#and brain and eye shit specifically are sore spots

[little-ajax-56793]

does anyone know any bg3 mods that make it not so gory? i tried to play it but uhhhhh even with the violence and sexual content off there is still. more brain gook than i would. appreciate seeing

[planstransamanacanalpanema]

The way diabetics learn about the risks of the disease has permanently altered my brain in comical ways.

So today, I bumped into a doorframe and knocked the omnipod out of my leg but didn't look and therefore didn't know I was bleeding from the site. I went to hang a curtain and looked down and a bunch of blood had dripped onto a specific toe and the blood had splattered around the area. And my initial instinct, as a diabetic absolutely terrified of losing my, at this point, totally healthy and normal feet, was that through some horrific and unmentioned complication, one of my toes had simply exploded and I had not been aware of this because I had developed neuropathy over the course of like an hour.

And granted, this is a funny story that I will be telling at work over the next few weeks, but it's also kind of sad. I've been warned for the last 16 years of every horrifying thing that could and, at least in the way most people talk about it, probably will happen to me, and I've been made terrified of every itchy spot on my feet and every minor vision change over the past few years and every sore spot in my mouth and this and that and everything all at once. Those doctors appointments I have every year, especially my eye doctor, are kind of nerve wracking because I always feel like, ok, this is going to be the year where they finally tell me my body is going to shit in irreparable ways.

There's a point to this in sort of a vague way, but in general. Stop feeding the diabetics in your life the stories about the ischemic bowels of your grandpa and your footless aunt. We know. Everyone knows. We've been told to the point that living a long and healthy life, while completely plausible, especially for young people now who started their lives with diabetes with today's resources, seems completely impossible and blindness and pain and suffering are an inevitability, and maybe we don't need that? Ok thanks.

[ccorrosion]

rambling abt a major step I took to heal a part of me I didn't know needed fixing// posting more for myself to document and look back on because I'm obsessed with the way my eyes just opened up and how much better I already feel

so otakon last week was a major bust for me for a few ones but most predominantly an insecurity/trauma(?) (I don't like to use the word lightly) took over starting Friday which made me a little crabby and largely on Saturday where I spent the entire day shutting down, dissociating, and isolating despite being at a convention I'd been looking forward to all year in the costume I worked the hardest on. I spent the day separated from my boyfriend so that I could roam around the con in a bad mood by myself for 3-4 hours.

it wasn't his fault and not his problem to fix, but some of the small talk we had and (this is really stupid/irrational and I KNOW it let me get through it) an anime figure he wanted to buy was really stressing me out and hitting a sore spot I didn't know was there. I was trying desperately to pull myself out of it but a ton of problems from the weekend were compounding into a shutdown I couldn't control. eventually I told him part of what was on my mind Sunday evening after the con ended and I cried over quite a few things. didn't tell him everything though, which continued to stress me out until last night.

yesterday I talked to my good friend about all of it (she was at otakon too and I only told her a little bit about at the time) and I got the validation and courage I needed to bring it up to my boyfriend. obviously I don't want to mention specifics because this is still the internet and I don't want to completely expose myself on here, besides this post is for me to look back on later. if you know me then you know it's related to how my ex decided to leave me and my issues with sex. but I talked to him about this problem for the first time in the 8 months we've been dating. the burden weighing me down that I didn't want to bring up ever because even I thought it was so stupid and irrational. and for the first time I feel like I'm not hiding anything anymore from him, and it's probably the most vulnerable and transparent I've been to both him and my previous partner.

the big thing is that it's off my chest and just saying it out loud for the first time ever crumbled the wall barely enough for me to wedge my fingers through and begin to break it down and heal. admitting it to myself was the first step. having thay breakdown at otakon was unfortunate, but for me, required, because it forced me to open my eyes and realize hello! this IS a fucking problem to me and it's NOT just going away because I don't want to acknowledge it!

and he, of course, took it well and acknowledged me and I felt like he really did understand me and what I was saying. and he has his own share of problems so he understands that /I/ know its irrational, but my brain wants to push it to the front and make it a big deal because he's the same way with other things. but I felt truly seen and heard and understood and we came up with solutions and ways that he can support me while I work through it WITHOUT me feeling like I'm trying to change who he is and control what he does. because to me that's not healing, that's causing more problems and hiding from it.

he reassured me that I'm not stupid for feeling like that and he knows where it's coming from and why I feel that way, and I also had to say one hundred million times that I'm not trying to change him, it's my problem and not his to fix, though the only way I can do that is to make him aware of what sets me off and ways he/we both can make little changes (like with wording, mindfulness, etc) to support me through it. it just means a lot to me that we're at this stage where we've both been broken but we feel safe with each other to bring things up and talk about it. I never had this before

but for future me, I hope you have your shit together 😂 I hope you've learned how to work through your body issues, your sex issues, your insecurities, your reactions to people and your boyfriend. I hope you're comfortable and still happy with him, and I hope if he has wronged you, you've tried to work through it. I hope you haven't hurt him, either, because you know you're also a bitch. i hope you still talk to your friends, and you hang out with them as much as you can. really, future me, I just want you to be happy, and I'm doing everything I can to make it happen

[bruhstories]

You Truly are Beautiful when You Cry

Summary: Y/N leaves a party only to find Eren in front of her apartment. Shit happens. Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader, mentioned Eren x Mikasa (modern AU) Warnings: language, mentions of loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), masochist!Reader, toxic and dominant Eren, sadist!Eren, face slapping, mentions of blood, mention of toxic relationships, dacryphillia — Eren’s nuts, just fiy Word Count: 2.5 k

A/N: I just wanna say, I have absolutely nothing against Mikasa, I like her a lot, but for the purpose of this fic, Y/N hates her. Also, shameless smut y’all. I feel like this needs a part two  — who knows, maybe one day.

You and Eren have been friends since childhood — not inseparable, like he was with Mikasa and Armin, but good friends nonetheless. It came as a shock to you when him and Mikasa started dating, almost feeling disgusted, considering they were practically siblings. You tried your best to be supportive of their relationship, but Eren knew you too well for your own good, and sometimes you had to swallow down the vomit when you saw them together. It was even more shocking when you left Connie's party and found Eren on the stairs leading up to your apartment. He had a blank stare, not a single hint of emotion behind his emerald eyes, his lips pursed and waiting for you. You almost didn't recognise him in the dim light, his bun dishevelled, locks of hair covering his face.

"Jaeger? Is that you?" You asked, keys between your fingers, ready to hit.

"In the flesh, Y/L/N." He replied, his voice empty. You two had a habit of calling each other by your last names ever since you met in kindergarten. You lowered your hand and rushed to him, wondering if something happened tonight.

"Are you okay? You disappeared from the party all of a sudden. Armin was worried sick-"

"We broke up." The words caught you off guard, but in a sick twist of events, you were happy to hear that. In a way, you knew their relationship was doomed from the very beginning, surprised that it even lasted three full years.

"Shit." You chewed your lip in the darkness of the hallway. "Come on, let's go inside, you can tell me everything."

Eren looked at the hand you extended and gripped it tightly, helping himself up. The two of you had an odd friendship, to say the least. Before Mikasa, Eren would tease you, sexual innuendos all over the place, he'd seen you naked countless times, you caught him jacking off once. You both lost your virginities to one another, no strings attached. But you did get attached. You got so attached when him and Mikasa started dating and the rotten feeling ate you from the inside out.

You flipped the switch inside your flat and threw your backpack on a chair, along with your jacket. Eren kicked his boots off and threw himself on the couch with a growl while you pulled out a bottle of vodka from the fridge. He always acted like your apartment was his.

"Food?"

"No."

"Alright. Now tell me, what happened?" You asked, seating beside him and passing him the alcoholic beverage. He took a sip to wet his dry throat and threw his head back.

"We went in a room at Connie's. I wanted to tie her up with that stupid scarf she keeps wearing — my scarf — and she kept saying no." Eren explained before taking a few more sips. You nodded, eager to hear the rest of the story and trying your best to contain your giddiness. "I didn't force her or anything. She started spewing shit about how I changed, how I'm always angry and aggressive, how we don’t make love anymore. How I'm not the pure, innocent boy she fell in love with." He practically mocked the sentence. "And then that was it. Said we aren't compatible anymore and that she wants out of this 'toxic' relationship." Eren gestured quotation marks in the air while you took the bottle and downed some vodka yourself.

"Man, I'm really sorry to hear this." You lied. The sound of his dark laughter sent shivers down your spine, the little hair on your arms and the back of your neck standing up. "Something funny, Jaeger?"

"You're such a terrible liar, Y/N." Eren slightly turned his head to look you in the eye. Your own name rolling down his tongue sounded so natural, so perfect. You tried to speak, but the words stopped in your throat when he moved closer, his figure hovering above your petite frame. "What, you think I didn't know?"

"K-know what?" You finally managed, a short-circuit in your brain.

"That you're so obviously in love with me." Eren flashed you a sneer.

"Am not—" slap

His palm met your cheek, hard enough to flush it crimson, but not hard enough to hurt. Mouth agape, you just couldn't respond. For three long years you waited for this man to come to his senses and realise how much you truly loved him, how much you devoted yourself to him, how much you support him. Not Mikasa, you.

"You don't have to hide anymore, Y/N." Eren kissed your forehead and you were putty in his hands. "I know you’ve loved me since we first fucked. I know how much you yearn for me to fuck you again."

"You're delusional!" You finally told him, despite how correct he was.

"Prove me wrong then. Go on, yell at me, shove me. Do it." But you couldn't do it, could you? Your luscious lips parted open, then they closed. "That's what I thought." He crushed his lips onto yours in a sloppy, wet kiss, your hands tangling in his messy hair, the bun long gone. Eren's calloused hands snaked around your waist and under your shirt and, in a moment of clarity, you stopped him.

"W-wait, you two just broke up! I don't want to be your rebound—"

"Who said anything about that?"

"Are you insane? You loved her!"

"Have I?"

The simple question made you realise that Mikasa bight have been right all along. That something was indeed wrong with Eren. The lack of empathy and emotion, the aggressive behaviour, the manipulation. Yet, it didn't bother you, because he came to you specifically. He could've hooked up with any other girl from the party, but he wanted you.

"Don't spoil the moment, Y/N. I might change my mind."

"No, please!" The words came out of your mouth without a warning, strengthening the fact that you were completely and hopelessly desperate.

"Perfect." Eren purred in your ear. That was all he needed to hear before his shirt was on the floor and his hands on your thighs. You tentatively pulled your skirt up, spreading your legs for him, just for him. "Good slut."

The degrading praise earned him a mewl from you, your hips thrusting into his touch, wanting more. Eren didn't waste any more time, and his fingers rubbed your wet folds through the fabric of your thongs. Your muscles instinctively flexed at the touch, your body burning with need and lust. His other hand trailed off to find your perfectly soft, round breasts. Your own hands roamed through his black hair, fingers tangling in the locks as you merely whispered 'more', unable to speak louder.

"Tell me, have you been whoring around these last years?" Eren demanded, fingers pushing your panties to the side. It slightly bothered you how much he talked during this, but, as always, Jaeger got what he wanted.

"N-no..." You told him, quiet as a mouse, but he wouldn't have any of that. Like a maniac, he ripped the lace lingerie off of you, scratching your thighs in the process. You could feel the burning sensation in the markings he left.

"I told you, Y/N, no fucking lies. I wanna know every single man who's touched you."

"W-why? Why does it m-matter?" You stuttered, your eyes searching his. Why did it matter, though? It wasn't like he cared about who you fucked. Unless... unless he did care. And his relationship with Mikasa was nothing but a mistake on his part.

"Because," Eren oh so slowly caressed your folds with his long fingers, "you're mine. Always have been, always will be." He easily slipped his index finger inside of you. "And I won't fuck you unless you tell me who else you slept with."

"Ah– w-with Jean!"

"And?"

"And R-Reiner!" You whimpered, frantically fucking yourself with his hand. You were a sight for sore eyes, sprawled on the couch and longing for his touch.

"And?" The word accentuated so hard that you thought he was about to kill you on the spot.

"Fuck– P-Porco and Ah-Annie! I swear, that's it!" You promised, your breath hitching, heartbeat raising.

"One more thing, Y/N. Did you think of me while you fucked them?"

"Yes! Always! P-please, Eren, please fuck m-me! I'm begging you!"

The little plea seemed to satisfy Jaeger. Or so you thought, because he grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you all the way across the apartment to your bedroom, unbothered and unphased by you screaming how much it hurt. He threw you on the shaggy rug in your room, and as you scrambled to gain your composure, you heard Eren's belt hit the floor.

"You should be an expert in sucking cock by now. Prove me how much you want me." He commanded. His voice was low and dangerous, he didn't have to yell to make you scared shitless. Obediently and afraid, you crawled to the bed on all fours, removed your shirt and palmed his hot, hard member. It was already leaking precum, and so your tongue sensually licked the droplets, the saltiness mixed with the aftertaste of vodka in your mouth sending you in a frenzy. He scared you — no, he terrified you, but you couldn't deny you were enjoying this. Mikasa didn't like it rough? Fuck that, you would let Eren kill you if it pleased him. You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock and worked your way down his shaft, guttural sounds coming from his throat. His hand found its way to your head, and he forcefully pushed it down, stuffing your mouth and throat with his (too) thick member. Tears from pleasure and pain pooled at your Y/E/C eyes and he held you there for a good ten seconds before releasing you.

"Did I make you cry?" Eren asked, his voice almost concerned.

"Mhm." You sobbed with a nod, and he once again grabbed you by the hair, pulled you up and bent you over the wooden bedframe. So much for concern.

"Good." Jaeger slapped your ass so hard you screeched and dug your fingernails in the wood. "Remember what I told you first time I saw you cry?" He asked before positioning himself at your entrance. You nodded — how could you forget? You were both 13 and you got a bad grade, crying your eyes out and thinking that was the end of the world. Normal people would have tried to comfort you and tell you to stop crying. But not Eren. He told you he's never seen anything more beautiful. That should've been a red flag. That should've been a sign to run. Instead, you kept crying as he told you he wanted to see more. A sadist from the very beginning, and you — nothing but a slave.

Eren's thrust woke you up from the distant memory and you arched your back in response. He stretched your walls and it felt like his cock was made for you.

"You don't happen to have any rope, do you?" He asked so nonchalantly.

"N-no-"

"'S alright, we'll just use my belt." Jaeger pulled out and a sense of emptiness filled you. He belonged inside of you — you knew that for a fact — he was meant to be with you. Eren cracked the belt and whipped it all over your exposed ass, your pain-filled scream bringing joy to his ears. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his sadistic smile burning like the sun on your nape. Before you knew it, he had your wrists tied behind your back, the thin wooden frame pushing into your skin.

"Much better." He decided as he thrusted back inside. You whimpered, moaned, groaned, all sorts of sounds came out of you as his fingers dug into your flesh. As much as you wanted, you couldn't move, gravity pulling you down. You didn't know what hurt more: the bedframe sinking deeper into your abdomen, his deeper thrusts or the tight belt around your wrists. It was safe to say your knees were wobbly, and you could feel the climax getting closer. God, you were pathetic. He barely fucked you and yet you were done for.

"E-Eren! I'm c-coming!"

"I know." He told you absentmindedly, his hand moving from your hip in-between your thighs. "I want you to be good and cum, alright?"

"Yes! Oh, fuck!! Harder – faster!" You moaned as Eren rubbed your swollen clit. A wave of pleasure took over your entire body, your legs trembling as you came all over his cock. He didn't stop, despite you begging him you couldn't take it anymore, instead he kept fucking your numbing cunt, longing for release. It hurt like a bitch to feel his thrusts, and you really wanted him to pull out, but at the same time, you had to do it — for him.

"Whoever told you that you get to tell me when to stop?" Eren bent over and grabbed you by the neck, bringing you closer to him. The fingers around tour soft neck would definitely leave a mark next day. "I'm your god, Y/N!" He groaned in your ear with one final thrust. You both sighed as he pulled out, cum leaking from your folds. You were extremely thankful to be on the fucking pill. He untied your wrists and gathered his underwear and jeans from the floor.

When you noticed him getting dressed, anxiety seeped into your veins. Wasn't he going to stay over? At least for the night? Take a shower? Anything!

"You're leaving?" You asked him, surprising yourself with the condescending tone of your voice.

"Yes?" Eren retorted, baffled by the audacity of your question.

"B-but, where are you going??" Now you just sounded desperate. “We can stay in silenc—"

"To get back with Mikasa."

Your heart sank to your stomach. To do what? Mikasa? How could he do this to you? Shit, it would've been better if you were his rebound, but this? This hurt worse. Your entire body shivered, and not from your climax. You were trembling with anger, disappointment.

"N-no, you're not!" You ran to the front door, despite the pain in your abdomen caused by the wooden bedframe. "Eren, plase! She'll never love you like I do! Please don't go, I'm begging you!"

"Don't be pathetic, Y/N." He rolled his eyes. That stupid brain in your head made you fall down your knees in front of a fully dressed Eren, tears rolling down your cheeks and trying everything in your power to stall him from leaving. "You truly are beautiful when you cry." He pushed you with his leg and walked past you. You tried to grab his sleeve, his hand, anything, but it was too late.

When the door closed behind him, he didn't know what he'd created. There, on the floor, you swung your body back and forth, knees to your chin, makeup ruined, matted hair. Your fingernails clawed at the wood underneath you until the nail polish chipped and blood seeped at the tip of your fingers. Eren Jaeger broke you into a million pieces, he ripped your heart out of your chest and ate it. But it’s alright, you told yourself between indiscernible words. The only word that you could coherently say over and over again was revenge.

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Worth The Eternity: Dark! Bucky x Reader (Vampire AU + Mob AU + Soulmate AU)

This is for @cherienymphe’s 5K Twilight Renaissance Writing Challenge. Congratulations, keep slaying! I wrote this instead of studying, so pray for my paper please lmao.

A/N: This tired girl tried. 

WARNINGS: something between dubcon and noncon present. Triggering, darkish themes.

Summary of sorts: Ever seen Hotel Transylvania 1/2/3? In this AU, mythical creatures exist and have soulmates and you feel a zing if you are blessed enough to encounter them.

"Boss, we narrowed it down to these core three suspects.” A husky voice, slightly muffled by the sack on your head, entered your ears and you had a hard time being calm.

You had been picked up from your office, specifically the basement of Oscorp Industries while entering your sleek silver car. A pinch in your neck and everything comically blurred. Next thing you know, you are waking up with your entire body sore, your muscles and joints screaming and begging for freedom from tight restraints. Your vision is black, as if you are staring into an abyss and your vision is filled with white and red dancing spots forming patterns, maybe from the hours of inactivity.

Muffled noises of protest and scraping of metal against the concrete floor entered your ears and you realized you are not the only one here held captive. You racked your mind for possible explanations but couldn’t come up with one.

You lived a very simple life, even as the vice president of Oscorp industries. No messing around, no rivalries with other employees, no butting heads with the seniors on the Director’s board. Was this a ploy against the company? Or a domination statement against the weaker species, the humans?

Lucky enough for you, you realized you would soon find out as the sound of a shutter opening and metal clanking noisily filled your ears.

“Took you long enough, Scott. Fill me in.” Another brooding voice reprimanded jokingly and a million goosebumps traveled the path of your skin as you involuntarily shuddered.

“Yes Boss. We tracked the missing sum to the account of this man on the left. He has fourteen other accounts under different names and nationalities, pretty hard to trace but not impossible luckily. This proved he is shady so he’s most definitely involved.”

“This ginger on the right, he made the suspicious call with weird words so we believe he pretty much passed the verdict, calling the shots with the codewords. He has had several surgeries, his face is fucking silicon at this point but his DNA showed us his true identity, Mr. Rumlow here is the Consigliere of The Midnight Moon.”

You sat and listened, piecing together whatever you understood. The pack/mob name more than rung a bell, it scared you shitless. You were quick to catch on, realising that you were caught in an inter species scruffle.

“This shit just got interesting folks. Alright, where does Miss Sexy Legs fit in all this?”

The pencil skirt you wore wasn’t the most modest piece of clothing to exist and the spaghetti straps blouse was a bad choice considering the sheer coldness in this warehouse, the temperature only seemed to go down with the entry of your kidnappers but it’s not like you knew this was going to happen.

You could only assume with your legs on display that you were the one being sexualised and talked about.

“We are not sure about her though, that’s why I said suspects. We have proof the call was made from her phone but the videos show her lending it to a creepy stranger at a café. It might be really good acting but it’s highly unlikely. We brought her in because in the transfer of the stolen cash, her account was an intermediary but it’s a good chance that she was tricked when her phone was borrowed by Mr. Rumlow. Also, she’s a human, you see?”

If it was you being talked about, you felt a jot of relief, just a smudge because at least they were aware you weren’t involved in whatever game they were playing. That didn’t necessarily ensure your freedom, but hey, you were willing to take anything at that point.

“That’s the sweet fucking scent I keep on smelling!” The leader exclaimed as if he made a great discovery, a cure for a pandemic or cancer you’d think. His gruff voice almost had a light, cheery undertone to it, too unlike of a man who was wronged and cheated and was close to murdering someone no doubt. These mobsters are always maniacs like The Joker.

“It sucks that you brought her here. She might not be guilty, but now she knows too much. She’d make a good blood bag though. Maybe I’ll just have a taste, who knows?” The ‘boss’ made a disturbing slurping noise and your heart stopped at his words, a tear almost escaping your eye.

Discussion about drinking blood? You were most definitely in The Vamps territory, your assumption about the inter-species conflict true. You had no doubt you were the weakest in this creepy space, the frailest here, most probably the only human.

“Show me the bastards’ faces.” Like the flip of a switch, the joking man swapped his personality and all but growled. You heard the ripping of cloth and a man gagging, his shrieks muffled. Another flurry of movements and another man retching on the fabric could be heard.

“Well, hello Mr. Rumlow. I must say, brown suited you better.” A horde of chuckles made you widen your eyes, even though only black still filled your vision, as you realised there were at least a dozen twisted, sick men in the room. The fact that they were silent as fuck till now only showed you how disciplined and regimented these soldiers were.

“This one has a pretty face, boss.” You felt the sack ripped off you, and your eyes closed with the sudden flooding of the lights. Your eyes sealed due to hours of inactivity and you kept them shut, afraid to face your tormenter.

A cold hand cupped your cheek and straightened your face that was trying to hide itself in your silky locks by curling in your own neck, the cool metal of rings and insanely icy fingers chilling you literally.

“Open your eyes sweetheart.” A voice called out behind you and you gathered enough courage to face your impending doom, the air as silent as the calm before a storm.

Your orbs opened and gazed into piercing sapphire blue eyes and everything behind this chiseled face blurred. You could swear a ring of pink and red passed over his eyes and you shuddered again, getting overwhelmed due to the eye contact yourself. This wasn’t the usual anxiety you felt while meeting new people, it was somehow both a pull and a push. An inviting comforting pull and a terrifying, ‘stay cautious' push.

You, a self-sufficient woman, who had been independent for as long as you could remember, suddenly felt half; incomplete in a way that you couldn’t fathom. You felt an attraction, a tug towards the man in front of you, and the absurdity of the thoughts and emotions that popped in your brain made you heave on the gag.

Your intellect couldn’t find a reason, your view on love and romance until now completely conflicted. You believed soulmates to be separate pieces of art that complemented each other when together; then what was this broken jigsaw puzzle sentiment you were having now?

Your wide eyes somehow managed to break free of his stare, panicking and looking around to observe, which wasn’t comforting in the least as men with guns and gadgets filled your vision. You were relatively unharmed in comparison to the beaten lads beside you, one with a bruised face and the other with a bloody one.

The handsome man, the Boss’s stare didn’t leave you through the entirety of your searching around, you were sure they saw you as a scared little rabbit, waiting out its inevitable death.

“Lost in her eyes, Boss?” The sideman cracked what he believed to be the funniest joke in existence, earning laughs of the horde of the soldiers around.

 Your eyes went to the Boss’s face, surprisingly when his left your face to glare a nasty stare on his trusted man. His muscular form raised the forelimb, his hand signaling to stop, that effectively quietened the room to a pin drop silence.

With gentle fingers, the man took off your gag and yours lips quivered, throat too dry to make a noise though. You greedily gulped the air through your mouth for whatever reason, maybe just to move your jaw after hours of inactivity.

Maintaining eye contact was challenging, arduous to say the least. It seemed as if he could read you, find everything about you there is to find by studying the flecks in your orbs. His delicate hands, loosened the ties and you were now more so confused, along with the trepidation.

Just what the fuck was going on?

Bucky had almost lost hope, centuries on this planet and no one to love and cherish, no personal confidante, no soulmate. But good things take time, right? And in his opinion, best things take an eternity. He knows this now.

Expect the unexpected was the truest phrase, idiom whatever it was, in this moment. He had spent countless nights wondering about his soulmate, was she pretty? Ugly? Was she even a she or not? Dumb or witty? He made a lot of scenarios of how they’d meet, the kids, reigning together. He entertained the idea of her being from a different species, a nymph, an orc, maybe a werewolf?

And now that he found her, it was a revelation, a surprise honestly. After all optimism got evaporated, after traveling the dark tunnel for centuries literally, there she was, his beacon of light. Finding her was a wonder, and her being a human was astonishing, a possibility he somehow failed to consider, but he was over the moon cause there she was, right in front of him now. A beautiful, stunning lady in flesh and blood, human flesh and blood, with the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. His zing.

He always liked humans, apart from the similar appearances the vampires shared with them, they were always docile and accommodating. In the last few millenniums, after the mythical creatures showed themselves to the world, the humans understood their place and tier pretty early.

They were smart to surrender and be peaceful as all the species came to light, clever to know that even with less numbers they could be overpowered and bloodshed was detrimental to all involved.

He knew he would convert you soon though, your lifespan far too short for his liking, and obviously, now that he found you, you were to rule together. For Centuries.

His happiness was over taken by the realisation that you were not in the most hospitable settings, you were tied and strapped, being preyed on by his men. He made quick work of the restraints, allowing you to breathe by loosening them first. Your scared, trembling form plucked his unbeating heart’s strings, but strangely enough, his brain found amusement and he felt smug. Seeing you tied up and trembling was definitely a turn on for him, noted.

After commanding his foolish men to stop giggling, he leaned closer to you, your aura comforting and intoxicating as he smelled your hair. A divine scent, an addictive one for sure. The goosebumps on your skin confirmed the reciprocation of his connection.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you.” His husky voice, calming but imposing resonated in your ears, his hand tapping your cheek on the other side. Even though the private statement was whispered for you, the deafening silence made every person witness it.

He leaned back, his hands behind his back as he grinned, tone again light like earlier and commanded, “Get her out of here and cleaned up, tell Nat and Wanda, they’ll know what I mean. Then we’ll deal with these guys here, after the lady leaves of course. No scratch on her from this point forward or you’ll lose a limb. Proceed.”  

All three of you, the hostages were going to get ‘taken care of’ but in different ways.

It had been over twenty hours for sure, you were abducted in the early hours of the morning and now the moon was out again, like one endless night. You remember being escorted to a sleek black car; your limbs ached but you managed to keep up. You tried to keep up with the car’s turns, trying to memorize the streets but your head was pounding and eyes were blurry.

You remembered being led to a suite in an expensive hotel like ones where your conferences were held, being taken to room and given towels to clean up. You didn’t change the dress when given another, the attire being a summer dress even shorter.  A woman came a while later named Wanda who checked the forming light contusions and scuffed skin with hands so delicate, as if you were precious cargo. You were, you just didn’t know.

You didn’t eat anything they provided and after hours of conspiring and overthinking, you heard sturdy footsteps. Since your arrival, only women bothered with you, probably the ones the leader sent. But these were heavier, harder.

The door opened and you glanced up to find the leader who demanded your locking up in this fancy place, his eyes travelling on your form sat up on bed, as you mindfully pulled your skirt down. You were anxious the entire day, dreading your future but nothing was like the restlessness that ran through you in this person’s presence.

Maybe it was the fact he was a vampire, or the leader of a Mob or maybe both, but whatever it was he intimidated you, alarmed you, even though you’ve had only two encounters including the present one. You were smart to be scared, he looked at you like, like you were something to eat, your mind told you.

“Hey.” His raspy voice caught you off guard, not having heard a single syllable out of the women the entire day, your questions being ignored the entire time.

You stared at him warily. Your mind having a myriad of emotions and thoughts. You didn’t want to trigger him, besides the place being armed well, he was a vampire, a beefy one at that and you would be stupid to try anything. Shouting and making a scene was no good either, your best option being the lamest one: to talk it out. You refused to become a willing blood bag.

You let out a long sigh, surprising him somehow, “Look, I have money, resources in the business sphere, information, what do you want? I know I got caught in this by accident, but I’m willing to do a lot of things to get out. Name it and I’ll do my best.” You said with your ‘business deal’ voice, the wise, guiding leader voice from your office.

For some reason though, the man found it hilarious. He slapped his hand on his chest, his boisterous laugh echoing. It wasn’t that good a joke if he believed it to be one. Men, ever so condescending.

“Humans, ever so gluttonous. I don’t want your money, precious.” His term of endearment didn’t fall short to your ears, but you had larger things in play here than a sweet nothing.  

“I have other things to offer, name it.” Within your moral sphere, of course.

“You still don’t get it, do you? And you humans boast you have everything figured about us.”

He neared you and you leaned to the inner area of the bed, refusing to get cornered to the wall if things escalate and wanting to have the option of running away, probably in vain though. With each step he took, a new shudder ran through you because of the closing distance between your bodies, it getting triggered in unexplainable ways.

You didn’t need to say words to prompt him to explain, your scrunched eyebrows already doing that mission. “You should feel it too, you know? The goosebumps, the bewilderment in your insides, you’re intoxicated by my very presence too, aren’t you?”

The more he neared, your breaths quickened visibly, his words becoming truer. Your skin heating, mind losing a bit of consciousness. His presence didn’t affect you to this extent in the warehouse, but now? You were putty, almost incapable to think. You tried to roll over to the other side but your plan failed because he caged you with his bulky hands on your shoulder, body diagonal across yours. With how slow and out of it you were, he didn’t even need his heightened speed to trap you.

“Oh, it’s kicking in, isn’t it? The realization, the surge of love and lust? To be held and cherished and be full of me?” He smirked at your trembling form, your chest heaving and weak arms trying to push him off.

“I’ve read humans feel flushed, hot, so let’s get you out of these scraps, yes?” He slid off the thin straps while you mumbled a very unconvincing ‘stop’. Both actions were pretty pointless because he wouldn’t stop, you both knew that and also, he ended up taking the top off over your torso the normal way.

Your hands barely managed to land themselves on his wrist to pull them off, but the foolish limbs ravished in the feel of his cold skin instead. It was like a high you had never experienced and your body wanted more. It was already addicted to the feel of this stranger whose name you didn’t even know.

He unzipped the skirt, your pathetic body no longer even fighting him as he rambled on. “Among us vampires, well not much to tell but we’re all freezing cold when we find our ‘zing’. Like every normal day. Except for the inability to think and the need for their mate’s blood, of course.”

He came back up to kiss you, his body now in line with yours as one hand held your cheek and the other groped your breast. You had an out of body experience, feeling disgusted for reciprocating the kiss but also wanting more of that, more of him.

He trailed down your neck to your collarbone and you gasped for air, your thoughts incoherent. He kissed between the valley of your breasts, removing the bra sometime in between as you heaved. He wanted nothing more than to rest in those swells for an eternity.

As soon as cold air hit your nipples, one was being sucked while other was being pinched. The nameless stranger alternated between licking like a kitten and sucking like a baby on the breasts. Your rational part felt gross but the dominating side was the one experiencing delight.

He kissed down the sternum, to your bellybutton and then hovered above the thin, flimsy underwear. His hands slid down your sides, down the curve of your waist and hooked themselves at the cloth’s side, pulling them down in a swift motion.

Your legs quaked, trying to close themselves but one muscular arm on your thigh was able to hold them off, throw one away from the other. He leaned down and you were pathetically still under his muscles, your lower limbs either not daring to move or not wanting to.

You wrapped your hands around your torso to hide a bit of yourself, but did that really matter in the larger picture of the events unfolding right now?

You closed your eyes, tears already escaping since minutes ago as you tried to accept the reality of what was happening. A cold sensation on your little button caught you off guard; an infinitesimal fraction of time later, an inhale reached your ears.

You looked down, opening your eyes to find the man smelling you, his Grecian nose poking through your folds and taking in sniffs of your intimate part.

“Please sto-”      

“The scent at its source, so fucking divine. I want a taste.” With that, your sentence got interrupted by his words and then by his action as his tongue licked away. It sucked on the bead, delving in the cavity there pretty fucking deep and he slurped away like he pretended to do when you were blindfolded.

Your back arched like a gymnast, hands that were folded across your chest clawing at your own skin, leaving marks behind. His hands were hooked around your thighs and they threw your legs on his shoulder some point in between. When he thrusted three fingers at once, an audible wheeze left your lips, your noiseless gasps now hoarse ‘Aah’s and you could feel him smirk.

There a also a lot of teeth involved with his razor sharp canines that appeared out of nowhere during this and when he thrusted his fingers particularly hard with his teeth nibbling on your sensitive bud, you shamelessly let go of the inside flow.

It felt humiliating and mortifying, your body glowing with the aftereffects of descending into bliss while your mind wanted to cry. Your soul was surprisingly content with what unfolded, at peace. You hated the diversity of emotions you felt, revolted to find even a bit of positive sentiment at your assaulter’s actions.

While your inner monologue happened, the man got up and out of his clothes painfully quick. You tried to sit your up, feebly trying to escape but ineffectively so. Your eyes couldn’t meet the handsome stranger’s nor did you want to see him naked and removed him form your eyeline, making you get caught off guard when his hands wrapped around your ankles and pulled you down, finishing the small distance you managed to crawl up.

His hands left their place as he kissed his way back up your flushed skin, from the swell of your ankle to the swell of your stomach. He licked away the drops of blood around the crescent scratches left by your nails under the intense ecstasy he forced upon you. Then he continued his journey from the swells of your chest to the swell of your cheek, taking you in a fiery, needy yet affectionate kiss.

Your surroundings blurred a second into the kiss, mouth and skin hungry for his touch alike. A thrust had you painfully gasp as you were stretched unlike ever before, impaled to a depth unlike ever before. He kissed away your tears that continued to spill on command of your ashamed mind and leaned back to look into your eyes, a pretty pink passing over them for a fleeting second.

His blue orbs bore into yours and you almost believed he loved you by the intensity of his gaze. At this moment in time, nothing but you two mattered, connected and finally together. How you got here didn’t matter, how unwilling you were didn’t matter. This felt right, felt necessary and was worthy of everything you went through. The rational part seemed to die the instant you two physically connected and somehow, everything and nothing made sense.

But you felt complete.

Your lips captured his of their own accord, and you both smiled into the caress of your lips while he began thrusting, one hand on your waist, the other supporting his weight. Out of breath, he leaned back, still thrusting though, and gazed at you. “Scott back there, he called you pretty, that’s practically an insult. The way you look right now, you’re much more than beautiful. You’re ethereal, my Zing, the loveliest in existence.”

His genuine words tugged at your heart. For some reason you believed him, had confidence in his feelings. Your foreheads connected as he quickened, his hand caressing your skin, the cool against your warm skin soothing. It didn’t take long for you to let go again this time; your previous resolution already dissolved. He neared your ears and whispered, “I want you to scream my name. It’s Bucky.” You nodded absentmindedly, chasing the high.

One particular thrust paired with his canines piercing your skin made you cry out “Bucky!” and you felt him smirking in your neck, lapping the blood. You wilted in bliss and your eyes closed, warmth filling you minutes after. Your eyes were dazed and you felt ‘Bucky’ shift, removing his towering frame from you, a goofy smile on the chiseled face.

With mind free of the aforementioned disapproving thoughts, you checked out his handsome face. It was like you saw him in an entirely different light now.

He gave you a quick peck, his hands cradling your face and he spoke with the utmost sincerity. “You are worth the wait, precious. No measure of time with you will be long enough. But we’ll start with forever to compensate. I’m never letting you go.”

[matthewtkachuk]

kissing other people - brock boeser

three times you feel guilty kissing other people and one time you don’t

pairing: brock boeser x reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, cursing, angst

word count: 4.3k

a/n: happy birthday mr sensitive, sorry your party is lame. inspo is, of course, kissing other people by lennon stella, specifically the acoustic version (give it a listen while you read for full effect) 

one

It takes two months after breaking up with him for you to let the girls convince you to go out. Two months of far too much ice cream, two months of crying yourself to sleep in a bed that feels far too big, two months of begging and pleading and praying that it wasn’t really over.

You tell yourself that it doesn’t have to mean anything, even as Stella does her worst - fuck me red lipstick, winged eyeliner, some sparkly shit on your lids and lips. Even as Gem picks out a dress that’ll “show off your best assets” with an emphasis on the ass. Even as Cora encourages you to down three tequila shots in quick succession as the other two order an uber.

There’s a chill in the air and licking its way down your spine as you stand outside some club downtown. It’s a familiar one, a place you’d spent more than your fair share of nights at, after wins and loses alike, tucked in the corner booth under Brock’s arm. On those nights, you didn’t have to stand outside, you muse bitterly. Add it to the list of things that weren’t the same since you’d let him slip through your fingers.

Despite knowing there’s quite possibly no way for him, or any of his teammates for that matter, to be here tonight, you still find yourself looking around every corner, scanning every inch of the room. You’re unsure of what exactly you’re looking for. Did you want to see his familiar head of blonde hair? Did you want to see his soft smile that lit up his face brighter than the Canyon Lights at the Capilano Suspension Bridge in December? Brock Boeser is halfway across the country, but he’s in every thought that runs through your mind and in the corner of your eye and the dark of your apartment.

Sometimes people break up, and there’s just no reason. Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes shit just doesn’t work out, but it’ll be okay. One day you’re going to be okay, and your thoughts aren’t going to be consumed by a man who decided he no longer wanted what you had to offer. That’s what you reason, anyway, lips wrapped around a straw as you scan the room for the tenth time. Cora nudges you with her elbow, and you only scowl in response. You agreed to come out tonight, but you didn’t agree to enjoy it.

If you thought the shots were going to stop when you left the sanctity of your apartment, you were sorely mistaken as one turns into two turns into three turns into the world spinning around you. When you’ve lost count and also lost the ability to walk in a straight line and touch the tip of your nose with your finger, you find yourself lost in a sea of bodies. It’s a desperate feeling, clawing at your chest as you move in time with the rhythm and with the bodies twisting around you.

You know your friends are nearby, and that Gem quit drinking hours ago, content to hover and then help get your drunk asses home, but you can’t see any of them. You feel lighter than you have in months, the weight in your chest evaporating alongside the condensation of your beer. When you spot a flash of blonde hair in your peripheral, your mind doesn’t jump to Brock. When a stranger puts his hand on your waist and his lips near your ear, you don’t flinch away from it.

But when his lips meet yours, it’s like the snap of a rubber band as you pull back quickly. There’s iron in your mouth and regret on your tongue as you realize you’ve kissed someone who wasn’t your boyfriend, who wasn’t Brock.

Brock’s not your boyfriend anymore, shouts the rational part of your brain.

Doesn’t matter; I still love him, whispers your broken heart.

Cora finds you first, a ball of fiery rage, all five foot nothing of her intimidating the tall stranger into submission easily. You vaguely register his explanation, ‘I didn’t do anything, she just freaked out,’ vaguely register your own confirming nod, or Gem’s cold hands wrapping you up and not letting you go until she’s tucked you into bed with a glass of water and an apology.

Two months wasn’t enough time to go out with the girls and find someone new. It wasn’t enough time to get over the man you thought you would marry. Two months wasn’t enough time to get over Brock.

When they leave you alone, you roll over onto the side of the bed that he used to lay in, can almost picture him and the dogs beneath your striped comforter. Through the residual haze of your intoxication, you pull out your phone and flick through months of photos, resting on the one of the two of you sitting around the fire by the lake in Minnesota. He’s sitting on a lawn chair, and you’re perched on his lap, entire body curled around his and mouth split open in a wide grin.

You fall asleep like that, clutching your phone like a lifeline.

two

Six months post-breakup, you meet someone.

Aaron is kind and intelligent, and he pursues you. You meet him at work when he holds the door of the elevator open for you. You’re running late, an alarm malfunction followed by a near wardrobe malfunction capped off with forgetting your lunch on the table, and you just do not have the patience or energy to take the stairs to your office on the third floor. He’s polite as he asks you which floor and very pointedly does not stare at or comment on your disheveled appearance.

One time is chance, two times is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern.

By the fourth morning, he gets the courage to ask you for coffee. By the tenth, you’ve agreed on dinner. Twenty-five mornings later, you admit to your friends that you’re ‘seeing someone.’

For everything that Aaron is, there are ten things that he isn’t. He’s not American, he doesn’t have eyes the color of the Pacific Ocean at dusk, he can’t handle a puck, can’t even skate for god’s sake. His best friend isn’t Swedish, he’s not a dog person, he doesn’t know your coffee order like the back of his hand, he doesn’t remember that you can’t stand mustard or your food touching. He’s never charmed your mom or taken shots with your friends.

But he holds your hand and your heart like they’re delicate pieces of glass, helps you forget the gaping hole in your chest and warms your bed. The girls ooh and awe over him, but their enthusiasm is tapered. Their lukewarm reactions tell you what you already know.

Aaron is nice, but Aaron’s not Brock.

There’s some kind of mental block in your mind that’s never really more obvious than when you realize it’s been two weeks of casually seeing Aaron, and you haven’t even kissed him once. Sure, you kissed him goodbye at the door on the cheek, and you pressed your lips to his bicep when you were cuddling watching TV, but your lips have yet to meet.

At some point, you know that somethings gotta give, and it’s the most innocuous of times. A Tuesday afternoon, both fresh from work and cuddling on his couch, when he leans down and you think, shit, this is it.

The slow press of your lips is like some kind of hex or conjuring spell as the second your eyes flutter, a different image appears in front of you. It’s not sweet Aaron with his glasses and his dark hair. No, it’s Brock Boeser and everything that he used to offer you. There’s a shake in your jaw and a pang of guilt in your chest as you tuck your face into his neck to hide the way your eyes are beginning to water.

Brock left you, and yet you’re the one feeling guilty kissing other people.

As the evening draws to a close, you make an excuse about needing to be at work early and leave without spending the night once again.

That night, as you lay in the comfort of your own bed in the dark of night, you can’t stop yourself from reaching for your phone once again. Instead of scrolling through your photos, you pause with your finger over Brock‘s number in your phone. Before you can stop yourself, you hit call and let the seconds drag by slowly and painfully as you wonder if he’s going to answer you. It’s stupid, it’s 2 AM, and you’re not together anymore, but still, you hope.

When the familiar sound of his voicemail answers you instead, you listen to his message, savoring every second of hearing his voice for the first time in months. As the recording ends and asks if you’d like to record something after the beep, you hesitate, sucking in a deep breath and hit end as fast as you can, but you fear that it’s too late - that you’ve already left some sort of a message.

You roll over in bed and shove your face in your pillow and let the tears slowly will you to sleep.

Brock never calls you back.

three

Despite your less-than-positive visceral reaction to your first real kiss with Aaron, you find yourself innumerable kisses and two months later. Two months in with Brock, you’d known he was forever. Two months in with Aaron, you can’t even stop yourself from thinking about Brock when you kiss him. Guilt colors your every interaction with your boyfriend, every touch, every text, every minute you spend with him or thinking about him.

You wonder if there will ever be a time where you don’t feel guilty kissing other people.

More than that, you wonder if there will ever be a time where you don’t wish it was Brock you were kissing.

Aaron tries his best, though. You can tell he knows you’re not 100% invested, but he still keeps trying. It’s endearing, and it makes your heart hurt a little less when you think of the lengths he goes to in order to make you happy. It’s not Aaron’s fault, and it’s not really yours either, but it makes you shameful all the same. It makes you throw yourself into your relationship, pushing past your old feelings and shoving aside the guilt as you make room for Aaron in your life and your heart.

It works, for a time. Your friends say you seem happier, Aaron’s smile lasts a little longer, and when you look in the mirror, you can almost believe you’re over it.

Until you’re sitting beside Aaron in shitty seats at Rogers Arena. They were Aaron’s birthday present from his siblings, with Aaron being from Denver originally, the Avs were his favorite team, and they were in town playing the Canucks. Aaron’s practically vibrating with positive energy, looking quite handsome in his MacKinnon jersey, but you just feel a sense of dread in the pit of your stomach.

The arena doesn’t feel welcome to you anymore, not when it once felt like home. Not when you once sat in the family box beside other wives and girlfriends, when you once wore Brock’s jersey, when you once waited outside the locker room to reward him with a bone-crushing hug no matter the outcome of the game.

The feeling doesn’t decrease as the first period comes to an end, scoreless. You let Aaron drag you to find an overpriced beer, and the panicked feeling in your chest turns out to be prophetic as you run, quite literally, into Holly Horvat.

She cheers your name as if you hadn’t had your heart quashed by her husband’s teammate and pulls you into a hug that calls back to nights spent on her deck with glasses of wine and clasped hands during cup runs. You manage to choke out her name and relax in her embrace for a moment before she’s pulling back, “And who is this?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and paste a smile on your face as you turn back to your boyfriend, who, in all honesty, you had forgotten about for a moment. “Oh, Holly, this is Aaron, my boyfriend. Aaron, this is Holly. She’s,” you hesitate, before finally settling on, “she’s an old friend.”

The grin on Holly’s face and the look in her eye is practically predatory as she takes in the man at your side, and the jersey he’s wearing, and the one you’re pointedly not. “It’s nice to meet you, Aaron.”

He shakes her hand, and you all exchange pleasantries and niceties. Aaron’s practically beaming; he loves that he’s being introduced to someone else in your life. In the short few months you’ve been dating, he’s been barely introduced to Gem, Stella, and Cora, and he hasn’t met a single member of your family. To him, this feels like a step in the right direction, but for Holly, this feels like a huge mistake.

Holly still doesn’t understand why things ended with you and Brock. None of the team or their respective significant others do. Truth be told, neither do you. The only explanation Brock had given you was ‘things just don’t feel the same,’ which felt like a really polite way of him explaining that he fell out of love with you. The problem for you, and it was written all over your face to Holly, who had known you for years at this point, is that while he’d fallen out of love, you remained as hopelessly and pathetically in love with him as the day he left your apartment and didn’t look back.

Looking at Holly hurts, holding onto Aaron’s hand hurts, being in this fucking building hurts. But it’s okay until she asks where your jersey is. You look at her startled, but she’s not one to let up when she gets going. “Don’t tell me that your breakup turned you off the Canucks entirely.”

“What do you mean?” Aaron asks stupidly, and you really don’t have the heart to explain it.

“She used to date Brock,” Holly explains simply, but it feels like a betrayal, almost like a punishment. As if losing him hadn’t been hard enough, she had to go and remind you while also outing you to Aaron, who you’d never felt comfortable explaining your past relationship to.

“You dated Brock Boeser?” Aaron asks, eyes wide like some kind of cartoon character. You only sigh, shooting Holly a look and pulling him back to your seats.

You can’t find it in yourself to be sad that the Canucks lose in overtime. Brock’s actions caused you to lose him. The least he could do is lose a fucking game.

Your relationship lasts another two weeks before the haunting memory of a life at Brock Boeser’s side proves too much for you, and you let Aaron go.

plus one

Breaking up with Aaron was nothing like your breakup with Brock. For one, you didn’t break down crying at the end of your relationship. For two, you didn’t need a week straight of wallowing just to gain the courage to get out of bed. For three, the ache in your chest could not be ascribed to the man you’d just ended things with, no that honor laid solely at the feet of the one before him.

When your friends ask how you’re feeling about the breakup, you’re not lying when you say you’re okay about it. When you tell them that you just weren’t meant for each other, you mean it.

When you go out with the girls, you don’t give in to their peer pressure, staying level-headed enough that you don’t end up in situations where you end up with your lips pressed to someone you don’t know.

When you head to work, you take the stairs.

When you find yourself back at Rogers Arena, this time, it’s at Holly’s side who is more than apologetic about your break up, though you don’t think she’s exactly sincere. It’s not the family box; when she’d reached out to you, you’d told her in no uncertain terms that you didn’t feel comfortable being back in the box. They’re really good seats, close to the ice, but far enough away from the Canucks bench that you’re not feeling the need to look over your shoulder every second.

It’s fine, you’re fine, focusing on the little boy on your lap and not the grown men skating less than five feet away from you. You’re fine until a stoppage in play where you end up on the big screen beside Holly. Pretending like your heart hasn’t fallen into your stomach, you grasp Gunnar’s little hand in yours and get him to wave at the camera.

Brock’s heart nearly stops when he looks up and sees you on the screen, sitting beside his captain’s wife, holding his captain’s kid in your lap. For a second, it’s like the past few months never happened at all, like you’re here supporting him and loving him and - Except, you’re not. You’re not here for him, you probably don’t love him, and if you do, he doesn’t deserve it.

He’s in his head the rest of the game, fumbles easy passes, and even misses an empty net goal at the end of the third. It’s a good win for his struggling team, but it’s not a good game for Brock. His poor performance saves him from any media duties, but he still takes his time showering and dressing in his game day suit.

The entire time there’s one thought running through his mind, and it’s you. You with your sweet smile and unwavering positivity and faith in him. You in a sundress with your head thrown back in laughter and a wineglass in your hand on Bo and Holly’s porch. You with tears in your eyes and a plead of ‘baby, please don’t go’ on your lips as he left your apartment and your life. You, and the voicemail that you’d left him, and the sound of your soft sigh and labored breathing in the four seconds that he’d replayed over and over. You, happy with someone that isn’t him, if Holly is to be believed, and she’s never given him a reason to doubt her before. And finally, you up on that big screen looking just the way he remembered you.

And then, you’re there, standing outside the locker room just like you used to. Except there’s no number six jersey on your frame or similar jean jacket. You’re not standing there with a huge grin on your face, and you make no move to run and jump into his arms. You’re leaning against the wall behind you, Gunnar in your arms, and chatting amicably with Holly as she waits for her husband. Holly spots him first, takes her baby back, and not so subtly shoves you at him.

“Hey,” he says lumberingly, internally cursing himself for his own awkwardness. How you’d ever been able to see beyond the bumbling idiot that he was when you first met, he’d never know.

“Hey,” you reply back softly, and the distance that he’d created between the two of you has never felt so great.

He clears his throat and you idly wonder if he feels the divide too. “You uh, you look great.” It’s painful, the stilted way the words leave his mouth, and how empty they make you feel. The sympathetic looks on his teammates’ faces and the sorry look on Holly’s. You decide that you really don’t need to be here, and you can’t believe you let Holly convince you to come wait by the locker room.

“Yeah, you too. Uhm, it was nice to see you, Brock,” you say, and you almost believe yourself. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk away, feeling your heart break for a second time. Holly wraps her arm around you briefly and you slip away to cry the whole way home.

An hour later, you’re wrapped up in a cozy blanket on the couch, wine glass in hand, and phone face down and off on the coffee table. The lights are off and you’ve lit a candle or two, unable to handle the dark but not wanting to have the lights on either. Your apartment feels cold and empty, a parallel to your broken heart that you’re trying to dull with copper moon. The clock on the wall says it’s far too late for a knock on your door, and yet there is one.

Something Brock had always chastised you for when you were dating was your propensity to swing the door wide open without confirming who was on the other side of the door. Tonight’s no exception as you do the very same, but this time it’s him standing in the hallway. The hallway light illuminates his face in a way that can only be described as angelic, his golden hair only completing the image.

“What-” you’re barely able to get the words out before he’s slipping into your apartment, looking like he still belongs here alongside the sectional and coffee table and coat rack. There’s a silent showdown, minutes passing by without any conversation. You’re stubborn. He’s the one who ended this, and he’s the one who showed up here tonight, so you’re not going to be the first to speak.

Well, that lasts all of three minutes according to the clock, because you turn on him quickly. “What are you doing here, Brock?”

There’s another minute of silence as he just fucking stands there in your apartment, and for some reason, it causes tears to build at your waterline. Your anger gives way to sadness, as you recall a similar scene from months ago, as he’d told you he didn’t feel the same anymore and walked out of your life. You’re about three seconds from shoving him out when he finally speaks.

“I fucked up, y/n.” The words cut through the silence and the dark of your living room and right through the walls you’d built up around your heart since he’d left you. You don’t react; you barely flinch, certain this is some kind of fucked up practical joke.

“What do you want me to say, Brock? You broke my heart. You told me that you fell out of love with me, and it fucking sucked! It destroyed me to watch you walk out that door and never come back. What do you want from me?” You’re not sure when you started crying again, but your face is wet, and you can’t control the way your voice warbles and waves.

Before you even have the chance to blink, he crosses the space between you in three easy strides and wraps you up in his arms. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You don’t miss the casual pet name that falls from his lips, even as you stiffen in his hold.

“Why did you do this to me?” It’s a painful whisper, but Brock feels it deeply within his bones. “Why wasn’t I enough?” slips out before you can stop it. He tightens his hold on you and begins running a hand soothingly up and down your back. Neither of you thought you would have this again, you didn’t think you would ever feel the comfort of his embrace, and he didn’t think he would have another chance to make things right.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats again, “So fucking sorry. You’re everything I could possibly want, and I regret letting you go every day. And I know that’s not fair because you’re seeing someone else, but fuck, I miss you.”

“I’m not-” you pause, extricating a hand from between your body and Brock’s to wipe at your tears, “I’m not seeing anyone anymore.”

“What? Holly said-” He’s confused, stumbling over his words, and even through the tears, you can’t help the short laugh that escapes.

“It’s Holly. She left out part of the truth,” you explain, and he shakes his head in disbelief for a second.

“Fuck, baby. Tell me you still love me, tell me you still want this. If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” There’s a desperation in the tone of his voice that speaks to your very soul.

Maybe it’s foolish to give in so easily, maybe he’s going to realize he’s better off without you again, maybe he’ll break your heart even further. Maybe you need to hear more than ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘let me make it up to you.’ But the promise of a possible forever with this man is worth any risk, and the other conversations can come in the morning. “Okay,” you speak softly.

There aren’t any words in the English language that could possibly even hope to capture the way he feels right now, and he’s been slacking on learning Swedish from Petey, so he explains his feelings through actions, leaning down and kissing you softly. Though you’d dreamt of it on your darkest nights, envisioned it every time you kissed Aaron, the fantasy pales in comparison to the real thing.

For the first time since that moment all those months ago, there’s no guilt nipping at your insides as you press your lips to someone else’s. Probably because, for the first time since, the lips don’t belong to other people; they belong to the one who should have been kissing you all along.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : candy coated promises

— word count : 2.6k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : a chance conversation between you and daryl leaves you realising just how much of a sponge daryl’s mind is when he comes back from a run with an unexpected gift.

— warnings : mentions of alcohol, light mentions of deaths of loved ones

“ Daryl x reader. Daryl comes back from a run and has found readers fave chocolate and keeps it hidden all day until they have watch together then surprises them with it and gets a big awkward hug from them, making him blush like a tomato on the outside and feeling happy on the inside. “

            ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by @phoenixblack89  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A rugged backpack is slung lazily over the shoulder of Daryl after a successful run , as relaxed as Daryl could find himself those days, the stress and alertness still molded every inch of his body as if they’d been there since day one. Perhaps they have been, he contemplates. After all, growing up, his life had not been a beautiful, tangled mess of fairytales and light, rather it had been the inspiration for nightmares. Still, he doesn’t dwell on that life unless he has to, the world has chosen to live a different life and that does not hold space for past memories.

For him? The past can be a painful reminder of a way of living that has long since been deceased — focusing on what once was is the best way to take away the focus of living in the present.

Only a few days had been spent at the prison, the majority of the time had been spent making it somewhat fit for purpose, despite no life being there to tend to its upkeep. They’d been burning through what little the group had of their stockpile of supplies, preferring to stay inside the barbed wire fences. To enjoy the moment, how little it may be. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been able to just rest without the need to tread into a dangerous path .. perhaps it had been at the farm? It feels like it has been a lifetime since they’d had somewhere to regroup, to rebuild their strength to its optimum.

Being cooped up with his group, as much as he thought of them as family, he had slowly began to feel suffocated by the prison’s metal gates — even in the apocalypse do they still do their job well, even a day away has given him the much needed space his soul craved to breathe. Respite that had sorely been needed.

Daryl’s mind wanders off to a conversation had a few months prior, something so insignificant to you yet it stuck to his mind like glue.

“ If I knew the world was gonna end and we’d spend the rest of our lives trying not to get eaten by walkers, I’d have stocked up on my favourite things. “

The hunter turns his eyes to you strangely, almost in confusion as it inks itself into his features as he continues to stare at you. You understand why he’s so confused, it had rather come out of the blue since you had been enjoying the company of the other — a language without words that you are fluent in when the other is around.

“ Huh? “

“ Well, “ you begin, your eyes widen momentarily as you shift to face him, your knees complaining silently at the movement. “ Life is difficult as it is, but you know what makes it a little less hard? “

“ Booze? “ he guesses immediately, his shoulders shrugging with little liveliness.

“ Okay — ! You got me there .. technically ? “ you pause, your brows furrowing as if to allow your mind to thoroughly work through that answer. Your mind retreats back to the days where you spent nights where you should have been studying, to parties where the alcohol appeared to flow without a limited supply.  “ But, your favourite things make this nonsense easier. “

“ Same shit. “

“ You’re no fun today. “ You complain hopelessly, a wispy sigh dancing off silently in the summer’s breeze never to be seen again. Again, you shift your position and allow your chin to rest on your knees.

Night shift of being on watch had been left to the two of you, if anything you enjoy taking the night watches. Your heart takes comfort in a certain tranquility the night brings, leaving time for you to gather your thoughts and to reflect on the day and everything it had brought. The empty space the farm brought only adds to the charm.

Many of those watches had been accompanied by Daryl, in the beginning he’d seen you as nothing more than a nuisance who couldn’t keep quiet. Of course, with the movement of time brings change. You’d found a wavelength where there was less and less venom sent your way. Edges that had spent more time bathed in a haunting concoction of hatred and hurt began to dissolve little by little as he spent more time above air, an understanding had been reached.

“ Ain’t much to be laughin; ‘bout now. “

“ Hm, I suppose you’re right. “ You nod to yourself, your eyes scan the endless horizon of the farm, following the eerie trail the moonlight leaves as it grazes the Earth below. “ Still, I would kill for my favourite chocolate bar. I’d stock up on them if I ever get the chance. “

“ Yeah? Wha’s that? “ He questions you lazily, carrying on the conversation while turning to face you momentarily.

You tell him the brand, going into specific detail as you try to replicate the taste on your tongue from nothing, itching for a momentary break in a world painted red with the blood of the living and the dead. It’s a silly belief, yet anything that helps you to build a fog of a perfect illusion for no matter how long is worth it, the human brain can only take so much darkness surrounding it before it takes a hold that feels as if it will never succumb to the light.

“ Keep y’eye out. Y’might get lucky one day. “

“ Luck is a rare thing to have nowadays, Daryl. “ you whisper, more to yourself than the man who sits by your side. A twinge of pain buried deep within the arms of your words, though not hidden enough as Daryl spots it swiftly. “ It’s becoming rarer each day. “

“ Guess y’gotta make y’own luck then. “ He offers lightly, unknown that his mind has already stored the information away.

He’d developed a fondness of you, his original opinion had been turned on its head and he hated to see even the slightest hint of suffering penciled into your features — unspoken, he’d decided, even in this world, you were made to smile. He’d seen the light and joy that you brought to others, it’s only right that you should experience the same. Even over the smaller things, which is why he would promise to himself he would be on the lookout for the very chocolate you have your heart set on experiencing once again.

Heavy thuds punish the gravel beneath him as he treks back to their new home, observing the complete transformation in their expressions. Even after going through a lifetime’s worth of trauma with these people, realising people who are genuinely glad about his presence returning, even happy to have him there, is still something that he’s to get used to. Every time he finds himself faced with this situation, Daryl recognises the uncomfortable prickling sensation that begins in his fingers and inches outwards, under the veil of self preservation. But Daryl knows better. He has been the fool to such emotions before and that has only left him lost in a sea of silent distress, powerless. No longer does he listen to that mischievous voice in the back of his head that gorges greedily on his self sabotage.

Searching for your whereabouts had been the original plan on his mind, but he’s quick to rid that thought from his mind. Unable to bring himself to just be ready for the surprise on your face.. Or lack of. The conversation had been so long ago that he wonders if it had been no more than a passing wish, left forgotten as a passing fancy that holds more weight to him than you.

The day romantically dances with the dusk that slowly rolls the night on, stars shining so bright without the bright glare humanity brought with it.

“ You’re on watch tonight, they’re already up there. “ Rick informs Daryl with a pat on the back, of course, the smirk that paints his mouth so gleefully is hidden in his retreat.

Steps to the peak point of the guard tower felt as if they have shrunk, the distance feels lesser than normal, he notes to himself. Better now than never, he silently remarks. The confectionary lays safely tucked away in his side pocket, he’d have physically clipped his ear himself had he forgotten to bring it, he’s warmly thankful of his memory in this case.

“ Daryl! “

Closing the door with a lone click the noise alerts you to the presence that joins yours in the darkness. It feels like months since you’d laid your eyes on him, when in reality it had been little over a day. But when you spend twenty four hours with people you now call your family, even the hours you do not see them, time flows at a hauntingly slow pace. Had you your way, you would turn those hours into minutes.

“ When did you get back? “ You ask with a beam, your eyes more colourful than ever.

“ A few hours back. Got ‘nough supplies till a group can go out. “ Daryl answers simply, moving to lean against the railing of the guard tower.

“ You know, you could have taken one of us along. “ You offer, hoping the need is left out of your voice.

Uttered only to Maggie, you’d divulged your fear of losing people. The fear of never seeing those you’ve grown close to clouds your senses, the beating of your heart unable to rest until they are in your line of sight — a thought that if you go with them, you can do something constantly swirls in your vision. Of course, you know that won’t always be the case, but it’s all you can think of when your family temporarily misses a few members.

Winter had brought many challenges, and there had been times when you’d see them come back with scrapes and bruises that would leave your heart aching.

“ Nah, needed to do this by myself. “

“ You sick of us already, Dixon? “ There's a coating of humour as you question him, a smile accompanies your word hand in hand to assure him there’s nothing but humour.  “ I’m telling you now, you’re never allowed to be sick of me at least. “

“ You’d be the first person I’d have’ta get out of my hair. “ He answers back with a gruff, his hand reaches up to ruffle your hair slightly.

“ Don’t be so mean. “ You whine, pushing his hand back with a short burst of laughter with a richness that could rival the purest of golden honey.

A silence overtakes the two of you after the rare display of playfulness that you know most would not associate with the rough looking hunter of the group. It’s in these moments you find yourself looking up and feeling your heart full to the brim with an intense amount of gratitude, that he’s comfortable enough around you to allow you to peek into a different side of the man. This is not something you will ever take for granted.

“ You come back with much today? Or did it look like vultures have hit the spots? “

“ Wasn’t too bad. “ Daryl responds, shaking his head as he speaks. “ We got enough for a while, till we can get a group out. “

“ Hopefully we can make a home out of this place, I don’t think I can take any more of this moving about. “ You confide weakly, your nails pick at each other as you remember the time between the farm and the prison.

Daryl agrees with a huff, the winter had been hard on everyone in the group. The more he studies everyone in the group, the more differences he can see between them and those who had been on the farm. No one is the same as the people they were months prior. Daryl argues that is for the better, a certain amount of ruthlessness is now a tool required to breathe for an extra day in this world.

“ Ain’t my idea of home, but beggars can’t be choosers now. “

“ If we weren’t, I’m sure we’d all be in one of those huge mansions now. “ you sigh heavily, yearning for all the comforts you had come accustomed to. They are long gone now.

“ Y’know, I came back with sumn’ for ‘ya. “ Daryl starts, rugged fingertips descend to reach into his pocket, touching the plastic wrapper that protects the sweet treat. “ ‘Don’t know if y’want it though. “

Your eyes light up at the possibility of a gift, they rival the stir of the stars in the night sky that illuminate the darkness with their might. They may as well cower from the blinding shine as they witness the colourful wrapper come into your view, the audible crinkle brings out a quiet giggle with the grace of a ballet dancer as it twirls away into the air.

“ This is for me? “ You confirm, your hand hesitantly reaches towards his as if waiting for him to tell you that he is playing a silly joke on you.

Only that doesn’t occur.

“ Yeah.. I remembered a while back y’said that ‘ya wanted one. “ Daryl explains as he hands you the chocolate bar, the other hand reaching back to rake his nails against the back of his neck — almost as a distraction technique. “ Thought y’might’a forgot. “

Your teeth plunge deeply into our bottom lip, attempting to quell the grin that is moments from overtaking your features. Even if he’d been unsuccessful in apprehending the chocolate, even the thought that he remembers such a trivial conversation is enough to send a burst of adoration further than any galaxy reached by the heart of a dying star.

“ Daryl.. “ A whisper is spoken as you begin, turning  your sight upwards to meet the man. “ You didn’t have to. “

“ Wasn’t any trouble. “

“ Thank you. “ Gratitude is expressed, you speak with a warmth in your words as you do. “ I mean it. “

Daryl doesn’t speak, it’s not a case of having nothing to say, but rather what he should say. His actions are not done with the intent of receiving appreciation, he does it because he wants to and in his mind, is what’s right. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unable to take in the intensity of the affection sent his way.

The attention of the hunter is lifted back into reality as he feels a weight against his, arms tangle themselves behind his back and strands from a headful of hair tickle his nose as he realises you’re currently hugging him. The change is slow as he tentatively relaxes into the action, it’s so faint the two of you barely realise it’s happening until a weight sits lightly on each side of your body. He has never realised until now how much he has needed human contact that comes with no ties until now, a connection that doesn’t hinge on the deal of giving and taking as a nothing more than a cold transaction. A content breath of air slowly tiptoes away into the weak breeze that blows through the prison at a leisurely pace, of course, the air does nothing to suppress the heat that burns the cheeks of the man.

“ ‘S nothin’. “

“ Daryl, even if you came back with nothing, you still had the thought there. “ You stress from your position, your grip tightening on the man. “ You wanna share this with me, or what? “

As the night marches on, you wonder if the chocolate could ever be sweeter than one Daryl Dixon. Though, in your heart, you know that may be a fight easily lost against him.

[fandom-monium]

Alive Together - Day 1

Summary: Welcome to the Monsterpocalypse. You’re a lone wanderer trying to survive. Until you meet Joel Dawson and Boy.

WC: 4k

Tag/Warnings: light themes of death and grief?? Cursing but minimal. Slow burn. Enemies to friends to lovers?

AN: MEET CUTE? NO. MEET UGLY.

(Entry 2#3#)

Hungry. I have nothing else to report today except that I, (Your Name), am starving. Grilled spiders and roasted centipedes are starting to get old.

I've mentioned it before and I'll do it again, but I miss home cooked meals. Even Dad's shoddy attempts at recreating Mom's recipes. The last time I think was… nevermind.

It hurts; I barely remember the last time I had dinner with Dad, much less Mom, flashes of the memories I have left blurring. Probably from the tears. I used to cry at the slightest thought of Mom and then Dad. Now my heart clenches whenever I try because I shouldn't have to try to remember my own family. Believe it or not, it’s progress.

Maybe it's my fault. I hadn't bothered to snag any mementos that reminded me of them before fleeing the bunker, like an album or something. There weren't many personal items that they'd given me, now that I think about it. Too much clutter, the Captain said.

Or maybe it's the lack of consistent stimulus to my brain. I can't read as much as I'd like to, mainly because it's too dangerous to be distracted (constant vigilance is an important virtue in this world, if you hadn’t noticed). Most books that I've stumbled across (literally, I tripped over a hill of hardcovers. Not fun. Very painful) were either tattered or worn beyond comprehension, destroyed by rain or monster attacks.

Speaking of, my stomach grumbled. I need to start hunting before it gets dark... and before I attract another monster to myself. Again.

-(Your Name) (Your Last Name)

Day 1 - First Impressions

You shut the journal as an ominous roar thunders in the distance. Heart in your throat, you’re already on your feet, shoving the book into your pack and gathering the rest of your things. Once you’re certain there’s no trace left of you on the roof, you gaze at the neighborhood below, shielding your eyes as you scan for signs of alerted monsters.

Greenery and ruins go on for miles, unperturbed.

It’s high noon, rays of sunlight seeping through the clouds and warming your exposed skin. A gust of wind brushes your face and hair, and you suppress a smile. It’s not everyday the weather is this nice, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d relish in it.

Good thing you do know better.

You trace your path to the hills. The town is a maze of torn down buildings and overgrowth, winding roads littered with abandoned houses and wrecked vehicles, and, of course, hidden monsters. There’s only a couple hours before nightfall, and you’re far from your destination.

Better start walking. You’ve wasted enough time.

You climb down the side of the dilapidated house, dropping to the ground with a thump. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since the start of the apocalypse, it’s that residential areas harbored the most monsters, aside from the cities. Too many alcoves perfect for nesting. It’s safer away from the old world.

Safer, not safe.

You keep to the shadows, avoiding the open whenever you can despite the barren streets, darting between urban remnants. Your heart eventually settles as you scan your surroundings like anything and everything will pounce on you the second you let your guard down. By the time you cross the residential area and asphalt roads bleed into dry fields (from years of neglect, you somberly note), the sun has crept out from behind the clouds and the sky is clear blue.

You find a barn after hours of trudging through shrubs and your sore feet. It looms at the top of the hill leading to a dense forest, tall enough that as you step into its shadow it blocks out the sun. Walking closer, you tense as you scrutinize the place, eyes combing over the immediate vicinity.

Nothing. Nothing moves or breathes. You don’t see or hear a peep. Not from the barn or the woods beyond. It’s completely isolated from the nearby town, a perfect fort.

Or a nest.

You huff; shit like this has happened one too many times and you’d be a fool if you haven’t learnt your lesson by now. You pull out your javelin and approach with caution, leaves and grass crunching under your boots as you take in the chipped paint and boarded up windows, steadily making your way around the decrepit building. You frown at the clear deterioration, unable to spot any visible breaches.

Reaching the front of the barn, you gaze warily at the lone entrance. Tall doors ajar, old boards are still nailed across the slim gap or hanging precariously. As if someone or something pried them off, busted through.

In or out, you can’t tell.

For a moment, you weigh your options. You doubt the place had anything to offer, pillaged long before you stumbled upon it. Hell, there’s probably a monster nesting somewhere inside, or a bunch of monster eggs.

But you need food, supplies, rest. Are you willing to risk your life on the small chance this rickety barn can provide those things?

You stare down the the opening and it stares back, deceptively innocent. But it’s mocking you, you can hear it. Just daring you to walk away. 

You shuffle on aching feet, making your clothes rub against your sweaty skin.

As if on cue, your stomach growls.

Groaning, you adjust your grip on the spear before ducking inside.

You let your eyes adjust to the dark interior. Light seeps through the rotted ceiling and cracks from the boarded windows, enough that you don’t need a flashlight to see the place is deserted. You glance around the huge room, javelin ready as you wait with bated breath, ears straining to hear over your pounding heartbeat.

Nothing. You don’t hear anything, except the trees rustling outside. Nothing shifts or darts out of sight. No signs of life, not even eggs (that you can see).

It doesn’t mean you're clear, but it’s a start.

Biting your lip, you take a careful step, and another and another, your eyes sweeping the room as you tread over straw and debris. You pause mid-step when you catch a pulley system attached to the ceiling. It’s dark, but you recognize its outline. Frowning, you trace its small, thin woven ropes as they split in different directions against the ceiling and walls, hitting and crossing the floor until they disappear under a thick layer of hay.

You raise your foot, gently kicking away the straw. You step back.

A net. A decent sized one by the width of the patch of hay.

You sigh, shoulders dropping in relief. If you hadn’t been cautious you’d never have noticed it.

You make your rounds quickly as you check for resources. At this point, it’s muscle memory for you as you move through the room with silent purpose, efficient and controlled. You dig through every storage unit, every container, pulling open cabinets and drawers, tearing through the floor with precision as you toss aside rusted tools and empty cans, a pit burning in your stomach. You snarl, throwing down another torn rag. It hits the floor with a thud.

You knew this would happen. You know the chances, but after all this time you still feel the crushing disappointment? You let out a shaky breath, nostrils flaring as you attempt to quell your frustration.

You can practically hear your mother snap at you. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, (Your Nickname), unless you want to die, her stern voice echoes. You unclench your teeth with a sigh.

It doesn’t take long, your anger simmering down with each exhale, and when you’re sure you’re calm enough, you resume your initial task: scavenging the barn. Is it a waste of time and energy? Yes. Will you find anything useful? Unlikely. Are you going to try anyway?

You head for the stairs to the hayloft. Even if there seems to be nothing left, you need to make sure.

A few minutes later, you're sifting through another trunk when a yelp cuts across the dusty air, followed by the shrill sound of grinding metal. You startle, hissing as you bang your head against the trunk lid. Pushing down the throbbing pain, you snatch your spear and clamber down the stairs, stumbling forward as your eyes darting around the dust drifting in the air. Something barks over you and you look up.

Huh. Did not expect that.

You were prepared for a snarling, limb crushing insect. Or maybe a triple jawed mammal. Even a mega-pig. You’ve seen enough of those and managed.

But a dog? More specifically, a dog caught in the net you barely avoided. It’s tangled in the ropes suspended just above your head, gently swaying. It seems it does not care for the swinging because it starts barking again, louder and more urgent than before.

“Ah, poor doggy,” you croon, lowering your weapon. To your surprise, the dog stops and jerks to face you, its dark eyes gleaming in the shadows. You eye the seemingly calm animal. “Now, how did you get here? Were you following me?”

The dog whines, squirming in a sad attempt to escape. Your lips quirk up. Aside from the occasional bird, you haven’t seen a normal animal in what feels like forever, much less a dog. Most regular animals were consumed by monsters or by people for food.

Food. You haven’t eaten.

You study the dog; its dark brown fur, sleek and short, its body small⎼almost medium sized, with pointed ears and a long snout. And by the way it looks at you, it has some intelligence.

Your stomach grumbles, and the creature cocks its head at you, ears forward.

Shit.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you grimace at the dog, adjusting your hold before aiming the tip at it. “It’s nothing personal, okay? I’m hungry, and you’re the first thing I’ve seen that hasn’t tried to kill me in a while.”

Which isn’t a lie. Hunting is crazy difficult these days. But you swallow as your eyes meet, its stare unwavering like you aren’t pointing a weapon at his little body. Just one motion and you could end its life painlessly (lucky bastard), but your knuckles go white and you grip falters. Why are you hesitating now?

The dog, as if sensing your battle, barks again, this time more composed than panicked, as if trying to communicate with you. You’re grateful you can’t speak Dog. It’s probably saying something like ‘No, you’re better than this’ or ‘Please don’t do this’ or⎼

“Put him down!”

Or that.

Dear Aimee,

Guess what?

I got a dog! And he’s the coolest, his name is Boy.

He saved my life from a giant frog in a pool who tried to eat me with his tongue, and then we hung out in his bus! Man, do we make a great team. We found out that we have a ton in common too. I feel like we can talk about anything.  

You gotta see us out here; we’re like this iconic duo. I don’t know, feels like when we’re together, we’re unstoppable.

“Right, Boy? Boy?” Joel glances at his side, doing a double take. The dog’s gone. His shoulders slump, “Of course, the first friend I’ve made outside and he leaves me. Sounds about right.”

He didn’t think he could gain and lose a friend within the span of two days. This has to be some kind of record.

He jerks when he hears Boy’s faint barking, guiding him as he drags himself back to the old barn they just passed. For good reasons. The decaying barn looks like it’s in need of a new contractor and a paint job… or three. And an exterminator.

God, the surface is terrifying.

Gulping down his dread, Joel crouches to peer through the gaping hole in the wall. This must be where Boy came through. “Whatcha got there?”

The barking ceases, and so does Joel’s heart.

You stand in the dark like an apparition, back turned to him so he can’t make out your features. Your attention is fixed on the shadowed lump hanging over you, and while it’s dark and he doesn’t have a good vantage point, Joel’s mouth goes dry as he seeks out Boy.

Boy woofs again, and Joel’s heart drops. You step closer to the lump.

For a split second, he sees a flash of his mother’s face, her tears streaming down her cheeks.

He doesn’t think; no thoughts, head empty. Blood roars in his ears. His hands tremble. But he doesn’t hesitate, ripping the makeshift crossbow from his back as he scrambles under the opening.

“Put him down!”

He’s not entirely sure what he expects. He’s read enough comic books to understand the situation; the hero drops in to save damsel in distress then proceeds to demolish the bad guys. Technically, he has the upper-hand here. Right?

But realization slams into him. It knocks the air out of him, and he forgets to breathe.

He shouldn’t have barged in like an idiot. He isn’t a hero. He’s nothing like the superheroes in comics and movies and graphic novels. He doesn’t have super strength or speed or highly advanced tech and he sure as hell is not a genius. 

What he does have: a freezing problem.

He’s already lost feeling in his hands, and he almost drops the weapon as you look over your shoulder at him.

On the other hand, you have a pretty clear idea before you face your captor (seeing him now, can you even consider him that?). With the apocalypse, governments crumbled with ease along with laws and morals, so it’d make sense for people to disregard them. You’ve met quite a few… characters, and you’ve chalked it up to these main categories; garbage thieves, sleazy scavengers, and shitty thugs.

In short, humans are selfish creatures. Prepare for the worst.

You’ve thrown down, fought dirty, bartered with them all and still managed to come out on top, the scars across your body a constant reminder. Nothing surprises you at this point.

A fumbling boy though? You mask your amusement, raising an eyebrow as you take him in. The guy, tall and disheveled, blocks the only exit out of this godforsaken place, his red jacket rumpled and dusty like he’s fallen one too many times. However, what nearly sends you is, as he steps further into the light, you bite your lip, his eyes round and small lips pressed together as the crossbow quakes in his hands.

Who let this puppy out of their sight?

“Listen, buddy,” You finally speak, making Joel flinch. Your eyes narrow as his fingers jerk on the trigger. That’s not good. “If you’re gonna point that thing at me, you better know how to use it.”

He sucks in air, clearing his throat as his eyes dart between Boy and you. He cringes when his voice comes out octaves higher than he expected, “Let Boy go.”

“’Boy’?” You glance up, your weapon still raised at the squirming little fellow. “Oh, you mean Dinner?”

“You were gonna eat him?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Depends how this goes.”

“Okay,” Joel swallows, a futile attempt to keep his tone even as nausea sprouts in him. You plan to eat Boy? How can someone eat something so cute? “Let him go, and we’ll leave you alone. How ‘bout that?”

Beads of sweat drip down his temple as his breaths come out shuddered. He’s not used to this; he’s gone from being the chef of his colony to making demands, negotiating with a possible psycho.  He never trained for this! Well, he’d never been trained, period.

What if he says the wrong thing and sets you off, hurting Boy in the process? He might faint⎼no⎼he will faint. He doesn’t think his heart can handle losing more people… or animals. How is he supposed to save Boy? His fingers twitch against the trigger.

You don’t miss it.

“I don't know about that,” You reply, studying him. His hands tremble as they clutch the weapon. He may not be a scavenger or a thief, but that just makes him all the more unpredictable. Goons, you’d expect them to shoot first, ask questions later, but the fact this guy is making an effort to talk? You want to know his angle, his intentions.

Whether it’s good or bad.

“I’m hungry. It’s going to be dark soon, and Boy here,” You jerk your head at the canine, “was unlucky enough to fall into this ol’ trap.”

You watch, withholding a sneer as emotions and thoughts flit across Joel’s face like an open book. It seems a lightbulb goes off because he looks back at you, eyes wide and hopeful. “You want food? I have some in my backpack. If I give it to you, you let him go?”

He tries not to squirm, the little courage he has waning as your eyes bore into him.

“…Put the crossbow and the bag down. Slowly.”

“You too.” You tilt your head curiously as Joel stutters, “Your spear⎼I mean, if you could stop pointing it at my dog. Please.”

Your brows shoot up. Since the moment he entered⎼wait⎼floundered in here, he could not have made it more obvious that he has no idea what he’s doing. If it wasn’t the way he carried that exposed him, it was definitely his facial expressions, and if not his face, you can hear it trickle through the cracks in his voice. Yet despite how unfair the situation is for him, he’s trying to cover his terror. Failing miserably but trying. All for this cute, little doggy.

And he said please. You ignore the way it warmed you, his tone so…. genuine.

Manners, sincere or not, in the face of danger? You have to respect that.

“It’s a javelin, actually, but I agree to your terms.” Your grip slackens. He might be a wimp, but you have to give it to him. He’s got balls.

A flicker of relief crosses his face, and you both comply with your instructions. In spite of his obvious fear, you roll your eyes as he unzips his bag unnecessarily slower than you meant him to, throwing you a look.

On second thought, he’s either really brave or really stupid. It’s fifty-fifty at this point.

Joel pulls out an aluminum can. It glints in the light as he holds it up and tosses it to you. You catch it easily, inspecting it in your hands.

“Now will you let my dog go⎼Boy!” His scream tears through the barn.

You’re already composed. Uncoiling like a snake, you seize your spear and swing, all in one motion. He lunges for you, but you’re too far. He hits the ground.

Groaning in pain, he berates himself. He should have known; they had no reason to trust each other, so of course this stranger, this psycho, would betray him. He tries to brush it off, the false sense of security dissipating, the relief replaced with crushing betrayal and horror. 

This is what the surface is like? His chest clenches. He can’t breath, but this isn’t like when he freezes up on a monster. At least, not those monsters. This is worse. So much worse.

The net rips, then a pained grunt. Joel shields his eyes, burying his face in his hands as tears trail down his dirt-smudged cheeks. His heart thunders in his ears as he prepares for the inescapable sound of Boy’s pained yelps, the squelch of metal piercing flesh. He chokes down a sob.

He only knew Boy for less than two days, but within that timespan he bared his soul to the animal. He probably knew him better than his own colony. In the short time they had together, he became his best friend⎼

Okay, ew. What is licking him?

“Boy?” Joel groans, flinching away as the dog bombards him with wet kisses. “Wait, you’re not dead?”

You step into the light, javelin in hand as you snort, “Of course not. Did you think I was gonna kill him?”

Yes. Joel sits up and cradles Boy to his chest, gawking at you.

You glare at him, almost offended. “I’m not a monster.”

No. No you are not.

Decked in a faded blue jacket, you stand relaxed, spear perched over your shoulder (or a jav⎼java-something). Your eyes glint in the sunlight like steel, hard and piercing, with dark circles under them. You watch him with a slight frown. And like him, there’s smudges of dirt on your face and clothes, but you manage to make it look cool and purposeful.

You don’t look like a monster, but you kind of acted like one. Joel is conflicted.

He opens his mouth to respond, but he's not sure what to say in this situation, overwhelmed by a cocktail of emotions that he’s still coming down from. Before he conjures an appropriate response (is there even one?), you're shouldering your backpack and slipping through the gap. Joel rushes to his feet. “Hey, wait!”

You continue up the hill, not bothering to turn to him as you purse your lips. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I’m ‘still here’! You held my dog hostage; kind of hard to get over,” he grumbles, panting as he trudges after you with Boy at his heels. You’re faster than you look. “So⎼uh⎼where you heading?”

“Away.”

He nods almost sage-like, wringing his hands together. “Cool, cool. So mysterious,” He pauses, inhaling deeply. His voice, now deeper and a bit more relaxed, comes in a rush as he asks, “Is there any chance we could go with you?”

You freeze, and Joel almost crashes into your back. You whirl around and suddenly you’re faced to face, but you’re too astonished by his question to care that he’s in your personal bubble.

His breathes come in heaves. His eyes are big and round, brown and bright with… hope?

It occurs to you that this guy, who hasn’t even given you his name, is a loser. A hopeful, naive loser.

And it’s for that reason you come to a decision⎼you’ll entertain him. 

“Where are you going?”

“West,” Joel’s shoulders hunch, his voice self-assured as he adds, “to the coast.”

Yeah... fuck that. 

You turn to walk away. “No.”

“Wait!”

You glower at him, stopping him in his tracks. “Dude, we got what we wanted. I got food, you got your dog. End of transaction.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, like he’s debating how far he can test you. He seems to think better of it as his shoulders sag and he caves, “Fine, I’ll head west without you. I can do it.” The last part he says more to himself before turning on his heel, starting in the direction opposite of you.

You nod. This is good, for the both of you. And safer, you tell yourself as you turn to begin your trek again. You’re two strangers in the apocalypse; you don’t know who he is, where he’s been, and, from your experience, it’s best to travel alone. It’s inconspicuous, efficient and⎼

Where the hell is he going?

You halt, squinting as you watch him hike away from the west coast. “Hey!”

He looks at you over his shoulder, his face surprised but expectant. Hopeful. He reminds you of a puppy being called over by their owner.

He thinks you’re caving into him.

Well, jokes on you, loser. You raise an eyebrow, “You know that’s not West, right?”

“Oh,” Joel’s eyes widen, clearing his throat. Boy woofs and he shoots him a withered look, altering his trajectory. “I knew that.”

“That’s not West either.”

He switches directions again.

You shake your head. “No.“

And again.

“Nope.”

Joel’s face reddens, unable to meet your eyes as he stops trying so he doesn’t further humiliate himself.

You make your way over to him, rolling your eyes. He seems to make you do that a lot. “Okay, how much food you got on you?”

“Enough to last me a week? Why⎼”

That’s all you needed to hear.

“Then it’s settled,” You decide, clapping him on the shoulder. He winces. “You share your rations with me, and I’ll help you get to the West coast.”

He blinks, clearly taken aback as you begin your trek once again, gesturing him to follow you. You feel his eyes on your back. “Really?”

“Really. You are a food source. Also I’m pretty sure you’d die before getting halfway.” You add, unabashed.

He frowns, unsure whether to be grateful or not. He decides on the latter. “Oh…thanks anyway?”

“You're really not from around here, are you?” You pause, looking back at him.

He scratches the back of his neck. “No. Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully. So free advice,” You, with a hand on your hip and tone clipped, gesture up and down at his⎼well⎼everything. “Try not to let anyone know you’re a newb. Might keep you alive.” With that, you start heading West, not bothering to see if he’s comprehended the note you bestowed on him.

Joel glances down at himself before trailing after you. “Good to know.”

AN: I want to make it clear: I would never eat a dog, you would never eat a dog, no one would ever eat. A. Dog. That was a joke for this part 1. I even wrote emphasis on your character’s hesitation. It’s just that this is the apocalypse, so it’s safe to assume that survivors are driven into corners, desperate and have to make some hard choices.

The end dialogue is reference to @teenwolffanclub-me ​TW rewrite bc i love it and them so if you like Dylan O’ Brien and Stiles pls read their shit. <333

This part is a slow starter, but I don’t want to rush this, your intro and your development. But, now that you’ve finally met, hopefully the rest won’t seem any slower than the beginning.

I’ve never wrote for a lone survivor kind of character before. I hope you enjoyed the intro nonetheless!

I think I’ll forgo the 7 parts idea, but that’s a goal.

Part 2 in progress.

Also, how to get a beta reader??

[inlovewithhisblueeyes]

Stuck in Your Head

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: ~2.7K

Warnings: Descriptive Depressive Episode and Discussions about Prescription Medications (specifically missing doses and having side effects)

A/N: This is my first time writing RPF so I decided to stick with something I know well. I substituted my own best friend’s name in so I didn’t have to deal with the pesky acronyms cluttering the story. 

Buried underneath the covers, you were safe even though sleep continued to elude you. The chill of the morning was unable to pierce the walls of your blanket fortress. While the soft pitter-pattering of rain on your window would normally be able to lull you to dreamland, you were left to watch the rise and fall of the fabric.

Early daylight had danced its way across the room a millennia ago. No matter how deep you burrowed into your little nest, the light would seep through. So you tucked your head underneath your pillow and fought the urge to continuously check your phone. Watching time tick past would only make these growing frustrations and anxieties worse.

You remained curled up with your knees close to your chest, willing your hands to stop their shaking. All those exercises you had been taught in therapy seemed fruitless. Nothing could alleviate this numbness that had settled in your bones. Time continued to pass as you laid there, only daring to leave your bed’s warm embrace when your bladder was screaming in agony.

The spot where you laid never had to the time to cool. You were always sucked right back to it in record time like every episode before. Brain fog would cause the same thing every time. The days would seem to just blend into one another, a cycle of light and shadows that would chase each other around the ceiling. You would have no idea if you took your meds, what day it was, or even the last time you ate. Time would be nonexistent in your little blanketed world.

A soft vzzzzt came from outside your safe zone. Moving your hand slightly, you could just barely feel the vibrations of your phone. You paused as you tried to decide if you had enough energy to answer. It was most likely unimportant, another robocall about some silly matter. Sighing heavily, you drew your hand back to its previous position.

Silence fell over the room once more and you breathed a sigh of relief. You forced your eyes shut in hopes that you could finally sleep. Not more than a few moments passed before the quiet was broken yet again. The soft vzzzzt returned, requiring you to begrudgingly open your eyes. You hissed as you slowly rolled over, just enough to reach over and drag your phone under the covers with you.

You flipped your phone over as your best friend’s face filled up the screen. You know you should answer it, but you didn’t want to worry her. Ariel has enough going on without you dragging her into your shit. You quickly shot off one of those automated responses saying you’re busy and you’ll call back later before declining the call.

Carefully shoving your phone back out from under your blanket pile, you tried once more to adjust and get comfy. Finally, it seemed that the sleep you craved is upon you. You yawned before nestling your head deeper into your pillow and letting your eyes fall shut.

You woke up sometime later and noticed that the bedroom is almost completely dark. You dare to glance at your phone and it’s only 6 pm. Stiff limbs quickly made themselves known as you tried to stretch. They crack and pop as you finally moved them, each crying out desperately for motion.

Slowly you sit up and allow yourself to slip out from your burrito. Every movement feels as if you’re wading through an endless pool of molasses. You rise to feet carefully and your knees buckle as they wake up to support you. Ambling towards the kitchen, you tried to scrounge up the desire for anything other than a few mints.

Your pickings are rather slim. Even then everything would take longer than you know you have the energy to stand for. Huffing as you grabbed handful of mints before you make your back to bed. You crawled back into bed, grabbing your laptop in hopes you can find someway to pass the next round of sleepless.

Popping a mint in your mouth and scrolling through the various entertainment options, you happened across a show you know very well. Another time you might have smiled at your luck. Of course it recommends something that he was in. Rolling over to grab your phone, you unlock it to check what time it is over there.

2 am the clock answered. You swallowed the lump in your throat, remembering what he said last time.

“I don’t care what time it is. If you need me, call. I’d do anything for you. “

You glance at the clock once more and you lose your nerve.

“He’s halfway across the world right now and under enough stress. You’ll talk to him again when Friday comes around” you rationalize internally, “That’s more than 3 days away. You’ll be back to your usual by then. You always are.”

You shake your head and push the phone off the bed. Tucking an arm under your head and curling your knees to your chest, placing your laptop on top of them. You settle in with Forensic Files, hoping that Peter Thomas’s voice will eventually get you more sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come. You’ve lost count of how many episodes of Forensic Files that you’ve watched. All of them have blurred together. Once again the sun’s rays slowly painted your room in an array of reds, oranges, and finally yellows. Two more rounds of soft vzzzzt that go unanswered cause you to retreat back under the blankets once more.

For how long you remain there is unknown. All you known is that you’re forced to get up by your throbbing bladder. Then you’re back in your bed, curled up around a pillow and begging for sleep to come. Your body is sore, your mind is all fogged up, and by the time you do feel sleepy, the sun must be high in the sky.

Here's to another day of waking up after the sun has set. Daylight Savings Time is a bitch. There’s no use in checking your phone. You stretched and tried to sum up the strength to move your feet, knowing you need to at least try to make your way to the kitchen. Each step causes a shooting pain in your underused appendages.

Leaning against the counter, you grabbed a package of Cup Ramen from the cabinet. Not the healthiest choice, but the one that will take the shortest amount of time to cook. Adding the water and setting it in the microwave is the easiest part; having the strength to wait the 3 minutes to cook is the hardest.

Anxiety seeps in as you watched the timer go down. Tapping your fingers against your thigh, you tried to pass the time without throwing yourself into an anxiety attack. Finally, the microwave beeps and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You opened the microwave and quickly stirred the contents of the cup together.

You make the trip back to the bed that’s been calling your name since you left. Although you’re not hungry, you have to try to eat. You ate earlier right?....Your stomach hadn’t give any indication of hunger. You ate as much as you could stomach before leaving the unfinished meal beside your bed.

Grabbing your laptop, you scrolled through for something, anything to distract you. In a moment of clarity, you remembered that last time he mentioned a nature documentary which he said you should watch. You found it easily and turned it on, curling your body around your laptop. In your bones, the numbness reared it’s ugly head once more.

The animals in documentary didn’t cause you to laugh at their antics like they usually would. You had to pause it. You felt like you were drowning in this void. What once might have been enough to drag you out of the darkness, no longer could do so. You had been doing so well; going to your appointments and working on coping with your trauma only for the empty pit to gobble you up once more.

Screwing your eyes shut as you take in one shaky breath after the other. Whatever strength that was left in your tired limbs, you willed to help get you through. You needed to be fine, he needed you to be fine. Every inch of you shook with hurt and sorrow as sleep waded in and out of your mind. It took forever to succumb.

A gentle chime woke you from your fitful sleep. You laid underneath your mountain of blankets and watched the gentle rise and fall that came with every breath you took. You blinked a few times as you attempted to stretch out your body. The chime had stopped by the time you were finally able to peak your head from where it was tangled in your cocoon.

The noise had emanated from your laptop. You inwardly curses yourself because you only know what that means. You left yourself logged into Skype and you reached a hand over to check who called. However, as soon as you did, the chime started up again, his name flashed on your screen.

A sob threatened to break loose from your lips.  It couldn’t have been Friday already. Skype dates only happened on Friday and Saturdays, that was your routine. You glanced around your room and contemplated slamming your laptop closed. Based on the colors of the sun that painted your bedroom’s walls, it was early, much too early for his call.

Deep down you knew he would keep calling until you responded and as much as it pained you to do so, you had to give into him. You moved the cursor to hover over the accept button. With a deep breath, you clicked accept. You waited for the swoosh that always came before his face filled the screen.

You couldn’t face him like this. He didn’t deserve this. Your stomach was already upset, it didn’t need your anxiety making it worse. Burying your face in your hands, you heard the tell-tale noise that the call connected.

“Darling, there you are,” he exclaimed.

You had no choice but to peek between your fingers to see his smiling face. He looked so happy and full of light. You couldn’t dare to bring him down from his high. He was worthy of so much more, someone who wasn’t empty. Surely he could see that.

“As much as I’d love to talk your lovely hands, I’d rather talk to that face of yours.”

“Hen-“ Your voice cracked from not being used in so long.

“Please,” He begged.

Every inch of your body quaked, the inevitable was here. He would see you, see how broken and lost you were, and wouldn’t be able to take it. The expiration date for your time together was today.

“Please, sweetheart.” He tried again, his voice no louder than a whisper.

You shook your head in silent agreement to his plea. Trembling, your hands pealed away from your face and finally you saw your boyfriend’s face fully. Messy curls were strewn across his forehead and there was an inkling of stubble making an appearance on his face. His eyes were bright and warm as always. You could just barely make out the brown amongst the blue at the top of his left eye.

“There you are,” Henry murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

“Hen-“

“Shhhh... I know it’s not Friday but I wanted to see you. Ariel was worried. I was worried.”

“I’m so sorry-” You started as you felt tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, love. I’m happy to see your face. I would ask how you are, but I think I know. Have you been taking your meds?”

“I don’t remember. All I know my stomach is a bit upset,” you whispered as the first hot tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I’d reckon it’s been a few days then,” Henry sighed, ”Do you think could get up and make some green tea? That’s always helped in the past.”

You groaned, flopping backwards onto your bed. A few moments pass by in silence as you weighed your options.

“I can try.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, sweetheart,” admitted the blue eyed man,” How about you bring me with you?”

You nodded slowly. Henry was always good at reading you. It seemed that regardless of the distance between the two of you and the blurriness of the camera, his skill hadn’t waned. He knew you so well and right now you were thankful for that. There was so much you couldn’t say right now, you didn’t have the energy nor the clarity to do so.

Stretching your arms above your head, you winced at the stiffness in them. You had to do this, you had to fight that little voice in your head. You carefully moved yourself to the edge the bed. Taking a much needed deep breath, you forced your aching body to sit up. Gently, after a few moments, you maneuvered yourself to stand on your feet.

You glanced over at your computer screen and saw nothing but pride and encouragement in his blue eyes. It gave you the required push to grab your laptop and make your way towards the kitchen, tired body be damned. Normally, you feel safe and content in the silence with him. The freezing emptiness that had made it’s home amongst your bones and mortal flesh flourished in it.

“How’s filming going?” You croaked.

Henry was quick to fill the crushing silence “Remember that scene I mentioned to you last time…” His hearty timbre warming the outermost parts of your mind. Puttering around the kitchen, you put the kettle on and grabbed your favorite mug while listening. He could be speaking about blue-footed boobies and you would still be rapt.

Sooner than you would of liked, the kettle sung it’s annoying little tune. Carefully, you snatched it off the stove and poured into the waiting mug. You dropped the teabag in and leaned up against the counter. Glancing over at the computer, you saw Henry watching you with a smile on his face.

“Good job, sweetheart,” Henry beamed.

You tried to blink away the tears that remained in your eyes. “I boiled water. Nothing too special about that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Shakily setting the down the mug, you forced yourself to take some deep breaths, but it does nothing to stop the onslaught of tears. They blazed in hot trails down your cheeks.

“My brain doesn’t work, Hen. The fog sets in and it’s like I can’t do the simplest tasks. I can’t even just go through the motions,” You sobbed

“Oh, darling,” his voice barely a whisper and your gaze remained on the floor, arms wrapped around your quaking form.

“Nothing’s working…. I’m so tired of feeling like this. I don’t even feel alive anymore. Just empty and cold all the time.”

Silence fell over the two of you once again; only being pierced by your shuddering breaths as you tried regain control. It took a few moments to calm yourself. You brushed away the remaining tears and finally glance up at him.

“I’m sorry,” You murmured.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize. I know you’re struggling. I’m worried about you being all alone right now with everything that’s going on,” Henry admitted,” How about you ask Ariel to come stay with you? Just until I finish filming.”

“I…I can do that.”

“I want you to know you don’t have to stick to our schedule. I know you like the consistency it brings, but I don’t mind if you call other times, love. I’d be happy to hear your voice more often.”

Nodding your head, you grabbed your abandoned tea and took a sip. “I love you, Henry.”

“I love you too. We’re in this together, us against the problem.”

Somehow his words seemed to pierce at the remaining chill in your body. He was exactly what you needed, your lighthouse in the storm. No matter how far apart you may be, you’ll always find your way back to his loving embrace.

[xneens]

love me, hate me - part one

Warnings: swearing, angst if you squint, mild violence

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Who knew Ransom would get so worked up about a few stolen beers?

Or: In which he's a sucker for you but those were his favorite beers.

He didn't know why he put up with your shit. If you had been anyone else, you'd be working at a dead end job that barely covered your bills instead of walking around the mansion in your brand new Lois Vuitton purse, Jimmy Choo heels that screamed for him to fuck you, and a tight dress he wanted to tear off.

You even had the balls to call him Hugh, a name he specifically reserved for the help. When he informed you, you had rolled your pretty powdered eyes, sneering at him for being an inconsiderate asshole before asking why he wasn't calling himself Hugh due to the massive help sign that was disguised as his cashmere sweater.

Ransom didn't know if he wanted to hurt you or make you his. He preferred the latter but with the way you were pushing him, he wouldn't be surprised with himself if you somehow found yourself in the backseat of his car, tied up and awaiting for him to fuck you senseless. If you had been anyone else, he would ruin your life without hesitation.

He tried to hate you, he really did and usually, it wouldn't be hard for him to hate someone. Most of the time it barely took him a glance for him to decide to loathe the person. But as he tried harder to hate you, forget you, and ignore you, the more you wiggled your way into his every thought. Even then he couldn't hate you. It made part of him want to ditch family gatherings where he knew you would show, being Meg's best friend, and another part of him was exhilarated.

You on the other hand dreaded being dragged into another Thrombey's family gathering where it all ended in arguments and racists comments. The only people you were able to stomach were Harlan, his adorable nurse, Martha, and of course, your best friend Meg. Whenever the conversation began to look like a shouting match, the two of you would sneak away to get high with the maid, Fran.

Ransom was an asshole, a hot, smoldering asshole with enough snarky remarks that would make any sane person hang themselves. You knew he wasn't a fan of yours, which was only good news for you; you hated him, too. The expression "there's a little bit of good in everyone." applied to everyone except him, not that you weren't surprised. Truth to be told, you wouldn't put it past him to kill a family member if they pissed him off enough.

With the number of jabs you made at his expense, you were shocked he hadn't ruined your life yet. Maybe you had a death wish dangling over you, or maybe you just liked pushing him but you made it your little mission to ruin his evening since yours would be the second he stepped in the room.

Meg nudged you with her elbow, leaving a sore spot on your ribs. You gave her a dirty glare, looking up from your Instagram feed. She motioned to the large mansion ahead, the car slowing. "Okay, the plan is to get drunk, but not enough for my drunk relatives to notice and once they're having one of their dumb-ass debates, we sneak off to Fran's room and smoke a few. That sound good?"

Stretching, you nodded, tucking your phone away. "Yeah, that's fine. Remind me how I ended up spending Thanksgiving break with you, again? What did I ever do to deserve such a punishment?"

"You crushed your parent's wishes on becoming a lawyer, instead became an Instagram model, and the holidays with them are too long for you to hear how their daughter could've convicted criminals instead of posting bikini pics," Meg replied, grinning at your sarcastic pout. She stopped the car right beside her mom's. "Come on, it won't be that bad."

"That's what you said last time. Do you not remember how that little reunion ended?" you asked, opening the car door and getting out. The little gravel on the cemented driveway crunched under your new heels, making you grimace.

Meg shut her door, grabbing her purse. She waited at her side of the car and you both walked up to the door. "Actually, I don't. I'm surprised you can especially with all the weed you smoked."

Rolling your eyes, your mind wandered to the man who had killed your buzz. "Your asshole of a cousin ruined my buzz just by opening his mouth. He could be so much hotter if he never utters a single word ever again."

"Please stop talking about Ransom, it's making my lunch come back up." Meg whined, her feet trudging up the steps. Your heels clicked on the wooden porch. "Which reminds me, he kept asking if you were going to be here. Be careful, he might have a little trap to humiliate you in front of my family. If that happens, just knee him in the balls, and we can go to Cabo or something."

You made a face, cringing just thinking of Ransom asking about you, let alone imagining some kind of plan to embarrass you. "Ugh, what a dick. It's time like this that I regret not going back to my crazy family for holidays."

"You'll be fine. Hopefully. Let's go see Harlan." she opened the door, taking off the lush coat draped over her shoulders before placing it on the spacious coat closet by the entrance. She held her hand out for yours and you slid it off handing it over for her to hang up.

Martha greeted you before you could take another step, the Latina smiling at both of you. "I'm so glad both of you are here. The rest came in before you and they've been bickering since."

You both gave her knowing smiles, the loud discussion so heated you could hear it from all the way across the house. Meg sighed, snaking an arm around yours and Martha, pulling you towards Fran's quarters. "Looks like Harlan will have to wait. I'm not going in there sober."

Martha shook her head, slipping her arm out from Meg's grasp. "Sorry, I don't drink and I have to serve them before they get any rowdier. Between the three of us, I'd rather not see another fist brawl this holiday."

You let out a dry chuckle, fixing the hem of your dress. What were you thinking wearing such a tight dress to a party where Richard Drysdale would mentally undress you with his beady eyes. "We'll come with you, now won't we, Meg?"

She groaned, getting pulled by you, her feet dragging on the hard floor. "We're spending Christmas at your parents' house. You can suffer the family drama because I've had it up to here with mine."

"Oh, you big baby." you teased, following Martha to the living room with Meg in tow. You'd think with all the drama she endured from her crazy mother she'd be able to handle a little more from her crazy relatives. "Wanna mess with that racist, whiney troll?"

Meg's lips lifted into a smile. "That's why you're my best friend."

Martha took a turn towards the kitchen instead of the living room, leaving you and Meg to enter the roomful of crazies alone. Some heads turned but not enough to stop the little debate happening.

Jacob sat at the uncomfortable seat in the corner of the room, watching and tapping the screen in front of him, his eyes never tearing from the device. Linda and Donna sat side by side while their husbands had a screaming match with the other. Joni stood by the fireplace, sipping her wine, and occasionally input some random Pinterest inspirational shit. Your eyes landed on the man you thought would take his sweet time arriving.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale sat at his self-proclaimed seat, eating his Biscoff butter cookies, a smirk evident on his face as he watched you walk into the room. He tried to ignore the way his heart raced, blaming it on the cookies and his seven-month dry spell.

You broke free from Meg's arm, pouring yourself a flute full of champagne, swallowing every last drop before making your way to the plush couch, sitting beside your best friend. Your perfume whiffed in the air as you passed Ransom, making him sit up in his chair. You sat close enough for him to reach over and touch you, but he didn't.

Linda gave you the warmest smile she could muster, interrupting the men's argument to greet you. "Hello, darling. Glad you could make it. At least now there's someone in the room with half a brain."

Walt sneered at his sister before giving you a half-hearted smile. "Hey, kid. Your dad still adamant you become a lawyer?"

"Yup," you answered, pulling out your phone, seeing a bunch of notifications from said person. "Why else do you think I let Meg kidnap me, Walt? No offense, but Thanksgiving at the Thrombey's doesn't classify as peaceful or relaxing."

Ransom guffawed, earning glares from his family members. He smirked at you, biting off a piece from his cookies. "Finally, someone who speaks the truth. No wonder she's his favorite."

That subject launched another debate: deciding who was Harlan's favorite. It was no doubt, Martha was but you did come at a close second. Ransom knew, and he didn't want to miss an opportunity to watch his relatives fight. He was a dick that way. He glanced at you, seeing your phone light up as you whispered a secret to Meg. You ignored the phone call, turning over the phone.

While the rest of the family argued, you left Meg's side, getting up from the uncomfortable couch, and walked out of the room. Ransom watched you, licking his lips at the sight of sashaying, hips swaying, and heels clicking. The crotch of his pants grew uncomfortably tight.

Meg watched him watch you with narrowed eyes, suspicious by her cousin's behavior. He may be 33 but he still acted like a teen, and with her best friend pushing him, there was no telling what he'd do. "If you do anything stupid or remotely offensive to her, I'll make sure to send her your head for her next birthday. Maybe she'll have it taxidermied, and hang it up."

Ransom smirked, tossing the last of his cookie in his mouth, chewing as he looked down at his cousin. "That'll only give me a view of a lifetime. My, this college you go to doesn't seem to teach manners does it? Charming as ever, Meg."

She scowled at him, getting up in the middle of the argument. She couldn't stop whatever he was planning if she didn't know what he had in mind but she wasn't going to ruin this holiday for her best friend. Meg followed you to the kitchen, seeing you take a shot glass from Martha. "Drinking already?"

"Don't judge me. Lemme wallow in the warmth and love of the alcohol that your family isn't capable of," you replied, drinking the clear liquid, grimacing as it burned your throat. Martha handed you the chaser, her timid personality making her put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Thanks, Martha."

Meg took the bottle of vodka, pouring herself a shot before offering it to Martha who had shaken her head. "You sure?"

She nodded, placing the bottle back in its place. "Yeah, I don't need to be drunk when serving those people. It seems like it's even worse out there than before."

"Thank Ransom. That bastard decided to start another fight just by opening his mouth," you said, sipping on a glass of water. Sniffing the room, you smelt the Thanksgiving dinner Martha had to cook by herself. You knew she had to make a special meal for Ransom since he wouldn't dare put the traditional food in his mouth. Too bad, it'd shut him up. "Why is he here, anyway? Isn't he usually the last one to get here?"

"Usually, but he came with Linda and Richard. Don't worry, you're not the only confused." Martha answered. The oven timer beeped and she opened it, taking out the pumpkin pie. She held it out. "What do you guys think?"

"Looks delicious," Meg replied, looking around the room. The sun was setting and soon you would have to face Ransom again, for dinner. "Do you need any help, Martha? We could help you set up the table or something."

"No, it's fine. I have everything taken care of," she said, nearly dropping the big turkey. Meg helped her, carrying it to the counter. Martha smiled sheepishly. "I guess I could use some help. Meg, do you mind stirring the gravy? And [Y/N], would you please place some knives at the table?"

Both you and Meg nodded, helping the poor nurse. Harlan must've let Fran have the day off or else she'd be all over this. Meg grabbed a plastic ladle from the drawers while you took a handful of knives, leaving the kitchen and walking to the dining room. The long table had been filled with plates, glasses, and napkins, the only thing missing was silverwares. Harlan would have to give Martha a raise.

You had just placed the first knife down when Ransom came in the room, leaning against the arch, arms crossed as he took you in. Watching you, he realized he might have a knife kink, only when it comes to you. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to make some kind of remark.

When he didn't, you sighed, tossing a knife onto a clothed napkin. "Yes, you pretentious asshole?"

He chuckled, pushing himself off the wood and walking towards you. "Hello to you, too. Why exactly are you doing that? Shouldn't that Mary girl be taking care of everything?"

Oh, the urge to stab a knife in his face--it was almost too much to resist. "It's Martha and unlike you, I'm nice enough to offer help rather than be a lazy prick who no one loves. Karma's gonna bite you in the ass one day, baby."

Ransom snorts, walking up next to you, so close you could feel the heat coming off of him. "You know, my dear cousin mentioned something about some prank she thinks I'm going to pull on you. Do you know what's going on in that stoned brain of hers?"

"Ransom?" you asked, making your way around the large table, placing knives where they belonged. Gritting your teeth into a smile, you turned to him. "I mean this in the best way possible: fuck off."

He would never dare admit it, to himself even, but that hurt him a little. Not enough to break his smug exterior. "Aw, I like you, too, sweetheart. Hurts when you don't admit you do, too. Want some help on the other silverware?"

Your jaw dropped, the knife slipping through your fingers and Ransom caught it quickly. He placed the knife on the empty, designated napkin. "You're fucking with me."

"No, but I sure would like to fuck you." he grinned, the hidden objective twinkling in his eyes. You rolled your eyes, returning back to the kitchen with Ransom following. "Can't a guy help out around here?"

Ransom grabbed your hand before you could push the kitchen door open. He gently led you to the dark, almost hidden hallway beside the dining room. You snatched your hand back, your elbow grazing the wall behind you. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Spending time with my favorite person," Ransom answered, the smirk gone as he backed you to the wall behind you, leaving you no room to escape. Not that you wanted to. His eyes dropped to your lips, only to darken when yours flashed to his. "Why're you so special? Why do you keep invading my thoughts, my dreams, huh? What're you doing to me?"

That made you smile, amused he couldn't stop thinking about your body. You drag your manicured finger down his blue sweater, earning a shaky breath from him. "Glad to know you have wet dreams about me, Hugh. Hmm, what do you get off to, anyway? Degradation? BDSM? Or are you vanilla in bed? With the way you act, it makes me wonder if you even have a dick."

He growled, slamming you into the wall so hard your head made a loud thud. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on a bit. You did like it rough. "Your a guest here, act with respect, [Y/N]. Close that mouth before you say something you'll regret."

"Wouldn't you like it if I used my mouth for something useful?" you breathed, hands resting on his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. His eyes drifted to your lips, tongue darting out to moisten his own. "Yeah, you would."

"What that mouth do, sweetheart?"

You heard the oven timer ding and you smiled, moving your lips to his ear. "Eat."

—

His thigh brushed against yours, a hand "accidentally" landing on your bare thigh, his fingers wrapping around the leg. You flashed him a hard smile before moving your thigh away, almost kicking his wife across the table. You scooted closer to Ransom, hoping to avoid his father's uncomfortable advances. If it wasn't for Linda, you would've stabbed the knife you were holding in his hand.

Apparently, you scooted a bit too close to Ransom for him to raise an eyebrow at you, the hint of a soft grin appearing. You glared at him. "Don't."

Ransom chuckled softly, moving closer, close enough for your shoulders to touch. "Now who likes my company?"

"I do like your company... said no one ever." you snapped, keeping enough distance from Richard's wandering hands. If you could, you would've rip his fingers off, but the Thrombey's were too powerful. Ransom threw you a glance, looking between you and the gap between your chairs. You grit your teeth. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

You pushed away from the table, frustrated with everything about your situation. Tossing your napkin on your plate, you stood up, catching everyone's eye. "Excuse me."

Meg was in the middle of eating her share of the turkey, looking up with a piece of the skin hanging from her mouth. If you hadn't felt so uncomfortable, you would've laughed. She sat up, tilting her head in question as she covered her mouth. You shook you head, assuring her you'd be fine.

Ransom's eyes followed you as you walked by Harlan, giving him a gentle peck on the cheek and a hug before walking out of the dining room. He didn't think he'd ever be jealous of his grandfather. He waited a few seconds before following you, Meg's narrowed eyes watching him as he walked with purpose—he just didn't know what that was yet.

He heard your door slam before he could take a step up the stairs, leaving him confused on what to do. Ransom knew you would reject his company, not that he would blame you. Yet, he felt a little pang in his chest that he ignored, blaming it on the salty turkey. He'd have to go to the doctor soon, check out what was going on with his heart. It might be something serious like palpitations.

Sighing, he went to the kitchen, grabbing a beer and dragged his feet back to his room, trying to forget about the effect you had on him.

It didn't work.

—

Crawling out of bed, you tiptoed down the hall, careful not make a sound as you made your way downstairs. The stairs were loud and you cringed, hoping everyone was deep asleep. Meg had passed out after smoking Fran's stash, plopping down on her bed in your shared bedroom. She reeked of weed and that hadn't help you sleep at all.

You snuck into the kitchen, the soft counter lights bright in the dark room. Walking over to the fridge, you pulled it open, seeing Ransom's alleged "best" beer right at the front. Rolling your eyes, you grab one, popping the cap off. You took a sip, agreeing with the asshole; it was great beer.

Unfortunately, he chose that right moment to have a midnight snack. The kitchen door opened and Ransom was greeted by the sight of you drinking his beer in your tight tank top and booty shorts. It was enough for him to lose it.

Angrily, he walked up to you, snatching the beer from your hand, some of it dripping on the floor. He held it up in front of you with a sneer on his face. "What the hell do you think you're doing with my beer?"

You flinched when he threw it across the room, the shards sprinkling out on the floor. If his yelling hadn't woken up anyone, that certainly would've. Rolling your eyes, you sighed, crossing your arms. "Don't you mean Harlan's beer? It's not like you bought that beer from your own pocket since you don't do shit."

"Oh, I don't do shit? Unlike you I don't depend on horny men and lesbians for likes in order to keep a roof over my head." he spits, pushing you back against the counter.

"No, you just take money from mommy and daddy." you fired back, amused by his anger. You decided then you had a death wish. Or maybe it was just hot seeing Ransom so riled up. Either way, you weren't complaining.

Ransom growled, hands gripping your waist so tightly you were sure it would leave bruises. "Shut up."

Smirking, you lean towards him, lips hovering his. "Make me."

Before he could kiss you, you shoved him away, took another beer from the fridge and walked away without giving him a second look. Ransom stared after you, gripping the kitchen counter.

This wasn't over.

part two

[hunterscoffee]

Glass Cuts Deep

Oneshot Masterlist Anakin Skywalker x Reader x Padme Amidala Warnings: SEVRE TRIGGER WARNING, MENTIONS OF SELF HARM AND SUICIDE, INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS AND OTHER DEPRESSIVE SYMPTOMS. Word Count: 667 A/N: Please tell me if this is too much.

You had no control, the flash of emotion, while not coming out of nowhere, still surprised you. It had been almost a month since your last relapse, but you could feel yourself on the brink of another. Your fists clenched around nothing, fingernails digging to your palms. Even through your pain you felt guilt, forcing your issues and problems onto Anakin and Padme, they didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve them. You were fucking nothing, just a fucking burden weighing them down, bringing them down with you. The guilt just fed the flames of your despair until you felt nothing but the familiar ache, not even in one specific spot, an unexplainable pain you didn’t know how to cope with.

The whole thing engulfed you, swallowing you whole til you could barely see through your tears. Your hand shook, moving from gripping your hair with an ironlike strength to sliding roughly down your face and pulling at the joints of your finger. You had been pacing for the last hour or so, trying unsuccessfully to rid yourself of your unbearable ache. Your brain was going a million miles per hour, a thousand thoughts filling your head every second, everything constricted, your muscles tight and sore, your lungs only allowing you to take shallow breaths, barely filling them with the oxygen they needed.

You pulled a hand through your hair roughly for almost the tenth time, pulling more tightly than the others as your thoughts settled on the one thing you dreaded yet currently dreamed of. You were free to do anything, no one was in your way. In a spilt second of impusliveness, however, with thought and with a level of hesitation that your mind simply stomped on, telling you any health, any happiness, any joy you ever felt you didn’t deserve because you weren’t worth it, you were fucking nothing.

Your feet almost moved without your consent, the familiar intrusive thoughts filling your brain almost like the visions Anakin had of you and Padme dying in his arms, your brain flashed from reality to thought until you were lost in the thoughts, seeing yourself slitting your wrists, burning a death stick against your skin, hitting your head against a mirror until your face was cut up and unrecognisable. You caught your reflection in a mirror as you paced by it, trying to shake your head of the thoughts, without hesitation you felt a flare of self hatred, nothing like you had felt in your past episodes, you launched your fist into the mirror. Admittedly you had never been someone who was good in combat, your pinky finger landed awkwardly against the glass cracking with an excruciating pain that your brain simply replied with, serves you fucking right, as the glass shattered against your fingers it sliced open the skin, some shards embedding themselves into your flesh. 

You fell to the floor sobbing in agony, even so you felt as if you deserved it. Your hand bleeds over the carpet, your clothes, the wall, a loud cry, caused by the mental and physical pain. Your tears slipped past your eyelashes, wetting your face as they slid down your cheeks. You rested your head against the carpet, suddenly feeling drowsy and unable to hold your head up. A last sob escaped your mouth as your eyes slid shut.

***

“Fucking shit, holy shit. Shit no, please don’t leave me, maker,” Anakin’s voice seeped into your head, your eyelashes fluttered as they tried to open. “Thank the maker, stay with me please.”

“Anakin, hold the arm still,” Padme’s voice, sweet as honey. Footsteps and two other voices joined those of your lovers’.

“I love you so much, please don’t leave me, don’t leave us.” Anakin sounded like he was crying, not even caring that he was openly showing his devotion to you in front of others, risking being caught. A drop of water hit your cheek, one of Anakin’s tears, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

[unjourjeseraideretourpresdetoi]

9/10 Chapter 1 - Malt

I started writing a bit of a Harry/Kim fanfic??? Because why the hell not. Anyway, here’s the first part of it. I’m kind of just making it up as I go with a few specific ideas scattered in my head. Spoilers for various plot points. Here’s a sample before the cut. Feel free to send any suggestions or critique, since it’s been ages since I have done much writing. Still working on getting a feel for Harry’s skill voices.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Hello again, Harry boy. The midnight train to Fuck-All-Borough is boarding once again, and you’ve pre-paid your seat. YOU — Okay. ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Yes, that’s right. Let’s drive right into the sweet, succulent sopor of oblivion. Let no feelings come to pass, no sensations, just the pure bliss of the radiating void. YOU — But aren’t you here? ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — That’s just it, Harry. I’m nothing. I am the pale of the mind, I am the deafening silence, I am the black canvas that stretches taut when you close your eyes. I am the swaddle that cradles the mind and the ocean you will drown in. I am born of you and someday, you will die in me. LIMBIC SYSTEM —  But not yet—something still stirs in this weighted sack. Something heavy, and sore, and full of noise that steadily rises into a crescendo.

PERCEPTION — And then you open your eyes. And it fucking hurts. PAIN THRESHOLD — Dear god, it’s like a jackhammer on a pogo stick on another jackhammer. PERCEPTION — You realize there’s a smell you haven’t smelled in a few weeks now that’s uncomfortably emanating from your form. Al Gul. COMPOSURE — Oh. You finally did it again. You fucked up.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — So we got a little smashed. Who cares. You know what’s a great way to stop feeling sorry about it? Getting smashed again. AUTHORITY — No. YOU — Why am I always fucking things up? HALF LIGHT — Because life is terrifying. LOGIC — He’s right about that one.

YOU — What was I doing last night? ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Like I said, getting smashed. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Painting the world with a palette of sugary booze and sad, old rock and roll for sad, old rockstars.

YOU — Who did I hurt this time? DRAMA — Mostly, just yourself. VOLITION — A small miracle, if so. You’re used to self-immolation. YOU — But why? Why now? We were doing better. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speak for yourself. LOGIC — You do know that you can’t just ride out two decades of practiced chemical drowning on a workhorse of piety and guilt, right?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — This ceaseless dependency on cocktails of narcotics and spirits has weakened you shamefully. PERCEPTION — You look around your dimly lit bedroom, eyes half-closed anyway to quiet the searing pain in your cerebral cortex, slowly putting the pieces back together as the rest of your body wakes up.

YOU — I was having a shitty day. I was stuck on a case and my mind just kept drifting into half-remembered past mistakes. After work, I decided to do it. I called her again, like an idiot. I thought to myself, I can do this, I can let her go, and I’ll tell her I’m finally over it (almost). INLAND EMPIRE — But that is not how it went. She had prepared for the next time you would call. The last time was terrifying enough, torn awake at 3 in the morning, listening to your desperate lies, digging through past trauma. 

YOU — “Hey, uh, Dora. It’s Harry. I’m sorry—“ PERCEPTION — A sharp sigh breaks your concentration. DORA — “Let me stop you there, Harry. Because I’m tired of this. You’ve been doing this six years now but it feels at least twice as long. So since you can’t put an end to it, I am. Don’t call again. You won’t be reaching me at this number anymore.” PERCEPTION — Before you can react, there’s silence. And a dial tone. YOU — Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

COMPOSURE — You stumble through dialing the number again, fingers slipping the first time from nerves and connecting the second, with no answer. You try again. And again. And then you stop trying. It takes everything in you not to smash the phone where it sits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You need to smash something. If we can’t smash the phone, we HAVE to smash something. REACTION SPEED — Your feet are already taking you away from the pay phone, one thought ahead of the rest of you. You barely round the corner into the alley before you plant your fist full force into the nearest brick wall. PAIN THRESHOLD — Your hand spirals into a fractal of pain, blood dripping down your busted knuckles, slowly running down the dirtied wall. You can feel the cracking of your knuckles, like a brittle lacework of glass strapped down only by the leather of your worn-out hands. HALF-LIGHT — Get out of here. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Now that you’re done smashing your fist, it’s time to get the rest of you smashed. YOU — “Fuck it. I’m getting a drink.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — From there, it was a blaze of sweet, hot fire down your throat and back up again, run ragged from shitty karaoke and mild alcohol poisoning. But the film reel is running thin, and you’re struggling to get anything else from your memory bank.

YOU — How did I get back? I don’t remember walking home. ESPRIT DE CORPS — You asked for help.

HAND-EYE COORDINATION — You pat at your pockets, searching for the right one, not quite remembering what you’re doing but knowing the answer you thought of for a fraction of a second is somewhere in there. After a moment, you find it, carefully tucked away but nevertheless damp with sweat from your slacks.

“If you need to talk— 005-93-88-651 Lt. Kitsuragi”

INTERFACING — Your hands are a bit shaky, but you dial out the number on the slip of paper in your hands. PERCEPTION — It rings once. Twice. A third time. And then you hear the receiver click. KIM KITSURAGI — “Hello?”

SHIVERS — In a small apartment in Central Jamrock, not too far from Precinct 41, and not too far from the Jamrock Public Library, Lieutenant Kitsuragi sits on his bed, some light reading in hand, winding down for the night. His new apartment is still filled with cardboard boxes here and there, in no particular hurry to be unpacked. The lights of the city pierce through like little pinpricks in the glare of his bedside window, still insistent on their presence even in the quiet of a cool spring night.

YOU — “Hi, Kim, I uh…” Your voice shakes and you lose your words for a moment, because some part of you really didn’t expect him to pick up. KIM KITSURAGI — “Detective? It’s after midnight.” DRAMA — It’s already that late? You must’ve woken him up. A bad start. YOU — “Uhh… sorry, I uh. Wasn’t looking at the clock. We can just talk tomorrow—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “You’re drunk.” COMPOSURE — Fuck. There’s nothing coming out of your mouth anymore. Another bad phone call. It takes everything in you not to cry. You do anyway.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Where are you?” YOU — You manage to croak out enough to say “Sunshine’s Hideaway. Bar on 12th street.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses a moment, thinking. “...I’ll be there in a few minutes.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He’s thinking about the best route there. LOGIC — He doesn’t have his motor carriage right now. He’s going to have to walk it, and it’s cold out. YOU — “I… you don’t have to do that, I’ll just—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “Harrier, just shut up and park your ass somewhere warm until I get there.” AUTHORITY — He’s doing it! He’s doing the eyebrow thing but on the phone! I didn’t know he could do that! YOU — “Yessir.”

It probably takes about 15 minutes for him to arrive, though each minute feels like five. You feel like a child waiting for their parents to come pick them up at school. You’re pretty sure everyone is staring at you. You can’t really see through the blurry bokeh of your stupid tears. But you can just barely make out the door of the bar opening, followed by a silhouette marked by orange slipping through. Lieutenant Kitsuragi spots you after a moment, and you quickly try to wipe your eyes like you haven’t just been crying the whole time as he approaches. KIM KITSURAGI — You can hear him pull at the chair next to yours, calmly settling into place. “Hello, detective.”

YOU — You try to pull up some words, but you just find yourself nodding appreciatively as you try not to grimace. COMPOSURE — Somehow, the moment his eyes fall on you, you feel like someone just ripped the rug right out from under your feet. You slide down on your elbows, face pressing down onto the table in humiliation, locking your hands together on the back of your neck, like you’re trying to hide in a little tomb of your own arms.

KIM KITSURAGI — You hear the lieutenant take a deep breath and sigh. He unzips his jacket, stifling him in the warm interior of the bar. “That rough, huh?”

YOU — You don’t want to say anything, but your mouth opens before you can stop it. “I’m such an asshole, Kim. I keep fucking everything up, over and over, no matter how hard I try. I just. Keep falling back into my bullshit.” Your voice shakes as you get the words out. “Is this just as good as it’s gonna get at this point? Have I fucked up entirely too much, entirely too long, am I just… this constant trainwreck now and forever? How much of myself have I wasted away into nothing, doing this shit? Acting like a child. Acting like an animal. It feels sometimes like all I have is more downturns. More hurting people. More hurting myself. And I’m so, so fucking tired… and I don’t wanna do this anymore. If this is how it is, I don’t want to… be.” Your voice stops making any noise by the time you reach the end of that.

HALF-LIGHT — And then there’s silence. You know this silence. It’s the sound of someone deciding they’re sick of your shit. This is the moment he realizes he really, truly does not know you and you don’t know him. And he knows he has to get out of here, before you take him down with you, like you’ve done to so many others. EMPATHY — But then there’s a hard pat on your back. Thumping against a hollow drum, ringing through your electrified lungs. KIM KITSURAGI — “It’s okay, detective.” PERCEPTION — His voice is soft and careful.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Honestly, it’s astonishing you’ve held out this long. It’s barely been two months since Martinaise. Since the Whirling. Throughout my time in the RCM, I have seen many good officers break over less. I didn’t know you before March. I don’t really know what kind of officer you might’ve been before that. But who I am familiar with is the Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois, the officer I met two months ago, who is probably the strangest man I’ve ever met, but he is also the most relentless, the most stubborn, the most annoying, and honestly, the most sincere man I’ve ever known to grace the RCM. He is a man who cares enough to find the time in his busy workload to help people he just met, whose troubles he sniffs out like a bloodhound, offering them the help that no one else would. No matter how trivial, or how complicated. I don’t know if this selflessness is something you picked up because you don’t know how to help yourself, but I do know there’s a real effort in there. There’s a real, true love for the people of Revachol. And I know how much this job takes out of people. You can’t turn every mistake around in just a few months. Probably not even a few years. But I think what matters is that you are trying, and I can see how much it hurts you to feel like you’ve failed in that. Please don’t think that tonight is a sign that you can’t do better. Tonight is a dam breaking in the expectations you’ve built up for yourself after staring down your own potential.”

PERCEPTION — Are you laughing? Or is that crying? INLAND EMPIRE — It feels like there are ghosts escaping your every breath. Like parts of you are desperately rushing to the surface, tearing through flesh and bone, clawing at a chance for freedom. The lieutenant’s arm still rests heavily on your back, the only anchor your spirit has left as it dissipates into vapor and rushes through the night.

VOLITION — You cry until there’s nothing left in you anymore.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

KIM KITSURAGI — After a moment, he realizes you’re staring at him, then adjusts in his seat, leaning forward and settling his arms in front of him. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can walk?” YOU — “I uhh... probably. My leg doesn’t hurt as much right now.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm.” He mutters, getting up from his seat. “At least there is that small grace. How far is your place?” PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You’re pretty sure he’s offering to walk you back. You’re not a child, you can get home perfectly fine on your own, thank you. YOU — “Ten blocks.” COMPOSURE — You quickly try to rise to your feet, but it becomes immediately apparent that the floor has been replaced with a rickety old carousel, and you promptly lose your footing. REACTION SPEED — Before you can even attempt to figure out what is happening, you realize that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has wrapped one of his arms around your back. PERCEPTION — His grip is tight and you can feel the muscles tensing in his forearm against your back. Once again, its presence stabilizes you, a beacon for your twisting senses to converge upon. It takes a few moments for everything to slot back into the correct place. KIM KITSURAGI — “Are you sure you’re alright, detective?” DRAMA — His concern is quite sincere. YOU — “I just gotta sleep this off.” You say as you steady yourself back upright.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Let’s get going, then.” He nods to you as he zips up his jacket again, then stretches his right arm out behind your back. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — No, dude, fuck that shit, you’re sick of people propping you up because of your stupid leg, we can do this shit on our own! YOU — “Thanks.” You steady yourself against his arm and extend your left against his back as well. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Hey, what! DRAMA — By now, the lieutenant knows when you’re just trying to bullshit and act like a tough guy. It’s time to drop the act, for now. He knows you need the help. You wouldn’t have called him if you didn’t.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s all I got. The rest is just black. YOU — Ugghhhhhh damn it. Like Kim hasn’t seen enough of me making an ass of myself by now. EMPATHY — On the bright side, his mental image of you can probably only improve. Hopefully. Maybe. YOU — Whatever. What time is it? PERCEPTION — You look around for your alarm clock, and find it knocked onto the floor beside your bed. It says 9:53. YOU — Shit. Did I have work today? ESPRIT DE CORPS — No. Your hours have been temporarily reduced during your recovery period. YOU — Right. Okay. I should probably get up and do something about this headache.

You throw the blanket off of your body and gradually roll yourself out of bed, bones creaking with aches and pains, limping across the room and dodging various discarded clothes and shoes that litter the floor. You twist the doorknob and open your bedroom door, making your way across the living room, towards the bathroom.

REACTION SPEED — Wait! There’s someone… on the couch? PERCEPTION — A figure of a man lies on the couch, covered with an ugly patchwork blanket, still sleeping. Next to the couch, an orange bomber jacket rests. Wait… is that Kim? HALF-LIGHT — OH MY GOD, you’re half-naked, GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PUT YOUR PANTS ON BEFORE YOU HUMILIATE YOURSELF. SAVOIR FAIRE — You quickly backpedal, trying not to make any noise, and press your door shut firmly, hoping that you weren’t noticed. YOU — Why is he here??? I thought he just walked me home? HALF-LIGHT — Stop thinking and get your damn armor on! VOLITION — Armor? We didn’t find any armor pants in Martinaise. DRAMA — He’s being metaphorical. You hurriedly stuff your legs into the closest pair of semi-clean trousers before peeking out the door again.

PERCEPTION — The lieutenant is still asleep on the couch. SAVOIR FAIRE — Alright, go time. You sneak through the living room and into the bathroom, carefully trying not to creak the medicine cabinet as you get yourself some painkillers. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Down the whole bottle! Party time! VOLITION — No. We are not doing that.

After taking the recommended dose of painkillers, you peek out into the living room again. PERCEPTION — Lieutenant Kitsuragi is still resting quietly on your couch, lying on his back, tightly wrapped in the ugly spare blanket from your linen closet. You suddenly realize there’s something different about the living room… such as, there’s less garbage everywhere. EMPATHY — Did he clean the room up for you? Or maybe for himself?

You exit the bathroom and slowly cross the living room, stopping halfway through, looking at the lieutenant again. PERCEPTION — He looks peaceful, and his face relaxed and still. With his glasses off, you notice more of the shape of his brow and his tired eyes. His breathing is slow and measured, with quiet sighs. One of his arms dangles out from under the blanket, his hand just barely off the floor. His fingers are thin, bony, weathered from work, with little scars and blemishes that have mostly faded away.

SUGGESTION — Hold it.

YOU — What?

No one replies. You stare for a moment, feeling a tension in your chest. Curiosity snakes through your skin. You step closer towards the couch, then slowly crouch down, meeting the lieutenant’s eye level.

SUGGESTION — Hold it. Please.

You reach forward, and the lieutenant suddenly stirs.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mmnh…” His eyes flutter open. “Oh, good morning detective.” YOU — “Uh, yeah. Good morning.” You casually withdraw your hand and rest it on your leg. “Why are you here…?” KIM KITSURAGI — “You don’t remember?” He asks with a hint of concern. YOU — “Well, mostly. I remember you helped me walk home, but after that, it’s fuzzy.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so just the normal amount of alcohol-induced forgetfulness.” The lieutenant nods at you, then sits up on the couch. He reaches for his glasses on the side table, then folds them open. “I decided to stay here on the couch, just in case...” He trails off. EMPATHY — To keep an eye on you. In case you started doing worse.

YOU — “...Thanks. I’m sorry for interrupting your night.” KIM KITSURAGI — “No need to apologize,” he says with a slight smile. “Honesty, I’m… glad you asked for help instead of isolating yourself. That would have been…” He pauses, looking for the correct words. “Not ideal. What time is it, anyway?” YOU — “Bit after 10.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Already that late? Good thing I’m not working today.”

YOU — “Sorry to make you clean up after me.” You say, glancing across the room. KIM KITSURAGI — “Well, no, it’s not your fault or anything. You didn’t expect company.” He seems a bit self-conscious suddenly, looking away. “I suppose it’s more like I don’t know how to leave a mess alone.” SUGGESTION — You’re not sure which mess he means—the apartment, or you. EMPATHY — It’s both. You feel a slight embarrassment tingling across the surface of your skin and decide to change the topic.

YOU — “You said you have the day off?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes, I have a few errands to run, part of some loose ends to clean up for my transfer to 41. But I can get those done any time during the day.” SUGGESTION — You should— YOU — “Do you wanna go get breakfast? I know a good place down the street.” You say it before you can even finish thinking. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sits quietly for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “Hmmm… sure, why the hell not. I’ve got some time to spare.” SUGGESTION — Jackpot! YOU — “I’m gonna go get dressed, you’re welcome to the bathroom if you need it.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sounds good.”

You walk into your bedroom and shut the door behind you. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Time to get stylish! LOGIC — Not that stylish, it’s just breakfast. Don’t make it weird. INLAND EMPIRE — Hey, weird is our thing! YOU — I think I’m just gonna wear whatever’s clean and doesn’t smell repulsive. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Oh, sorry, didn’t know we were Boring Cop today.

After taking a quick glance at what’s available, you decide to just go with a simple, pastel gingham button-up and a fresh pair of jeans. Glancing at your coats, you grab a blue blazer with a checkered lining.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Oh my god you look like a nerd. RHETORIC — No, he looks smart. Ready to have a battle of the wits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Yeah, like I said, A NERD!

You quietly ignore the high school bullying going on inside your head as you exit the room. Lieutenant Kitsuragi glances at you from next to the couch, in the middle of putting on his jacket.

KIM KITSURAGI — “No disco today?” He says with a slight smile. YOU — “All my disco’s due for the wash.” KIM KITSURAGI — He tugs at his collar and settles his jacket into place. “It’s almost odd to see you in something so… tame.” YOU — “I mean, I still got the jackets from Fuck the World and Piss F****t if you change your mind.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Somehow I doubt the waitstaff would be understanding of the artist’s statements at breakfast.” He lets out a small chuckle. EMPATHY — There’s a surprising softness in his response. KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m all set to go if you are.”

The two of you head out of your apartment and set out down the road, your destination just two blocks away. The streets of Jamrock are already lively with pedestrians and motor carriages milling about. Before long, you arrive at a staircase with a weathered, striped canopy hanging above, quietly announcing its presence with simple text saying “The Lazy Daisy”. You and the lieutenant head down the stairs and enter the little eatery, pushing past the door and being met with the sweet and salty smells of this morning’s meals. You wave to the waitress and take a seat at a little table in the corner.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant takes his seat across from you, his eyes studying the surroundings. “You know, I never noticed this place before.” YOU — “Yeah, it’s easy to miss amongst all the other businesses on this road.” KIM KITSURAGI — “But you remembered it?” YOU — “I think my feet did.”

WAITRESS — A cheerful, pudgy woman in her forties wearing a striped apron walks over to the table, little menu books in hand. “Good morning officers! Thanks for stopping by the Lazy Daisy today. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

YOU — “You wanna get a pot of coffee, Kim?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sure, that sounds fine.” WAITRESS — “Alright, I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu!”

You already know what you’re going to order: skillet hash with a side of toast. You watch the lieutenant look the menu over and find yourself wondering what he’ll order. YOU — “You seem like an Eggs Benedict kind of guy to me.” KIM KITSURAGI — “I was thinking about trying this malted waffle actually. It’s been a while since I had a good waffle.” He replies, not looking up from the menu. “But you are correct, I do enjoy a good Eggs Benedict.”

YOU — “Can’t go wrong with either one.” WAITRESS — The waitress returns, a full pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. She gently places the pot of coffee at the center of the little table and places the mugs down on either side. “Alright, so what can I get for you boys?” YOU — “I’ll go for the skillet hash with a side of dry toast. And the lieutenant here…” KIM KITSURAGI — “I’ll take a malted waffle with a side of bacon.” WAITRESS — “Sounds great! I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

You turn your attention to the coffee and partially fill both of the mugs, absent-mindedly adding a sugar cube and a little cup of half-and-half to yours and stirring, watching the color spread and blend. You look up and notice the lieutenant surveying the restaurant again.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmmm… yes, this place certainly seems your style.” YOU — “What, sad and old?” KIM KITSURAGI — He smiles slightly, but his brow betrays his discomfort. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of… eclectic, stubborn, lively.” He glances at the walls covered in various posters, art, and rock and roll memorabilia. YOU — “Disco.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Disco.” He nods affirmatively.

You absently stir your coffee and lift it to your mouth to take a sip, mulling over topics of conversation. RHETORIC — Go for a standard sort of icebreaker, what’s the latest with him, that sort of thing. ESPRIT DE CORPS — Let’s talk work. Trade some gritty case stories with him! INTERFACING — Maybe you could talk torque dork to torque dork? EMPATHY — Neither of you have motor carriages right now. That would just be a bummer. INLAND EMPIRE — Ask him to tell you a secret! AUTHORITY — That one never works.

YOU — “You just moved into your new place, right Kim? How is it?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmm, it’s not bad. I had to make a few concessions but… there’s a bit more floor space than my last place. I finally have a good space for a proper desk.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now the only trouble is getting a desk up three flights of stairs.”

YOU — “I can lend you a hand with that if you want. I have reason to suspect I may be a former gym teacher.” PERCEPTION — You can’t really hear it, but judging by the steam rolling away from the mug at his lips, you can tell the lieutenant let a light chuckle out through his nose before taking another sip of coffee.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I find something suitable.” RHETORIC — Great job! Look at you! You’re so good at talking like a normal person!

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant casually withdraws his notebook from his jacket and starts perusing it while he slowly sips his coffee. YOU — “Hey, no working until we’ve had breakfast.” KIM KITSURAGI — He barely moves, glancing upwards at you and cocking an eyebrow. AUTHORITY — It’s fine, that brow is only operating at about 25% capacity. You got this. YOU — “Take a break, lieutenant.” You place your hand on top of his, gently encouraging him to lower the notebook onto the table. He nonchalantly relents, quickly withdrawing his hand and tucking it under his other arm, which rests casually on the table. His glance wanders away from you and out towards the windows. EMPATHY — It’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed or just playing up indifference. Perhaps you shouldn’t have grabbed his hand like that.

You take a moment to look around the restaurant, passively taking in the surroundings that feel intensely familiar to your instincts, but strangely recent to the rest of you. It’s a weird feeling, one you’ve been experiencing just about everywhere you go in Jamrock. Places that you know but have never seen. Drifting shadows of the person you once were, and still are, half-buried in a haze. Your head fluctuates in the pressure, a mix of pristine images just out of reach and faint illusions gripped tightly in your palm.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s low voice suddenly pulls you back to reality. “Everything alright, detective?” INLAND EMPIRE — There is a hole in my brain. YOU — “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about the usual.” You pause, contemplating your next words. “Grinding the bourgeoisie into sausage for the proletariat and whatnot,” you lie. KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so nice of you to join us, Comrade Mazov.” YOU — You quickly bust out your trusty finger guns and fire off two shots, clicking your tongue as you snap your fingers. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant is unphased by your reckless discharge of live rounds that undoubtedly rain chaos upon the once peaceful restaurant. DRAMA — C’mon, he probably thinks it’s at least a little cool. EMPATHY — It’s not, man.

RHETORIC — Let’s get back to the list. What else can we talk about? YOU — “Tell me a secret about yourself.” KIM KITSURAGI — He sighs. “This again?” YOU — “You know it.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses for a moment. “No.” YOU — “Aww, come on.” KIM KITSURAGI — He raises one eyebrow. AUTHORITY — Oh god, we have full capacity brow-raising. I repeat, full capacity!

KIM KITSURAGI — His brow lowers slightly, offering a challenge. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets. Maybe if you can think of a single piece of personal trivia you haven’t already divulged entirely unprompted to any random passerby, we can come back to this topic.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He does not believe that his terms can be met. He is secure in that. SUGGESTION — Challenge accepted! YOU — “Deal.” DRAMA — You’re gonna need to work on this for like, at least 8 hours probably. Maybe more like 20.

WAITRESS — The same woman reappears with a tray in hand, radiating the unmistakable smell of hot, fresh breakfast. “Here you are, sirs!” She gently slides the plates in front of each of you. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need! Enjoy your food!” PERCEPTION — You notice the name on her apron: Denice. YOU — “Thanks, Denice.” WAITRESS — She offers a polite smile before leaving.

You immediately start digging in, shoveling the mixed bits of potato, egg, bacon, and cheese into your mouth, savoring the salt and fat of a hearty breakfast. It’s your favorite meal, but you don’t always have the time or energy to get anything decent most mornings.

SUGGESTION — Hey, I just had a great idea! Offer Kim some of this shit. YOU — You finish the bite you have in your mouth quickly. “Hey, Kim, you wanna try some of mine?” KIM KITSURAGI — He blinks. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty here.” He looks down at the colossal waffle on his plate, barely dented. YOU — “Yeah but this is like, stupid good. I’ll even let you have some egg yolk.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Very generous of you.” He smirks, then studies your plate for a moment. “Hm… sure, why not.”

You slide your plate a bit closer to him. He holds his fork up, surveying for the ideal sample size. Then, he strikes, claiming an entire egg for himself.

YOU — “Woooow.” You feign offence. KIM KITSURAGI — “Sorry, detective. I’ll need to confiscate this. I believe it may be connected to a case I’m working on.” He tries to keep a straight face but the corner of his mouth is slightly turned upwards. In seconds, he files the evidence into his mouth and promptly destroys it.

YOU — “Can’t believe the corruption I am witnessing here.” In a counter-attack, you jab your fork into one of the untouched corners of the lieutenant’s waffle. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant stabs his knife down across from your fork, as if ready to engage in combat. He stares you down, brows furrowed with the illusion of authority. “Detective, I would tread carefully if I were you. You have entered enemy territory, and I have the high ground.”

PERCEPTION — You can feel your face turning red in the heat of the incredibly stupid breakfast battle you have entered. AUTHORITY — Do it! Let loose the dogs of war! Get that fucking waffle! KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant narrows his eyes at you, his concentration unwavering. The authority levels are building in his brow. They are charged to 50% capacity. DRAMA — I have an idea, sire.

YOU — You relax back in your seat, looking behind Kim. “Oh, hey Captain Pryce, here to enjoy the best breakfast in Central Jamrock?” KIM KITSURAGI — He quickly turns his head to look behind him. SAVOIR FAIRE — In an instant, you slice a corner of the waffle free from Kim’s plate, casually sliding it onto yours. KIM KITSURAGI — Realizing the feint, he snaps his attention back to you, glaring.

YOU — You pull your plate back, then pick up your mug, gesturing towards the lieutenant with a slight smirk. “Truce?” KIM KITSURAGI — Studying you for a moment, he reluctantly picks up his mug and clinks it against yours. “For now.”

[topsytervy]

Kooky Pogues

Blurb: Your two friend groups don't really get along...until they do

*I'm literally only tagging this as Rafe since it mostly focuses on Rafe but it does involve a good chunk of the others so yeah*

Word Count: 5,414

Warnings: semi-canon Rafe, mentions of cocaine, mentions of drinking, mentions of abuse if I remember correctly, swearing, grammar/spelling mistakes, I think that's it

Little notes real quick:

-we're pretending gold is not a thing here, Peterkin is still alive and has not been murdered, and Sarah didn't cheat on Topper.

-I'm from Wisconsin so I chose Wisconsin cause I know Wisconsin and I don't have to really do research on it so I'm sorry if you hate Wisconsin. Believe me, I do too sometimes.

-And last is this came about cause I feel like if the kooks and pogues didn't hate each other, they would be like that one group of friends in high school that everyone just knows. They would be THAT group.

I was originally going to do something like this as a Christmas blurb where everyone was friends and they and the reader all go get a tree and decorate and shit but that obviously never got posted.

Lowkey kind of want to write more things about them as an entire group of friends though.

Anyway, enjoy :)

~~~~~

You moved to Outer Banks from Wisconsin your freshman year of high school and it was...different to say the least.

The weather was the main thing.

In all your entire sixteen years on earth, you had never experienced a hurricane. Snowstorms were common in Wisconsin so those you didn’t mind, minus the shoveling that your parents had you doing afterward, and you were still a little iffy on tornadoes considering you experienced maybe three in your whole life, only one hitting the town you grew up in and the other two just being warnings.

Hurricanes though were an entirely different category and it was safe to say that you were freaking out because you had never personally experienced one yourself.

And here was the entire town of Kildare knowing what to do and being pretty calm about it.

So, naturally, you stuck out like a sore thumb when you were in the store and trying to figure out what you would need.

It just so happened that three boys would be in the same aisle as you and one of them would be way too observant for their own good.

“She looks confused,” Kelce said from his place next to Rafe who was currently figuring out what soup he wanted.

Rafe and Topper glanced over to see who he was referring to and saw you, scanning shelves as you fiddled with a hair tie on your wrist.

Rafe shrugged, turning back to look at the soups. “Or she’s just a little nervous about Agatha. Believe it or not Kelce, I’m pretty sure some people still get nervous when it comes to storms.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I recognize her.” Kelce squinted, trying to get a good look at your face which caused Topper to sigh.

“Maybe she’s a touron and now she’s stuck here because of the storm.”

Kelce looked at his two best friends. “Well, the least we can do is help her.” And then he began walking towards you.

Rafe and Topper looked at each other before making their way after their friend.

“Need some help?”

You jumped slightly at the voice and whipped your head to see three boys standing beside you. You placed a hand over your heart and closed your eyes. “Sorry. You startled me.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have crept up on you like that.” He apologized before repeating his question. “Do you need some help?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I’m not exactly from around here. I’ve never really dealt with a storm like this before.”

“Where are you from?” Topper asked.

“Wisconsin.”

It’d be a lie if they said they weren’t a little taken aback by your answer, expecting it to be a state at least somewhat nearby. Not necessarily in hurricane territory but certainly somewhere closer to Outer Banks. Not a state from up north.

“Wow, okay. So this must be different for you.”

You nodded in response and Kelce smiled. “No worries. You’ve got three of the best people here to help you out.”

You chuckled before introducing yourself. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Kelce, that’s Topper and that one’s Rafe.” He pointed to each one who did a little wave.

Your smile didn't falter as the names of the three boys rang a bell in your brain.

You were warned about those three when you met the pogues a couple of weeks ago.

“Trust us, Y/N. They look nice but that’s just cause of their nice ass clothes. They’re the spawns of Satan.” John B had told you at The Wreck after school that day.

He, JJ, and Pope met you at school earlier that day and had told you that you needed to meet the other member of the group, Kie, and that you would love her.

Kie came around with some food and she rolled her eyes at the boys before turning to look at you. “They’re not the spawns of Satan per se. They just act like spoiled brats and like they’re God’s gift to everyone.”

“No. They’re spawns of Satan.” JJ sided with his best friend, grabbing a couple of french fries and shoving them into his mouth.

“No, JJ, you’re the spawn of Satan.”

“The point is,” Pope interrupted before an argument could break out, “not exactly the best people. Specifically Rafe.”

But now, there you were, standing with the three boys you were warned about as they helped you grab things that would prove useful in the storm. They even helped you load everything into your car.

“Thank you, guys. I probably would’ve been stuck in there for way longer than necessary if you three didn’t help me.” You smiled as Topper closed the trunk to your car.

Rafe shrugged. “No problem. You better hurry back home though. Don’t want you getting caught in Agatha.”

You looked towards the sky and grimaced at the darkness before saying thanks once more as Kelce opened your door and you climbed in, waving goodbye to the boys as they waved back.

Before you could pull out of your parking spot, Topper was holding his phone screen up, his Snapchat on display. You quickly grabbed your phone and typed in his snap username before adding him and he added you back. “Let me know when you get home or I’ll be watching the news like an old man for the next week.”

You shot him a thumbs up before reversing out of the parking space and driving away.

“She’s sweet,” Rafe commented as they watched your drive out of the parking lot.

The other two nodded in agreement before heading to Kelce’s car, Rafe and Kelce both telling Top to send them your username.

You thought the same thing about the three kook boys because, in your mind, if they thought they were so high and mighty of themselves, they wouldn’t have helped you out the way they did.

Now here you were, two and a half years later and still friends with two groups that hated each other. Both groups were incredibly confused at the fact that you were friends with the other and neither group liked the idea of sharing you with the other but you told them that they wouldn’t have to mingle with each other.

As much as you wanted to be able to hang out with all your friends at once, you knew that wouldn’t happen without a fight breaking out and you didn’t want to deal with that.

The only issue you had with your friends was Rafe and his relationship with coke, knowing damn well that him being high didn’t help anything in the least when it came to the pogues, especially JJ.

You had learned that at a party when Sarah had found you and informed you that JJ seemed off and he wasn’t talking to anyone. You decided that you would try to talk to the blonde and excused yourself from the kook boys, telling them you wouldn’t be long, before following Sarah to where the pogues were.

Sure enough, there was a lively conversation going around but JJ wasn’t really participating, just nursing a beer as he stared at the sand underneath his boots.

You sat down next to him and bumped your shoulder against his, causing him to glance at you and send him a small smile. “What’s up, J?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged and you nodded.

“You sure?”

JJ looked at you and noticed the concern in your eyes, sighing as he turned to face you. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Y/N/N.”

You frowned at his answer, not liking what that could mean. “JJ, are you in trouble?”

“See this is where the line gets blurry for us cause you and I have different definitions of trouble.” JJ took a sip of his beer as you stared at him. It didn’t take long for him to break underneath your gaze. “It’s just my dad. Like I said, nothing I can’t handle.” He mumbled, finishing off his drink.

You immediately placed your cup on the ground and wrapped your arms around the blonde in front of you. He placed his head on your shoulder and you heard him sniffle. “Wanna go somewhere away from here and talk, bud?” You felt him nod and you whispered an ‘okay’ before unwrapping your arms from around him and leading him away from the party and farther down the boneyard.

You spent the next hour listening to JJ before wiping his tears and pulling him in for another hug, rubbing his back as you did.

And that was when Kelce, Topper, and Rafe had decided to go look for you. Rafe had had a line or two during the time you were with JJ and was already slightly on edge, thinking that maybe you got swept up with some touron on your way back and they were getting a little too handsy without your consent, when he spotted you holding JJ.

Before anyone could stop the oldest Cameron, he was storming over to you two, not amused with the fact that he, Kelce, and Topper were getting gypped out of their Y/N time. After all, it was their turn to have you for most of the night since the pogues had you the entire day yesterday.

“Alright, Maybank, you’ve taken up enough of her time!” He hollered, Kelce and Topper behind him just in case they needed to be there to drag their friend off of the younger boy.

JJ, however, misread this action as a threat when he turned to look at Rafe and he immediately went into defense mood, standing up as he let go of you and put on his tough-guy act.

You stood up and stepped between Rafe and JJ to serve as a barrier of some sort to make sure no fists would fly.

“Rafe, I promise that I’ll be back soon but I gotta help JJ with something first.” You told him gently, suddenly aware of how quickly this situation could escalate considering this was a party and there was definitely some alcohol consumed by both boys.

“What? Do I gotta get hit by my dad too so I can have some time with you?” Rafe spat.

Your hand came to your mouth as your eyes widened. You couldn’t believe Rafe would say that.

JJ stared at Rafe as he kissed his teeth before turning to look at you. “I don’t think you should be hanging out with Rafe for the rest of the night, Y/N. He’s high and he’s enough of an asshat when he’s sober so god only knows what the hell is going to go down when he’s higher than a damn kite. I don’t want to risk you being around that.”

Your gaze shifted to Rafe and saw his expression flicker from anger to hurt for a second before shifting back to anger. “Maybe she shouldn’t hang out with you ever again JJ considering all the trouble you get into. I don’t want to turn on my tv one day to find out one of my best friends is dead in a ditch because you decided to do something stupid and drag her along.”

JJ laughed. “Says the guy who is friends with Barry, the most dangerous drug dealer in town. You put her life at risk every time you screw him over.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Please stop.” The two arguing boys looked over at you as Topper and Kelce kept observing the situation. “JJ, We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’m going to take Rafe home.”

JJ looked between you and Rafe before sighing, running one of his hands through his hair before nodding. “Yeah. Alright. Be safe and text me when you get home so I know you made it back safely.”

“Yeah. Of course.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and his went around your waist for your goodbye hug. “Everything's going to work out in the end, mkay?” You whispered. He nodded, squeezing you a little before letting go. You turned towards Rafe and let out a breath.”Let's get you home, Cameron.”

You held out your hand for the keys to his truck as you, Rafe, Kelce, and Topper all made your way back to where the cars had been parked. “Do you two need a lift back as well?” You asked Kelce and Topper, trying to tell them that you and Rafe needed to have a one on one conversation.

And by some miracle, Kelce seemed to pick up on that because he immediately turned Topper into the direction of the beer pong table and went “Hey, isn’t that Chrissy. I still owe her a beer pong match.” And ushered the slightly confused blonde towards the direction of this person named Chrissy.

You walked to Rafe’s truck and climbed into the driver’s seat as he climbed into the passenger, both of you feeling strange sitting in the seats the other would usually sit in.

You weren’t going to lie, you were a little scared to drive Rafe’s truck considering your car was a 2002 Chevrolet Prizm and, let’s be real, there is quite the size difference between a truck and a little old car like that, but you would rather drive a vehicle you weren’t exactly used to than let Rafe drive while under the influence.

You started the car and carefully pulled onto the street, making your way towards your house since your family was on a weekend trip on the mainland, one that you politely declined because you did not want to share a hotel room with your two younger siblings and your parents, and you especially did not want to either share a bed with your siblings or sleep on one of the chairs like you had done countless times before.

About ten minutes into the twenty-minute drive, you heard Rafe mumble something.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, glancing over at him.

“I said you missed the turn.” He repeated, slightly louder this time and referring to the road you needed to get to Tanneyhill.

“I was thinking we could stay at mine tonight, bud.”

Rafe tapped his finger against his thigh as he nodded, becoming nervous at how quiet the ride had been thus far and how you hadn’t even yelled at him on his behavior towards JJ. At how he completely ruined your night just because you were checking up on one of your friends like you always did.

You were there for Topper and Sarah both when they broke up, JJ when things got bad with his dad, Kie when she felt so overwhelmed with the kook life and the expectations, John B with DCS, Pope while he was stressing about his scholarship, Kelce when he felt like he wasn’t good enough and, of course, Rafe with his drug habit.

You should be pissed at him right now for getting mad at you helping out a friend.

You were five minutes away from your house that sat on the edge of the Cut when the silence became too much for Rafe and he snapped. “Can you just fucking yell at me already and get it over with!”

You jumped slightly at the sudden outburst before glancing over at him. “Why would I yell at you?”

You had yet to yell at any of your friends, even when they were being childish and very anti-pogue or anti-kook.

“Because we should still be at the boneyard, dancing, getting drunk and whatnot but instead you’re here, driving me back to your house because JJ and I had a spat.”

You shrugged. “Am I upset that you dragged me away from a serious conversation with J? Of course. But if you think I’m going to yell at you for it, then you really must be high.”

“I’m not that high. JJ was being dramatic back there. I had two lines, that’s it. Two lines barely does anything for me anymore.” He muttered.

You pulled into your driveway and parked his truck next to your car before turning off the engine, turning to face Rafe. “Why did you say that, Rafe?”

A confused look crossed his face. “Cause it doesn’t…” He replied slowly, thinking you were talking about his comment about the lines.

“No. Why did you say, in front of JJ, that thing about having to have your dad hit you too in order to get some time with me?” Rafe’s gaze dropped to the floor and he fiddled with his fingers, shrugging in response. “You do know, Rafe. It wasn’t just to get under his skin this time.” Your voice was soft as you spoke, scared that anything louder would spook him and put him on defense. “What’s wrong, bud?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you.” You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned your entire body to face him.

He sighed. “I just feel like every time I need to talk to you about something that happened with my dad, something else always comes up with JJ and his dad that involves you having to go patch him up or something. I’ve maybe talked to you twice about something that went down with dad.” He whispered.

“Rafe, just because I go to help JJ, doesn’t mean you can’t text me to come over after and talk to me about your problems.” You explained.

“I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed with everything. I feel like everyone goes to you for their issues and I don't want to add on to whatever stress you're already dealing with."

You sat there in silence for a few seconds.

"Is that why you turn to coke? You feel like you can't talk about your problems to anyone or you feel like a burden if you try to?"

Rafe shrugged. "I don't really know. It's an escape from everything, I guess."

“Oh, Rafe,” You leaned over his center console and wrapped your arms around him.

That’s all it took for Rafe to lose any composure he had, breaking down and letting out everything he had bottled up right there in your driveway.

You sat there in his truck, stretched over his center console as you hugged him, listening to him as he spoke through his sobs, your hand rubbing his back in soothing circles.

"I wish I wasn't such a fuck-up." He sniffed when he had finished.

"You're not a fuck-up, Rafe."

"Yes, I am."

"Stop talking about yourself like that, Rafe. I hate it when you put yourself down.”

“Sorry,” He mumbled, “I just wish I was better. Is that better? I wish I was more like Sarah. I wish I was the son dad wanted."

You pulled away from him. "Everyone has their flaws, bud. You can always get help and I'll always be here for you through the ups and the downs. You know that right?" Rafe nodded. “Feel a little better?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him before opening your door and hopping out. “Let’s get you to bed then.”

Rafe followed your actions and as he stood behind you, waiting for you to unlock the front door, he spoke so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

“Can you come with me tomorrow? To get help?” He was staring at the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

You looked back at him as you opened the door. “Absolutely.”

****

You stood outside with Topper and Kelce, nervously fiddling with the ring you had with your finger as you waited for Rafe.

Three months had passed since he entered rehab and you had visited him a couple of times during his stay but not as often as you had liked considering you still had school and work.

Your head whipped up when you heard footsteps approaching your small group and you grinned when you saw Rafe

You let Topper and Kelce greet him first as you took in the small amount of stubble on his face and his slightly longer hair. Rafe pulled away from the two boys before walking over to you and engulfing you in a hug. You immediately reciprocated the action, smiling as you did. “You look pretty damn good, bud.” You told him. “I feel pretty damn good.” He answered back, pulling away as he held you an arm’s length away. “Any girls or guys I should know about that have magically appeared in these past three months?” You laughed as you shook your head. “No. No girls or guys you need to worry about.”

Rafe made a noise of approval before turning to face the entire group. “Just so we're clear… I call shotgun.”

You and Kelce both groaned as you all walked to Topper's car, Rafe grinning as he yanked open the passenger door. As you buckled in, Topper started the car. “Alright. What are we doing so I know where I'm going?” “As much as I would love to join you, I promised my parents I would watch the twins while they went out shopping for my birthday present.” You stated. Kelce made a face. “Shouldn't they go with your parents to get you a gift?” “Here's the thing about my brother and sister, they get distracted easily and have to constantly be reminded by my parents that they are not here for them, so mom and dad have found it easier to leave them at home with me and just find a gift that they can just say is from everyone.” You explained as Topper headed towards your house. Rafe shrugged. “Fine by us. That leaves us alone to discuss your gift.” He smirked as he looked back at you. You rolled your eyes. “You don't have to get me anything.”

“We know but we want to.” Topper’s eyes met yours through the rearview mirror. “Fine but if I end up spending my birthday in the hospital, you three are paying the bill.”

Kelce, Rafe, and Topper all saluted you, causing you to roll your eyes once more before the conversation turned to catching Rafe up on everything that had happened while he was gone.

The three boys all waved goodbye to you before waving to the twins who were looking out the window.

“So where are we going? The mall? That little boutique she likes?” Topper reversed out of the driveway before glancing at his two friends. “TanneyhillWheezie. I need to grab my wallet and I'm hoping Sarah's there.”

Kelce and Topper stared at the older boy in shock, never having heard those words come out of Rafe's mouth before. Kelce leaned forward and placed the back of his hand on Rates forehead. “You feeling okay, man?”

Rafe swatted his hand away. “Just drive to Tanneyhill.”

Topper did as he was told, driving the route he knew all too well. Rafe was out of the car before Topper had fully stopped, heading straight into the extravagant house and up the stairs. He stopped in front of Wheezie's door and knocked on it, only for it to open seconds later. “Hey,” He greeted. Wheezie's face lit up at the sight of her brother and she tackled him in a hug, causing him to stumble a little. “Damn, Wheezie. Did you join the football team while I was gone?” he laughed, wrapping his arms around her. “Did you get my letters?” She queried, looking up at him. He nodded. “All thirty-six and a half of them.”

“I sent you thirty-seven.”

“Didn't anybody tell you that if you send someone a letter and it only fills half the page, it only counts as half?” Wheezie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. The main thing is your back and now I don't have to write letters anymore. I can just text you.”

Rafe laughed as he let go of her. “Fair enough. how are you? Has dad been giving you a hard time?” he dropped his voice down, not knowing where his dad was. “Not really. He didn't like it when I asked about you though. I once asked if we could visit you and you would've thought I told him I was pregnant and dropping out of school.” Wheezie casted her gaze down to the floor. “I had to have Topper or Kelce send out the letters for me because dad ripped up the first one I wrote you. It was like he wanted to wash you from everyone's memory. He even yelled at Sarah when she told him that it was pretty fucked up to rip up the letter when I was just trying to stay in touch with you through a hard time.”

“I'm sorry, Wheeze.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine. At least you’re back.”

Rafe gave her a small smile. “Is Sarah home or out?”

“Her room. Kie’s over though.”

“Thanks. I’ll catch up with you later. We’ll watch a movie or play a game or something.”

His half-sister nodded before heading back into her room, closing the door behind her.

“That was the cutest thing ever. She almost makes me wish I had a little sister. Almost.” Topper said from behind Rafe, causing him to jump a little.

He pushed past his two friends to head towards his sister’s room, knocking on the doorframe as he peeked in.

Sarah and Kie both looked towards the door from whatever show they were watching and Sarah gave him a smile. “Howdy, howdy. You’re back.”

“Yeah and we all need to talk. That means your boyfriend and his friends too.”

“Cutting straight to the point, I see. Why do we all need to talk?” Sarah questioned.

“Because it involves Y/N and her birthday.”

“We already got her a gift,” Kie stated, turning her attention back to the tv.

“That’s great and all but I think she’d like to have all her friends together on her actual birthday than have to spend it splitting the time between her friends cause she’s scared they’re going to turn it into a battle of who’s the better friend group.” Rafe looked between the two girls.

“Rafe, buddy, I love you and all but what the hell is bringing JJ, John B, and Pope over going to do? It’s going to end horribly.” Kelce spoke up.

“We’re all going to have a nice little chat and sort out our differences even if it takes all night and watching a movie with Wheezie.”

Kie sighed. “She did once tell me it’d be nice if she could hang out with everyone at once, she just doesn’t want to make things worse between the two groups.”

Sarah picked up her phone. “I’ll call John B and tell him I need help moving something and that he should bring Pope and JJ to help."

Within twenty minutes, three sets of footsteps were sounding throughout the house as the three boys thundered up the stairs.

"Alright, we better be getting lunch for doing this." JJ stopped in his tracks when he saw the three kook boys. "And I'll be leaving now. I'll just have a peanut butter sandwich for lunch instead." He said, turning around to leave.

"Oh no, you're not. You three are going to join this therapy session whether you guys like it or not." Sarah stared at them as she stood up, beckoning them inside.

"I would just like to point out that any 'therapy session' with him, usually ends with fists." John B pointed towards Rafe.

"Believe it or not, Rafe suggested this," Sarah informed her boyfriend.

"And that's not the least bit suspicious to you."

"If you three want to do something nice for Y/N/N this year for her birthday, you'll sit your asses down and participate." Kie glared at her three friends. The pogues exchanged looks and Kie snapped. "Sit!"

"Sitting." JJ flopped onto the desk chair as Pope and John B filed in, Sarah closing the door behind them.

***

A week later, you waited for your parents by the door, your younger siblings next to you as you three slowly grew hungrier waiting for your parents to make sure they had everything they needed.

"By the time you two are done, the day's going to end and we'll have to wait until next year to celebrate Y/N's birthday," Sammy called out.

"Yeah. And then you'll need to have two cakes. One for her seventeenth birthday and one for her eighteenth." Alex added.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help complaining yourself. "Seriously. Can we go? You said that if we didn't leave now then everything would go to shit and that was ten minutes ago!"

"Okay, okay!" Your dad and mom came rushing out and you all exited the house. "I thought I raised you three to have some patience."

"Well, when you say 'don't have any snacks between now and dinner' and your kids listen for once, your children aren't going to have a lot of patience." You patted his back before taking your spot in between the twins in the backseat.

As you drove to The Wreck, you continued asking what the surprise was.

"Is the family visiting from Wisconsin?"

Your mom shook her head. "Just wait and see."

Alex leaned over. "Trust me when I say that you wouldn't guess it in a million years." Your brother grinned.

"Welp, here's high hopes but something I wouldn't guess in a million years, did you get me a Ferrari?"

"Hell no. I'll get a Ferrari before you do." Your dad shot at you as your family pulled into the parking lot of The Wreck.

You followed your family inside, Mr.Carrera wishing you a happy birthday as you passed him, and just about passed out from what you saw.

Gathered around the table, laughing and chatting as if they were all old friends, were your two friend groups.

"Oh my God. I think I'm hallucinating. Dad, you might have to take me to the hospital."

"There she is! The birthday girl. Welcome to the seventeen club!" JJ hollered.

You rolled your eyes as you walked over, your family following as you went around and hugged everyone. "What the hell got all of you to hold hands and have a civil conversation?"

"You'd be surprised how therapeutic hitting someone with a pillow can be," Pope commented.

"You will also be surprised at how quickly a bunch of teenagers will bond together to make sure a thirteen-year-old doesn't win monopoly," Kelce added.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and Topper smiled. "The point is, we all have reconciled and you do not have to worry about someone bouncing someone's head off a wall on purpose."

You nodded slowly before taking a seat in between Pope and Sarah. "I think I've entered an alternate universe."

"Trust me, you haven't." Mr.Carrera reassured you as he brought over the cake.

The group sang happy birthday and you smiled before blowing out the candles, your dad and Mr.Carrera beginning to slice the cake after the candles were removed.

"Alright, so who was the mastermind? It has to be one of the reasonable ones." You took your plate from your dad as you looked around the group, grabbing a fork. "Unless it was one of these two which I wouldn't doubt if they managed to lock you all in a pantry or something one day." You motioned to your brother and sister with your fork.

"Actually, it was Rafe."

You looked at Kie before turning your attention to the guy across from you who shrugged. "It was nothing."

You shook your head. "Well, I'm just going to say it right now, don’t be offended if I don't love your gifts cause all of you together takes the cake for the best gift."

"Wow. Cheesy much." John B teased.

You went to respond but heard a whistle cause the whole group to turn towards the noise. Your mom stood with a camera in her hands, a smile plastered on her face.

"Alright. All of you together for a picture now because two groups have become one and this must be documented or no one will believe it."

You all moved around slightly so everyone could be seen and smiled, listening to the click of the camera that told you the photo was taken.

You leaned across the table towards Rafe. "Thank you."

"No. Thank you."

~~~~~

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Req: Shōto is the campus' delinquent. Nobody dare to cross him. Izuku is the campus' nerd. His low social status makes him an easy target of bullying. One day, they're paired together for a project. What starts out as a school assignment blossoms a beautiful friendship as they realized that they're the same. They're both no strangers to pain. Izuku sees Shōto as his own person despite his surname. Shōto sees hurt, pain & sadness behind Izuku's smiles. And eventually, they both fall in love.

Ooooo thank you for the request! :D

'Shoji and Tokoyami for group one. Uraraka and Asui for group two.'

'Yesss!' Uraraka muttered under her breath. Izuku smirked at his friend and nudged her with his elbow.

'Get in there!' He winked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, earning a frantic shhhhh from his friend.

'Momo and Kirishima for group four.' Aizawa called out. 'Jirou and Hagakure for group five.

'Ooo, halfway though, Dekuuu!' Uraraka sang quietly. 'Are you worried?'

'As long as it's not Kacchan, I don't mind.' He shrugged.

'Bakugou and Mineta for group seven.' Aizawa continued, tone bored, even as the blonde roared with protest.

'Thank fuck.' Izuku mumbled.

'Midoriya and Todoroki for group eight.' His teacher spoke, looking pointedly at him before focusing back on the sheet.

While Uraraka giggled next to him, Izuku froze, his posture straight and a look of shock on his face. He felt a pair of dichromatic eyes burning holes into his back, although he could just be paranoid.

Him and… Todoroki? UA's top heartthrob and bad boy, partnered with Izuku? Aizawa-Sensei had to be kidding, surely.

'Right, that's all of you.' Their teacher called out. 'Sit in your pairs and we'll go over the project in more detail.'

Immediately, the classroom broke out into excited chatter as everyone shouted across the room for their partner. Before Izuku could even say farewell to Uraraka, his friend had already jumped up from her seat to bounce towards where Tsu was sitting.

Izuku sighed and - with significantly less energy - got up to search the room for his partner. Of course, it didn't take long to spot him; even without the scar, Todoroki stood out like a sore thumb.

He sat towards the back of the room, slouched in his chair as he stared out of the window, unfazed by the chaos around him. The morning sun bathed his skin and made the crimson half of his hair shine. Izuku noticed that his classmate was wearing his signature leather jacket, covered in various badges and pins, along with a turtleneck, a pair of navy jeans that clung to his legs, and black combat boots. 

It was no secret that Todoroki was the "most handsome guy in school", so it made sense that today was no different. It just didn't help Izuku in the slightest - in fact, it made it even harder for him to clear his throat and gather his attention.

'To- Todoroki-kun, hi!' He squeaked, a large smile plastered to his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. When the aforementioned turned to regard him nonchalantly, Izuku's nerves only exacerbated. 'Do you mind if I sit, seen as we're part- partners?'

When his classmate remained silent, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and laughed. 'Sorry about that by the way… I know you probably don't want to be stuck with someone like me.'

'Why are you apologising?' Todoroki raised an eyebrow. 'It's not your fault.'

You didn't deny it though… Izuku chewed on his lip for lack of a better response, until Todoroki eventually nodded to the seat next to him.

'Your reputation precedes you, Midoriya.' He commented as Izuku fumbled into his chair. 'As does mine. I don't mind working with you as long as you pull your weight. You may think I don't give a shit about grades, but you don't know me.'

Izuku turned to regard him with wide eyes, but Todoroki had already gone back to stare out of the window. 'Library after school. We'll make a start then. Can't be arsed going home and I assume you're not too keen on walking home at the same time as Bakugou.'

Izuku furrowed his eyebrows at that. He knew Todoroki could be blunt but… Oh well, he did have a point. Kacchan would jump him the moment they were out of the school gates - clearly wanting to release all that pent-up rage on Izuku because, for some reason, his old friend had made it his own personal goal to make him his punching bag.

'Sure.' Izuku replied, turning to face the front of the room as Aizawa told them all to quiet down. Why me?

☀️🌙

Izuku twirled his pen in his hand as he read through his notes in the library. If the librarian asked, it was school work, even if the "Hero analysis #27" scribbled over the cover was a dead give-away.

Izuku wanted to be a doctor, a hero who saves lives. Ever since he had learnt to read, he was fascinated by how the body worked and how to treat various ailments. His analysis books were where he stored all the information he had absorbed from his readings.

'Last time I checked, "loss of executive functioning in patients with primary progressive multiple sclerosis" wasn't on the syllabus.' A low voice spoke.

Izuku flinched so violently his elbow slammed into the back of his chair and he almost dropped his pen. He winced at the pain and looked up to find Todoroki gazing at him, unfazed by his display.

'T- Todoroki-kun!' A bright smile appeared on Izuku's face and he gestured to the seat opposite him. When his classmate took it, he quickly put away his notebook and replaced it with his psychology workbook and textbook. 'I was starting to think you'd forgotten.'

'I just had a few things to sort out.' Todoroki shrugged, taking out his own book.

Izuku nodded along, expecting him to elaborate, but apparently that wasn't his classmate's intention. Instead, they sat in awkward silence for several moments, until Izuku shook his head to ground himself and opened his textbook.

'Right, let's get started then.' He announced, a trained smile on his face. 'Aizawa-Sensei said we have to do a presentation on the sleep-wake cycle for ours, which is actually quite interesting. I had a quick look over lunch and I was thinking we could start the intro by covering the three different cycles. So, ultradian rhythms are cycles that are less than 24 hours and can repeat throughout the day, infradian rhythms are more than 24 hours - like the menstrual cycle - then we finish on circadian rhythms, which focuses specifically on sleep-wake cycle, then go on to talk about-'

Izuku paused then, realising he had definitely started to ramble there. He knew how much his peers found his habit annoying, so he was surprised that Todoroki hadn't interrupted him and told him to shut up before now.

'Why did you stop?' His classmate asked, genuinely confused.

'You… You understood all of that?' Izuku returned.

'Yes.' Todoroki showed him his workbook, where he had started writing Izuku's ideas down.

'But I was muttering…' Heat rose to his face as he inspected the page. 'You don't find that annoying?'

Todoroki frowned at that.

'Not really. Why would I?'

'Everyone else does.' Izuku mumbled, looking away.

'I'm not everyone else.' Todoroki scratched his cheek, just below his scar. Before Izuku could ask though, he cleared his throat. 'Anyway, I agree with you. Once we focus on circadian rhythms, we can go over the stages of sleep.'

'Sounds good to me!' Izuku beamed. 'We can talk about non-REM and REM too!'

'Yes.' Todoroki nodded. 'Then maybe go into the different areas involved in sleep, so photoreceptors and the pineal gland.'

'That's a great idea!' Izuku burst out, brain going a mile a minute. This was going easier than he had expected. 'Gosh, this is going to be so fun! Right, I know it's not entirely relevant to the presentation itself, but you know dolphins?'

'Yes, I know dolphins.' Todoroki huffed, tone slightly amused. 

Was that almost a smile?!

'Well, their brains have a left and right hemisphere like we do, and when they go to sleep, they turn off one hemisphere and the other one stays awake so they can come up for air and stuff! Then they switch around when the first hemisphere is fully rested! Some sharks do it too, it's so interesting!'

Izuku paused for breath. When Todoroki said nothing in response and looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite place, Izuku blushed with embarrassment. 'S- Sorry…'

'No, you…' Todoroki spoke, his voice oddly gentle. 'That's the first time today I've seen you genuinely smile.'

… What?

'I'm always smiling.' Izuku tilted his head to the side. Smiling was his thing. Everywhere he went, he always made sure to smile, even if he was having a bad day. He smiled to put others at ease.

'It never reaches your eyes though.' Todoroki regarded him with something akin to understanding, albeit Izuku didn't know why. 'It's always fake.'

He winced at the wording.

'Does that bother you?' He twirled his pen and looked away, apprehension in his voice.

'A little.' Todoroki admitted. 'I understand why you lie, but I'd rather you be honest - at least, with me, I'd like you to be honest.'

Izuku considered his words. Despite the lack of malice in his tone, he still felt like he had been called out.

'I'm sorry.' He spoke, not knowing what else to say.

'You apologise a lot.' Todoroki stated. 'You don't owe anyone an apology, Midoriya.'

Izuku didn't like this. He didn't know where this was coming from and why Todoroki was saying all this. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was overwhelming. No one had ever called him out for his smiles before.

'I have to go.' He stood abruptly and gathered his books, stuffing them into his yellow backpack. Todoroki looked at him, mildly bewildered.

'Okay. When do you want to meet up next?' He asked before Izuku could book it out of there.

'Up to you.' He shrugged. ‘I can’t do tomorrow though.’

'How about Thursday after school?' Todoroki asked. 'We can go to my place - my old man is at the station all day then so he won't bother us.'

Izuku gulped at the idea of meeting Todoroki Enji, the city's chief of police who was rumoured to be as corrupt as they came.

'He definitely won't be there?' He twirled a loose green curl around his finger.

'I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't know for sure.' Todoroki raised an eyebrow. Izuku didn't know what to make of that.

'Okay, sure. I'll meet you at the front gates after class and we'll walk together.' When Todoroki nodded once, Izuku tried not to force a smile and mirrored the action. 'Great. Right, I've got to go. Bye!'

Before his classmate could say anything else, Izuku quick-walked out of the library. Once he exited the building, he broke into a run down the street. He liked running when he was anxious, it helped calm him.

Izuku sighed and thought of blue and grey eyes, staring into his soul. He then promptly tripped over his own two feet and landed on the floor with a thud.

Resigned to his fate, Izuku made no effort to get up and sighed heavily, cheeks squished against the pavement.

It was going to be a long few weeks.

☀️🌙

[Uwawaka: 17:05] Dekuuuuu!!! Todoroki-kun just cornered me and demanded your number?!?! Erm, have a nice life I guess? I get your shoes when you die

[Me: 17:09] Waitwaitwait WHAT?!?!?! YOU SAID YES?!

[Me: 17:10] URARAKA ANSWER ME

[Me: 17:12] I will eat your pet hamster, you whore

Izuku collapsed onto his bed and smacked his forehead with his palm. Several more minutes passed without a response and he was seriously considering calling her, when his phone suddenly vibrated.

He quickly scrambled for the device. However, when he unlocked it and saw the message, he gasped and threw his phone at the wall.

'Izuku!' His mum shouted from the kitchen. 'What was that?!'

'Nothing, mum! Sorry!' He shouted, moving to pick it back up.

[Unknown: 17.16] Is this Midoriya Izuku?

[Me: 17:18] Yes? Who is this?

Izuku knew full well who it was and added the number to his contacts anyway.

[Todoroki: 17:20] It's Todoroki from Aizawa's psychology class. I got your number from a friend. Hope you don't mind

Either Todoroki was downplaying the situation or Uraraka was being overdramatic. He honestly didn't know who to believe.

[Me: 17:21] No problem, what's up?

[Todoroki: 17:23] I was going to wait till tomorrow but evidently I have the patience of a toddler.

[Todoroki: 17:24] I wanted to apologise if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I shouldn't have indirectly accused you of lying when I do it all the time.

Izuku didn't even know where to start with unpacking that.

[Me: 17:27] You don't have to apologise, you were right. I just smile a lot to make others feel at ease. I didn't realise it could be mistaken for dishonesty if I'm not being genuine.

[Me: 17:27] You lie all the time?

It was bold to ask that, but he couldn't help himself. Izuku was a meddler, through and through. Plus, Todoroki mentioned it first so it wasn’t like he didn’t want to talk about it, he reasoned.

[Todoroki: 17:30] I can understand that. I'd just rather you be honest with me. After all, if you're not happy, it could affect our project

[Todoroki: 17:32] Well, I tell everyone that it's a birthmark on my face when it's clearly a scar. I told a dude I wasn't gay because I didn't want to go out with him. I have depression but deny it when I get asked about it. Then there's a bunch of other stuff that I haven't told anyone that I won't even get into, but yeah

'Wow okay...' Izuku puffed his cheeks out. ‘I guess the reason Todoroki-kun doesn’t talk much is because he’s a over-sharer, but it’s okay. You got this, Izuku.’

[Me: 17:33] Lying and not disclosing something aren't the same thing! But with the stuff you have lied about, I can understand why you don't want people to know, especially considering the way others treat me just because I'm different. And your scar isn't anyone's business except your own!

He pressed send, then hesitated over the keyboard.

[Me: 17:34] Also! If you ever need to talk to someone, I'm here! We're friends now, aren't we? :)

Izuku stared at the screen, waiting for a response.

Several minutes passed without one and he was starting to question himself. However, just before Izuku could completely stress out over how badly he had fucked up, the screen brightened.

[Todoroki: 17:45] Thank you, Midoriya.

Izuku smiled at his phone.

That had gone better than he had expected.

☀️🌙

'Todoroki-kun!'

Shoto nodded to Midoriya, who was waiting by the gate. He was smiling again, but Shoto could tell he was nervous from the way his eyes were on high-alert, darting around the courtyard as if he were about to be attacked. Shoto didn't blame him though - in fact, he'd be more worried if his classmate wasn't on edge.

'Midoriya.' He greeted, once he reached his side. Due to the proximity though, he suddenly noticed the gravel rash that littered his new friend's jaw. 'What happened to you?'

'Er…' Midoriya blushed bright pink. Distantly, Shoto registered that it was actually quite cute, albeit he wouldn't admit it. 'I- I went for a run on Tuesday and tripped.'

'You should be more careful.' Shoto commented, eliciting a laugh from his classmate. 'I'm serious.'

'Yeah, I know but…' Midoriya cleared his throat. 'You just, you sound like my mum.'

His mum?

'Oh.'

'N- Not that that's a bad thing!' Midoriya frantically waved his hands in front of him. 'In fact, thank you… For caring, I guess. You're a kind person, Todoroki-kun!'

Shoto didn't know what to make of that. His stomach felt funny and his face was burning but he wasn't sure why. He coughed to compose himself.

'My house is this way.' He nodded in the right direction and they set off before Shoto could say or do anything he might regret.

The two of them walked in silence. Shoto noticed his classmate fiddling with the straps of his backpack as he mumbled to himself, but he said nothing. In fact, he found that he quite liked Midoriya's voice. It was quite soothing.

Suddenly, he saw a flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye and Shoto quickly looked to find Bakugou across the street. Midoriya hadn't noticed him yet, but Shoto recognised the sadistic smile plastered to Bakugou's face when he spotted the green-haired boy.

Shoto had a particular hatred of bullies, having grown up with one all his life. He knew about the general animosity between Midoriya and Bakugou, and how it had once ended up with the former out of school for almost a week when they were younger. Shoto also knew that Bakugou could be a violent fuck and, as a result, had never really bothered to talk to him.

Now though, Shoto saw the almost predatory look in his eyes as he smirked at Midoriya; he noticed how his classmate - his friend - froze at having been spotted.

'K- Kacchan…' Midoriya mumbled, a wobbly smile on his face. It made Shoto angry - not at Midoriya, but at Bakugou, and at himself for not intervening sooner, even though it wasn't really his problem.

Before he could stop himself, Shoto raised his arm and wrapped it around Midoriya's shoulder, bringing him close to his side. His classmate squeaked at the action, clearly tense.

'To- Todoroki-kun?!'

'Put your hand on my waist.' Shoto instructed, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. When Midoriya complied, snaking a trembling hand around him, Shoto hummed approvingly and looked up at Bakugou.

The blonde was watching them, mouth agape and clearly irritated. When he took a step towards them, Shoto flashed him a warning glare as if to say 'hands off', before pressing a swift kiss to Midoriya's fluffy curls to accentuate his point.

Bakugou stilled at that, his eye twitching, but Shoto knew he understood his position. On the social scale, Shoto was higher up than he was - as much as the latter wouldn't want to admit it - and so whoever Shoto said was off-limits was definitely off-limits. It didn't matter if it was an act or not.

The two of them continued forwards, watching as Bakugou eventually growled and skulked away. When he was out of sight, Midoriya audibly sighed and relaxed against him.

It was… Nice.

'Thank you.' His friend murmured. 'You didn't have to do that.'

'I wanted to.' Shoto shrugged. He knew he should relinquish his hold on Midoriya now that the threat had passed, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The warmth that radiated from his classmate's touch was calming. Plus, Midoriya didn't seem too eager to let go either, so it wasn't like he was taking advantage of him or anything.

When they eventually reached his house, Shoto reluctantly broke away to fumble in his pocket for his keys. To his surprise though, the door was already unlocked.

Caution in his stance, he slid the door open and checked the shoe rack to see who was home. When Fuyumi's work shoes and Natsuo's trainers came into view, he sighed with relief and opened the door fully to alert his siblings of his arrival. 'It's me!'

It was only then that he registered Midoriya regarding him anxiously. 'Don't worry, it's just my brother and sister.'

'O- Okay.'

Shoto nodded and stepped inside, removing his shoes and waiting for Midoriya to do the same. He then led the way through his house, hoping there wouldn't be any interruptions, but alas, it seemed the universe hated him.

'Shotoutoooo!!!' Natsuo's voice rang out, before his older brother appeared, leaning against the door frame of his room. When he noticed Midoriya, half hidden behind Shoto, he grinned mischievously. 'You brought a friend over!'

'You- You didn't tell them I was coming?!' Midoriya squeaked so only Shoto could hear.

'Yes, I brought a friend home. What of it?' He ignored him and raised an eyebrow at his brother, unamused.

'Nee-San saw you two getting all lovey dovey down the street.'

'I don't-'

'It's true. Don't deny it!' Fuyumi's voice echoed down the hallway, eliciting a cackle from Natsuo.

'Whatever.' Shoto placed a hand on his hip, exasperated. 'Midoriya and I have a psychology assignment to get done, so I'd appreciate it if you fucked off.'

'Nawww, come on! I'm just having fun!' Natsuo winked before looking past him to address Midoriya. 'Shotouto pretends to be an aloof bad boy, but really he's a big softie who loves strawberry milk and manga. Isn't that right, Sho-?'

'NATSUO-NII!' Shoto exclaimed, completely mortified. He grabbed Midoriya's arm and dragged him down the corridor. 'We'll be leaving now!'

'Nice to meet you, Midoriya-kun!' Natsuo called, before Shoto slammed his bedroom door shut and sighed against it.

'He seems nice.' A quiet voice muttered.

Shit. Shoto's eyes widened and he took a breath, composing himself before he turned around to face Midoriya, who was fiddling with his sleeve.

'He's a pain in the arse.' He grumbled, before he strode forwards and set up the chabudai table in his room. 'He always does it. Something about wanting to make up for lost time.'

'Lost time?' Midoriya asked, removing his backpack to help.

'My old man wanted to keep me separate from my siblings when we were younger. Something about "not wanting to soil the perfect child".' Shoto shrugged, gathering two cushions and handing one to Midoriya. 'So it wasn't until about a year ago that I actually got to speak to them.'

'What happened a year ago?' Midoriya was definitely being nosy, but for some reason, Shoto didn't mind it; part of him actually wanted to tell him, even though he had no idea why. Something just told Shoto that he could trust him.

Or it's just because he's the first person your age who has ever bothered to ask. Another part of his mind supplied.

When the two of them sat down on the cushions adjacent to each other, Shoto pulled out his laptop, while Midoriya provided the textbook and workbook.

'When I was younger, my mother used to live at home too. She tried to protect us when the old bastard would come home and want to take his anger out on someone. He liked to take it out on me especially - make sure I toughened up - but she'd always turn his attention on her. One night, when I was about eight, mother had a complete breakdown. She saw the left side of my face, thought I was him and well… The closest thing was the kettle and boom.' He gestured vaguely to his scar. 'That's how this happened.'

Shoto didn't miss the look of complete horror on Izuku's face. 'He sent her away after that, which meant things got worse for me and my siblings. Aizawa-Sensei noticed my bruises last year and we've been working to get him put away, but it's difficult considering his position. It also didn't help that he's caught onto us and is now trying to pretend that everything is better now. That's why I'm allowed to see Natsuo and Fuyumi. He's been trying to manipulate things but he can't pretend forever.'

Shoto trailed off then and silence fell over them. He watched Midoriya for his reaction. He had never told anyone about that before.

He stared at his friend, but his vision became distorted. He thought of his old man, of how his mother had called him "unsightly" before burning him, of how his siblings used to look at him with apprehension and fear.

Shoto frowned. 'Sometimes I wonder if I'm just as bad as him.'

His words were spoken barely above a whisper, but the way Midoriya's head snapped to attention evidently showed that he had heard him.

'You know, Todoroki-kun…' He spoke gently, determined eyes finally meeting Shoto's own. 'I can't possibly understand everything you went through, but I do know this.'

A calloused hand landed on Shoto's shoulder and his vision re-focused to find a small smile gracing Midoriya's face. 'You're not your father. You're Todoroki Shoto, you're a kind person and you're my friend. He can't even compare to you.'

Shoto's mouth opened, but no words came out. Midoriya's words played on repeat in his head.

You're not your father. You're Todoroki Shoto.

He managed to turn his head away, hair hiding the stray tear that had fallen from his eye.

You're a kind person and you're my friend.

'Todoroki-kun, are you okay?'

So many thoughts were screaming inside his head. It was deafening, with Midoriya's words playing loudest of all.

He can't even compare to you.

'Toilet.' Shoto stood abruptly, pointedly not facing his classmate, and strode out of the room, ignoring Midoriya's bewildered shriek. He slid open the door to the bathroom opposite and shut himself away, turning the light on before he braced himself against the sink. His knuckles turned as white as the porcelain and he tried to calm his breathing.

Why was he acting like this? He was supposed to be calm, composed, aloof.

Just like father wanted. An unhelpful part of his mind taunted as tears streamed down his face. He felt a sob build up in the back of his throat. Hold it together. You're pathetic.

'Todoroki-kun.' His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. 'Should I get Natsuo or Fuyumi?'

'No!' Shoto exclaimed, a little harsher than he had intended. When Midoriya didn't immediately respond, he started to worry that he had scared him away.

'Okay.' His classmate eventually spoke, voice muffled due to the door. 'Can I come in?'

You don't want him to see you like this. You're supposed to be better than this-

'Yes.' He choked out, not looking up when the door slid open.

Gentle footfalls echoed on the tiles until Shoto felt a warm presence at his side. Midoriya then crouched down next to the sink to look up at Shoto.

'What's going through your mind?' He asked.

Everything.

'What you said just now, about me being kind and…' He swallowed heavily. 'You didn't mean it, did you? You were just saying it to make me feel better, right?'

'Oh, Todoroki-kun.' Midoriya gazed at him sadly. 'Of course I meant it. You told me to be honest with you, remember?'

Shoto leant his elbows on the sink to hold his face in his hands as he cried silently, only his ragged breathing exposing him.

He heard Midoriya shuffle to his feet. 'Can I… Can I hug you?'

Shoto blanked at that. Of all the things his friend could have said, he hadn't expected that. He furrowed his brow. When was the last time he had been properly hugged? With Fuyumi? His mother?

'Why?' He found himself asking instead, lowering his hands to look at Midoriya, who smiled softly at him.

'Because you look like you need it and I'm an expert hugger.'

Shoto blinked dumbly for a moment, regarding kind eyes, a genuine smile and open arms that radiated comfort, then slowly nodded.

'O- Okay…' He whispered.

Midoriya's smile brightened and he stepped forward, slowly wrapping his arms around Shoto's neck. One hand rested against his shoulder blades, while the other gently held the back of his head, guiding Shoto to the crook of Midoriya's neck. He went willingly and basked in the warmth, immediately relaxing against his friend.

Crooked fingers stroked his hair as Midoriya leant his head against him and he quickly became overwhelmed with emotion. Kind touches were so foreign to him that he usually hated the idea of physical contact. He didn't know why he had let Midoriya in, but he was glad he did.

A broken sob suddenly escaped him and he gingerly returned the hug, squeezing Midoriya's waist and clinging to his shirt. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, Midoriya's voice whispering words of encouragement until his eyes were dry, his friend's shirt was soaked and his throat was hoarse.

'I'm sorry.' He mumbled against Midoriya's neck. 'I don't know what came over me.'

'You don't owe anyone an apology.' His classmate quickly assured, echoing Shoto's words from a few days ago. 'Do you feel better?'

'I don't know.' Shoto answered honestly. Sure, letting his tears fall after years of bottling everything up was cathartic, but he had also unloaded all of his problems onto someone else just because of one comment; it made him feel disgusted at himself.

'It's okay not to be sure right now.' Midoriya pulled back to look him in the eye. 'I'll always be here to talk if you need, Todoroki-kun. We're friends and I want to help.'

Shoto must have pulled a face, because his classmate huffed, amused. 'It's an open offer. We can leave it for now.'

'Thank you, Midoriya.' Shoto didn't elaborate, but he didn't think he needed to, based on the way his friend's smile brightened.

'Shall we go work on our project for a bit?' Midoriya asked patiently. 'Then maybe we could watch a movie or something? I saw your Ghibli badges on your jacket - maybe we could watch one of them?'

Shoto wiped his eyes with his fist and nodded.

'That sounds nice.'

☀️🌙

'How could you?!' Izuku exclaimed, hand over his heart, horrified as his mum showed Todoroki his baby photos.

He had left them alone for one minute to get snacks, and now his soon-to-be-disowned mother was huddled up with his friend on the sofa, flicking through a photo album like it wasn't the most embarrassing thing in the world.

The two hardly spared him a glance, before continuing to point and giggle at baby Izuku in a hero onesie.

'Midoriya really is cute.' Todoroki smiled warmly and Izuku's cheeks suddenly felt a little hotter. 'How old was he in this one?'

It had been several weeks since their project had been assigned. Despite the emotional outbursts, they had managed to get their presentation done and performed. Their grades were still being determined, but Izuku was confident that they had done well.

That wasn't all that had happened though. Ever since that day Todoroki had opened up about his past, the two of them had grown closer, frequently texting and hanging out at Izuku's after school. They even spent their free periods together, which seemed to intrigue and confuse a lot of students. After all, Todoroki was the scary, mysterious pretty boy and Izuku was a self-identified nerd who liked to mumble to himself. Neither of them really cared about what their peers thought though.

As the days turned into weeks, however, Izuku realised that not only were people no longer tormenting him in the corridors, but Todoroki had started to smile more. Whenever Izuku would ramble about anatomy, he would listen, lips upturned and process every word with interest. Izuku loved his friend's smile and each one felt special because Izuku had caused it.

It took a single conversation with Uraraka to realise what was happening, and another one with Fuyumi to gain the courage to do what he was about to do.

'Mum, could I talk to Todoroki-kun alone for a minute?' Izuku rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. His mum knew about his crush - she had easily picked up on it due to Izuku's habit of muttering about the things he liked - so he hoped she would take the hint.

'Okay, sweetheart.' She grinned when Izuku's jaw dropped, mortified at the endearment. He also didn't miss the way Todoroki bit his bottom lip slightly with amusement.

Before Izuku could chastise her for clearly inappropriate behaviour in front of company, his mum closed the album and stood. 'I'll be in my room if you need me.'

When the door shut behind her, Izuku sighed with relief.

'I love her more than anything but I swear she gets some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing me suffer.' He groaned.

'I think she's great.' Todoroki smiled up at him. It lit up his entire face, no matter how small, and Izuku thought he looked beautiful.

Focus!

'So what did you want to talk about?' His friend asked, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.

'You're a dear friend to me and I know we weren't close until recently, but you've become a big part of my life.' He began, fiddling with his hands to ease his nerves. 'I'm sorry, I don't really know how to say this.'

'It's okay.' Todoroki spoke, his smile vanishing. 'I understand if you feel like it's too much. Sometimes I can get a bit overwhelmed by all this - having a friend - but I treasure your friendship too, so I'll respect your decision if you want to stop-'

'Wait, what?' Izuku exclaimed. 'I'm trying to tell you that I have a crush on you, not that I don't want to be friends.'

Shoto stared at him with wide eyes.

…

Oh fuck.

Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth and let out a strangled cry as realisation set in. He wasn't even that surprised at having admitted his feelings; he was surprised at how easy it had been.

What wasn't easy was the look of uncertainty on Todoroki's face.

'Midoriya…'

'I'm so sorry for making you uncomfortable-'

'I have a crush on you too, I think.'

That was the thing he least expected his friend to say.

'You do?'

'Yeah.' Todoroki scratched at his flushed cheek, no longer looking like his usually-composed self and instead rather vulnerable. 'I've known for a while that I feel different towards you compared to others. I feel… Safe around you, like I can trust you, and while everyone calls you plain-looking, I think you're actually quite cute.'

Izuku felt like his head was going to explode. One, Todoroki had just called him cute; two, his crush just admitted to feeling safe around him; and three, Todoroki was looking at him with such sincerity that his chest ached.

'That makes me so happy, Todoroki-kun, you have no idea.' He whispered, tears spilling from his eyes. 'I feel the same about you, except you're not cute, you're… Actually quite breathtaking.'

When he was met with silence, Izuku looked up to find Todoroki looking at him with amusement.

'Well now you've made me look bad.' He huffed, standing up and walking towards him.

'You could never look bad. That was my whole point. ' Izuku quipped, before suddenly being enveloped in a hug.

That was another thing about their relationship that surprised Izuku in a good way: Todoroki, touch-starved most of his life, had become particularly fond of cuddles. Now, Izuku had no qualms with this - he encouraged his friend to smother him with hugs whenever he needed it - but this hug felt different. Several emotions were communicated in that moment.

It almost felt desperate, yet hopeful.

'I'll have to thank Aizawa for pairing us up for that project.' Todoroki murmured against his neck, eliciting a short laugh from Izuku.

'Yeah definitely.' He pulled away to take his friend's hand, interlocking their fingers. 'We can thank him together.'

Todoroki huffed with mirth.

'I like the sound of that.'

[quickspinner]

“i love you” prompt for lukanette but specifically marinette confesses to a very taken offgaurd flustered luka

His head hurt. His everything hurt, actually, and he was blinking at the sky, which was definitely not what he’d been looking at a moment ago. 

There was something seriously messed up, he mused as he lay sprawled on the road along with all the other debris scattered by the akuma’s sonic wave attack, about the fact that his instinct was now to run towards explosions. He hadn’t had a miraculous or a super suit or a plan or anything except the vague feeling of someone might need help. 

Luka wondered if it was just him. Was he just a special kind of stupid, or could you identify all of the heroes of Paris by their tendency to run towards akumas while everyone else was running away?

The ringing in Luka’s ears was only just beginning to fade, and he felt a grudging respect for the akuma’s powers. It took quite a lot to affect him that way after years of souped up amps and screaming guitars. Luka touched his face gingerly, wincing at the sting. He’d skidded and rolled a fair distance across the pavement, with no mask or supersuit to protect him from road rash. 

Ow. “Dumbass,” he chided himself, as he pushed up to sitting. He was scraped up, but it didn’t hurt too much to move, so maybe he could— 

As the ringing in his ears receded, he became aware of someone screaming his name. Luka looked around and saw Marinette running towards him. His eyes widened. 

“Marinette,” he gasped, trying to get to his feet. “I didn’t know you were here, are you—mmph!!” He fell back on his ass as she barreled into him, and then her mouth was crushed against his, her hands fisted in his hoodie. “Stupid!” she grunted, shaking him slightly before she kissed him again. “Jerk! What were you thinking?”

Luka tried to answer, but words were hard when she was kissing him. Damn, that hurt; he was pretty sure his lip was busted. He felt a bit cheated. She leaned back, and he opened his mouth to answer her questions (and maybe ask a few of his own) but Marinette cut him off again. 

“Kiss me back, idiot,” she ordered, and kissed him again, softer this time, and though he was still confused he did kiss her back despite the pain. He hoped he wasn’t bleeding on her anywhere. 

When she pulled back the first thing that came out of his dumbass mouth was, “Why are we kissing?” 

Marinette gave him an exasperated, but affectionate look. “Because I love you, and you were really stupid just now, and you scared the crap out of me.” 

Luka blinked. “Oh,” he said lamely. “That’s uh...news.” 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Marinette sighed, grabbing the tail of his shirt and pulling it up to wipe the blood off his chin. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Not bad,” he grunted, reaching up to touch a sore spot on his head. Yep, there was a pretty good lump there. “Everything hurts more or less, but nothing hurts like it’s broken. Just got knocked around a bit.” He paused. “You love me?”  

Marinette slapped his chest and Luka jumped. “Focus! You’re supposed to run away from explosions, you jerk!”

“I had to help!” he protested, leaning back weakly on the pile of debris behind him, and Marinette rolled her eyes.  

“I don’t have time for this,” she snorted, but she sounded more regretful than irritated.  

She pulled him up by his hoodie and kissed him again, hard, and he couldn’t help a little cry as she smashed his split lip into his teeth. “Stay. Right. Here.” she ordered, and Luka swallowed.

“Okay,” he managed. 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she declared, turning around and marching towards the debris field as if she were personally intent on kicking the akuma’s ass. 

“Marinette!” Luka began in alarm, “Where are you going?” 

She only raised one finger as if to say wait and kept walking. “Right back,” she repeated, “And you’d better still be here.” 

Luka just stared for a minute, open-mouthed and goggle-eyed, before his brain switched on and he yelled, “I love you too!” after her. Marinette turned to walk backwards for a few steps as she blew him a kiss.

Wait. She was walking toward the akuma. And that voice when she told him to stay put. 

“Shit,” he gasped, still gaping in the direction she had gone. Groaning, he flopped back on the debris pile again. “Be careful,” he muttered, sighing. He’d get up and go after her in a moment. He just...needed a second.

Although she told him to stay put. And he didn’t really want to contemplate the consequences of disobeying her. He’d scared her, she’d said. If he went now, injured and unarmored, she might be distracted, and that wouldn’t be good at all. 

She loved him. Luka grinned, and winced at the sting in his split lip.

Ladybug must have been motivated because it felt like no time at all before the magical ladybugs swirled around him. And was it his imagination, or did they linger a bit longer than usual? If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were fussing over him.

He couldn’t believe he was blushing because of magic bugs. “This day is so fucking weird,” he muttered to himself, as the ladybugs finally shot upward and dispersed. He stared at the sky for a minute, shaking his head, which at least no longer hurt. When he lowered his gaze, he saw Marinette running towards him, and grinned, pleased that the sting was gone. “Weird, but awesome,” he muttered, getting to his feet and opening his arms to catch Marinette as she threw herself at him.

It was a much better kiss that time.

Fiction Master Post |  Here for You Collection

[internalsealpanic]

Fabulous Friday Evenings

Summary: You were having a really bad day.  Conner decides to help cheer you up and make sure your drunk ass doesn’t face plant on the side walk.

masterlist 

word count:  2,652

a/n: Special thanks to @anothertimdrakestan for helping with the ending and helping with editing! Love you, Elle!

warnings: alcohol and swearing and author does not know how alcohol works.  No one is under the drinking age. This may benefit from more editing. 

"Mosht people are jusht the careful scaffolding of complexshesh," you slurred, your face red, head half buried in your arms, and golden ear cuffs winking under the dim bar lights.

"You somehow still sound like a fucking nerd even you're when drunk," Conner laughed throwing his head back, handsome face stretched with a cheeky smile.  "You look like a mess," he said softly, reaching out for your cheek.

"Fuhk you! Not eberyone can be born too pretty for their own guhd- how did yah evehn know I was here? It was Tim wasn't it! "

"Good guess buuuut it was actually Bart" Conner explained casually taking a seat next to you as you lifted your head momentarily before plopping it back down to stare at the amber gloss of the drink. The light from the ceiling seemed to dance so elegantly in your eyes even as you wrinkled your brows. "That rat," you cursed miserably into your arm. 

Across from you, a pretty brunette shot you two a wink and without looking you could tell Conner flirted in kind. Normally, you'd have the audacity to steal the girl's attention away before Conner could even make a proper move but tonight you were in absolutely no mood to be charming. In fact, you were sloshed. You didn't know whether it was the fourth or fifth drink that did it but there you were sitting next to one of the most attractive people he knew with your makeup smeared and  eyes still swollen and puffy. You kind of just want a portal to open up and swallow you.

 The brunette made a motion to her friends which indicated that she was gonna try her luck and you wished her the best of luck. You bit your soft lips before pressing them into a pout. It took everything in Conner not to kiss you on the spot. Be the responsible one they said. It would be fun, they said. 

"We should go. You're-"

"Have fun," you said, patting him on the shoulder, cutting him off curtly; placing some cash on the bar before leaving. The buxom brunette approached Conner placing a hand on the shoulder you’d just touched moments before. He didn’t seem to notice her, his mind still lingering on the warmth of your hand.  Before she can say anything, he pivots and runs towards you .

The casual slump in your shoulders in place of your usual elegance was a pretty good indication that you would probably fall in a gutter before you got home. Conner highly doubted  you could see straight. 

"I can’t believe Roz let you get this sloshed without checking on you," He joked bringing one of your arms over his shoulder and slinging his own arm around you for balance. You walked like a newborn horse. It was incredibly embarrassing and you wanted to die. Conner, on the other hand, just found it incredibly hilarious.

 "She's out getting into her own brand of sloshed at a bachelorette party,"

"Huh. Didn't know she was the wedding type. Thought she hated going to those,"

"She's the stripper," You deadpanned, sounding abnormally sober.  With that Conner let out a genuinely hearty laugh. You would trade all the martinis, dackories, and margaritas in the world just to get drunk on that laugh. 

"That reminds me," Conner drawled, adjusting his hold feeling just how shaky you were from the late October Metropolis weather pressing you closer to his warm body. You kind of wanted to melt into his side but you had too much pride. "Bart never said why you were out here getting shit faced," You frowned at him but couldn't really muster any sharpness into your expression.

 There were lots of reasons to get 'shit faced' even in shiny Metropolis. You twitched your nose and mouth side to side gathering the makings of a sentence. Where do you even start? Your little sister got suspended, your mother (who somehow found out you were in Metropolis) is either demanding money or for you to drop everything to go back home to help around the house (translation: help out with the bills while babysitting your siblings), Bats and some other league members were on your ass for the last mission (probably the only thing on this list you found reasonable),  this morning, you got fired from your library job so they could hire Marco's girlfriend (who is in fact a perfectly nice person which means you can't really hate her), or the dozens of little annoyances such as Bart not being able to keep his trap shut. 

"This week was just a little much," 

A long moment of silence passes between you. Uncharacteristic for Conner but it was cute that he thought silence would make you fess up. 

"You know I could have gone home on my own. That brunette looked like she was up for a good time," 

"Yeah right. Also you're welcome." 

"You're right. Thank you for getting blue balled this fine evening to escort me" you didn't want to be prickly but Conner was being too nice and that made your skin crawl. Why couldn’t he be mean to you right now like a normal person? 

"First off, she wasn't even my type-" You raised a brow. 

"Kon, her tits were the size of Jupiter-" 

"Did you really  just say 'tits'?" 

You threw him a scowl clearly sobering up from irritation.

"Shut up. Point iiiis, you didn't have to-"

"You just said-"

"Oh for the love of- yes, I said tits. Speaking of which you should be staring at some instead of having to lug my sorry ass around on this fabulous Friday evening."  Your hand fluttering, gesturing vaguely in the air.

"Eh. There'll be other Fridays" Kon shrugged.  Pulling you closer and some selfish part of you felt relieved. 

----------

Much to your surprise (you really ought not to be), Roz wasn't home yet which meant you had to dig out the keys from the secret hiding spot- another hassle. You reached out peeling a hilariously well concealed hole in the wall and fished out the set of jingling keys. Conner looked like he was between amusement and bewilderment. Good enough.  At least, this stopped Conner's 30 minute TED Talk about the new 70s sitcom he'd found. 

You two entered the shoe box apartment clumsily thanks to your disastrous limbs. 

You blew out a breath and muttered a thanks as Conner helped you plop onto the couch.  Though, it was more like gravity decided to magnetize your body to the couch and Conner just let it happen. 

You shut his eyes for a moment wrapping a ragged blanket around you. You made a mental note to raid the thrift store for a new one. Preferably one void of holes. 

"So what's up and don't you dare say it was nothing. I've never seen you this hammered before," He said handing you a mug of steaming hot chocolate. 

"Does it occur to you that I might get hammered like this often and you might just not see it? Who knows maybe I'm actually a functional alcoholic?" 

"Ok, first off, you are barely functional. Second, that might be your weakest deflection yet.  Try again," 

"Ok... did it occur-" 

"I didn't mean it lite- just tell me what happened. Everyone's worried," 

You stared at the steam rising from the fresh cup of cocoa. It was none of Conner's business. It was no one’s business.  Your friends were too goddamn nice. Blowing out another breath, you said "You might wanna sit down too," 

Conner takes his own mug of hot cocoa and sits next to you because for some reason eye contact made you a better liar and Conner for all his dumb decisions wasn't gonna let  you off the hook that easily.  You shifted uncomfortably and muttered about either Cassie or Roz ratting you out. He assumed it was the eye contact thing. Conner felt a little offended. He might not be Tim but he’s smart enough to figure it out on his own. Despite his hurt feelings and bruised ego, he decided to table that and focus on the current issue or, likely, issues.

 "Do you want it in alphabetical order?" 

"Please tell me you can actually do that," Conner teased with a wide grin. You couldn’t fight off a smile forming on your face. "Sadly, I am not Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. My brain cells work like a normal person's,"

"Didn't you die?" 

"Death only fixes stupid when you stay dead. You've seen Red Hood and whichever other Ex-Robin has been to the pearly gates,"

"You say that as if Jason wouldn't tell the big man to fuck off," 

You blinked and turned your head up to the ceiling. "Ok that's true," You conceded, your mouth twitching rapidly from side to side making you look like an exasperated rabbit.  Cute.

"So what's up?" 

 All the good mood from the past few minutes dissipated in an instant. You looked down solemnly at the still steaming mug. You were silent for what felt like an eternity. 

 "It's family- Immediate.  And the source of all evil-"  

 "Lex Corp?" 

You snorted a shy tired smile cracked across your face.  You shook your head. Those little gestures just make Conner feel a little warmer. You, on the other hand, cursed at how easily Conner could make you laugh. You were  supposed to be sad damn it. 

"Money," Conner knew immediate family was always a sore spot for you. No one knew the specifics except Roz but that was inevitable when you're cousins.  Money was also a sore spot and based on your near dead tone. You’ve either lost a lot of it or you’re in a tight spot but not ready to elaborate. 

"Wanna try buying a lottery ticket?"

"What?"

"Who knows you might get lucky?" 

"You could have gotten lucky you if you-" 

"Are you seriously gonna keep bringing that up?" 

"Yes, most likely. Depends," 

"On what?!" 

"On whether I can think of something funnier to give you shit about or if you can convince me-whatever the fuck you're thinking of doing stop!"Conner's cheeky grin did not disappear nor did the faint flush on your cheeks. 

"I wasn't thinking of anything, you sick pervert" he laughed. You really should have been exasperated with Conner. You tried damn it. You looked at him skeptically before violently letting his head rest on Conner’s shoulder causing the other boy to fall over. 

"Aaaaaaawwwww babe , if you wanted to cuddle you could have just said so," 

You wanted to. In fact,  both of you wanted to. But unfortunately neither of you were martian and neither of you was willing to say jack.  You closed your eyes trying to pretend Conner wasn't a little shit. Conner radiated too much smug for that though. 

"Shut up," You mumbled into Conner's shoulder already feeling sleep pull him under. You clung to him. Maybe just for tonight you can indulge in this. Just for a little while you can cling to Conner's warmth. Maybe in the morning your head will ache too much to remember this. Waking up alone wouldn't be too painful then. Hopefully. 

---------------

You woke up feeling like a troop of Can Caning hippos decided to host a live performance all over your head. You sighed remembering that you had in fact run out of Aspirin just days before so you decided on just lying there and praying that Roz also needed Aspirin and  had more energy to run to the store. 

You settled in nuzzling in to the warm- 

Wait. It was October. 

Nothing in the apartment should be warm. 

NOTHING. 

Then, you heard it.  A LOUD snore. It honestly sounded more like the roar of an engine than anything.  Everything else followed. The slow rising and falling of the chest beneath you, the press of stubble against your forehead, and the strong arms loosely wrapped around you. 

Yeah. You died again. Yeah. You finally went to heaven. Yup. You were ok with that. You were  definitely 100% A Ok with this if this was heaven. Being held tenderly by the guy you liked while you got a good night’s sleep was definitely heaven. God, you were such a sap.  

How the hell you missed all of that baffled you.

 Oh wait. Dancing hippos. Fuck. 

Your head felt like it was threatening to crack open but somehow you honestly could not mind even if you tried. You were  laying on top of a hot (literally and metaphorically) guy mutually cuddling. You nuzzled into the junction between Conner’s neck and shoulder in an attempt to steal more warmth. Sure, you were probably gonna go deaf from the snoring. Sure, you were definitely irritated by the stubble pressed against your face. And sure, you would probably die of embarrassment once Conner woke up. You could worry about all that later. All you could think about was how nicely your arms fit around Conner’s neck and how Conner’s arms wrap around you a little tighter in return. 

Click. 

Click. 

You could hear the distinct sound of your own camera shutter. Each sound chipped away at your peace of mind. You lifted your head only to see Roz holding your camera. 

TAKING PICTURES. 

Your cousin was nothing if not a petty opportunist. 

“I would tell you to get a room buuuut the only bedroom iiiiis preeeeeeetty occupied,” Roz drawled  smugly way too pleased with herself. You opened his mouth to ask but you’d already made the mistake of walking in on Roz and a guest once and you were  pretty sure you needed more therapy for that than you did for your murder. You just sighed as Roz took another picture.

“Come on, (y/n), smile a little,”

“I’m not smiling for your blackmail material,”

Roz gasped trying to sound scandalized. She failed, only sounding amused beyond belief. “It’s only blackmail if you’re ashamed of it. Personally, I think you’re scoring big time,”

“Roz please just fuck off before you wake him up,”

“Too fuckin’ late for that. He’s been awake for awhile,” 

You could  feel Conner smiling into your hair and his arms wrap around you  a little tighter. You tried to straighten up. To tower over him. To look intimidating. 

But…. you couldn’t. You were kind of trapped because, yanno,  super strength.

 You were seething and threw a scowl at Conner who only chuckled at you in response.  

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” You snarled, clearly exasperated and feeling the hippos start their encore performance. 

“ Mmmmmm, it depends,” Nope. The hippos did not only come back for an encore. They brought friends. Based on the absolutely smug look on Conner’s face, you were in for an entire parade. 

You let out a breath not sure if you wanted to play this game but not really seeing any other options.  “On what?“

Conner paused and hummed and hummed and hummed some more as if he was actually thinking but you knew from the crook of his lips that he had this planned out. Maybe not this exact scenario but something close“Go out on a date with me,”

You blinked then rolled your eyes theatrically enough that your head rolled along with it.   “And be seen with you in public?” You teased, an almost sheepish smile tugging at your features.

Yeah, Conner wasn’t exactly expecting you to say yes.

 “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” You said playing it off as casually as possible but you couldn’t help but mirror the absolutely goofy grin plastered on Conner’s face.  His happiness was infectious. You felt weightless. It was probably the fact that you were floating with him but you were pretty sure you were just on cloud nine. You were doomed. Definitely, inevitable, indubitably doomed. Even though everything has been shit up to now. The happiness radiating off of Conner was enough to make everything feel a little better.  

Thank you so much for reading!

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