds she holds around his heart tightening with each beatific expression she makes, nor would he ever want it to stop. This pain, originally so foreign and dangerous that he wished for nothing more than to push it away - he now embraces it as he does life itself, with nothing short of contentment and happiness.

He thought she felt the same, he knew she did when he offered her a home in Echigo with him. No force on this planet would be able to wipe the memory of her smile as she answered him from Kenshin’s mind, himself convinced he just witnessed the stars aligning to bring about such a breathtaking phenomenon. The days were calm, peaceful even, as they enjoyed their newfound life of bliss in this war-torn time.

...he thought she was happy.

Lately though, things seem to paint a different story to the Dragon of Echigo. Disputes within his territories have resulted in his extended absences from Kasugayama Castle, a necessary yet incredibly unwanted undertaking. All he wants is to see her, to make her shine like the sun itself as she alone has the power to match the gas giant in radiance. Yet with each return, a picture begins to form, getting clearer and clearer each time he comes back.

Her gorgeous lips curled up for another. Two others. The courtyard is filled with her bubbly laughter as she chats animatedly with his ninja and his allied rival. The three seem unaware of Kenshin who watches discreetly from the corner of the corridor. His fingers twitch against the handle of his blade, a sudden loud, piercing thought to cajole him to take arms and rush forward to let his blade express his concerns. He almost does, but thoughts of her stop him, as they so often did nowadays.

(I’ve been thinking lately that you’ve not been as happy, but it seems I was wrong. This image of you showing that innocently beautiful smile to Shingen and Sasuke...I can’t deny it hurts.)

He pulls back, removing his eyes from the scene before him, the emotions swirling within them as conflicting as their alternate colours.

(Perhaps she would be happier if my presence was removed from hers. I hate the thought, but if it makes her happy…)

His mind under-exaggerates his pain, the thought of you confiding, consoling, feeling for another; it takes everything within Kenshin’s right mind to hold back the demons that still corrupt his thoughts despite his best efforts - a monster that will never be slain, only contained. It awakens with the rotting smell of envy in the air, its bloodlust throbbing with a need to quench it.

“Kenshin?”

He blinks, porcelain face twisting in shock as she stares back at him, her head tilted quizzically. She’s beautiful, but when is she not?, Kenshin thinks to himself. But her light still holds too much purity for his soul to take sometimes, especially now as his mind wallows in the thick black muck of jealousy.

“I have returned, ___. I only came to announce my return, however. I shall be busy with land distributions and reports so do not disturb me.”

A bile of lies seeps from his lips. He turns to walk away, but the softest resistance of her hand grabbing his sleeves halts all movement.

“Kenshin, are you okay? You don’t seem like yourself. If there’s anything I can do--”

He shakes her free, her hand suspended in the air from the shock paralysing her. Kenshin walks away, calling back to her without even turning his head to face her.

“Leave me to my work, ___.”

Such brusque words, yet spoken so calmly. They cut into her heart, her face falling as he watches him leave, feet rooted to the ground when her mind screams to chase him, knowing of his chaotic history with his inner psyche. Meanwhile, Kenshin sighs, resigning himself to his room to bury himself in his work.

(You’re too pure for this place, ___. And infinitely purer than me. Don’t let me corrupt you.)

…

Days pass, the sun crawling agonisingly slowly across the sky each passing cycle. Another day without seeing her smiling face to calm his inner turmoil. Another day where the murkiness around him builds further, forming an outer wall nigh impenetrable. Marble eyes of jade and sapphire glisten joylessly, their only function sight as Kenshin buries himself deep within the recesses of his mind.

(It’s all for her. I may hurt and struggle to breathe, but if she’s truly happier without me, I cannot deny her...I really am a fool for her.)

A smile cracks his exterior, but it holds no mirth. A plastic smile simply acknowledging that his beloved is happy - that’s all Kenshin needs, or so he tells himself.

“Kenshin? I’m coming in.”

The warm, deep voice calls his gaze to the door. It slides open to reveal Shingen. He smiles his usual calm smile as he steps into the room, his grey eyes holding not even a flicker of the warmth his lips portray.

“I’m busy.”

“Re-writing the fifth set of documents for the same command? I find that unlikely.”

Kenshin’s eyebrows furrow as he meets Shingen’s oppressing look, his eyes finally flaring to life, yet with annoyance. Shingen sighs.

“Whatever your reason is this time for holing yourself away, I would suggest breaking out of it. You’re now severely worrying our goddess.”

“She’s--”

(Not your goddess...but she’s not mine either.)

He stops himself, the lingering thought pulling his eyebrows even tauter. Perceptive Shingen notices of course, the gears in his mind turning in that infuriating way Kenshin despises.

“You’re the only one who can make her feel better, Kenshin. No matter what nonsense your brain is telling you. She needs you.”

With that, Shingen leaves as quickly as he came, the door clattering as it’s slid shut. Kenshin’s eyes watch the door before slowly letting them fall to the paper on his desk and the brush in his hand.

(Why would she need me if she was perfectly content without me? He must be wrong. But, it IS Shingen. His insight is almost too perfect sometimes.)

“...Dammit.”

He drops the brush carelessly, letting it roll over his desk. Ascending and moving with the grace expected of the God of War, Kenshin leaves his room, his feet guiding him to her room without a second thought.

(This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be doing this.)

He reaches the door.

(She’s happier without me. She--)

A sniffle, it's sound nothing more than a whisper. Kenshin stops, expression hardening and he waits, holding his breath. Again it’s heard, a shaky breath accompanying it, the sound constricted and tight as if it forced itself free of its confines.

(She...she isn’t happy?)

The door is thrown open, the loud clatter of wood snapping her neck towards the door. His eyes widen, his face reflected back to him in her tears, hanging like crystals from her lashes and falling over the precipice of the corners of her eyes. His thoughts are blank, unable to register how his feet have moved to rush toward her, kneeling and reaching for her. He envelops her and pulls her closer, her body tensing and shivering at his unfairly gentle hold on her. A choked breath escapes her, her fingers clinging to the collar of his kimono with trembling fingers.

“You should’ve told me…”

The rawness of her voice - her words barely escaping from her tight throat - they wound Kenshin. The black darkness around him parts for her, effortlessly peeling back his walls and shedding some light on his deficient heart.

“I told myself you’d be fine, I trusted you to get through this. Please, Kenshin. Never scare me like that again.”

His hands tense against her back, gripping her tighter as she mumbles more of her ceaseless worries against his chest. Each one pierces light into his heart, each one relieves his burden from the problems he drove himself into. Each one cleanses him and speaks to him clearly; ___ is the cornerstone of both their happiness.

“I’m sorry,” He hums the words softly against her hair, hands trailing up and down her back to make their presence known, his heart tightening in delight at her shivers, “How do you put up with me? How am I worthy of you and your shining light?”

Her grip on his kimono tightens and she pushes back to look him in the eye, tears still freshly staining her face. The clear, silent resolve in her eyes calms him, unspeakably smitten by her clear desires and inconcealable strength.

“Because I love you.”

Eyes widening, his muscles stiffen as her lips seek his, hot, wet and salty from her tears. He blinks before it fully sets in; the fact that she accepts him, puts up with him...because she truly cares. He chides himself every single time his mind slips the thought, and each time it is remembered anew, he’s left rendered speechless by the beautiful woman before him.

She gasps against his lips as they surge forward to claim her, her own eyes widening before rolling back from his hand clawing between her shoulder blades, his nails scraping through the fabric of her clothing still deliciously harsh. His tongue demands entrance to her mouth, parting her lips and making his presence known. He’s lost to the magic spell of her sighs and whimpers, the torrent of toxic thoughts finally washing with the crashing waterfall that is their lips pressing together, seeking more of each other without any desire to rest. He uses his body to push her down to the tatami, neither concerned for anything other than the sight in front of them, their lips connecting again, their caress more impassioned than the last.

(My happiness is yours, ___. Please, never stop reminding me. Keep me bathed in this cleansing light.)

She glows with the iridescence of a diamond as Kenshin disrobes her, claiming the woman he loves, his heart warming when she returns in kind.

[sunyoonandstars]

BTS Scenario 2.2.: You need distance

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Scenario

You and them are in a committed relationship, but for some reason you confront them about needing space and / or reconsidering your relationship.  

angst, fluff, just a teeny tiny bit of smut

****************************************************

Min Yoongi / Suga 

You had been quietly sitting by Yoongis side in his studio for hours already, and he had barely spared you a glance, preoccupied with producing a new track, only giving vague replies, if any at all, whenever you actually dared to talk to him. It had been like this for weeks, and even though you gladly came by now and then to provide him with healthy home cooked meals and snacks and make sure he ate, and loved watching him work, you needed more than this. You missed him. And couldn't shake the feeling that you needed him more than he did you. 

Actually, you had come here today with the intention of confronting Yoongi about his lack of affection and involvement recently, but couldn't bring yourself to speak up. 

Now, that you have finally gathered all your courage, you noisily get up from the sofa and clear your throat to get his attention. He doesn't turn around, but you can see his brows contract in annoyance. „Would you mind keeping it down? I’m trying to work here. Seriously.“ His sharp words sting like needles. You’re close to tears now, as you let your eyes wander over his hunched figure, wanting to touch him, to feel him, but paralyzed, too afraid of being pushed away again like you were so many times before. „I’m going to leave now, Yoongi.“ He shows no reaction. You can’t even tell if he heard you. „And I’m not coming back tomorrow“, you continue. „Or the day after tomorrow or the day after that.“ Silence. Your hands clench around the fabric of your sleeves as you desperately try to keep your voice from shaking while finally saying out loud what you had been silently rehearsing in your imagination for hours now: „I think we should take a break, Yoongi. I don't know if I can do this anymore. This is not a relationship. Hell, I’m not even sure anymore if this is love. Well, whatever the fuck it is, I’m out. Maybe just for now, probably for good, I’ll see.“ Yoongi remains motionless, doesn't even lift his gaze from the computer screen. You feel as if you’re choking on his silence, suddenly unable to breath, nausea quickly rising up your throat. Without another word you turn around and leave, closing the door behind you, forcing yourself to mask your anger and walk away slowly, steadily. The last thing you want right now is for him to know how hurt and upset you really are, especially since your words and their meaning didn't seem to have any effect on him at all. Of course not. Since you obviously were the only one of you truly invested in this relationship from the very beginning, it’s only logical you’re also the only one being affected by its brutal ending. You can't help but smile bitterly at your conclusion. You quickly leave the building, almost running near the end, partly hoping and partly afraid that Yoongi would follow you. But, as expected, he doesn’t. Out of breath, you sink to the wall next to the exit, wiping tears from your face, angry at yourself for being a cry baby. Years ago you had sworn to yourself that you would never let a man make you cry again. But lying to Yoongi like that, telling him you weren't sure if you loved him anymore, was simply too much for you to take, since the only damn thing in your life you are utterly sure of is the simple fact that you will always, always, love the man that is Min Yoongi. Nothing could ever change your feelings for him, not even his cold behavior towards you. You had been lost ever since he had first allowed you a glance at his beautiful soul. And that’s what makes walking away right now by far the hardest task you’ve ever had to accomplish. But you keep going, setting one foot in front of the other, your insides forming an ice-cold knot under your heart. But you keep going, fighting the pain and the urge to turn back with every step you take. Yoongi obviously made up his mind. He didn't even try to convince you to stay, so there is really no choice but to accept his decision, you tell yourself repeatedly, trying your best to make your aching heart understand, while you keep walking, headphones on, blasting loud music, a pitch-black numbness slowly expanding in your chest. Only at nightfall you realize that, in your daze, you had kept on walking aimlessly throughout the whole afternoon. Tired and shivering from the cold you somehow make your way home. As you approach your building and take out the keys to the main entrance, you spot a dark, hooded figure leaning against the door. Fear gets a grip on you for a second, instantly sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins, before you recognize the familiar frame and freeze on the spot. Hesitantly, he takes a step out of the shadows towards you, revealing his face. You can't help but notice the red circles underneath his deep, black eyes. „Min Yoongi“, you greet him, trying hard to keep your tone indifferent. „I didn't expect to see you here. Or to see you again at all, for that matter.“ Obviously anxious, he shifts from one foot to another, his eyes cast down, hands buried in the pockets of his oversized sweatshirt. „What is it, Yoongi? What do you want?“ You hate being so harsh, especially with him apparently being in such a vulnerable state. But you know from experience that it’s the only way to draw him out. „Speak now or leave. Seriously, Yoongi, I’m tired of your bullshit. I’m just so fucking tired!“ You can feel tears welling up in your eyes. „Do you understand? I’m tired. Tired of talking to the walls you built around yourself. Tired of missing you, when you’re right next to me. Tired of fighting for us all by myself.“ Now, finally, he lifts his gaze, finding yours. The expression in his eyes takes your breath away. Never before have you seen so much hurt, sorrow, fear, love and remorse congregated in one single look. It seems to you as if, in this moment, the whole of the universe rests in his eyes, in all its tragic beauty. „Why didn't you hold me back?“, you ask, your voice cracking. „Why didn't you say anything?“ „I simply couldn’t“, he replies, shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. „I was like … in shock or something. I swear to you, it took me at least half a minute before I could even breathe again. I don't know what the fuck you do to me, but I don't want it to stop. I didn't want you to leave then, and I don't want you to leave now.“ Yoongi takes another step towards you, cupping your face with his hands, leaning in. By now he's close enough for you to feel his heavy breath on your lips. „I want you, y/n. No, I need you. I never intended to hurt you, I hope you know that. It’s just … I love you too fucking much. It scares the shit out of me, okay!? I don’t know how to do this. My instincts tell me to protect myself, to keep you at a distance, to push you away. But I don’t want that. I won’t give in to them anymore. From now on I’ll fight for you, for us, with everything I’ve got, alright? I will never ever let you go again, y/n. I swear.“ His gaze still fixed to yours he leans in for a deep, longing kiss you return without hesitation. It lasts for what feels like an eternity, growing increasingly passionate and lustful, your hands buried in his hair, his on your neck and slowly wandering down your back. The both of you are so lost in each other, you forget you’re still standing in the middle of the street, until you’re painfully made aware of that fact by a couple of drunkards passing by, cheering you on. Instinctively you separate, laughing awkwardly. Still catching your breath you straighten your crinkled shirt, while Yoongi watches you, his eyes dark with passion. 

You know all to well what that look means.

Grinning mischievously he takes you by the hand and pulls you close again. „What do you say, y/n, shall we take this to your bedroom?“, he whispers at your ear, his husky voice sending shivers through your body.

**************************************************************************

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[escarghosting]

Hello hello @eli-and-fictional-sons​!! Coincidentally, I was also your secret santa for the @vncsecretsanta​! Here’s you’re gift; it’s sort of a college au, but there’s hardly any mention if college so *shrugs* I had fun writing it! This is my first fic for vnc so if either of them seem ooc, that’s why lol. Hope you enjoy it! Happy new years!

Title: Love Thy Neighbor

Rating: T, mostly for swearing

Word count: 1536

Summary: Vanitas really doesn’t like his neighbor. Really. No matter how attractive he may be. So why exactly does he agree let him use his shower?

Vanitas really…didn’t like his next door neighbor.  

Noe was his name. Ever since the guy moved in, there was always something the other did that pissed them off. It all started when Noe started parking in Vanitas’ spot. No matter how often he yelled at him about it, Noe still managed to park in his spot at least once a week. Things just went downhill from there.  

At some point in the past 5 months of living next to each other, Vanitas started going out of his way to piss Noe off; his favorite was playing loud music early in the morning, because Noe was nothing but grumpy without at least 8 hours of sleep. Yes, Vanitas was that petty.  

But what really peeved Vanitas about Noe is how…perfect he was. When Vanitas wasn’t doing things to annoy him, Noe was actually pretty nice. He gave Vanitas rides sometimes when the weather was too bad to take his bike (although music in the car was another source of tension between them), and he checked up on him often to make sure he was eating and sleeping well, because “no one should look as dead as you do” (which, unsurprisingly, aggravated Vanitas to no end). He was naïve, but it was kind of endearing. Sometimes.   

He was also fine as hell, not that Vanitas would ever admit it. Tall, well-built, pretty eyes, and to-the point about everything. Noe might as well be the man of Vanitas’ dreams, and he hated it.  

…Okay, maybe he had a teeny tiny crush.  

 It didn’t matter anyway, nothing would ever come of it. Why would Noe ever like him back? All Vanitas did was purposefully annoy him. Most of their conversations consisted of pointed glares and hardly contained anger, mostly from Vanitas. Noe deserved to be with someone much better than him.  

‘Maybe you guys just need to get together, let out that awkward sexual tension. I bet you that’s the reason you’re always so cranky with each other, idiot.’  

Vanitas slammed the butter knife down on the counter. Screw Dante and his stupid advice! What did he know anyway? He was just some baldy with as much romance experience as a doormat. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about right now. He stared down at his unfinished peanut butter sandwich. He couldn’t eat now, he was too bitter. Maybe I’ll just take a hot shower and lay down for the night, he thought. It wasn’t even 9:00, but there’s nothing wrong with a little extra sleep, right? In fact, Noe would probably be proud—  

Ohhh, no. That thought was going to end right there. Vanitas dragged himself to the bathroom—which wasn’t very far in this tiny apartment—but before he could turn on the faucet, there was a knock at the door.  

Fan-fucking-tastic.  

“Who could possibly be knocking at this hour?” Vanitas muttered angrily. He was in no mood to humor anyone for anything. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Vanitas stomped over to the door and flung it open. “This had better be impor—” 

Standing in the hallway was none other than Noe himself. He was holding a towel and a hair brush in one arm, dressed in his loose white pajamas. The look on his face was awkward and somewhat...pained? 

Vanitas couldn’t stop himself from admiring the other man. The way strands of white hair fell into his face, or how his shirt hugged his broad shoulders...  

Stooooooop! 

“What do you want?  This had better be important, Noe,” he spat.  

Noe pursed his lips. “I need to use your shower.” 

“…Why can’t you use yours?” At this Noe shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but Vanitas. Was he… embarrassed?

“You see,” he started, “I may have tripped over Murr heading to the shower, and ripped the shower head from the wall trying to catch myself.”

Vanitas just stared. Of course Noe would manage to do something like that.

Thinking it over, he supposed there was no harm in letting him in. Call it payback for all the times Noe’s helped him.  It was a little annoying that he’d have to let Noe take one first, but the was no way he was waiting around Vanitas’ apartment until he was done. Besides, this way he could take as long as he wanted.

“I guess,” he sighed, stepping aside to let him in. He swore Noe had stars in his eyes when he thanked him. Weirdo.

Noe stepped in to the apartment, looking around like he’d never been in there before. “Our showers are probably the same,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “So I don’t think I have to help you—hey! Don’t touch that!”

Vanitas was an art student, but since he and Noe weren’t friends, the other had never seen anything Vanitas had made. He had been working on a minimalist human sculpture for a class earlier, and must’ve forgotten to put it away because Noe was about to pick it up good lord.

He grabbed Noe’s arm before he could touch it, glaring at him. “It’s wet! I don’t need you squishing it with your inhuman strength!”

Noe blinked at him. “Oh. Sorry. I’ve never seen someone make something like this before, I wanted to know what it felt like. You’re really good at this!”

So naïve but so cute. Noe was practically sparkling. He didn’t say anything he didn’t mean; he really thought Vanitas’ half-assed sculpture was cool. Vanitas could feel the annoyance drain from him with every second.

“Whatever. Just go take your shower. You have 10 minutes!”

“Sure, but you’re gonna have to let go of me first, Vanitas.”

Vanitas blinked. He was still holding Noe’s arm. And when did they get so close? Vanitas (very calmly, mind you) let go and stepped back, clearing his throat. “Right.”

Noe nodded and headed to the bathroom. “And don’t touch anything you don’t need to!” Vanitas called after him.

As soon as the door shut, Vanitas was on the couch, internally screaming at himself. How could he be more awkward! All he did was grab his arm! Nothing weird about that. It was the first time he’d ever actually touched Noe though, and he was every bit as muscular as he looked, god damn. It would be a while before he’d forget about that discovery.

By the time the ten minutes were up, Vanitas had mostly gotten himself together. Enough to realize the shower was still running. He got up and banged on the bathroom door. “Noe! Come on! You better not use up all my hot water, I swear.”

The shower quickly shut off, followed by scrambled footsteps. ‘Please don’t slip, I don’t need you breaking my shower, too,’ he hoped.

A minute later, the door opened, and Vanitas thought he actually might die that night.

The first thing he noticed was Noe’s hair. He’d never seen it so curly. In hindsight, it only made sense; Noe’s hair shouldn’t have been that straight. He just couldn’t picture Noe using a straightener without severely burning himself. (Then again, no one should have white hair at 19, so could you really blame him?) It was still soaking wet, dripping down into the towel around his neck.

The next thing he noticed was that Noe Archiviste was shirtless and dripping wet in his apartment.

He just couldn’t catch a break, could he.

Vanitas had never been more grateful for his amazing poker face, because if he was, he’d probably look like a firetruck right then. “It’s about time,” he grumbled, pointedly looking away from Noe. He was dense, but there’s no way he wouldn’t notice Vanitas all but drooling over his body.

“Sorry Vanitas, guess I lost track of time.” Vanitas hummed in acknowledgement. Suddenly, his face was in Vanitas’ line of sight. He was carefully studying Vanitas’ face. “What’s wrong? You seem crankier than usual.”

Damn him and his skill for reading people. He refused to meet Noe’s eyes. “Tch. Nothing’s wrong. Can you just put your shirt on and leave so I can go back to enjoying my night?”

Noe stood back up. He could hear the shirt being pulled over his head. “By the way, your shower curtain’s a horrible color. My eyes hurt just looking at it.”

Vanitas whipped his head around to retort because it was a nice shade of blue dammit, but his words died in his throat. Noe had a soft smile on his face, and he was chuckling softly, and Vanitas felt like he might actually melt.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower,” he said as he started driying his hair. “Hey, I know this place that has amazing tarte tatin; you should come with me sometime.” All Vanitas could do was nod and give a soft “sure”. He was only half-listening; he was too focused on the fact that Noe was actually smiling at him.

Noe nodded. “Great. I guess I’ll see you around then?” he didn’t wait for a response before leaving Vanitas star-struck in his own apartment.

‘Wait a minute. Did Noe just ask me out on a date?’

Maybe this night wasn’t as horrible as he thought.

~~~

(A/N: the little shirtless Noe scene was supposed to be more descriptive with more freaking out from Vani, but half way through writing this, I remembered the Shirtless Kylo Ren meme and I had a hell of a time writing that part without dying of laughter i’m sorry

Also I totally threw in my headcanon that Noe has naturally somewhat-curly hair bc come on he’s black for goodness sake)