#and the energy in the office has been Rough lately for a lot of reasons

[mochiwrites]

anyone feeling like it's one of those days where the smallest thing can make you burst into tears

[nosetoons]

Hi.

So, as you may or may not have realized, I haven't really posted all that much this month aside from that one trade I did. And I have a reason for that: I am working on this year's Pride Month project...or I was.

You see, things started ok...kinda late but ok...but then I sidetracked, began delaying when I was gonna do the next character and what not and so forth. Part of it was because I was lazy and got too focused on scrolling on my phone, and just recently it's because a lot is going on at my job it's been draining me.

Holy fuck, I have never wanted to leave my job so bad, but I don't have a vehicle or a license...just a permit. Almost every customer treats me like garbage, and some even tried to get me in trouble and accuse me of being rude to them all because I couldn't sell them cigarettes without an ID. My manager, being the manager, has to get onto me for bad behavior, and it just tips me over the edge. She was not the same person I first met when I transferred to a different dollar store. In fact, she has been making rules up just so her relationship with the entire town can stay stable...such as changing their prices to march exactly what the customers want, which is something we are not allowed to do, but any objection will get us in trouble.

But here's another thing about her, wait for it...SHE DOES DRUGS!!! :D No really, she will actually leave me in the store all alone during her break (which again, is not anything she is supposed to do) just to get stoned or get a quick shot of dope. But it's funny because she bragged about putting away that kind of stuff and being sober, but of course that turned out to be a crock of shit. Because a few days ago, the cops came into the store while I was working and searched the entire store, including her office, because she ended up getting a warramt for her arrest thanks to one of her relatives who is in prison fessing up over her doing drugs, and the next day, another cop delivered the news to me that she, along with her boyfriend, was in jail, and that she will appear in court sometime this week.

So yeah, no wonder the manager has been acting way over her head here lately. She was a crackhead. Ha...and the assitant manager was gone for the weekend. So that only left the 3 of us to run the whole store. The whole thing set me off, and I decided I wasn't going to do anything when I got home. The manager's boss is supposed to come over this week to decide whether or not she is going to stay, and it's very likely she will not.

So aside from delaying and a shitty job, another thing is that when I do draw, I have been getting drained very quickly. This is because I have more big characters than I do small characters. Some I haven't even drawn in forever or some with lots of details. I ended up saving 2 drawings for another time.

So that being said, I don't see myself finishing it, which is a shame because I was really looking forward to this but life got the best of me. I wish I didn't have so tired all the time, I wish I didn't have a shitty job, I wish my manager wasn't a drug user, and more importantly, I wish I drawing characters didn't take every bit of energy I have out of me.

I'm sorry folks. After I get done typing this, I'm gonna do like a quick doodle to post so I'll have something for Art Summary this year. And then at some point. I'll post what I did finish for the project. This was...a really rough experience and I hope I can resume to normal posting again.

P.S. Fuck typing on the phone with fat fingers my god

-Wage

[jeongjaebae]

Takes one to know one [teaser]

Pairing: Hyunjae x reader Genre: E2L!! E2L!!! ENEMIES TO LOVERS Warnings: y/n swears a lot and radiates angry energy :') A/N: ~900 words of typical jeongjaebae-ness. the start of the ~25k (???) work that gave life to offend and want aka all your hyunjae e2l dreams wrapped up in one fic

You have no idea why everyone compares you to Hyunjae. Sure, the two of you might be at the top of your class and working on the same thesis topic, and maybe you both have a competitive streak. Maybe you like to get on his nerves because he gets on yours. But that doesn't mean you're anything like him... right?

Lee Hyunjae, Lee Hyunjae, Lee Hyunjae.

The entire week you'd been hearing this name as it echoed off the walls of your office, all throughout your classes, and now even at the table of your department lunch.

He's the new transfer student, supposedly here to do research at your college for a year before returning to wherever he's from. Which is a totally normal and boring reason for him to be here, of course. But that's not why this whole situation annoys you.

You're irked because you seem to be the only one who hasn't crossed paths with him yet and doesn't know who he is or what he looks like. You're bothered by the way he's already made a name for himself amongst your peers during the brief time he's been here. And then there's the way his name slips out of mouths like he's some kind of god? The absolute worst.  

"Who the fuck is Lee Hyunjae?"

You hardly notice when the table goes silent at your outburst, all eyes on you in various degrees of shock. There's Jisoo beside you, mouth open the slightest, and there's Juyeon diagonally across from you, dropping the piece of sushi he'd held in his chopsticks. You're lucky your supervisor isn't here to witness this moment.

This was supposed to be a nice lunch that Dr. Kim decided to put together to celebrate the various publications and achievements your department has accomplished. It's supposed to be a great time and it's not like you want to ruin the mood or anything, but all this talk about this Hyunjae person has been very off-putting—

The guy across from you puts his chopsticks down and holds out a hand. "It's Y/N, right? I'm Hyunjae."

Oh.

Jisoo elbows you, snapping you out of the sudden whirlwind of thoughts. She looks at you pointedly, tilting her head towards where Hyunjae's hand still hangs awkwardly over the table while the rest of the department seems extremely focused on this moment for whatever reason.

"Right," you say, shaking his hand half-heartedly with your mind still running on autopilot. "Nice to meet you."

The rest of the lunch goes by in a blur. You're too preoccupied with replaying that scene and thinking back to how you arrived at this point—why did you practically embarrass yourself in front of the entire department over this annoying new guy? Though when you think about it, he really isn't that new. In fact, you've met him multiple times already.

It all started a week ago.

Monday morning. It'd been a rough start—first, you'd overslept and were late for your class, and if that wasn't bad enough, the side door that was going to be your shortcut to class was locked. Your only glimmer of hope was the guy standing by the door on the inside. He'd looked up at the sound of your knocks, stared at you, and then simply walked away without letting you in. You were late for class.

The second incident was a couple of days after that. You got called on in class by your prof, which isn't something you'd normally worry about, but the person who turns around to stare at you as you're answering causes the words to die in your throat. It was the door guy. He had the audacity to add onto your answer too, that bastard.

And even today at the lunch earlier, he'd taken the exact food item you'd reached for—not once but twice. Sure, it might've been a coincidence, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that this annoying undergrad was out to get you. Whose lab was he in anyway and why did he suddenly appear? You'd never seen him before this week.

But it's only after your outburst and that abrupt revelation that you realize he's no undergrad at all. He's not here as a research assistant, nor is he the student of one of the TAs in the department. The new guy sitting directly across from you is the infamous Hyunjae that you've heard about all week. You just never pieced it together.

Though it's not like it's that stupid of a mistake—this is not how you pictured him to look like at all.

Based on how smart everyone says he is, you'd pictured a stereotypical nerd: thick glasses, greasy hair, perhaps a hoodie swallowing up his entire body as he slouches at his desk. The guy in front of you now, however, is the complete opposite of that. What is he doing at grad school anyway? It's a waste of those good looks to be hiding them in the depths of your lab. A crime, a travesty. How is it possible to be that smart and good-looking? Couldn't he leave some talent for the rest of you? What a selfish bastard.

"I'm selfish?" Hyunjae asks, meeting your eyes.

He waits for an answer and it's only then that you realize you'd said the words out loud. You open your mouth with an apology on the tip of your tongue but then stop when you see his expressions—Hyunjae raises a brow, perhaps concerned with your statement or with the intense staring you'd been doing as you try to process all of this. But surprisingly enough, he doesn't seem confused. He's not upset, nor does he duck his head and look away.

Instead, he smiles. The corners of his lips curve into an amused smirk paired with a twinkle in his eye.

Little did you know what kind of rivalry you just started.

[peakyblindersxx]

can you hold your liquor? - tommy shelby x reader

a/n: yes that's right 2 fics in one night!! this one right here is for my tommy bitches it is very steamy and the reader is a badass bitch ok hope you guys like it :)

prompt: you're a businesswoman and tommy needs a favor.

warnings: nsfw!! smut, choking, daddy kink, slight degredation, you and tommy being assholes to eachother

“Fuck off, Shelby,” was the first thing that left your red-stained lips as Tommy Shelby entered your office, looking like a vision, much to your chagrin, in a dark grey three-piece suit with a white striped shirt underneath. You were well aware of the Shelbys, as one of the only female businesswomen in Birmingham, and on occasion, had had drinks with both Ada Shelby and Polly Gray. You were around the same age as Ada, and you called her every so often to chat. From those conversations, you concluded that Tommy, despite his devastatingly handsome exterior, was nothing but trouble.

Tommy chuckled at your outburst, puffing from his cigarette as he poured himself a glass of whiskey from your bar cart. “I see my sister has told you about me, then.”

You scoffed, taking a large sip from your gin and tonic. “What do you want from me, Tommy. I run a fucking bread factory. Only reason they even let me is ‘cause girls can work here. God forbid they’d let a woman tell a man what to do,” you snapped, crossing one leg over another as you took a drag from your cigarette. You were glad that you wore one of your shortest dresses today; a dark red silk number that played well against black tights and a pair of black 3 inch heels, the tallest you owned. A small, but noticeable pair of silver earrings dangled from your ears.

Tommy’s unmistakable blue eyes locked with yours as he puffed at this cigarette, taking a seat across from you. “I need a favor.”

You almost choked on your laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You gulped down the rest of your drink and stood to get another, hips swaying as you felt Tommy’s eyes on you. As much as you didn’t want anything to do with him, some part of you still wanted him to want you. You made your drink and sat back down, fingers tapping your crystal glass as you took another drag from your cigarette. “What is it?”

Tommy cleared his throat, lowering his voice and leaning in closer. As much as you hated to admit it, his cologne was turning you on. “I have 7 tons of opium I need to get to Glasgow. I happen to know that your bread factory does shipments to Glasgow, eh? Through the canals,” Tommy said, gesturing with his arm.

You took a drink. “Yes, and?”

Tommy groaned. “Fuck, woman! I need you to hide the goddamn opium under your fucking bread,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

You took a long drag off of your cigarette. “And what would I get?”

“20,000 pounds,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. “But you’ll need to come with. It’s a two day trip and I don’t trust your employees. Just you, me, and my men driving the barges, eh?”

“Fuck,” you exhaled smoke, weighing your options. Who were you kidding? You had to say yes. With that kind of money, you could buy four more factories. “When do we leave?”

Tommy grinned, knowing that you had a deal. “Tonight.”

“I’ll have something written up and I’ll need your signature,” You retorted.

“That’s fine,” Tommy said, standing and shooting the rest of his whiskey. “I’ll pick you up at 9, yeah?”

“You don’t even have my address, Tommy,” You replied, sipping from your glass.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Tommy grinned, opening the door. “I’ll find you,” he called, shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck me,” You exhaled.

***

You hadn’t been on a boat in ages, not since you were little. Most of your family had died or moved away when you were young, so you didn’t have many people to take you to do things like that. You had been born in poverty, but had worked your ass off to be able to get where you were. You were new to fancy things in that you didn’t find a need for most of them. Of course you indulged in small luxuries, like the newest Chanel pantsuit or silk underwear. You were an owner of an entire company, after all.

You didn’t want to wear a skirt, so you slipped on a pair of black trousers and a plain black blouse over a simple pair of black cotton underwear with a black bra. You put on a pair of lace up leather booties in addition to a tiny pair of gold hoop earrings and a few gold chain necklaces. You heard the doorbell ring, and your maid entered your room shortly, letting you know that a Mr. Shelby was downstairs.

You made your way down your spiral staircase where Tommy was waiting, glancing at his pocket watch before putting it into his pocket and looking up at you. “The driver put your bag in the trunk already,” he said before opening the door for you. He walked you to the car, ushering you through as the driver opened the car door for you while he went to the other side, sliding in next to you on the black leather interior of the Bentley. He smelled like cologne and cigarettes, and it was making your head spin. Something about him was irresistible, but you refused to give in.

The car ride was a short one, the three of you arriving at the canals quickly. The driver retrieved yours and Tommy’s bags from the trunk, driving off after speaking quietly with Tommy. An Irish man on one of the boats tipped his hat to you, grabbing the bags. “That’s Packy Lee,” Tommy said, stepping onto the barge and holding out his hand for you to take while stepping down. “He’s a good man.” You begrudgingly accepted it, stepping down onto the boat.

Tommy led you into the cargo hold, which was dimly lit by a few gas lanterns and contained a single makeshift bed. The small open area was surrounded by sacks and sacks of opium. You couldn’t believe the sheer quantity of it. “Me brothers are in the other ones,” Tommy said, sitting on the bed, gesturing towards the other barges that floated behind you in the canal. “And you’re sure they never check?”

“Not the way that my ships go,” you responded, slumping down a foot away from him. “I’ve never had a problem getting stuff through here, if you understand what I’m saying.” Tommy nodded as he lit a cigarette, puffing from it. He sighed, leaning back against the sacks and producing a bottle of whiskey, popping the cork and taking a swig. He extended his arm, offering the bottle to you, and you accepted, wincing slightly as the dark liquid hit your throat. You took a second swig anyways, your intentions impure. You were in the cargo hold of a boat surrounded by opium with Tommy fucking Shelby, of all people. Tommy abandoned his suit jacket, draping it over the top of the sacks, his sleeve garter chains glinting in the lamp light as he rolled up his sleeves. Getting drunk was a bad idea, but it was too late for that now. You took one last drink for good measure, passing the bottle back to Tommy.

“Can ‘ya hold your liquor?” Tommy’s voice echoed off of the curved wooden walls as you almost choked on your drink.

“Can I hold my liquor. Tommy Shelby, I’ll have you know I’ve been drinking since I was fucking thirteen,” you snarked. “I see why Ada likes you so much. You’re a lot like her,” Tommy chuckled, taking a long drink from the bottle and passing it back to you. You took another swig, starting to feel a little tipsy.

“What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” The question left your lips before you could stop it. Thankfully, Tommy grinned. “God, to be honest? The first fuck I ever had when I got back from France. Purely because it had been so goddamn long,” he laughed, accepting the bottle and taking another drink. His ice blue eyes met yours. “What about you?”

You blushed a little, feeling slightly shy, but the alcohol got the better of you. “Probably this Spanish guy, what the fuck was his name - Raul or something. God, he was good.”

“I bet I could fuck you better,” Tommy grinned, passing you back the bottle. Your jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Tommy replied as you took another long drink. “I bet I could fuck you better than what’s his name.”

“Raul.”

“Yeah. Roger.”

You snorted, biting at your bottom lip. “I accept that bet.”

Tommy’s lips were on yours immediately, his hands practically ripping your shirt from your limbs as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip. You rid him of his clothes quickly, flinging them behind you as you ran your hands over his shoulders, kissing him back fiercely. You rolled on top of him, slipping his cock inside your already wet cunt and bouncing up and down causing Tommy to groan.

“You look so fucking pretty riding me, I’m tempted to let you do this all night,” Tommy grunted, his teeth capturing a nipple. “But I promised you something, hm?”

Tommy flipped the two of you over on the bed, ramming his cock inside you at a rough pace as he flung your legs over his shoulder, making your eyes roll back into your head. You couldn’t help but let a moan leave your mouth, causing Tommy to smirk. “You like that, sweetheart?”

“Oh, fuck,” You couldn’t find the energy to form any other words, your head spinning at Tommy’s constant assault on your g spot, sending stars across your vision.

“Look at you, can’t even speak when I’m fucking you this good, can you?” Tommy growled as your pussy squeezed around his dick. “This is what you wanted, from the first thing you said to me, aye? Who knew you’d turn into a pretty little slut for me in bed.”

Your moans grew louder as Tommy fucked you even harder, determined on proving a point. Tommy reached up and wrapped his hand around your neck as you writhed against him, gasping for breath. “You love this, don’t you? I can feel that pretty pussy clenching around my cock.” You could only moan in response, your eyes fluttering back into your head.

“Pretty little thing, fuckin’ made for my cock, aren’t ‘ya? Come on baby, come all over Daddy’s cock, huh?”

“Daddy, fuck,” you moaned, head swimming with lust as you reached your climax.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Tommy crooned, keeping up his insufferable pace as he fucked you through your climax. You couldn't help the sounds coming from your mouth as Tommy thrust harder, groaning.

“God, your pussy’s so wet,” Tommy grunted, hips snapping against yours. “Gonna make me fill you up with my cum, huh?” “Please, Daddy,” was all you could manage. “Please come in me. I want it so fucking badly,” you whined, shocked at the words that were leaving your mouth. Tommy growled, thrusting into you as hard as he could, causing you to cry out, scratching at his shoulders and leaving long red marks. Tommy didn’t seem to care as he took you, letting out a grunt as he finally released inside of you. You felt the stickiness drip down your thighs and you savored the dirtiness of it. Tommy kissed you roughly before slumping down beside you, lighting a cigarette. He took a puff before offering it to you and you accepted, taking a long drag.

“I promise not to tell my sister you call me daddy,” Tommy grinned, letting out a small ‘oof’ when you smacked his chest.

“Fuck you, Shelby,” You laughed, taking another drag from your cigarette as Tommy smiled at you. “We could definitely go again.”

[suddencolds]

different anon here but omg im so happy you made a kaeya/albedo drabble.. could you write up a pt 2 where kaeya catches his cold? doesnt have to be long, anything would do if youd be so kind

😭 anon... please, have mercy. Reversed roles are my absolute ~weakness~, so just this once, I am here to deliver a fic that I didn’t spend like 300 years writing. (Thanks for the excuse to write these two!!)

[part 1] 

—

A few days pass before he sees Kaeya again.

Albedo is only at the headquarters to ask Lisa if she has any books on the medicinal uses of Liyue specialties. The meeting is a coincidence, all things considered. Kaeya is leading a group of Knights—new recruits, Albedo thinks, because he’s pretty sure those are new faces—back into the main hall.

“Captain,” one of the recruits is saying. “I’m sorry about today. I’ll do better next time.”

“Struggling with training?” Kaeya asks. “I hope you weren’t hurt.”

“I wasn’t. I just… I should have been able to dodge. Back up in Starfell Valley, when that hilichurl fired. It wasn’t hidden or anything, but I didn’t notice.”

Kaeya shakes his head. “It’s a lot to think about, right? That’s one of the tricky things about fighting with a close-range weapon. It’s not a bad thing to pay attention to whomever you’re clashing swords with. Just don’t forget to keep an eye out for enemies that are further out.”

“Got it,” the recruit says, solemn.

“Your swordsmanship has improved, though.” Kaeya adds, “I can tell you practiced. The new sword suits you.”

The recruit brightens visibly. “Thanks a lot, Captain.”

It’s not surprising, really—Kaeya has a strange talent for saying the right thing at the right time. He’s patient, too, and good at strategizing; all things considered, Albedo can’t think of someone more qualified to be training the Knights.

But Albedo isn’t here to watch. It just looks like their group is about to adjourn, and he figures he should really thank Kaeya for his help a few days ago—Kaeya is a fast learner, and an even better conversation partner. Had it not been for him, Albedo knows he would’ve been up on Dragonspine for much longer.

Currently, Kaeya is turning to address the entire group. He still hasn’t noticed Albedo’s presence, it seems.

“Great work today,” He says, then launches into a speech about strategy. It’s not a notable incident—or, it shouldn’t be—except the more he talks, the more Albedo can tell how tired he is. It’s subtle. It’s Kaeya—of course it’s subtle. But his posture looks deceptively casual—really, it looks like it’s taking all of his energy to keep himself presentable—and mid-speech, he’s actually stifling a yawn. His voice sounds slightly off, too, perhaps from overuse.

They’re all busy, Albedo knows. But he feels guilty nonetheless. He knows it had been Kaeya’s decision to help him, but still—perhaps it hadn’t been the best choice, seeing how much he still has to do.

“Captain Kaeya,” one of the other recruits interjects, after Kaeya finishes his speech. Most of the other Knights have already started to leave. “If you are free later, could I stay late to train with you today?”

And Kaeya—

—Kaeya, for some reason, hesitates. He shuts his eyes for just a second, as if he’s at war with himself, before he opens them again. This time, his smile is a little less effortless, a little more strained. “Of course. I need to get some paperwork filled out first, but I’ll meet you after.”

“Alright, thanks! I’ll wait for you outside?”

“Sure. I won’t be long.”

The recruit—oblivious to the fact that something’s wrong—turns to head towards the exit. Kaeya sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowed. He really looks exhausted.

Albedo wants to call out to him. He’ll say thanks, and then he’ll get out of Kaeya’s way. But then Kaeya starts off towards Jean’s office—to pick up paperwork, presumably—and stops halfway down the hall, tensing, one hand hovering over his face—

“hiiH… hiiH’ESSCH’ew!”

It sounds… rough, and tired, as if he’s been doing that all day. He sniffles, shivering, and continues walking, and Albedo knows.

He feels bad immediately. Kaeya had been kind enough to help out—of course he had, he’s selfless like that—even though he must have been busy. Meanwhile, Albedo hadn’t thought to tell him to sit further away, hadn’t been careful enough about not touching what he’d touched, hadn’t stepped away when Kaeya had insisted on walking back with him, hadn’t protested when Kaeya had lent him his scarf for the walk back through Dragonspine’s freezing weather…

...All things considered, this is most certainly Albedo’s fault.

—

“I got it, Jean,” Kaeya says, taking the pile of paperwork from her desk.

“Take it easy,” she says. “You should go straight home after this.”

Kaeya smiles tiredly at her. “Oh? I thought you didn’t want me slacking off. I can do more today, really.”

Jean rolls her eyes. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing. Please, for the love of Barbatos, get some rest.”

Kaeya can’t say he feels very differently than Jean says he looks. Still, even if Jean won’t ask him to stick around, the new recruits will—he likes them, but they’re still new to combat, which makes things harder on him. In between scouting domains, looking out for the younger knights, and trying to cover for the mistakes they make, perhaps he’s pushed himself just a bit.

“It’s just a cold,” he says, turning as far away from her as possible to cough into his elbow. “No one’s ever taken off work for a cold.”

“For now it is,” Jean says. “I don’t want it to turn into something worse because you won’t rest.”

“It won’t. It’s just paperwork, right? I could do that in my sleep.” And one-on-one training with a recruit. And after that, another meeting with the Knights, and a domain East of here to scout out on his own, but Jean can find out about that later when she’s reading his reports.

It’s very unfortunate that he has to sneeze.

He takes another step away from her, lifting his hand to cover.

“hiIH’EESCH’-ew!” he winces. The sneeze is loud, and it sounds almost as miserable as he feels, which means it feels far too transparent. “Hiih… hIIH… snf… hiiih’IiDDZScsh’ew! hIIIH’EZSCHh’-iu! ugh… snf…”

“Bless you,” Jean says, sighing as she passes him the tissue box on her desk. He takes a generous handful of them and before handing it back. “You sound awful.”

Kaeya laughs, pocketing the tissues. “You never fail to flatter me, Acting Grandmaster.”

“Forgive me for being worried,” Jean says flatly. “At least tell me you’ll take care of yourself.” “Of course. When do I not?”

She gives him a significant look, which is fair.

He takes the chance to leave her office. His head hurts, more than it would if he’d just had a bit too much to drink, and it’s the kind of headache that he knows is going to get much, much worse if he doesn’t take it easy. Maybe if he rushes, he can get the paperwork done before then.

The recruit he’d spoken to is waiting for him outside, he recalls. He rubs his nose, shivering, and heads for the door.

Someone is waiting for him, but it’s not the person he expects.

Kaeya musters the energy to smile. “Albedo! Did you need something?” He probably shouldn’t be taking on additional responsibilities after Jean’s already told him to take him easy, but then again, this is Albedo—whatever he needs, it must be  worth staying late for.

“I just happened to be stopping by,” Albedo starts. “I, err, wanted to ask Lisa about my research.”

“I take it that you didn’t find what you needed?”

“I did.” “Is that so?” Kaeya says, faltering—if that’s the case, he’s not sure why Albedo is still here. “Were you waiting for me, then?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, except Albedo hesitates, and Kaeya feels bad for suggesting it.

“Actually, I was,” Albedo says, which is a surprise.

Kaeya’s breath has gone unsteady again, and he rubs his nose, sniffling. Albedo, who seems not to have noticed, keeps talking.

“I wanted to tell you—”

Kaeya doesn’t want to interrupt, but colds tend to make his sneezes so jarringly unavoidable. He turns away, lifting up a hand to shield his face. “Hiiih… hiih’EESCHh’ew!” He gasps, and with a muffled sniffle, presses his hand closer to his face. “HIIH… hiiIH’IIZSCHH-uu! hIIIH’NGKT-Sshew! snf…!”

—His shoulders untense as he finally lowers his hand, fishing through his pocket for tissues. How embarrassing, he thinks, blowing his nose as softly as he can. He doesn’t exactly want to look over to Albedo to see the expression on his face—disgust, probably, or worse, pity—

“I’m sorry,” Albedo says instead.

Kaeya’s glance snaps upwards in surprise. “What?” “I was hoping you wouldn’t catch this,” he frowns, looking away. “I wasn’t careful enough. I did not intend for you to feel miserable because of me.”

What is that supposed to mean? “This isn’t because of you.”

“Captain,” Albedo starts, completely serious. “Whose cold do you think you have?”

Kaeya blinks. It’s true—he’s probably caught this from Albedo, given that he can’t think of anyone else who’s been sick lately—but that doesn’t mean that Albedo should feel guilty over it. “Colds spread. It happens, it’s not your fault.”

“I should have been more careful,” Albedo shakes his head dejectedly. “Or perhaps I should not have accepted your help at all when you offered to stay. I knew you must have had a lot of work. It was selfish of me.”

“I told you, I wanted to help,” Kaeya insists.

Albedo sighs. “You are selfless to the extent that it is detrimental sometimes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I sent the recruit home, by the way. Really, you couldn’t have told him to wait a couple days?”

“He asked for my help.” Kaeya holds a hand up, veering away again. “I wasn’t going to deny him just because of… a… hiIH… c-cold… HIIih’EESSCHh’ew! HIIIH’GKTt!-shew!” His head throbs in protest, and he sniffles, tilting his head upwards, a fresh tissue in hand, in ticklish anticipation. “hiIIH… hiIIH’IIIZZSCH’ew!”

It takes everything in him not to slump against the wall.

“Bless you,” Albedo says. “You sound—”

“—awful?” He lowers the tissue with a laugh. “I know. Jean informed me.”

“I was going to say tired,” Albedo says, shifting forward to feel Kaeya’s forehead. His hand shifts to Kaeya’s cheek, studying him with a look of such intense concentration, Kaeya tries not to smile. “I don’t think you have a fever, but you’re warm. Allow me to walk you home?”

As enticing as the offer sounds, he shouldn’t. Everyone else is working hard—he knows if he does less work than usual, it will be Jean and Amber picking up the slack, which is the last thing he wants. “I still have lots to do.”

“It can wait until you’re well. The Knights will survive if you take a day off.” Albedo drops his hand, but he’s still looking at Kaeya with the same intensity. “I will talk to Jean, if it’s an issue.”

“Please don’t talk to Jean,” Kaeya says sheepishly. He’s sure she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to find out about his plans to stay and work late.

Albedo raises an eyebrow. “Will you listen to me, then?”

Maybe it’s not such a bad idea, after all—he can head home, sleep this headache away, and come back in the evening. “Well,” he starts. “If… hiIIH… hiiIH’ESSCH’ew! snf-! If you insist…”

“I do.”

“...I guess I could head home early.”

It’s worth it, for the way Albedo smiles softly in response. He looks... relieved, Kaeya realizes, which is strange, too—he hadn’t expected Albedo to be so worried about him.

Kaeya starts off in the direction of his house. It’s not a long walk from the headquarters—certainly closer than the manor was, back when he’d lived there. Admittedly, it’s lonelier sometimes, living on his own.

Unexpectedly, Albedo follows him.

“You’re really walking me back,” Kaeya says, slightly disbelieving.

“Yes,” Albedo says. “Would you prefer if I didn’t?”

“It’s nice.” Kaeya sniffles, stifling a cough into a raised hand. “I hope you’re not just doing this because you feel bad about this.”

Albedo hums. “I’m not. I am quite free this afternoon, thanks to your help. I do feel bad, though.”

“Doing alchemy with you was the most exciting part of my week,” Kaeya says honestly, flashing him a grin. “I’d say it was worth catching a cold over.”

Albedo stares back at him. Then he smiles back, so brightly that Kaeya feels warmer, just looking at him. “You could come visit more often, then. I enjoy having company if it’s you.”

[larphacks]

Process Hack: Welfare

Hi all! After a long hiatus, ya boy is back with more unsolicited advice!

What are we talking about this week? It’s LARP welfare!

Common at medium and large games, the role of welfare officer, sometimes called “site parent”, and sometimes divided into crew welfare and player welfare, is very important. It’s also something which can go really smoothly if you do some decent prep before the event. I’ve been discussing the role with some LARPer friends recently, and I’ve put together some advice for good ways to tackle this role.

Some of the below advice falls into the category of sensible prep that everyone can do before a game too, so feel free to read even if you don’t hold (or want to hold) a position like this!

Some of the jobs I outline below might not fall into every welfare officer’s purview - mix and match as you choose. (If you’ve been asked to look after player or crew welfare and don’t know which of the below are your responsibilities, that means you need to have a chat with the chief organisers and find out!)

1. Positive Energy

This can be a surprisingly high-energy role. Particularly in the crew room, one of the most important things a welfare officer can do is be positive and energetic when everyone is feeling a bit tired and down. This is hard! But a bit of jollying-along goes a huge way to changing the dynamic. This is even harder when YOU'RE the one feeling tired and cold and sad. But if you are visibly struggling, nobody will approach you when they need help! A "brave face" is your best weapon.

2. Shut Up!

Sometimes you need to be the "voice of reason" - getting people to concentrate, or quiet down, when it's important that something needs to be done quickly. One good way to do this is to be cheerful enough most of the time that people LISTEN on the rare occasions that you raise your voice and ask them to please shut up for a minute.

3. Early Start, Late Finish

The two above points are ESPECIALLY important during set-up and take-down. You need to be "on the ball"/on duty during periods where other people are transiting into and out of the game. During set-up, your keen crew and players will all be busy frothing and sniffing each other's butts because they haven't seen each other for a year, they want to show off their new kit, and their adrenaline is through the roof. But - it's 30 minutes to time-in and nobody's in kit and the IC areas aren't set-dressed. You need to get them moving!

During take-down, everyone is exhausted, a bit overwhelmed, and wants to sleep (including the refs). But the site needs to be taken down, cleaned and tidied up, lost property needs to be organised, and there are always last-minute disasters involved in the logistics of getting people off site. You can't collapse now - your job isn't done. You might not be in charge of take-down, but you ARE the right person to gently corral and rally tired people towards the plan.

4. Who does what?

If you're the first point of call for someone who's having an issue, being able to confidently signpost to other crew is really important. So firstly, you should know exactly what the other other staff members do and where they're likely to be (in both time and space). If a player comes to you and says "I'm really struggling with the Sorcery rules and I feel very stupid", then sure, you can (and should!) offer them some immediate comfort and consolation. But in order to help them with the root of the problem, you need to know several bits of information:

a) What are the different staff members' responsibilities/expertises? Who does what? (Mike is the person who handles Sorcery rules.) b) Where in space are the other staff located? (Mike is currently refereeing the Clawed Fiend encounter on top of the hill.) c) When in time are the other staff available? (The Clawed Fiend encounter can't be interrupted. It is scheduled to end at 2100hrs. Mike should come back to the crew room after that.)

I'd also recommend you have a good "ticket-tracking" system to make sure your incoming queries are handled and nobody falls through the cracks. You could devolve this onto players ("Come back at 2110hrs and ask to speak to Mike") but it will help things flow smoothly if you are also logging things yourself. I'd recommend carrying a small notebook and pen so you can note things down and tick things off. You can also help things along by being an active communicator and setting the emotional context for solutions. If Mike comes back at 2100 and immediately gets jumped by an emotional player, he might be tired and confused and not give the best answer. But if he comes back and you tell him "There's a player who is having a bad time with the Sorcery rules, they seem quite distressed, I think you can help, they'll be around in 10 minutes" then he won't be surprised and will have the right bit of his brain switched on.

5. It’s all in the Filofax

There is admin information about players/crew which will really help you if something goes wrong too. I'd suggest having the following on-hand, glued into your notebook, on a tablet, or otherwise kept secure on your person (since some of it's sensitive personal data):

a) A list of everyone's allergies and medical conditions. b) A list of qualified first-aiders, and the locations of first-aid kits. c) A list of every vehicle on site, registration number against player/crew name, in case you need a car moved in a hurry. d) A rough understanding of who arrived from where, with whom. It doesn't need to be exhaustive, but if the vehicle which brought 6 people from London breaks down irrecoverably, then being able to help sketch out solutions to get those people and their kit home will be massively easier if you know roughly where people came from.

6. The Outside World

You are likely to also need to be able to signpost to help *outside* the game. If a player comes to you with a problem that can't be fixed with on-site resources, what are you going to do about it? You can't predict every scenario, but at a minimum I'd suggest having the following prepared:

a) A breakdown service for the vehicle that won't start (in the UK the most common is the AA). b) A mental health or emotional support helpline, like the Samaritans (116123). c) The emergency number for injured wildlife - in the UK, the RSPCA (0300 1234 999). d) The emergency and non-emergency medical numbers (in the UK: 999 emergency, 111 non-emergency) and police numbers (UK: 999 emergency, 101 non-emergency). e) A clear understanding of where on site you can get mobile phone signal. f) A plan for how you would get an ambulance onto site if you needed one: run through the whole thing (where on site can I get enough signal to call the ambulance? What is the postcode of the site, and do I have a set of clear directions to give the dispatcher in my notebook? Who am I sending to the site entrance to walk the ambulance on? Is their most likely route of approach clear for a large vehicle?). If you've never called an ambulance in this country, then ask someone who *has* to practice with you, so you understand what questions they'll ask and in what order.

7. Kit & kaboodle

The following are things which LARPers reliably fail to provide for themselves, and which you will benefit greatly if you have on hand. Find out from the organisers what your budget is, and buy accordingly:

a) Salty snacks (crisps/nuts) and quick energy (sweets/fruit). Keep a small separate store aside from the usual 'crew food' to help someone who is struggling. b) The ability to make a hot sweet drink in a hurry. c) Hydration solution (Dioralyte, Powerade, or the cheap alternative, which is six teaspoons of sugar and half a teaspoon of salt per litre of clean water). d) Paper and pens. e) High-powered torch (for searching for lost objects). f) Your own phone on an in-country network, plus at least one charged mobile phone powerbank with multiple charger ends. g) Ice packs - ideally the "squeeze to activate" sort so you aren't relying on the site freezer. (Most common item left out of first aid kids - and immediate relief/comfort for the most common LARP injuries.) h) Warm blankets. i) An idea of how you'd provide a simple hot meal in a hurry. (This could be a packet of rice you can chuck in the microwave, a cup-soup and kettle, a ration pack and a Jetboil, or a good understanding of what the caterers' plan is for an emergency meal.)

If someone is in a lot of distress, going through the process of dealing with their physical needs (food/water/temperature/etc.) can often help them become better able to communicate their psychological/emotional needs. Often a LARPer who is dehydrated or low on blood sugar doesn't KNOW that's the problem, they just know they feel awful and are crashing hard.

8. Know the Ground

KNOW YOUR SITE - I can't stress this enough. If someone has a costume disaster and needs somewhere private to change, where can they do that? If someone is overwhelmed and needs a quiet, safe, cool (or warm) room or tent to lie down in for an hour, where can they do that? If a shy new player shows up and asks "Where do I put my kit?", then being able to answer them quickly and competently with a smile on your face will immediately endear you (and mean that they WILL come to you later, when they're suffering, instead of sitting alone on their bed being sad about it).

9. Late Bloomers

What is the late arrivals plan? If you went IC at 1900 and the traffic means some of your players don't arrive till 2200, then most of your key refs/crew will be busy running the game. You're the most likely person to escort the late arrivals onto site, get them set up, and get them integrated into the game. You'll need to reassure, but you'll also need to understand a lot of admin details to make sure they don't feel any more overwhelmed and embarrassed than they already do. This might involve giving a second safety briefing, pointing out any last-minute changes that weren't included in the game pack, and pointing them to the right ref to get their characters timed in. You can be as nice and friendly as you like - but some people will be even more reassured by practical, reliable and clear directions when they’re feeling rushed and panicky.

10. Herd those Cats

What is the crew plan? Depending on role, you may or may not be involved in "crew wrangling" - this is often a separate role, and deserves its own post. But even if you aren't "crew boss", you need to understand and be able to help balance crew energy and engagement. If there are long periods where crew are likely to be sitting around bored, where are the "pick-up-and-play" roles they can briefly read, digest, and go out to engage in? If crew are doing three hours of back-to-back combat roles, where is the plan for ensuring that they're all fed, watered, rested and properly kitted before their next high-energy role? The best refs will have considered this and have a clear plan for managing crew in small teams to maintain their energy levels - but as a welfare officer you are likely to be the advocate/interface if it doesn't seem to be working well, so make sure you understand where the weak spots and frictions in the plan might be so you can deal with them in advance.

What happens if a crew member comes to you and says they're really struggling with their NPC role and aren't enjoying it? (If you're the approachable face, they'll likely come to you first before a busier ref!) Do you understand the crew matrix well enough to think about solutions, alternative roles they could do, or how the timetable could be re-worked to end their role early? Wherever possible, you should strive to go to the refs with a solution rather than a problem: "Harry is struggling and I think if we brought the poisoning forward an hour, then let him play a gremlin for the rest of the night, that would fix it" is better than "Harry is struggling". They may not accept your solution, but the conversation is already moving onto alternative ways to fix the problem.

11. Easy In, Easy Out

How do players enter/leave the game if they're fatigued or unwell? Your game may not have a clear system for this, and it may be players' own responsibility to manage their fatigue. However, some will struggle to cross the IC/OC divide here: if the character is fighting for their life, how do they resolve that with the player needing to have a lie-down for an hour so they're safe to drive the next day? One of the best games I've run had a clear, signposted system where players who needed a break could "vanish" IC (with a clear IC logic for their disappearance) and take as much time as they wanted. When they were rested, they could go see a ref for a special briefing which told them what had happened while they were away (and explained how they reappeared). You won't find this in every game, but think about ways to make taking an OC break feel like a positive and productive experience, which leaves the character with plenty to talk about when they return, rather than a potentially embarrassing one which leaves the player out-of-the-loop and feeling like they've missed out on the fun.

12. Look After Number One!

Practice active self-care, both to facilitate all of the above and as a good example to others. Going back to the first point, most people can't project positive energy if they're sad, wet, cold, tired and hungry. Have a routine worked out to look after yourself. Understand what you can and can't do and work to your limitations. If you have lots of physical energy but are struggling to deal with six emotional crises in a row, get up and walk around site. If moving exhausts you, pick a central location to base yourself and make sure all the things you need to do your job are in easy reach.

Feel free to reblog with your own additions, checklist items or hacks for looking after your fellow LARPers’ welfare. Suggestions gratefully accepted!

[internalsealpanic]

Better Die Than Doubt

Summary:  You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

A/n: To no one’s shock, this entire fic was unplanned. I was possessed by the urge to make it (translation: I got the urge to write this and one of my enablers said do it).  This story should be treated more or less as a horror story. Nothing is being glorified here except how dorky Jason is. That being said,  PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. This fic contains quite a few triggering things and I really don’t want you to be blindsided.  Also thanks to @knightfall05x for helping me write this whole thing. Thanks to @batarella (HOE) for action writing tips.

Warnings: graphic violence, stalking, emotional manipulation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drugging, nongraphic description of rape, and rape aftermath 

masterlist

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You could practically feel the oncoming headache the way you could sense someone coming down the hall. This is what happens when you’re running on just 5 hours of restless sleep for the last few days. This headache was also not helped by the fact that this was your fifth coffee in the past 30 minutes. You probably should not be drinking this much caffeine this late but intelligent decisions weren’t exactly your strong suit this week. You rub the sides of your forehead feeling another wave of nausea. 

 You check the time again and groan.  It’s been one-and-a-half hours since your agreed upon time had lapsed and yet one Jason Peter Todd was nowhere to be seen. You curse, nerves edging, and mind fraying.  To be perfectly fair to him, he is a busy guy, vigilante, and all. You understood that fairly well- and this was sudden to say the least. You can’t really fault him for being a bit late but the long wait was ratcheting up your anxiety. Again, the coffee didn’t help but considering it was the only thing you could keep down since last night, you didn’t have much choice. 

 Last night. 

 Your stomach tumbled. You cup your hand over your mouth feeling your coffee traveling back up your esophagus. You let out a long exasperated breath, letting yourself sink into the booth. You look out the window, eyes flickering wildly searching for Jason. Your hands tighten around your mug. The feeling of being watched made you bristle. 

 Jason, well, Jason wasn’t hard to spot. The man was 6 feet 4 inches of pure muscle and leather. Having a handsome face and a ‘fuck you’ look in his eyes also helped.  In short, the man was hard to ignore. You wave weakly to him as he dismounts his bike, a gesture far too small for your usual bombastic self. Jason’s smarmy smile greets you as he returns the gesture with his gloved hand. The motion is slow and cautious, rickety in a way. You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure. 

 “Jesus, y/n, you look like Timbo” Jason chuckles sliding into the booth his green eyes shining with scrutiny. You look at him flatly not having enough energy to properly respond to his jab. He winces seeing your lack of reaction. “Rough night, huh?” He asks flagging down a waitress, who looked quite pleased to get away from her previous table.  

 You nod weakly, slowly as if the fact that it had been a rough couple of days had just sunk in. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice small and a little threadbare. You drum your fingers against your increasingly cold mug. The waitress sets a couple of warm mugs in front of you. Her soft smile makes you uneasy. You and Jason mutter a thanks as she tells you to wave her over if you need anything else. Her warm brown eyes boring into the stark purple bruise on your face. You shrink and smile sheepishly at her.

 “I’m fi-”

 “I am going to throw these sugar packets at you if you say you’re fine.”

 “Damn, ok, Mr.Kettle,” You laugh. His concern startles a genuine laugh out of you. You’re sincerely surprised how lively the sound that comes out of you is. “You know if you keep sounding like that, Jay, you’re gonna wreck the whole stone-cold badass thing you got going,”

 “Y/n..”

 You huff running your hand through your disheveled hair, trying in vain, to soothe your mind. What was the best way to put it? You swallowed, gathering your lapsing thoughts. “Sooo uh-” The collar of your shirt suddenly felt tight around your neck. “-I-” You breathe. “-I found around 4 or 5 of Blackmask’s boys and Deathstroke-No, I’m not shitting you- in my- my apartment for- well- the third time in the last two months, can I crash at your place? Just ‘til I find a new place. Oh and also how do I get rid of them?”

  He blinks as his brain takes its sweet fucking time digesting what you had just said.  He leans back groaning and running his hands over his face. He looks like he’d like to deck you if he wasn’t too busy being concerned for your welfare. You shrink again, feeling bad for springing it on him. The decision to leave out the gory details of your hectic week suddenly felt like the wisest choice but you had no doubt he’ll get it out of you at some point. 

 “I’ll skip the obvious ‘why did you wait three times before moving’ question because I feel like I’m probably going to get an aneurysm from your answer,”  Your reasoning wasn’t quite that stupid. You were mucking about Sionis’s operation. The fucker decided to branch out his little enterprise into your city and like hell, you were gonna leave well enough alone. After you had set fire to one of his warehouses, you thought that would explain the False Facers. But Deathstroke? Deathstroke was a mystery. You’ve also been mucking about his business but you two have always been civil if not friendly. Frenemies of sorts, you guessed. You’ve been encountering him a lot in the last few days. You had figured that Blackmask had hired him but considering he threw two men out of your apartment window last night, you’re not entirely sure.  You make an affronted noise that Jason elects to ignore. 

 “What did they do?”

 “Aside from necessitating a visit to IKEA?  Nothing.”

 “Did they take anything? Leave a message?”

 “Nope, nothing-” You furrow your brow trying to recall. You shake your head. “-They just made sure I knew they broke in.” You add, shrugging your shoulder. You wince at the movement. Your shoulder still aches from being hit with a bat. Jason’s shoulders shift, moving as if to reach out to you but stops himself. Instead, he continues with his line of questioning. “Sweetheart, there’s gotta be something missing.” 

 You frown, biting your cheek. Jason rests his chin on his hand, green eyes watching you and urging you to think back. It was either the weight of his gaze or the lack of sleep that was making it hard to recall. You close your eyes and catalog your belongings, analyzing the mental picture you have like a crime scene like how he taught you months ago, breaking it down into the smallest pieces of information and bringing it back into a bigger picture.  Still, nothing. Nothing of note was missing. You shake your head and shrug your uninjured shoulder. Jason glares at the immobile one. You shake your head silently telling him it wasn’t from last night which just made him clench his jaw. 

 “Evidence?”

 You shake your head.  He frowns baffled. 

 “Tech?”

 You shake your head again. 

 “Anything personal?” He asks jokingly. 

 “I-” A cold horror washes over you trailed by embarrassment. Your vibrator had been missing and so were a couple of your lingerie sets. You feel your stomach drop to the floor. “Oh god, Jay- I- Please, let me stay with you.” 

 “And have them steal my stuff?” He chuckles. 

 “Please, Jay, like you have anything worth stealing.” Jason frowns at you scrutinizing your face. You level him a glare but it was more in an effort to fight down a blush than anything venomous. Jason’s jaw unclenches and his face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “What color was it?”

 “Wha-”

 “Bzzzzzzzt ” 

 If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. Heat climbs up your spine. Your mouth felt dry. 

 “Well, what color was it, sweetheart?” Jason drawls, his voice dropping an octave. You shiver but bristle just as quickly. You bite your cheek and glare at him. “HA. HA. HA. Funny, Todd.”

 “Was it Red Hood Red?” Jason teases, winking and raising his cup of coffee to his lips. 

 “Nightwing blue” You deadpan. Jason coughed into his drink.  You preen with satisfaction. 

 “Does it make stupid puns while you go at it? ”

 “Yup,” You say, the ‘p’ popping. “That’s part of the appeal.” You joke smiling into your mug.  Jason snorts. “How is that supposed to be sexy?”

 You shrug, a sharper less tired smile cutting across your features. “Dunno man. Nightwing is pretty sexy if you ask me.” You wink.  

 Jason makes a fake gagging noise. Well, it seems fake with how theatrical the gesture is but with bats? You never could tell. You roll your eyes and giggle.  Jason’s shoulders loosen at your bubble of laughter, his face slipping into one of his sheepish smiles. “In all seriousness, y/n, you can stay at my place.”

 You smile at him, your usual fluorescent smile. 

Click

 Click

 Click

 A man from across the street watches you intently through the lens of a camera. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Slade throws the photos across Roman’s desk, each glossy piece of paper containing a candid photo of you looking increasingly frayed and anxious.  

 Roman marvels at how your usually larger than life figure shrank into your puffy coat, how small and malleable and inexperienced you looked. He notes the panicked look in your eyes in every one of the photos and savors it. He couldn't wait to see it for himself. 

 In one photo, you're looking over your shoulder as you enter your office building. 

 In one, you’re tracing circles on a child’s hand with your thumb,  beaming brightly as you told some wild tale to distract the child. 

 In another, you're slumped in your desk chair as you think over a case looking absolutely exasperated but determined. 

 In yet another one, you're locking lips with a man, his hand trailing up your shirt. Roman made sure to give the man some swimming lessons a few weeks prior.  

 In the photo in Roman’s hand, you're at the emergency room looking like you haven't slept in 2 days. Your face was bruised and your clothes were torn in several places where Slade had managed to land a blow. Your delicate skin marred with cuts and trickling blood. Absolutely gorgeous.   

 He examines it closely. The photo was taken just a few hours ago. You look like you're going to cry but your shoulders and jaw are squared more frustrated than scared. There's a fire in your eyes that threatens to level the city. A thrill rides up his spine at the prospect of extinguishing it. 

 “This is why you wanted to throw my men out the window?”

 Slade hums. He shrugs and the edge of his lips curl into a smile. “It was the only way to convince the kid that we’re both after her-” His eye drifts to your face. Appraising but impassive. “The kid’s scared out of her mind and exhausted at this point.”

 Slade had a point. Roman had to give him that. It wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer but it would be plain as day to anyone like Roman who had been studying you for a while. You weren’t quite as meticulous with your appearance as Roman thought you should be (He would work on that later) but the dishevelment in your appearance was obvious. The slight dip in your shoulders in place of the prim posture that you usually employed was a blatant indication of your weariness. And the falter in your smile, the flickering in your eyes, and the number of times you let yourself bite your cheek showed the cracks in your fearless image. 

 Who knew weeks upon weeks of chaos could weather Minos City’s own budding hero? 

 In the photo next to Roman’s hand, your laughing face is stark and lively against the drab atmosphere of the diner, bubbling laughter carving life into your exhausted features making you look more like the shining paragon your city has come to rely on. The man sitting in front of you is laughing too. The sharp edges of his grin softened by the fondness in his eyes. It was hard not to recognize him even with such a foreign expression plastered onto his face.  Roman crushes the photo in his hand. 

 “BUT NOW SHE’S WITH THAT SCUMBAG RED HOOD”

 “And she’s now with the Red Hood. In his secluded safe house. Weakened and far from help. Most likely thinking that she’s safe under his protection and blissfully unaware of the tracker I put in her arm.”

 “I see… It seems like you are worth the pay.”

 Slade made no effort in hiding his smug grin.  

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 “Jay, I really am sorry about this.” You mumble for what seemed like the fifth time in the past half hour. 

 “I sincerely hope you’re apologizing for the fact that you neglected to tell me you had bruised ribs before getting on my bike and not the fact that you’re staying with me because two crazy assholes decided your place needed remodeling.” Jason exasperates, pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel kind of annoyed by the gesture but he did have a point especially with your city’s less than smooth roads. You were also pretty banged up. As it turns out, facing off against a bunch of goons plus a master assassin is not good for your health. You swore viciously under your breath. Now, you weren’t expecting Deathstroke to go easy on you despite your rapport but the guy really didn’t have to throw you around like a rag doll. Even with your power to adjust the odds, it was a miracle that you escaped intact. 

 “Well, Mr.Pot, you ride your bike all the time even with broken ribs.” You bite back. Jason rolls his eyes unaffected by the distilled venom in your voice.

  “Well, one of us is a stone-cold badass- ”

 “And the other is a sasquatch with a stick up his ass.” You sneer snatching the beer bottle from Jason. Your tone was far too fond and playful to have any actual bite. Jason chuckles at you and ruffles your hair before snatching it back and handing you a bottle of water.

 You huff taking the bottle from him and following him to the couch. He sits down on the couch patting the seat beside him. You plopped on to the couch, placing your sock feet on his lap. He grabs your ankles and throws your feet back at you. You just as quickly throw them back on and this time you do it with an absolutely delighted smirk on your face. “Rude,” He mumbles but doesn’t attempt to extricate you again. 

 “So Deathstroke, huh?” Jason starts, side-eyeing you over his beer. You adjust yourself to sit up a little straighter.

 “You mean the asshat who broke my favorite lamp last night?”

 “Who the hell has a favorite lamp?”

 “Me! And get to your point.”

 “Have you two- yanno?” Jason jokes, his eyebrows wiggling and hands gesturing vaguely. Your eyes grow wide and heat creeps up your neck and face. You scowl at Jason throwing a pillow at his face for good measure. He catches it with ease much to your frustration giving you his trademark triumphant grin. You kick at him with no real force. 

 “NO! What kind of soap opera shit is that?” You giggle into your drink. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. The guy was skilled and pretty witty.  You also had eyes and the man was handsome but something always felt strange about taking it further. You were civil but you kept your distance. 

 You pout at Jason again causing him to chuckle. “What? I’m just saying it’ll air out some tension~” He suggests winking. 

 “Oh my actual god, I hate you. I sincerely, truly hate you.” You laugh, kicking at his thigh. Jason makes an obviously fake hurt noise which draws out even more giggles out of you. Some tension in Jason’s shoulders releasing upon hearing the bubbly sounds. 

 “You speaking from experience, Jay?”

 Jason shakes his head and coughs. “Catwoman-” Cough. “Talia Al Ghul-” Cough. “Sorry, sweetheart, seems like I have a really bad cough this week.”  

 And that is how you spend the rest of the night questioning Bruce’s love life. 

“Food is in the fridge,” Jason says pointing to the said fridge which was sorely lacking magnets, sounding like a somewhat tired single parent. 

 “Do I look like I can keep anything down?”

 Jason snatches the water bottle you had abandoned on the side table next to the recliner. “With that big mouth of yours? Sure.” Jason teases lightly booping you on the nose with your water bottle. “Get some rest.”

 “Yes, mother” You sighed, burying yourself into the thick comforter he’d given you, crumpled water bottle in hand. He ruffles your hair. 

 “You know you’re safe here, right? ” The question startles you. You shift uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tightly around your shoulders. You shrug at him, not entirely certain how to answer. You know Jason’s safe house is, well, safe but you also thought your apartment was too. Your stomach twisted. 

 Jason squeezed your shoulder probably sensing the spiral of your thoughts. He smiles down at you, probably. It was hard to tell with the helmet.  

 “If you want, I can-”

 “No, Jay, I’ll be fine here. You can go on patrol. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

 The thing with Jason was that even when he was so big and bulky and hella intimidating, his empathy towards others had a bad habit of always shining through despite the layers of armor and sarcasm. You squeeze his hand, pressing little circles into his palm, and smile up at him. It was forced but it was the best you could do. Jason ruffles your hair again before letting go and making his way to the window. 

 “Get some sleep.”

 “Aye aye cap’n” You yawn settling into a slump on the couch. Jason can’t help but smile fondly at you.  You wave him a sleepy goodby before he sets off. 

You passed out on the couch, an old habit you never grew out of. You always slept on the couch when you felt uneasy. It may have been some sort of way to separate stress from your bedroom. It sure as shit wasn’t for safety reasons. Your equipment was dispersed throughout your apartment but your weapons were usually stowed away in your room. 

 You feel a hand running gently through your hair, smoothing away all your apprehension. 

 “Jay” You grouse, your hand halfheartedly swatting at the hand stroking your hair. You bury yourself further into the warmth of the comforter feeling the need to shrink away from the touch. You feel a soft prick on your neck.  

 Your eyes fly open.  

 Shit.

 The hand tangles in your hair. It throws you to the wall. The air is knocked out of your lungs. Your ribs scream. You scrabble to your feet. Your limbs fail you. They flail uselessly. Your breaths pick up. Your chest feels like it's caving. 

 "JAY" You shriek. “HELP.” A large hand grasps your throat. A rush of adrenaline kicks in. You thrash. You kick. Your hit lands. Another grasps your ankles. You scream. You swear viciously. Another grabs at your wrists. Something rough winds around your wrists and ankles. 

 The world tilts into an odd angle. Your head feels heavy so do your arms and your legs and everything. 

 "Jaaay" You slur, the air in your lungs becoming sluggish like everything else. "Jay" you sob again, knowing he wouldn't come. Not when he was so far away. 

 "Shut up you …..  bitch" You feel a swift kick to your stomach. It barely registers above the haze. 

 "Hey man-"

 "What? The …. man said we …… rough her up."

 "We can?"

 "Yeah, ……, said so"

 Your eyes blink, stupid, and uncomprehending.  Distantly, you hear yourself grunting and whimpering. You can feel their blows but your body is too far away, too inaccessible. It was strange to physically feel yourself drift away. 

.

.

.

 Roman traces the sun shaped scar radiating on your shoulder with a leather-clad hand. The one shot he’d managed to land on you the first time you’d stormed one of his warehouses. You were all cocksure and quick wit and boisterous laughter. You really had the devil’s own luck but it seems to have run out. Not that Roman’s got any complaints. Not when he’s got you laying at his feet,  tied up and vulnerable. 

 He crouches down, hand on his chin.  His eyes roam appreciatively over your sleeping form, appraising you like a premium cut of meat. You look pretty against the black silk sheets he’d chosen.  He sighs content with his prize. He traces the tip of his knife over your cheek, a dark purple bruise maring your features stark against the stainless surface of the blade. Slade really was quite careless when handling you. Not that Roman has any plans on being any gentler.  

 He lets his blade drift down, trailing down your neck down to the flimsy protection of your oversized shirt.  Your steady breaths falter. You keep your eyes shut trying to gather more information but it’s hard not to focus off the tip of the blade cold against your warm skin even as the blade cuts through the thin fabric of your shirt. A large hand grasps your face roughly. 

 “I know you're awake, baby-” You blanch still not opening your eyes. The grip on your jaw tightens. You grin like a madman. “It's rude to keep daddy waiting.” 

 “Sorry, Sionis, I was really hoping not to have to wake up  you’re ugly mug.” You sneer, voice thick and raspy with sleep but still full with your trademark confidence. Roman looks more amused than irritated.  Your body and mind are still at the cusp of sleep. You wriggle and almost cry out with joy when you feel them move. You mind the hand on your jaw and its tight grip. 

 “Baby, I won’t tell you a-” You spit in his face, cracking an eye open to see his reaction. A bloody grin spreads across your face like wildfire when you see the annoyance on his face. 

 “You’re going to regret that” He growls, wiping his face with a torn piece of your shirt. 

 “Oh please-” Something cracks across your jaw. 

 “The next time it’ll be the other end,” It takes a moment for your mind to catch on. You stare at the hilt of the blade for a moment before letting loose another smarmy grin. His violent reaction spurs you on. Yeah, you can definitely see why Jason thinks you’re going to age him twenty years. “Oh please, You like my face too much for that.”

 “You really wanna test that?”

 “Nope,” You say, spitting into his eye and landing a punch square in his face. You cackle like a madwoman when he goes down. You don’t bother hiding the delighted chirps that escape your chest. 

 Being petty, you give him a swift kick to the face before dashing towards the door.  You launch yourself, feeling like you can fly. The copper taste in your tongue almost feels sweet. 

 Your hand grasps the door when a hand tangles itself in your hair. 

 Roman throws you back onto the mattress, the springs digging into your back. You scratch and claw and thrash against the large hand wrapped around your throat. You snarl as Roman leans closer, his body pinning yours against the mattress, his weight immobilizing your fatigued limbs. A sweet-smelling cloth covers your mouth and nose, you gasp in surprise, inhaling the scent. Your mind is already sluggish by the time it catches on. 

 Your vision dims. 

 You feel hollowed out. 

 Your limbs fall away, arms drooping and pliant against the silk-covered mattress. The cloth feels too much against your skin. Vaguely, you feel horror prickling up your spine or maybe it was just the springs again. 

 Roman pulls away. You think you breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of him lifted. He straddles your body, grinning down at you. Your mouth falls open to say something. You want to say that you curse him out or that you threaten him. The sound you make is small. Your tongue feels too heavy.  No, something is pressing it down, you think. 

 Above you, Roman is a towering colossus. You’re vaguely aware of the shifting of his hips. He removes his gloved hand from your mouth and caresses the side of your face with mock gentleness. His movements are sluggish and syrupy.  You make another noise when you realize to some degree of horror that isn’t. Your mind felt heavy and useless. 

 He snaps his fingers. The sound is dull like it's contending with water. A muffled set of steps approaches you. A man, you realize. You don't think you’ve noticed him before. His dark shape is messy and incomprehensible. A red dot flashes stark against his form. The mechanical sounds of a shutter drift in and out of your mind. You turn your head back to Roman at the sound of shifting fabric.

 Above you, Roman, already without his suit jacket, loosens his tie, eyes staring hungrily at you. The pit of your stomach feels painfully cold. You blink at him stupidly. He chuckles, grasping your chin to make sure you’re looking at him. You protest against his touch.

 “Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be the star of our little show like the filthy attention whore you really are. ” He laughs. It rumbles like thunder in your ears. 

 The world falls away. 

Click

Click

Click

.

.

.

.

.

One 

 Two

 .

.

.

.

One

 You feel a prick on your neck. 

 Hot breaths fan against your face. 

 Your body is too warm. 

 You don’t want to know why. 

 Twenty-five, you continue counting. 

 You feel fabric shift against you. 

 Something sharp digs itself into your flesh.  

 One 

 Two

 Three

 .

.

.

 Three?

 Something’s crushing your windpipe.

 Your body is aching. You’re not entirely sure whether it’s from use or disuse and by who. 

 “Good girl”

 Thirty

 .

.

.

 Twelve

 There’s something scraping against your flesh. 

 Is it a knife?

 Hot pants fan against your skin. 

 Teeth 

 Four

.

.

.

.

Fifty-six

 “Boss, I-.... going a …. bit too far?”

 Smack!

 “Do …. You…. to think?” 

 Two sixty-eight

 A hand strikes you. You think your jaw is broken. It hurts but then again everything hurts. All you can do is take it and whimper. 

 Tears sting against your face.  

  “That’s right. Just like that. Like that, you little whore.” 

 Your body is warm again. 

 You still don’t want to know. 

.

.

.

.

Two

 Two

 Two?

 You’ve counted two before. 

 You blink. 

 The haze of your mind lifts. 

 The coldness of the room seeps in your bones. You’re bare. You take stock of yourself, running your hands over your skin. Everything is still there. 

 Everything and a few other things. You let disgust and shame roll over you. A sob tears its way out of your chest. Your breath picks up. You feel your mind slipping. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, calling your mind back and steadying yourself. 

 You take stock again. This time moving your limbs and jangling your joints.  They were weak but workable. You’re surprised to find yourself unbound aside from the collar around your neck. You suppose Roman’s confident in his drugs. How long have you been here? You press lightly against your neck, feeling the higher than normal pulsing of your artery. You shift yourself waking your legs up. 

 You stiffen, gooseflesh spreading over your skin as light filters into the room through the door. Your eyes snap shut, stinging from the sudden intrusion of light. The pulse beneath your fingers jackrabbits. You think you’ll keel over. 

 “Shhhhhh”

 All the strength in your veins floods out, leaving a feeling of cold horror in its place. You scream or you try.  Your body feels impossibly rigid. Roman stalks towards you, his footfalls slow and deliberate and too loud. Your heart jumps up to your throat with each step. You inch yourself away from him, drawing yourself up to make yourself feel bigger. He coos at how adorable you are, trying to look defiant. The mattress dips under his weight. Your mind begins to slip away from you again. The world falls away from you. You anchor it, digging your nails into your palms. He cups your face, thumb caressing your bottom lip. You glower at him and bite out something witty. He laughs amusement lighting up his features, the sound grates against your ears. 

 “Not gonna fight back?” He taunts, pressing his thumb down on your bottom lip. Your body recoils but then goes slack as he runs his hand up and down your side. Shame blankets you but the fear etched into you keeps you still. 

 Roman loosens his tie. 

 Your mind falls out of your reach. 

 “Such a good little slut.” He murmurs against your lips.

 NO

 You wanted to say. 

 Instead, your mind starts counting again even as you hear the rustle of fabric. 

 .

.

.

. 

 BANG

 A gunshot rings through the thick atmosphere of the room. 

 Roman curses. 

 His men stampede. 

 Another round of shots fire. 

 Something- No, no.  Someone tears Roman off of you. 

 “Deathstroke?” You croak, your voice sounding foreign and absurdly brittle. 

 “Do you know anyone else walking around looking like this, kid?”

 “Ravager” You snark, lips twitching into a smile. He rolls his eyes underneath his mask. The familiarity of the exchange breathes life into your body. Roman’s hand grips your wrist with bruising intensity. Your breath catches. 

 No. No. No.

 The word loops in your head like a constant rat-tat. 

 Slade’s foot makes contact with Roman’s head, the force of it unnecessary but satisfactory. The sounds of bone-cracking fill the air. The man falls uselessly to the grimey floor. He shoots him with a couple of rounds for good measure, each shot instilling a pang of finality in the back of your mind. 

 You scrabble towards Slade, wide-eyed and shallow breathed.  You cling to Slade as he bundles your body in silken sheets.  He hoists you easily into his arms. You bury your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder, closing your eyes, the image of Roman’s bloody body on the floor pressed into your mind. You sob in relief. Your hands clasping onto Slade, white-knuckled and shaking.

  "I've got you, sweetheart," He rumbles, running his hand through your hair soothingly. The tight knots in your body, loosen. You whimper a quiet thank you. “I’ve got you.”

 You lift your head only to see Roman twitch. 

 Your breathing falters. 

 Fear pricks your spine. 

 Your mind falls away from you again. 

 Distantly, you feel Slade’s grip on you tightens. 

 Distantly, you hear him murmur something. 

 Everything is too far away. 

 Your eyes blink sluggishly. The world becomes dimmer with each blink. 

 .

.

.

.

 A warm spray of water drizzles down over your aching skin. Your open wounds sting but the warm water pooling around you soothes the aches of your bruised flesh. Your eyes focus on the soft off-white of the tile on the wall opposite you. You don’t let yourself about the thin, rusty red film swirling in the water. The air in the room is thick with steam and the scent of lavender. 

 The absence of grime on your skin makes you feel lighter and gauzy and immaterial. You felt naked and obscene like you had been taken apart and now someone was examining pieces of you. You almost miss it. 

 “Lean back” Slade grumbles as he lathers your hair with some lavender concoction the hotel provided. Your body follows automatically, eagerly, obediently. You tell yourself you’re just tired. You tell yourself nothing’s wrong with your response. You tell yourself you’re ok. You wince. The warm water around you shifts. You hear it splash against the tile. You flinch at how loud it sounds. You take a deep breath and lean into his touch. He’s handling you delicately as though you would fall apart any second. You might. 

 Blinking away tears, you watch his face, aware that by leaning back, you’d be giving him a good view of the hickies, bite marks, and knife wounds Roman ‘gifted’ you. There’s a slight twitch in the corners of his lips. He must be disgusted with you too. You want to sink into the hot water and let it burn you anew, but you don’t trust yourself not to drown.   

 You close your eyes as another spray of warm water pours over you. You melt into it hoping it’s enough to wash the last few days- weeks?- away. 

.

.

. 

 Your hands grasp his face, pulling him towards you. His hands brace against the tub, keeping him from falling in with you. Your arms loop around his neck, your hot breath fanning against his lips. You press your lips against him, searching and wanting. For what exactly? Comfort? Safety? Stimulation? His lips press lightly against yours, not quite a kiss. Slade actually looks taken aback. 

 The rest of the world floods back in. You peel away, your eyes wide with terror. “Shit- I’m- Fuck! Fuck! Shit, Slade, I- I’m sorry. I- Shit! I didn’t-” Your breathing ratchets up, becoming shallower as the pulsating in your ears grow louder. There’s a tightness growing in your chest that makes you think your ribcage is about to implode. You cover your face with your hands not caring how it didn’t help your shallowing breaths. You can’t look at him. You just can’t. You know you’re disgusting. 

 Your body wants to come apart, dissolve, and if it can, evaporate. You can’t breathe. You curl into yourself, into the water. A hand grabs at your wrist. You flinch. The hand carefully pries your hand away, forcing you to uncurl. Slade’s other hand cups your face gently, guiding you to look him in the eye. The lack of disgust in his face rattles you.

 His thumb brushes against your lips making your stomach twist and your spine curl. He dips his head closer to yours. You kiss him eagerly. He lets out a pleased hum and smiles against your lips. Something cold licks at the bottom of your stomach but it’s overtaken by the need for connection, to fill in what had been hollowed out.   

You press closer to him than strictly necessary as you watch the news, chewing on your cheek.  He pulls you close, shifting you on to his lap. You don’t protest, eyes glued to the TV. 

 “Businessman, Roman Sionis, was found with several gunshot wounds to the stomach in one of his warehouses here in Minos City. He is now in stable condition. Authorities say...”

 Your jaw falls slack in mute horror. Your stomach tumbles to the floor.  You’re hyperventilating. Your teeth are digging into your cheek, you taste copper. Your mind spirals back into the room, back to the dirty mattress, back to Roman. 

 Strong arms wrap around you, stilling your trembling body against a broad chest. Your body relaxes a fraction. You curl into him, the buzz of nervous energy settling into a quieter panic. 

 “You’re safe with me, you know that don’t you, sweetheart?” Slade says tracing circles into your palm. You lean your head into his shoulder. You nod easing against him. “I’ll never let that monster anywhere near you.” He promises, pressing a kiss into your hair. A little sob wrenches free of your imploding chest. 

 Slade keeps his face buried in your hair even as you fall into a lull. It was the only way to hide the triumphant grin spreading across his face. 

 “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/n: Thanks for reading. There’s a follow up to this because I can’t cope with bad endings. I had to promise myself a good second part to make the ending horrifying. 

The writing process for this fic was basically:

Me: I have this horrifying idea!

My brain: Yes but what if we put a little dork Jason in it. 

Me: I guess that wouldn’t hurt. 

Me: Ok I have written nearly 2k of dorky Jason where’s the other parts?

Brain: Uh what other parts?

Me: *sighs and spends the next few days spamming @knightfall05x*

taglist: 

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Forget Me Not (11/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 8.3k

Warnings: Angst, language, mentions of sex, alcohol and cheating

A/N: Aaand here it is! This chapter is quite long and heavy, and honestly I’m super nervous about it. As a friendly reminder, this is a work of fiction. Everything written here is simply for the d r a m a :)

Hope you all enjoy!

Part 10

The scene had been all too familiar—your eyes searching for the truth, his expressing sincere regret. Outside, the rain fell as the world around Keanu crumbled, your love for him slowly ripping apart at its delicate seams.

“Please,” you intoned, holding back your tears. “Don’t lie to me, Ke.”

He could do nothing else but revisit the pain you had forgotten, a pain that still burns in his chest. Like a knife cut deep into his heart, the wound continued to bleed, and he wondered when it would stop, if it would ever stop.

Desperately, he wanted it to stop.

Keanu breathed in deeply, then exhaled heavily. Silently, he counted in his head—one, two, three.

And with one last, sorrowful look at you, his lips finally part, beginning the tale...

—four months before the accident;

January was bitterly cold; the air frigid and sharp. It nipped at your fragile skin and froze your bare fingers as you stood out on the balcony, letting the wintery dry breeze blow around you. The weather made you dearly miss the beauty of summer, where everyone and everything seemed much more alive.

It was past midnight in Milan. The city was quiet and peaceful, its cobbled roads were empty, glimmering beneath the streetlights’ pale yellow glow. The view from your hotel was beautiful, and for just a few fleeting moments, you admired the breathtaking sight of it all.

But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully savor it. As you gazed out on the skyline, the ache inside was ever-present, nearly unshakable. You had noticed it during these last several weeks and thought nothing of it at first. Yet, as the days passed by, the feeling only grew stronger, and slowly, you began to understand the reason why.

Sauntering back inside where you were immediately greeted by the comforting warmth of your hotel room, you lowered yourself carefully on the quilted leather couch with your phone already in hand. For a second, your thumb hovered above Keanu’s number displayed on the screen. Hesitating, you then glanced at the clock on the wall and assumed that it’s a reasonable hour where he was to call.

The phone rang and rang. It rang almost endlessly until finally, it halted. A split-second of empty silence filled your ears before a monotonous voice told you to leave a message at the end of the tone. Sighing deeply, a frown creased your face when you realized the call only led to Keanu’s voicemail once again, the third occurrence this week alone.

He doesn’t want to speak with you. He’s avoiding you. He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t love you any—

A half-glass of red wine sat still on top of the mahogany coffee table just within reach. Fingers curling on the glass stem, you downed the rest of the drink in one quick go, hoping that it would calm the thoughts swirling in your head.

But, the alcohol didn’t help quell the storm. Rather, it allowed it to rage on.

In an attempt to soothe, you reasoned that Keanu was merely too busy to answer his phone. It was a bad habit of his—shutting out the rest of the world as he drowns himself in his work. You knew how committed he was when it came to acting, how he wanted to focus most of his time and energy to the role he was bringing to life.

Yet, there was something different about this time. Never in the five years you’ve dated has Keanu gone a day without calling or texting while he was away working. Even if he was bone-tired from a long day of shooting, he would send you a message to ask how your day went. The conversation would be short, but at least you knew he was still thinking of you.

You wondered where it all went wrong. After Christmas, things seemed to go downhill. Work for the two of you was stressful, the atmosphere at home becoming tense. It started out as simple bickering, which later turned into angry arguments. You easily set the other off, picking fights over issues that seemed so trivial now.

Why did it all go wrong?

The question has lingered in the back of your mind for weeks. This wasn’t the first time you two encountered a rough patch in your relationship, but you have never felt so distant from Keanu. It was as if there was always between you and him. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get through him anymore.

You didn’t want to think of it, but you wondered if this was the end. You wondered if the relationship had simply run its course. The love between you and Keanu was close to emptying out, leaving a bitter frustration that had you at each other’s throats. Perhaps you were both tricked into believing that this was something that would last forever, and the past couple of weeks was the universe’s cruel attempt in telling you so.

Or maybe it was your respective careers. Keanu had several projects lined up, and yours was steadily growing. There were many, many days when you barely saw a glimpse of each other at home. You spent more time with your colleagues than together, and the sad truth was, being apart felt better. Any time you were alone in a room with Keanu, it would always end in a shouting match, with you shedding countless tears after.

It hurt. Every waking day, it continued to hurt, and all you could do was swallow the pain, hoping that the dark gray cloud looming over would eventually pass. You couldn’t take it anymore; the stinging remarks, the venomous voices, and the sleepless nights. It was exhausting, yet despite it all, you realized that you still loved Keanu, and you desperately wanted for the relationship to work out.

At that very moment, as you walk back to the tall glass windows overlooking the city, you decided to confront Keanu the next time he’s home. For nearly a month, neither one of you has brought up the fact of how bad things have gotten. You were scared to do it because it meant facing the reality of the situation. What if it was really the end for the two of you? What if it wasn’t meant to be?

The answers frightened you, but as you gazed out at the scenery for a silent moment more, your heart convinced you not to give up so soon. It tried assuring you that this was merely normal, something that happens to even the strongest of couples. You and Keanu had simply lost each other, but you were hopeful that one day, you would find your way back together.

One day.

Your phone remained quiet in your hand, and you couldn’t stop the single tear rolling down your cheek when you caught sight of your lock screen. The smiling photo of you and Keanu displayed was a gentle reminder of fonder times, ones you would forever cherish. You would do anything if it meant having more of those moments with him.

Moments when you were deeply in love and felt the happiest.

The wind blew crisp, cold air that seeped through the slight crack between the balcony doors. You felt it gently sweeping along your skin, causing you to shiver.

Winter was beautiful, so serene, but you yearned for summer to return.

Surely, it will get better when it’s warm again.

—three months before the accident;

A thick, weighted silence hung over the air as Keanu stepped foot inside the house, and it was nearly suffocating. He couldn’t recall the last time he came home expecting you to greet him by the door, either with a smile, a kiss, or both. Those days were a distant memory, faintly glowing in a dark abyss, drifting further and further away from his reach.

He lingered briefly in the middle of the empty foyer, not knowing whether he should head straight upstairs where you would be. It was a long day at the Arch office, and the last thing Keanu wanted was to resume the quarrel that had erupted earlier. He didn’t have the energy to defend himself from something you and he have been fighting about for far too long.

Turning down the hall, Keanu headed to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy as the ache settling in his chest. At this point, he was at a loss. Things between you and him were only getting worse, and he didn’t know what to do. When you had brought up the fact that the two of you were spiraling down, he listened and was willing to fix the problem.

That was until you mentioned his job.

Keanu loved you, of course, but his career was also important to him. Lately, he’s been swamped dealing with his current projects. His hands were full, but instead of you being the support he needed, you had been quite upset with the amount of time he’s working. It ticked Keanu off immensely when you requested that he cut-back on his job. You knew it was almost impossible for him to do so, yet you were adamant about it.

And after Keanu refused, it drove the wedge even farther between the two of you.

He didn’t understand how you and he came to be this way. You were hurting, and he was hurting, too. But it was difficult to compromise when he didn’t want to slow down or take a break, especially not while Keanu had a lot going on. This was part of his life, and he had explained that to you from the very beginning. Five years have passed, and only now did you realize that maybe you couldn’t handle it.

Keanu forgoes turning on the kitchen lights and padded into the slight darkness, making his way to the refrigerator for a glass of water. The phone in his pocket vibrates, but before he could take it out to check who had messaged him, the lights above him switched on, and he quickly glanced behind him to see you standing by the entryway.

“You said you’d be home at seven,” you muttered lowly, arms coming to cross over your front. “It’s ten.”

“I had a lot of things to wrap up before I go back to shooting,” Keanu replied, knowing full-well it was a lie. He had finished at eight o’clock, opting to stay at the office for two more hours because he needed peace, just for a little while longer.

“I can’t believe it. You’ve only been here a week, and you’re leaving again.” The sound of your voice cracking gnawed at his chest, the growing guilt doing just the same. “We live together, and I barely see you.”

The tense silence that fell was unbearable but unfamiliar. Keanu’s gaze shifted downwards, avoiding your tearful eyes, afraid of what would happen if he meets them.

You swallowed thickly, your words laced heavily with despair as you ask, “What happened to us?”

He remained quiet, unsure of where to begin.

“I-I know we’ve been arguing over ridiculous things, mostly. But when I try to fix us, it’s like you don’t even want to meet me halfway,” you explained tautly. “Does our relationship still matter to you?”

Again, quiet.

“Do I still matter to you?”

It was barely above a whisper, but the question rang loud in Keanu’s ears. His features softened as he tilted his head up just the slightest bit, his attention settling on you, the woman he supposedly loves yet pushes away. “Of course, you matter. You mean everything to me.”

With a small shake of your head, you sighed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” came his swift response.

“Then, why do you avoid me? Why do you choose your work before us? Before me?”

Keanu chuckled mirthlessly, running a hand down his face and blowing out a sharp huff. “I’m not choosing my job over you. I thought we went over this already?”

“Really? Because from what I can remember, the last time we spent time together without bickering was when we visited my parents during the holidays. You were gone soon after that for your movie, and whenever you flew back here for a couple of days, you were off doing other things.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? Just ignore all of my responsibilities? And how’s it different from what you do? You were barely at home, too. Now that you’re not busy having drinks with your boss, you suddenly have time for me.”

Keanu had more than certainly struck a nerve there at the end, but by the time he realized what he’d said, it was too late to take it back. He watched as your eyes flashed with anger, shooting him a fiery glare that had him regretting the spiteful words he had thrown at you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The bitterness dripping from your tone was enough for Keanu to make him step back, distancing himself away from you.

As if you and he weren’t far apart already.

Your question was met with absolute silence, and it only infuriated you even more. “Ke, what are you trying to say? Do you think something’s going on between Nick and me?”

Keanu didn’t answer immediately. It was another thought deep in the back of his mind, which fueled many earlier fights. He’s never been the jealous type, but he’s seen the way Nicholas has looked at you, as well as how he acted whenever you were around. Keanu has never mentioned it because he knew you weren’t capable of doing such a thing, and yet he said it, knowing that it would hurt you.

Because it’s what you two do best as of late—hurt and hurt each other.

“And what if there was, huh? Would it matter anyway? With the way you’re acting, as if you don’t want us to get better, I bet it doesn’t,” you added sharply, the tears you tried so hard to contain now falling. “Can you say something? Anything?”

Shoulders slumping, Keanu looked at you and saw the pain in your weary eyes. It’s beginning to dawn on him that he was the problem. It wasn’t the stress or exhaustion. It wasn’t that he no longer loved you. You were correct, he hasn’t been around for a while, and when he was home, he was more concerned with everything else but you.

“I’m sorry I’m never here,” he whispered, his sorrowful gaze dropping. The realization was overwhelming—he was pushing you away to protect himself from what was bound to happen.

No matter how much he loved you and how happy you were with him, Keanu knew you would grow tired as others have in the past. Despite the years you’ve spent together, the memories shared, and the house you’ve made a home, he believed that one day, this fairytale of a life would cease. No one has stayed with him for that long, and with the amount of heartbreak he’s experienced, it was only a matter of time until you decide to leave.

Leave. God, he didn’t want you to leave. The thought of it made his stomach turn, but after all the arguments you both have had, it wouldn’t be a surprise if one night, you decided to pack up your bags and walk out the door.

“This isn’t the life you signed up for,” Keanu mumbled low under his breath. “I love you, but this job—it’s who I am.”

“No, it’s not.” You slowly approached him, standing close enough for him to hear you exhale deeply. “It’s what you do. Look, take some time off after this movie, and I’ll do the same. We can go on a trip, maybe back to Italy like on my birthday. We’ll forget about work and enjoy ourselves. Just you and me, baby.”

You touched your hand to his cheek, rubbing his scruff with the gentle pad of your thumb. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relishing the tenderness he hasn’t felt in months. He could do what you’ve suggested, back out of a big upcoming project and spend time repairing the cracks in your relationship. Eyes fluttering open, Keanu was met with your soft gaze focusing on him, your finger moving to brush a stray strand of his hair to the side.

But then, he saw it. Staring deeply into your eyes, he could see himself hurting you again. Basing it on past history, this wouldn’t be the last time, and Keanu was sure of it. Things would be good until it isn’t, and the two of you would find yourselves back in this situation. It would be a vicious cycle, one which he couldn’t go through with, especially with you.

“What’s wrong?” You could sense a change in him. The hope that was there one second ago had now disappeared, replaced with something else indescribable.

Disappointment? Despair? Defeat?

“I-I can’t,” Keanu stuttered, ashamed. Your hand dropped from his face, your jaw clenching as you staggered backwards.

“Tell me straight,” you demanded, still holding his gaze. “Do you want to break up?”

Keanu opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Not even a slight utterance of a word. Inwardly, he’s conflicted. Why was it so difficult for him to say no? That’s what he wanted, was it? He loved you, didn’t he?

But you don’t hurt someone you love.

“I-I don’t know.”

You paused for a beat, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand. It was quiet again, and it was driving Keanu mad.

“Y/N,” he murmured your name as softly as he could, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“No,” you choked out before slowly turning around, suppressing your sobs.

Keanu made a choice not to follow you out of the room. He listened to your footsteps tapping away, getting softer as you head up the stairs, closing the bedroom door shut once you were inside.

“Fuck,” he angrily uttered, slamming his fist into the granite kitchen island counter.

As Keanu idly stood there mulling over what had just happened, he was reminded of the text that came in earlier. Quickly, he took his cell out of his pocket and read the message.

Drinks tonight at Barry’s. Are you in?

Without hesitation, he typed out a response and hit send. Drinking with her always helped, and after tonight, Keanu needed a glass or two. Possibly even three, just enough to get his mind off of everything.

Grabbing his keys hanging by the front door, Keanu briefly looked up at the second-floor landing. He wondered if he should go up there and apologize. You were broken by his answer, and knowing that he was the reason behind your tears pained him in his heart.

But before he could move, Keanu already had his hand on the doorknob, twisting it to let himself out. He didn’t want to face what could happen. Not tonight.

So he left, because avoiding the problem instead of facing it seemed like the better option, as always.

For now, you needed to cool off.

It could wait till morning.

—two months before the accident;

“Sweetheart?”

The sound of your mother’s voice caused you to snap out of the daze you were in, and you quickly fixed yourself in front of your vanity mirror. Your eyes were slightly puffy and red from crying, but you didn’t have time to mask it. Still, you mustered up your best, convincing smile as the door to your room carefully swung open.

“Hey, mom,” you greeted as she entered, a frown immediately forming on her lips. “What’s up?”

She sighed sadly before taking a seat on the edge of your bed, hands clasped as her eyes wandered around the room. “I remember when you were a teenager, you would lock yourself in your bedroom for the entire day whenever a boy broke your heart. You thought it’s the end of the world for you, and I’d sit there by your bedside, telling you that it’s not.”

Watching your mom pat the empty space beside her, you followed her wordless request for you to sit on the mattress. “I still don’t understand how you were able to handle all that teenage angst back then,” you quipped lightly. “Every breakup, you were there listening to me through my ugly, overdramatic cries.”

The two of you shared a small laugh, and for the briefest of moments, you forgot the pain.

“I’m glad you were able to fly out here for my birthday,” your mother began, her hand reaching for yours to give it a squeeze. “I thought Keanu was coming?”

You bit your lip at the mention of Keanu, the tears in your eyes already starting to form. You held them back, however. You didn’t want to sour the day.

“He couldn’t make it,” you shrugged, not wanting to explain any further, but the sadness emanating from your voice immediately gave her the impression that there was more to the story. She gave you a look—the one telling you to open up, like how you’ve done in the past with her.

“It’s okay, baby,” she assured softly. “What happened?”

And just like that, you let your walls down. After the night you asked if he wanted to breakup, things had been stagnant. Keanu went out of town again to resume filming two days later, never bringing up the topic before leaving. You haven’t seen him in a month, and to be honest, you didn’t bother contacting him.

“I don’t know what to do, mom,” you wept, and her arms wrapped around you, one hand stroking your hair as you cried into her side. “I still love him. I love him so much that the reason why I haven’t ended things is that I keep imagining that somehow, it’ll get better.”

“Oh, darling. I know it hurts, but if it’s getting too much for you, perhaps the best thing to do is to let go.”

Shaking your head, you managed to calm your unsteady breaths before sitting up. “I thought he was the one. After Eric, Ke was there to pick up the broken pieces. He was the one who made me believe in love again and made me feel worthy of being loved. But now, it’s like he’s not the same man I fell in love with years ago.”

“People change,” your mother stated as she tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear. “To tell you the truth, I’m shocked to hear this. I’ve always thought Keanu was a good guy, the right guy for you. But this is life, Y/N. It’s all about learning and living, and accepting things the way they are, no matter how painful it is.”

You absorbed your words for a minute, only then asking, “If people change, do you think he’ll change back?”

“I can’t answer that question, but what I can tell you is that you’re stronger than you think. The decision will come to you eventually, and even though you’re scared of what could happen, you’ll know in your heart if it’s the right one.”

“I want to think that he’ll change,” you said, sighing. “But maybe we’re just not meant to be.”

Blinking away the tears, you feel like more weight has just been added to your shoulders. You didn’t want to give up on Keanu, yet how much longer of this can you endure?

“Come,” your mother suddenly spoke, changing the subject for now. “The food is ready, and your father is excited to dig into that cake you baked last night.”

“Did you remind him that it’s your birthday and not his?” You chuckled as you stood up.

She smiled fondly, and you found yourself smiling genuinely with her.

“Of course, I did, but you know how he is when it comes to sweets.”

Your mom exited your bedroom, and for a moment, you let the quiet relax you. Fixing your disheveled appearance, you were about to walk out of the door when you stopped, the phone on your nightstand catching your attention. Suddenly, you felt the need to call Keanu, just this once, despite knowing he wouldn’t pick up.

You didn’t give in. Instead, you turned off the lights and headed to the dining room.

You were done hurting for the evening.

But what about for the rest of your life?

—one week before the accident;

Keanu was never a big drinker, yet here he was, downing his fifth shot of whisky that night. He disliked parties; he didn’t care much for the crowds. But now that production has ended, the cast and crew held a big after-party to celebrate, renting out an entire bar with drinks to go around until the last person leaves.

Almost everyone was drunk and on the dance floor by the third hour, leaving Keanu to sulk in peace. He’s back in LA for the meantime but came home to a cold, empty house. You were in San Francisco for work, and he didn’t find out until he read the hastily written note stuck on the console table by the front door.

It was like this now—no words exchanged, no proper conversations, not even a simple “hello” in passing. You were just two lonely and longing souls living under the same roof, waiting for the inevitable end. Keanu was unsure of who would make the first move; both of you seem afraid to quit when you’re hanging onto the very last shredding thread of hope.

This past month, you and Keanu were the newest talk of the town. One of Hollywood’s favorite couples on the verge of splitting to “focus on their respective careers.” Usually, he didn’t pay any attention to the tabloids. They never got the story right. But as the number of reports began to increase, it even left close friends and family asking if it were true. Keanu hasn’t said a word, and as far as he knew, neither have you.

The alcohol washing down his throat didn’t sting anymore, and he wondered if it’s because he’s drank too much in one sitting or he’s that numb inside. It could have been both, Keanu mused, ordering another glass that the poor bartender had no choice but to serve. The room around him started to spin, but at least temporarily, he stopped thinking of you.

Teetering on the edge of oblivion, Keanu nearly missed the calling of his name amid the blaring music. A petite hand came to rest on his shoulder, a light squeeze following it afterwards. He glanced up and was met with a pair of kind, cerulean blue eyes.

Her eyes.

“Want some company?” She queried, and Keanu nodded, gesturing for her to take the stool next to his. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Not liking the party?”

“Honestly, I’d rather be home,” he simply replied.

Home. Their house wasn’t a home. Not anymore.

“Is it Y/N?”

Keanu exhaled a long breath, drumming his fingers on the counter. She knew most of what went on when he told her while working together in the past few months.

At first, it was a slip of the tongue; he normally didn’t discuss his private life with others. But when it became too overwhelming for him to internalize everything, he had vented to her late one night over a bottle of wine. After that, they had grown close. She had been a good friend throughout the ordeal, the listening ear he needed.

“That obvious, huh?” He snorted, amused. Bleary-eyed, he turned to her, and she shot him a sympathetic smile. “Why are you here? Why not enjoy the party?”

“Well, every time we go out drinking, you always talk about her.” Nonchalantly, she sipped on her martini, batting her eyelashes at him. “And to answer your question, you said you needed company, so here I am.”

Her hand made its way to Keanu’s bicep, and the touch alone sent a kind of warmth that he hasn’t felt in a while. A nervous chuckle escaped his throat, but her hand doesn’t move away. Slowly, she leaned in closer, her scarlet stained lips hovering by his ear. Her voice was low, seductive and Keanu was too drunk to understand what was happening.

“You want to forget about her, right?”

Confusion marred his face, yet he gave her a silent nod. He’s not sober enough to think clearly, but the one surety he has was that tonight, at least for tonight, he didn’t want to feel pain. The alcohol solely wasn’t enough to distract him from it. Perhaps he needed something else.

Something more.

All Keanu wanted to do was forget. His conscious screamed that it’s wrong and that he shouldn’t. But as she kept staring at him with those hungry eyes, her wandering hand shifting to graze up his thigh, he could feel the electricity coursing through his veins.

And suddenly, she was all he could think of.

It’s a mistake. But what’s one more mistake going to do?

She led him down an empty hall, far away from the others. No one noticed them disappear into the back area, making it easier for Keanu to go through with this. Not too long after, they stumbled into the bathroom, lips crashing together in a bruising kiss. He had her pressed up against the door as he locked it, her fingers burying themselves into his hair as their tongues dueled.

Desire ruled over any rational thought as Keanu’s mouth trailed wet, hot kisses down her neck. Her small, nimble fingers reached down to unbuckle his pants, the clinking of metal lost in the soft moans they were letting out.

It felt good; he was feeling good. It was working, and to him, that’s what mattered.

“Keanu, please…”

Keanu stopped abruptly when his name came from her lips. It didn’t sound right to him and hearing it finally knocked back some sense into him. She’s standing in front of him, but all he could see were your eyes and the look of betrayal in them.

“What’s wrong?”

She’s not Y/N.

Pushing himself off of her, he ran his hand over his face, realizing what he had done. “I shouldn’t have.”

She inched closer to him, still panting. “I thought you wanted this, Keanu? I can help make you forget about her. I mean, isn’t that what you wanted me to do these last few months? You’re a good guy, and you deserve to feel good…”

Keanu stepped away, shaking his head. “No, this was a mistake. I-I wasn’t thinking straight. Please, don’t say a word about this to anyone.”

He didn’t even let her respond. He’s too frazzled thinking that he resorted to being the same man who had hurt you years before. Keanu had promised, he swore on his life, that he would never be like your ex. That he would treat you with the love you deserved, and you deserved only the best.

A wave of nausea hit him, and he had to get out of the confining room fast. Shuffling around her, he unlocked the door before taking a second to fix his pants. It turned out to be another mistake made that night because without warning, the entrance to the bathroom swung open, and he froze in fear.

“What the fuck, Keanu?”

Molly stood on the other side, stunned. Keanu recalled that she was friends with the director, who had mentioned in passing how she was invited to the party, too. It was funny how big the entertainment industry was, but at times, it was still such a small world.

Noting his disheveled appearance, it was clear to her what had transpired, and she could not be any more furious. The other woman, Heidi, quickly adjusted her top before hurrying past Keanu, muttering an apology as she made her hasty exit. The door closed behind Molly with a thud, and that’s when he began his plea.

“Please don’t tell Y/N,” Keanu spoke as Molly looked at him in disgust.

“Why? Are you planning to keep this a secret from her?” She was controlling the volume of her voice the best she could. Molly sincerely cared about you, and there was no doubt that she would allow this to slide.

“It’s complicated, Molly. Y/N and I aren’t doing so good and—”

Molly scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “And instead of working it out, you decide to fuck the PA behind her back.”

“It’s not like that. Nothing happened between us,” Keanu tried to explain, but he knew he was wasting his time.

It was still infidelity, the worst sin he could ever commit to her.

Sighing in defeat, Keanu lowered his head in shame. He could only imagine how you would react if you found out. It would break you, rip your heart in half, and for that, it was unforgivable.

He was unforgivable.

“Don’t tell her,” he repeated. “She needs to hear it from me.”

Molly approached him, and he captured the disappointment in her eyes. “I had a feeling that something wrong was going on between you two. I could see it in her face. She hasn’t been herself in a long time, and she’s never mentioned why.”

“I screwed up,” he admitted. “I knew I was going to hurt Y/N. It’s happened in the past, and I began pushing her away, thinking that she would leave eventually.”

“But you don’t want her to leave.”

Keanu lifted his tearful gaze. “I love her.”

“And she loves you,” Molly imparted following a pause, then she began walking towards the door. Before she could leave, she turned her head back to say one last thing. “Do the right thing, Keanu. If you love her that much, you owe it to her to tell the truth.”

Once alone, Keanu let out a breath, shuffling his feet to the bathroom sink where he glared at the reflection in the mirror. He was enraged, not at Molly, nor Heidi, and it wasn’t because he got caught either. The simmering anger was directed at his own self, but it didn’t matter if he took the blame.

He knew then he had already lost you.

—the night of the accident;

Rain.

It usually never rained in Los Angeles, not this much, at least.

Yet, it was beautiful, calming. The skies were shrouded by a sullen shade of grey that darkened as the hour passed to the next. The pitter-patter against the window lulled you into relaxation as you focused on the trickling drops chasing each other down the glass.

For as long as you could remember, you’ve always loved the rain. Even amidst this torrential storm, you managed to find a semblance of serenity in the chaos. Peace was there all the time. You just had to look real hard for it.

Inside, the house was quiet. It has been for days, ever since you came back from a work trip. No arguments, no yelling, nothing. You wondered if this was the turning point you’ve been waiting for. It was the reason why you stayed. In your heart, you still had hope that the pain would stop, and the healing would commence.

Maybe this was it.

This was the part when everything fell back into place.

Hearing the door leading out to the garage open, you set your coffee mug on the table as Keanu walked into the living area, wiping the grease stains off his hands with a small towel. You crossed the room to meet him halfway, and when he noticed you standing in front of him, only then did he look at you.

“How’s the new bike?” You asked, softly smiling at him.

You haven’t smiled at him like that in a while.

Keanu licked his dry lips before replying. “I-It’s good. It rides pretty great, too.”

“It’s been a while since we went on a ride together,” you pointed out, not to make him feel guilty but instead, remind him of the better times.

Times when you and Keanu were blissfully unaware of the hurt ahead.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his chestnut orbs slightly obscured by the locks falling over his face when he bows his head. “Listen, I gotta take care of—”

“Ke,” you interjected him mid-sentence, ignoring the poor excuse he has made up on the spot to leave the room. “I don’t know what happened between us, but I really want to fix this. I have this hope that you don’t want to give up on us because if you didn’t, you would have left me a long time ago.”

A thunderous roar pierced the still air, but it wasn’t as loud as the pounding of your heart in your ears. Letting out a shaky breath, you inched closer as Keanu brought his gaze up, meeting yours. You remembered how much his eyes made you feel safe.

They still do; they still were home to you.

But as you stare into them, you could see the sadness masking their warmth. Keanu flinched when the palm of your hand caressed the side of his cheek, though he soon found himself leaning into your touch. The sensation almost seemed foreign to you both, and you would give anything in the world to change that—to have it all go back to the way it once was.

“I love you, Keanu,” you spoke softly, glossy eyes connected with his. “Please, just tell me what to do to make this better. I promise I won’t get mad at you for being away. I get it, it’s your job, and I should have understood. I’m sorry—I’m sorry for everything.”

You didn’t bother keeping the tears from falling. You didn’t care that you looked like a desperate mess in front of Keanu, but this was you laying your heart out bare. It hurt too much fighting, and you thought it would hurt even more if you left when you couldn’t even begin to imagine doing so.

In a last attempt to convince him, you pressed your lips to him, the first time in a long while. The roof continued to be pelted by the heavy rain as you kissed him, only realizing just a few seconds later that he wasn’t responding. You pulled back, seeing the flooding of sorrow in Keanu’s features. It was alarming, and you had no idea what was going in his mind.

“I-I have to tell you something,” Keanu murmured after a pause. His hand came up to rest behind the back of yours that was cupping his face.

“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” you reassured him, and then you saw it—guilt, shame, and regret. They all flashed in his wistful eyes, and immediately, panic settled in. You dreaded hearing what he had to say.

What else could Keanu have done?

You took a step back when a horrifying thought suddenly makes itself known. A part of you didn’t dare to consider it, but what if?

What if Keanu had done the last thing you expected him to, especially while knowing how it broke you the last time?

“You don’t have to lie to me, Ke,” you trembled out as your chest tightened, making it harder to breathe. You needed to know. No matter how much it would hurt, you had to know. “I-Is there someone else?”

“No.” Keanu’s short reply came quickly, but you could easily tell that he was lying; you knew him that well. The silence erupting proved to him that you had caught him at a lie, and he sighed. “It was just a kiss. I was drunk, hurt, and upset because of what’s been going on. But it was nothing, okay? None of it mattered, and it was a stupid mistake.”

You don’t respond. What was there to say?

This had to be a nightmare. You had to be in a deep sleep, experiencing a god-awful nightmare that you were willing yourself to wake up from.  

But you didn’t.

This was reality. Your reality.

And it was tragic.

“I swear to you, I stopped before anything else could happen.” Keanu continued to explain himself, but you couldn’t focus on his words; none of them were making sense to you, not that you cared in the first place.

You dragged your feet away from him, though you were worried that you would collapse as you moved. You needed to get out and be someplace else because the more you stayed there, the more you felt your soul wilting away.

Why couldn’t you have just let go?

“Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you warned, the stinging tears clouding your vision, a betrayal of your grief. “I-I don’t want to hear it.”

Ignoring what you said, Keanu reached out to put his hand on your shoulder, but you pushed it away. “No, don’t touch me.”

“Baby, just listen to me.”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat out bitterly, your chest heaving with rage. “I’m a fool for thinking that things would be okay when you’re out there sleeping with someone else.”

Keanu shook his head as another roll of thunder crashed in the background. “It was only a kiss, Y/N. That’s it.”

“Fuck, a kiss is still something.”

You sharply turned on your heel and stalked towards the foyer, only stopping when you saw the photo displayed by the bottom of the staircase. It was from the night the two of you first kissed, when you and Keanu were deeply, truly in love.

Removing the frame from its hook, the couple on the image was barely recognizable as their smiles mocked at you, reminding you of the happiness and the love you once had.

If only they knew...

Devastated, you hurled the picture onto the floor. The glass cracked but didn’t shatter, and before you could do the same to the next photo, Keanu was towering over you, his hands holding you firmly by your wrist. You struggled in his grip as you kicked and yelled at him to let you go.

It was too much. Everything was too much. Inside, you feel an aching hollowness, the love that used to be there has now become pain.

Unbearable and excruciating pain.

“Calm down, Y/N, please,” Keanu begged, yet it was no use. “Stop acting like a child, and just listen.”

You managed to break free from his hold, backing away as far as you could until you reached the door. “A child? I’m acting like a child? You’re the one who messed up, and you’re acting as if you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I didn’t sleep—”

“Yeah, you didn’t,” you cut him off, noticing the growing frustration appearing on his face. “What are you going to say? That you’re sorry? Because that’s not enough, Ke.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Keanu scoffed. “I want to talk about this, but you’re being difficult by not giving me a chance.”

“So, now I’m difficult?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then what? Tell me what you meant by that.” You waited for a few beats for Keanu to answer, but before he could answer, you decided you had enough. “Never mind, just leave me alone.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. How can we work this out if you won’t even hear what I have to say?”

“No, Keanu. I’m done listening. I’ve given you plenty of opportunities to speak up and tell me what’s wrong, but you never did. I wanted to fix this— us— so fucking badly, and… ”

You ceased as your voice broke, and Keanu standing there only affected you even more. You trusted him, you thought that he could never hurt you, you loved—

You don’t know anymore.

“I can’t be here right now,” you muttered, reaching for your car keys simultaneously. You’re not sure of where to go, just that you need to be far away.

Far away from him.

“Fine,” Keanu breathed out as you threw on your shoes. “Leave.”

The coldness in his tone was one you’d never heard before. It was not like Keanu to do this, but how would you know? Your mother’s words echoed in your head as you opened the front door, the loud howl of wind greeting you outside.

People change.

And it was your mistake for thinking that Keanu would change back.

“Do you even love me anymore?” You blurted out the question before you could cross the threshold, glancing back at Keanu with tired eyes.

You waited for what seemed like the longest time, his silence serving enough as confirmation.

It was over.

Wordlessly, you hurried to your car parked in the driveway, not caring that the torrent of rain had drenched you within seconds. Starting the engine, you didn’t expect him to run out of the house in a final attempt to make you stay. All hope was lost, and at this point, you’ve now accepted it.

As you drove further away from the house, the past began to haunt you. From it, you had thought good things didn’t last forever until you met Keanu. Then, you were led to believe that he was the exception.

But you had been wrong.

So damn wrong.

And as you fault yourself for your mistakes, you didn’t notice how much you were speeding until the tires skidded against the wet pavement. Your car spun as you struggled to regain control, but it was too late.

One loud crash and everything went black.

—now;

By the time Keanu had finished explaining, you had distanced yourself away from him. Your tear-stained gaze was unwavering, as if you’re processing every detail, every word. He carefully gauged your reaction, waiting for an explosive outburst or a string of curses.

“Y/N. Baby?” The wooden floor creaked under his weight when he stepped forward, the sound of it snapping you out from a trance-like state. “Can you say something? Please?”

“I can’t… I don’t know.”

You were overwhelmed, and Keanu couldn’t do much nor say anything to be of comfort. His lie had been revealed, and once more, he was breaking your heart all over again. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare say another word,” you choked, forcing Keanu to halt his movements. “You didn’t plan on telling me, did you? You were going to act like it never happened.”

“I was going to tell you, but I was waiting for the right time.”

The excuse was painfully pathetic, and Keanu was already losing the uphill battle. He’s gone through this before, and he could tell that the newly found love you had with him was swiftly vanishing. The resentment was building in front of him, replacing the light that used to be in you. He’s unsure whether he would get to see it again.

“I just wanted things to go back to the way they used to be—when we were happy,” Keanu added, mirroring the hope you had before he took it away.

“No,” you denied sternly. “You tried to paint our lives as perfect when it’s far from it. You saw my amnesia as a way to start over.”

“I know it’s fucked up, but the one thing I’m not lying about is how much I love you, Y/N. Please understand that.”

“Then, why was it so hard for you to say that before? It could have saved us a lot of trouble,” you replied as you marched out of the room, only for Keanu to trail closely behind.

“It was a mistake, but these recent months made me realize that I can’t bear even the thought of losing you. We were so happy together and—”

“But, I’m not the Y/N who was there during those times, Keanu. I wouldn’t know. You’re a stranger to me, and I can’t believe I trusted you so easily just because you showed me pictures of a happy couple.”

Keanu didn’t know what else to say. Every scenario he came up with would end the same way, but it wasn’t too surprising. You and he were broken beyond repair, all thanks to his selfish decisions. If only he had told you the truth from the start. Maybe somehow, it would have fared better for the two of you.

“I-I have to go,” you stammered, and before you could open the front door, Keanu bolted next to you, pressing his hand on the frame to prevent you from walking out. “I can’t do this right now. Please, I just need to get—.”

“No, I’m letting you out there,” he stated worryingly. “I don’t want anything bad happening to you again.”

You wiped a lone tear as you exhaled. “Something bad has already happened, and it’s you, Ke.”

Silence.

You didn’t say more. Instead, you brushed past Keanu and dashed up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door shut behind you. The force rattled the house, and once he realized he was finally alone, the tears Keanu tried his mightiest to keep at bay started to fall. He stood there for what felt like an eternity as he figured out what was next for you both.

But Keanu already knew, however. He just didn’t want to admit it.

The storm outside passed, but the atmosphere inside was far from calm. Exhausted, Keanu was about to head to the guest room upstairs when his gaze settled on the very same picture you had tried to break that night. You had just got around to buying a new frame to replace the old one, and you were excited to have it back on the wall.

Since the accident, you and Keanu had made new happy memories similar to the one photographed. But after all that has been said, tonight would be the only memory you would forever remember him by.

Part 12

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @toomanystoriessolittletime @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee @ringa-starr @ficsnroses @iworshipkeanureeves @keandrews @greenmanalishi @feminine-machinegun @thehumanistsdiary @lussdew @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid @danceoftwowolves @ravenpuff02 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @breakthenight @allie1804-fan​

[cheeriecherry]

Birds Of A Feather [4/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: some swearing, a kiss

Part 4/7

By the end of the week, you’re walking into Hawks’ penthouse with nothing but a duffel bag of clothes. Most of your stuff had been moved to storage, but you’d told him you’d bring your own sheets, blankets, and pillows for the couch. He’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

He’d then gone on a tangent about how he had guest rooms, obviously, and how his sheets would be softer than yours. He’s probably not wrong, with his 1200 thread count egyptian cotton, but the way he says it ruffles you a bit. You don’t mention it, though. You don’t want to give him any kind of reason to kick you out.

“Hey chickadee, you gonna stand in the entrance all night, or are you gonna come in?”

You snap out of your stupor when Hawks calls to you, and continue lugging your things through the door.

The inside of the penthouse is beautiful; tastefully decorated (probably professionally), and it’s spacious rough that you could spread your wings out fully. The doorways are wider than average, likely catering to your boss’ specific needs. The entire place is gorgeous, immaculate even, and any person in their right mind would kill to live here.

You kind of detest it.

“I had some people come in this afternoon and set up the guest suite for you,” he says, kicking off his boots and flopping onto the couch. “They also brought some of your uniforms in from the agency, so you can change here. You won’t have to go in so early.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and you mean it. Personal opinions aside, he’s let you into his home out of kindness. You’ll not soon disrespect that.

“Ah, you’re standing and staring again. Are you that impressed with the place?”

You snap back to attention for a second time, and hike your bag further up your shoulder. “I-it’s not that!” you try to explain, “I was just expecting something...different?”

Hawks sits up on the couch. “Whadya mean?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “More lived in, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful here, especially the balcony, but it’s also very...what’s the word…”

“Mature and charming?” he tries, but you shake your head.

He offers a few more suggestions, things like ‘perfect’ and ‘homey’ and ‘colourful’, each word hitting further and further from your mark.

Then it comes to you. “Monotone and sterile!” you nearly shout, your success momentarily quieting your desire to be polite. “It’s like it’s fresh out of a magazine, or a model home. Don’t take it the wrong way, Boss, I’m not hating on your tastes, but if I’m gonna be staying here indefinitely, I’m gonna have to add some personal touches.” You remember your manners. “If that’s okay…”

You worry that you may have offended him, with the way he’s looking at you, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling.

“Finally,” he sighs, “someone who speaks their damn mind.”

“Eh?”

“Do you know how many of the people I’ve invited here tell me ‘how beautiful’ it is?” He adjusts his wings and settles comfortably back into the couch. “All of them. Every single one. And look, I’m grateful that I’ve got this place, but it’s just a house. No sentimentality, no memories...just a space.”

“Well...it’s polite to not insult someone’s home when they invite you over…” you mumble, the severity of your outburst making your face heat up.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe they’re all schmoozing and hoping to get on my good side.”

The bitterness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you decide to leave it be. He should be free to be himself in his own home, and not have to put up any kind of front. You hoped he’d supply you the same courtesy, when you inevitably would wake up on the wrong side of the bed some mornings.

“Anyways,” he flips the TV on and tosses the remote to the side, “it’s late. You should probably unpack your stuff before you’re too tired.”

“Yeah…” you realize how wiped out you are as the weariness starts to settle in. “I’ve got tomorrow off though, so...if I wake up on time, I’ll bring you curry.”

You can hear him cheering as you walk down the hall to the guest room, and you smile. You’ll never understand his love for chicken, even though his enthusiasm boosted your confidence.

The room is spacious and airy, and has a beautiful view of the city. The bed itself is probably big enough to hold three people, and you’re silently grateful that your wings won’t be hanging on the floor while you sleep anymore. 

You set your bag down by the door, and flop face first onto the mattress. God, it was the most plush thing you’d ever had the pleasure to lay on.

“I’ll unpack tomorrow,” you mumble, sinking further into the sheets and, eventually, sleep.

In the distance, you hear Hawks snoring.

----

You wake up the next day to sunlight hitting your face. It’s bright, and annoying, and too warm, and your bed really wants you to keep sleeping but you don’t think you can.

You sit up.

You can feel that your hair is a disheveled mess, and your tongue feels gummy and sour.

“Blegh.”

You (regrettably) roll out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to fix your morning vibes, checking the time along the way. Ten is later than you would have liked to wake up, but you suppose you really needed the sleep. And you did, surprisingly, feel more rested than you had in months.

It’s ten thirty by the time you’re done in the washroom, overall energy more put together and presentable, and you waste no time heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen which is...painfully under-stocked. A couple of condiments and wilting vegetables in the fridge...some frozen meat in the freezer...a bag of rice under the sink, for some reason, and...a completely full spice rack, every bottle unopened.

You knew your boss didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but this was just sad. 

You make a mental note to go shopping later.

Thankfully he seems to have the necessary ingredients for chicken curry, which you’re happy about. It means you won’t have to brave the store just yet.

Bit by bit, you pull out what you need in order to cook, only sitting down when you have a moment to spare as the rice cooks.

‘Hey Boss, I’m making curry for lunch. Want me to bring you some?’

You send him a text. It’s still fairly early, and you know he has his meetings in the morning, so you doubt that he’ll get back to you before-

Your phone buzzes.

‘Chickadee, you sure know the way to my heart. I’ll leave my office window open.’

You send him a thumbs up emoji.

----

Once the food is finished, you pack it up into two containers, opting to leave the rest in the pot for now. You made lots, enough to get several meals out of it, just in case Hawks pulled his ‘too busy to cook’ excuse when trying to convince you to order take-out.

It doesn’t take long to fly to the agency, the skies much clearer than the roads. The city itself seems relatively calm, no sounds of explosions or screaming. There is a distant plume of dark smoke on the horizon, though…

But there were other heroes in the area. You wouldn’t be missed if you didn’t show up for one disaster...right?

But then you land in the window of your boss’ office, and your worry spikes. The room is empty, door closed, lights off, paperwork strewn about on the desk...like he’d run off in a hurry.

You pull your phone out and send him a text.

‘Lemme know if something came up. I brought lunch, but I can put it away for later. Stay safe!

-Chickadee’

He doesn’t reply, but that’s expected if he’s dealing with some kind of crisis. Maybe you should have headed to whatever disaster you’d seen earlier...if it was bad enough to call on your boss, it must be a pretty dire situation. Maybe he could use an extra pair of wings?

You sigh and take a seat beside the window, staring out at the city skyline. The black smoke across the way has turned to a dusty grey colour, a much less threatening hue, and one that bode well for any possible fires.

He’ll be fine, you decide, with other heroes undoubtedly on the scene. By the time you’d get there, whatever was happening would be dealt with.

You pull out your phone to scroll through the news while you eat.

Nothing urgent appears on the screen, nothing to incline that you were needed somewhere, nothing to say extra help was needed. Just day-old stories, gossip columns, the occasional media review. You do startle a little when a new article pops up that’s focused around your boss. You click on it, expecting to see some kind of haggard scene...but you only laugh.

“Hawks, most eligible bachelor in Japan, off the market?” You scroll further into the article to see what kind of nonsense the reporters have come up with this time.

What you don’t expect, is to find pictures of yourself littering the page. Pictures of you and Hawks together. On patrol, talking over lunch at a cafe he took you to one time, walking into his agency side by side, and -most recently- the two of you landing on his balcony.

You’re slightly panicked, and very, very flustered. Had he seen the column? God, he was probably used to it, though, being as popular as he was. All he had to do was look at someone and the media would start crying wolf, which in your opinion, was stupid.

Still, the more you read the article, the more you find it has some good points. You two did spend a lot of time together, more than he did with any of his other friends. But that’s all you are. Friends. Friends, and completely platonic roommates.

You weren’t sure why that made your heart sink so much.

So you copied the link to the article and sent it to him, typing a quick ‘lol’ afterwards. At the very least, he might get a laugh out of it.

----

You finish eating in record time, scarfing down a portion and a half of curry. It was lonely, sitting in Hawks’ office by yourself. You wondered if he ever felt like that when he was up here on his own. He was too busy for most things, too fast for his own good. Did that include friendships? He made time for you when he could, but you understood the busy and demanding life of a hero...other people might not.

You...understood.

The dull ache that you’ve felt in your chest for the past year returns, suddenly. The sadness and grief, the emptiness and all-encompassing tiredness, the big overhanging question of ‘what’s even the point?’. The point of being a hero, the point of suffering for the people who love you and hate you and who don’t even know you.

“Shit,” you sigh, your head and shoulders hanging low, wing dragging against the floor.

Hawks had brightened your life up so much these last few months. He’d brought the smile back to your face, the joy back to flying. You missed him when he was gone, worried for him when he was off on missions, fuck, you even cooked him lunch of your day off just so you could spend time together.

You were head over heels for him, and so totally screwed.

----

Hawks doesn’t return home until late that night. Far past your usual bedtime, but you’re far too distressed to sleep. If you hadn’t had your earlier revelation, you’d have chalked it up to ‘being worried’. But now?

Now that you knew you had feelings for him, all your thoughts were clouded. You were concerned because you liked him. You hung out with him because you liked him. Everything was because you liked him!

It was fucking with you a bit.

“What are you still doing up?” his voice sounds from the front entryway, startling you bad enough that you almost fall off the couch.

Your wide eyes snap to him, immediately taking him in. He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure. His uniform is singed in places, and you’re pretty sure the scuff on his neck is a burn. Most notably are his wings. Or lack thereof. 

Featherless red nubs is a more accurate description.

“You look like shit,” you say, keeping the air about you casual.

He makes his way over to you and finds a seat on the couch adjacent, wincing as he sits a little too quickly.

“Thanks, chickadee. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Your face heats up. “I-I just mean! Long day?”

He groans, letting his head fall back against the cushions. You’re vaguely aware that he’s started talking, but the only thing you can pay attention to is the narrow column of his exposed throat, and how badly you wanted to lean over and press your lips against it.

You snap out of your daze when he nudges you with his foot.

“I feel like I’m talking to a wall,” you quips, devoid of any malice.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “what were you saying?”

“I was saying that we should hang out now that I’ve got a few days off. Kick our feet up, instead of culminating in a stuffy office.”

You shake your head. “As much as I’d love to, I still have work. Remember? I was already off today, I can’t miss more days.”

He whines, looking at you with sad puppy eyes. “It’ll be boring here by myself. You make the day more fun.”

“Hawks, I can’t-”

“Keigo.”

You perk up. “Huh?”

He rearranges himself on the couch so he can look at you more comfortably. “My name is Takami Keigo. Call me Keigo when it’s just us, okay?”

You consider it. “Why not Takami? That’s polite here, right? To use the surname?”

He nods. “Unless you’re close with the person. Family, good friends, the like.”

Your wings puff up, fully betraying the fact that you’re pleased he considers you a ‘good friend’. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and a teasing grin spreads across Haw-Keigo’s face.

“See? You waaaaant to. Say it with me: Kei-”

“Keigo.”

You don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge pink.

“You got it. And now, since we’re on a first name basis, I’m asking you to take a few days off to hang out with me.”

You’re exasperated.

“C’mon chickadee.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?”

“No!”

“Y/N…”

“No, Keigo.”

“Alright then. Now, as your boss, I’m officially giving you three days off.”

“You can’t just do that!”

“I can!”

“Hawks!”

“Keigo.”

“Sorry. Keigo!”

His expression is cheeky as you go back and forth for a while, and he’s unrelenting even as you gently beat him with a couch pillow.

It eventually morphs into a small war, the two of you chasing each other around the apartment, wielding whatever cushions you can get your hands on. You eventually end up tripping over the coffee table, shouting as you smack your foot and fall into an ungraceful heap on your back. Keigo wastes no time pouncing on you and pinning your arms beside your head.

Your wings are splayed out on either side of you, and he’s careful not to kneel on them. Even with your foot throbbing the way it is, he knows you could easily get away if you tried. But you don’t struggle. Instead you lay there quietly, out of breath, eyes locked on his. He can feel the warmth creeping up his neck, and you can see the redness returning to his cheeks.

“I...saw the article you sent to me today,” he begins, voice low. “I’m sorry they brought you into it.”

“I don’t mind,” you admit, “I just worry it might be detrimental to you. Some of your fans will be pissed.”

“Seriously?” He sits up on your chest, releasing your wrists. “You’re not online much, are you. Most of my fans ship us.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He laughs, soft of melodious. “It means that they like the idea of us. As a couple.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” you wonder.

“No? Why would it?”

You avert your gaze from him, your insecurities and doubts creeping in under the scrutiny of his golden eyes. “I...guess you could just...do better, is all.”

“Chickadee...Y/N, look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. You feel very exposed laid out on the carpet, and you wish you’d never said anything.

A warm hand cups your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your heart is beating rapidly against your ribcage, and you’re positive he can see your embarrassment when you finally do as he asks.

But he only smiles gently at you, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours.

“Listen to me, and listen well. You’re the best I can do. You bring out everything good in me, and make me forget the bad. You make me happy.”

“Keigo-”

He shushes you by bringing your lips together.

[sparkexplosive]

Sentiment [Izuku Midoriya] ; 06

Precious Chapters in Sentiment [Izuku Midoriya] SERIES

Warning: Mental Health

Word Count: 2,010

Midoriya Izuku was standing in front of the invention room with his hero costume case because he broke his shoes once again. He is afraid to look at your face, but he needs to face you. Perhaps he isn’t ready to face you yet. He was about to turn around to walk away to ask Mei to fix his shoes instead. To only get startled by the sliding door opening to reveal Misaka. 

“Oh! Midoriya. What may I help you?” Misaka calmly gave off the customer service voice along with a smile. 

Midoriya couldn’t speak properly to the only rush through his word which leads it to be a scrambled mess. 

Misaka’s eye twitches in annoyance. She could never really deal with his random rambles. She looks on both sides of the hallway before grabbing his collar and yanking him inside. Midoriya was about to fall on his face due to the sudden pull into the room. She walks away from him to sit down on her chair to continue working on Kirishima shoulder designs, after testing it would be sustainable enough against Kirishima unbreakable form without shattering into pieces from her previous prototypes. 

She is just ignoring his presence until he learns how to speak. She is already irritated by him how Midoriya is not even standing up for (Name), her best friend. His friends are speaking to her best friend with hurtful words that would break anyone down especially under his watch is unacceptable. A screwdriver floats towards her which reminded him of his mother's quirk. 

Midoriya gulps down his saliva, sensing tension in the air and looks over to your desk to find it surprisingly neat and cleaned as if it hasn’t been touched for a few days. It's an unusual sight to see it so organized compared to the times he has been in here. His eyes wander off to Misaka's side of the room to see her blueprints on the cardboard. He does recall that you did mention that Misaka switched with Hatsume Mei because her room was a lot closer to the inventory room. 

The blueprints of her designs and items for Kirishima Eijirou upgraded costume pinned on the cardboard. She has a mannequin that was holding fabric that could be for his lower cape. In front of her were pauldrons blueprints with the design details. Misaka was adding the details on his pauldrons and messing with internal parts that seem to contain wires. 

“It’s coming out very well, Misaka.” Midoriya tries to break the tension in the air, before speaking for the real reason for his trip here. “Could you perhaps fix my shoes?”  

Misaka glances over to him and walks over to him to hastily take the case from him to evaluate the damage. She did catch his eyes looking over to your working station earlier. 

“She is banned from using this room for fighting one of your fangirls along with damaged property.” 

Misaka answers without him saying it out loud and takes the black metal shoes off his case to only collapse into different small pieces. Both of them just stare at the floor where the metal pieces collapsed into smaller pieces. “Well then. I could make a replica for you. It might be ready in the late afternoon tomorrow, b-” 

Midoriya brims up at the news with a small smile instead of his usual big grins. “Thank you!” 

She stops to turn to face him. “But!”

She stares closes the case hastily, before turning her blue eyes back into his green eyes. “Do you know about the rumors going around about (Name)?” 

Midoriya was taken back at the question but narrowed his eyebrows. “I only know about the check, but it turns out to be true.” 

Midoriya unconsciously flinches recalling the rumor was true and all the emotions that he has been pushing down resurface at once. She evacuates his body language and his eyes to see he is telling the truth. He seems to hang on by accepting the fact that your relationship was building on the bride. 

“Well, your friends are belittling (name) by telling her. She is a whore to slut because of the rumors going around. They are getting dramatized and getting out of hand. The rumors are getting worse every passing day. Unless you set it straight. It would calm down the rumors.” She carefully watches his body language and his eyes. 

From the dark lines underneath his eyes and more messy hair than usual. It seems he has been wrecked as well. The evidence is physical that he hasn’t been sleeping very well. Midoriya hasn't been able to sleep for the past couple of days due to getting nightmares repeatedly. 

But from his expression, he didn’t know at all, filled with shock, and a mixture of surprise was written all over his face. His eyes were wide open and his mouth agape. Before he closes his mouth before licking them and gulping down his saliva. “I haven’t been paying attention of late.”

‘I have been in mind all day and night,’ He thought to himself. 

His demons belittling why him and losing destroying himself confidence. The only time he can distract himself is by burying himself in schoolwork and training to quiet down that voice in his head. The other times, he unconsciously is blocking the world around him which makes his friends and classmates worry about him since he has been a less talkative and energetic ball of energy who is an excellent observer and analyzing at hand. 

Aizawa asks him to go to the counselor's office today or tomorrow. He knows that Aizawa is worried about him to personally ask him to look for help.  

His fingers fidget with the side of his tie as he licks his dry lips to confess.“I have mostly been in my world-”

“You have been in your mind. Midoriya. You are being your own worst enemy. Overthinking to thinking the worst possibilities. That's what you usually do.” Misaka interrupts him, before walking into your work station. 

She opens a drawer to go through it to see your blueprint on what your design to offer to Midoriya. She stares at it for a second before taking it out and reaching underneath the table to pull out brown boxes that contain two metal cases with one of them has a red ribbon. She places the blueprint inside and holds out to him if only he wants to accept. 

“[Name] might murder me for giving this to you. Its new equipment that they overworked themselves making sure this gift to you would be on time. But you know…. This would have been a future design blueprint. Just take a look and give those babies a try.”

Midoriya didn’t know what to say. His throats were dried up but his eyes landed on a red envelope attached to the metal case with red ribbon. It was possible the anniversary gift that she would have given him today. He forgot today was their anniversary before all this happened. They had plans but everything changed. He needed space and time to think. Y/N gave him the space that he asked and respected his decision. 

But the curiosity is killing him wanting to know what they are inside those metal cases. He unconsciously reaches over to grab onto the box to find it surprising a little heavy. 

“Take them and think would someone go through deep ends to create something so accurate for your liking and safety if they didn’t care about you. If you think you don’t want to accept it, you can go back and return them to me. I will have your replacements here waiting for you.” Misaka light heart comments. 

Midoriya looks up from the box to look into her eyes. “Thank you.”

____________________________________

The day before getting emotional after school, surprisingly you had a wonderful time with the loudmouth student from Class A-3, Bakugou Katsuki. He had surprisingly cheered you up with some food and fun time at the arcade. It was memorable and the most fun you had ever experienced in an arcade. The two of you were being competitive trying to beat each other's scores. 

You did realize in his way, he was distracting you from what happened the day before.

“Don’t let those extras get into your head. The only person you need to approve is yourself.” Bakugou advises while pointing at you with his chopsticks. 

Your eyes had widened shows bewildered at his words as if he was speaking from experience, once his words sucked in which brought a wide grin on your lips. 

“Thank you.” Your eyes were starting to shine like before the incident happened with the rumors. Your eyes are a portal to how you feel. 

Bakugou rolls his eyes, “You should know this by now. Extra's opinions shouldn’t matter.” 

He knew you were hurting inside while putting on a strong face in front of everyone. But everyone has their limits by putting on that armor to make people intimate from messing with you. He knows it very well. 

As he refused for you to pay for the dinner bill to pay him back from playing in the arcade. You know arcades are not cheap but expensive. However, he beat you from paying by taking his credit card before you could. 

“Save that money for your mouth-” He exclaims calmly. 

“Bakugou, that's a lot of money. Let m-.” You tried to reason with him, but he continues to shoot you down. 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Get it through your thick brain!” Bakugou slashing out, clearly getting irritated by you bugging him about paying him back. He clearly refuses to accept your money.  

At the end of the day, you were conflicted about how to feel about Bakugou since you saw another side of Bakugou that you haven’t seen until now. It's like Kirishima said to you before when you asked for Bakugou help for the gloves that you created for Midoriya. 

“He has a good heart, he just roughs around the edges. Give him time, he will get comfortable with you.” 

You had witnessed what Kirishima was talking about yesterday. Bakugou has a different way of showing he cares. However what caught you off guard when he had walked you back to your dorms like your bodyguard intimidating any students from looking over to you. 

You turn around in front of the steps of your dorm to thank him. “Thank you for everything. Bakugou.” 

Bakugou simply nods, like typical behavior for him. When you were turning around to walk up the stairs. He had grasped your wrist stopping you at your tracks. 

“You can call me. Katsuki, only if you want to... Have a nice night.” He lets go from your wrist. 

You were shocked that Bakugou even suggested it, but knew it's a big deal for him to permit him to call him by his first name. It could mean numerous things, but that is the moment you thought. He trusts you. 

Once you had sucked in his words, you only smiled back at him.

“I will be taking up that offer. Good night, Katsuki!” 

Unknown to you, Bakugoug Katsuki could feel his heart skip a beat from hearing your voice calling him by his first name. He couldn’t explain it, but it makes him feel weird in a way that is not normal for him. 

A small smile curls up to his lips while he was walking back to his dorms while recalling what happened that afternoon. He did have a lot of fun playing video games with you in an attempt to distract you from what is happening in school. 

He does care about you but is unsure why he is feeling this sort of way ever since the two of you started working together for your project of gloves. He has gotten comfortable with your presence more than he would like to admit. 

Perhaps, he has a crush on you….

It can’t be…, right?

______________________________

I would love to hear any predictions or theories, you guys have!

Feedback is appreciated!

Please be kind within the comments. I hope you are enjoying the story. Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors.

if anyone wishes to be tagged, either send me an ask or comment below this post! Taglist will be in the comments.

[luca-moreno]

 follows x (sidebar i guess)

The nights before battles are always bad, but this time before the training op is somehow worse. There are a lot of unknowns, a lot Luca feels like he doesn’t understand and can’t predict and his mind won’t settle. He looks around the squad, the N7’s, the phoenix, the Berlin – and wonders what the hell he’s doing here in such esteemed company.

Just some kid from the wards who faked his ID to enlist early and had been scrambling to pay his dues ever since.

“Luca,” Marie had pulled him into a hug when he had finally managed to steal a moment of her time to voice his fears as the Berlin shudders with the unclamping of the space dock. His chance to get away from the ship and its strange contingent is rapidly slipping through his fingers and something that feels like panic claws at his throat. “It’s not a mistake. You bring so much to the table.”

He tries to shrug it off but his eyes sting uncomfortably and he’s so mad at himself for the show of weakness. “I don’t know, Commander, my track rec-“

“No,” Marie cuts him off firmly and there is the steel under her softness she’s so known for. “I trust Captain Malin with my life, he’s kept me alive this long and if he says you need to be here then you need to be here. He sent you to me, Luca and I haven’t had a reason to doubt you yet. Have you ever stopped to consider maybe there’s more in you than you know?”

It’s been twelve hours and Luca still doesn’t know what Marie means by that and he hasn’t had a chance to ask her again. The second the drives engaged, tension settled over everyone and even his tinkering with the projector and vague mumbling about date nights and Blasto movies didn’t go anywhere near far enough to ease the strain. Not when the ship visibly crackled by the hum of biotic energy in the air.

They couldn’t see it, but they could all feel it. A constant reminder that there were big things afoot.

Luca grabs his guitar from his bunk, clambers over a deeply snoring Braun and tries to shake Harris awake, only to receive an aggressive yank of his curls and a snarl for daring to get between her and the sweet oblivion of sleep for his troubles. He leans back, rubbing his head with a wince and glances at Thurman’s bunk. It’s empty, but that wasn’t unusual, although more than a little bit curious.

He wanders through the ship. The lab is empty, the CIC and the bridge are quiet with the B squad (as Davis refereed to them) crew manned the controls. The captain’s quarter’s shine with a big red seal and Luca knows better than to go sniffing around when that’s lit up. He finds himself shuffling through the higher decks where the larger cabins are, only to hear a thunk and something that sounds suspiciously like a moan leak through the heavy bulkheads from the direction of his commander’s quarters.

Luca hurries his step, not wanting to be caught lurking out there when there’s clearly nocturnal activities at play. He heads towards the mess. It’s mostly empty too, except for Yamamoto at the table.

“Aw, gonna play everyone a lullaby?” He sneers at Luca over his MRE.

“Shut up, Yamamoto,” Luca mutters and readjusts his guitar strap self-consciously over his shoulder, hoping the way his cheeks feel hot look like he’s mad and not just embarrassed. He doesn’t like this guy, a comms officer who never knew when to shut up seemed like a bad fit in Luca’s mind.

“What did you say to me, you little punk?”

“Nothing,” Luca grits his teeth. Yamamoto was only being brave because there wasn’t anyone else in the room. He had taken one look at Luca the first day on the ship and disliked him on sight. Luca had decided the feeling was most definitely mutual, even as a small slither of discomfort lingers at the back of his mind as he wonders about the reason why. “Go back to your dehydrated non-sentient varren strips.”

Luca spins on his heel and ignores the shouted retort at his back. A part of him takes a perverse pleasure that at least Yamamoto was eating that, clearly having been asleep when Zeus had cooked up his mountain of pasta for the rest of the crew.

He continues his shuffles down the hallway in the hopes the rec room might have some activity, but it’s empty and the observation lounge has one lone figure nestled by the wide viewport. Luca recognizes the profile instantly when the door opens. Phoenix Knight lounges by the wide expanse of stars, a swirling glass of amber liquid in one hand and an unlit cigarette on the small side table beside him.

Luca hesitates in the doorway, unsure. Mason was the more approachable of them but there’s a heaviness here now that Luca clocks instantly. There only light comes from the stars outside and too late Luca recalls the vague, overheard mutter earlier from Ajax, something about a divorce, and figures the phoenix must be sad and deep into a session of brooding contemplation he has no business being witness to.  “Oh, uh… sorry.”

Mason doesn’t answer beyond a slow sip of his drink. Luca can feel the prickle in the air and his jaw aches. The throbs were getting worse. “I’ll… um… I’ll come back,” he says lamely and escapes towards the elevator before the other man can even answer.

He decides then to ride the elevators down to the lower decks, deliberately avoiding the training areas. Marie had taken him through his paces earlier, along with the rest of the squad, drilling them relentlessly until even Harris had wheezed onto the mat we’re not N7’s! and Luca had wanted to vomit except his heart had been beating too hard to manage even that. His ears were still ringing slightly but the dull ache from a particularly rough smack to the head was starting to make the occasional spasms from his implant uncomfortably persistent.

He ends up in the cargo bay, shivering slightly as he walks in. It’s well stocked at this point of their journey, crates piled high and tucked around a shuttle, a Mako and a Hammerhead auxiliary craft Luca instantly hates the look of. It’s always a few degrees colder in the bay and the air stinks a bit like grease and eezo but it’s close to the drive core and empty enough that Luca feels safe slumping down against a pile of crates and deactivating his hearing aids. The urge to play his guitar isn’t there tonight, the usual sanctuary he finds in the strings and the notes of his songs feels too far out of reach when his head aches the way it does. As his implant powers down, the low buzzing in his ears finally settles and the blessed silence creeps in. Luca rests his guitar against the crate, sighing a little in disappointment at his own strange mood. It’s weird to feel antsy and lonely and uneasy all at the same time.

Was it all the energy around them? He doesn’t know.

Luca places one hand against the cold metal floor and closes his eyes, absorbing the vibration of the Berlin’s drive core through his palm and chasing the rhythm in his mind.

He can’t sleep, but he can sit and enjoy the quiet for a while.

[1magine-engine]

1404 (Prologue)

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Youtuber Reader Words: 1500+ Posted: 26/11/20

Song(s) Featured: Moon on the Water by The Dying Breed (from Beck MCS)

“It’s actually really exciting.”

Tetsuro nods, knowing Kenma means it, whatever he’s talking about. Probably something about Bouncing Ball corp. and the new game they have in development. Really, Kenma hasn’t stopped talking about it since the project started almost half a year ago and while Tetsuro is interested enough to usually listen to him rave and gush, today’s just not that kind of day.

“-and the new voice actor I have in mind is really good. We save a lot of time and money cause they speak in both languages.”

Yup, they’re probably phenomenal if Kenma is so easy to compliment them. Tetsuro racks his brain trying to remember who he’s talking about.

“I’m actually thinking about having her as a guest on stream soon.”

Uh huh.

“Oh and I’m also going to shave my head and give my hair to that middle school girl who won’t stop messaging.”

Good for them.

“Okay, how many of those have you had today?”

Tetsuro looks down at the cup of coffee he’s forgotten he’s holding. “Uh…” his brows furrow and it’s enough for Kenma to pry the cup out of his hand and set it on the far end of the table.

“And you’re always telling me to get proper sleep.” Kenma gives him a look, sipping on his own drink. He exits Discord, Tetsuro’s sagging back, drooping shoulders and lifeless eyes, more concerning than his followers’ Rule 34 fanart. “Seriously are you okay man? Have you been sleeping? At all?”

Tetsuro shakes his head, the mere mention of sleep enough to slump him over the table completely. As far as he knows, a waiter hadn’t wiped it after the last couple of people who sat down, or before he and Kenma took their place. He finds he doesn’t care. “Stupid neighbors, always either fighting or fucking all night. It’s been going on for a month now.”

“Oh that’s rough.” Kenma winces, handing him back his coffee, knowing lunch break doesn’t last forever and Tetsuro has to return to his office as a zombie. “Tried filing a noise complaint?”

He was about to, one week into the couple’s constant spats, but hearing them scream at the top of their lungs at each other about money troubles and barely keeping themselves afloat stayed his hand. Tetsuro knows how difficult it is to get an apartment in his building, a prime position near the business district at a reasonable price. He also knows his neighbors to an extent, at least what they do for a living as a preschool teacher and a struggling musician. As much as he needs his sleep, he’s not so heartless as to put them out on the streets. “It’s fine,” he promises as he downs the rest of his coffee. “I’ve been living next door to these guys for almost two years now and they’ve always seemed happy before this. They’ll work through it and I then I can get some sleep.”

“If you say so,” Kenma says but he still stares down and shakes his head at the next waitress who tries to approach them with a pot of coffee.

It’s a month and two weeks in that Tetsuro reconsiders that noise complaint or at least considers gathering his neighbors from the same floor and staging an intervention. Mrs. Mamizuka across the hall has expressed her concerns to Kuroo in the elevator one morning, telling him they’ll surely notice how loud and disturbing they’ve become when they realize she hasn’t been giving them as many of her baked goods as she normally does. And Tanaka who’s taking up residence at the end of their hall has advised him to just go out at night, go to the convenience store next to the building and wait till they tire each other out or go partying with friends.

Oh, to be a college student again.

He’s not even in his mid-twenties and he wishes for the energy he used to have, the kind that could drive him through all his classes on just 3 hours of sleep. Maybe then, he could finish his damned paperwork. Maybe then he wouldn’t fall asleep on the bus and miss his stop.

“Been up working late nights Kuroo-san?” the night guard, Sato asks him when he drags his feet into the lobby after midnight.

Kuroo nods, also wishing he had half the middle aged man’s energy, because even at the latest hours of the night, Sato-san greets every tenant and guest with a smile. Kuroo could only force himself to return it. “Something like that.”

“Well you look pretty tuckered out. You should probably put off whatever you’re working on for the night Kuroo-san.” He wags an index finger like a weather man telling a fact about nature on the news. “Sleep is important you know.”

Doesn’t he know it.

When he crosses the threshold of his apartment, he doesn’t bother turning on the lights. He heads straight for his bedroom and musters up the energy to take off his jacket, tie, socks and shoes. The night is silent, save for a light chorus of crickets outside his window. He’s gotten home later than he would have any other time, a crescent moon sitting just past its peak outside his window. And he hopes, oh does he hope, that it means his neighbors have already fought all they can fight for the night. Or maybe the husband hasn’t come home yet and that’s why it hasn’t started. 

He regrets even thinking of it when he settles into bed and hears the distant sound of a door being unlocked and slammed open.

Tetsuro sighs, already rolling over to each for his messenger bag, his earphones sitting somewhere at the bottom. He stops his rummaging when no bedlam disturbs the night. Footsteps prick his ears but they don’t stomp and aren’t followed by booming voices trying to talk over each other. He rolls back over, leaning towards the wall and hearing nothing. Odd. More shuffling and trudging draw his eye up to the crag ceiling, to the apartment above his.

The kind elderly couple who used to live up there had mentioned wanting to move to the country for months. “The air is fresher there, better for old people like us,” the wife chuckled at him once when he’d helped carry her groceries across the lobby to the elevator. Not a week later, Tetsuro was helping the husband and their son move furniture out, just in time to miss the beginning of a hard spot in their neighbor’s relationship. But whoever has taken their place isn’t so fortunate but then again, maybe it’s him that’s out of luck. In the darkness of his apartment he stares up at the ceiling, brows furrowed.

He prays, prays to whatever kami watches over the luck and serenity of apartment buildings that it isn’t another couple that should’ve broken up yesterday. Hell, he’ll even take a new family with a rowdy kid. At least kids are usually out by 10 with their parents careful not to wake them, not banging on the walls or banging each other. No movie he’s watched or game he’s been in has ever left him in such suspense. After some more shuffling and gentle creak of chair legs against a wood floor, there’s silence. 

Tetsuro sits up, holding his breath.

“Full moon sways, 

gently in the night of one fine day.”

A car drives by, the doppler effect of it rushing down the street drowning out the first few notes of an acoustic guitar. Deft fingers play with practiced ease but do so with languid movement, catching on the strings more than plucking them. The voice, high and crooning, is the same, beautiful but almost lazy. Tired, he realizes, is a better word; she sounds as tired as he remembers he feels, once all the irritation at his neighbors and frustration with missing his stop ebbs away. Laying back down, he listens.

"On my way,  looking for a moment with my dear. 

Full moon waves, slowly on the surface of the lake. 

You are there, smiling in my arms 

for all those years."

Even as the song switches to strumming with the slightest bit of force, Tetsuro finds himself sinking deeper into his pillow, eyes growing heavy.

"What a fool, I don’t know ‘bout tomorrow, 

or what it’s like to be, Ah,"

He’s never heard the song in his life, neither does he remember enough of his English classes from high school to understand everything, but he doesn’t need to.

"I was sure, I couldn’t let myself go, 

even though I feel, the end."

Her voice and her guitar are muffled by the layers of wood and concrete between them. His window is open to let the cool night air and silver light of the moon in and he can tell hers is as well but she drowns out the chirping of crickets, the cars that drive by and even Tetsuro’s own thoughts as little by little, then all at once, he falls asleep.

"Full moon sways, gently in the night one fine day 

You were there, smiling in my arms,

 for all these years."

When he opens his eyes, it’s slow. Sleep inertia from a deep sleep is always worse but he finds his eyes widening as it goes away in minutes and he feel more rested than he has in years.

He blinks, staring up at the ceiling.

“Huh.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not Losing You (Part 4)

Summary: The reader has a confrontation with her parents before Dean gets some news about his prognosis...

Masterlist

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x reader

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, life-threatening illness, implied past sexual harassment/assault

_____

You froze halfway down the hall of the hospital the next morning. There were your parents standing outside of Dean’s room. You took a step forward before Sam rounded the corner and walked over to you.

“I’m not entirely sure how they found out about the Liam situation,” said Sam, pulling you away to a quiet hallway. “I’m guessing the douchebag had something to do with it. Either way, they know and Dean is pissed at them. A lot. I need them to leave. The stress isn’t good.”

“I’ll get rid of them,” you said as you closed your eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I don’t know and it’s not my business. Let’s save whatever this is though for a little time from now, alright?” he said.

“Yeah,” you said. “Benny and Cas will be by later they said. They should cheer Dean up.”

“I’m sorry Jess and I were out of town last night. Dean told us about your fight. We would have-”

“Sam. I’m okay. I’ll deal with this,” you said. After forcing a smile, you headed back down the hall, waving the two of them to you and away from Dean’s room. Sam walked past them and you frowned when they followed you to a waiting room. “What is wrong with you two? This is not the place-”

“Well we couldn’t find an address for you and since you refuse to answer the phone, we came to the one place we thought we could find you at,” said your dad.

“This is a hospital. We are in a very special area of the hospital mind you. The people here need rest and calm and you two showing up at my recovering boyfriend’s hospital room…” you said, tilting your head back. “Outside. Now.”

Three minutes later you were in the visitors parking lot, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.

“Y/N-”

“Mom…” you said, holding up a hand. “Never, and I mean never, come here without my explicit permission again. Either one of you.”

“You are acting-” said your dad, your mom putting a hand on his chest. He took a deep breath and sighed. “You’re angry with us. We understand. But this Liam guy? Why didn’t you ever talk to us?”

“What part of you disowning me made you think I would ever speak to you about anything ever again?” you asked.

“You walked out on us,” he said.

“George grabbed my ass and you said I was making it up, then you said I was overreacting and that I’d embarrassed you two in front of the family and you really wonder why I wouldn’t tell you about fucking Liam? A situation that was a million times worse? I walked away because my parents didn’t believe me and then said maybe I’m single because I don’t realize when men are attracted to me. The last thing I need is dating advice from you two,” you said.

“Are you okay?” asked your mom. You shrugged but tilted your head.

“For the first time in a long time, actually, yeah, I am. My life is far from perfect but I have some good people in it now,” you said. She gave you a half-smile, watching you lean against a light post and cross your arms. “What do you want?”

“We came to apologize and make sure you’re okay. We couldn’t find an address for you,” said your dad.

“I’m kinda between places right now. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s,” you said.

“You two must be pretty serious,” he said. “How long have you been together?”

“Two months give or take,” you said.

“Two months?” asked your mom. “You’re already living together?”

“If you’re going to judge a situation you know nothing about-”

“We’re surprised is all,” she said.

“You said that’s a special part of the hospital,” said your dad.

“Yeah. It is. My boyfriend has cancer. It was fatal until he had a transplant done and there’s been ups and downs but after the next few weeks...odds are he’s going to be okay,” you said.

“He spoke to us for a moment before you arrived. He told us you were his donor,” said your dad.

“So.”

“So you’ve been going through a lot lately, obviously. We don’t have the full picture and…” said your dad.

“Spit it out already,” you said.

“I am sorry. We’re both sorry. We were wrong to not believe you and to tell you to brush it off and...we’re sorry. There was nothing wrong with you being single. We were assholes. We’re sorry. We know something is wrong. We don’t know what but we want to help however we can,” he said.

“I’ll think about the apology but I don’t want your help right now. You two have to rebuild our trust. From scratch. You will have to earn it back and maybe then, I will accept future help. But until then, the best thing for you both to do is to give Dean space and me too to be honest. If I decide I want a relationship again, I will contact you, understand?”

“Okay,” said your mom, digging into her purse. “We understand. We’ll be in town. We’ll let you know where we end up staying but we’ll wait for you to come to us.”

“Thank you,” you said. She held out an envelope at you and you took it, rolling your eyes when you opened it up.

“It’s $5,000. If you need it-” she said before you stuck it back in her purse.

“Mom. It’s your money, not mine. I’m okay. Please give me some space and time. That’s what I want from you both right now,” you said.

“Alright,” said your dad. “If you ever need help, just let us know.”

“I will,” you said as you headed back inside.

“Y/N? Doing what you did for that the young man...we screwed up but we must have done something right,” he said.

“You’re not bad people. You made mistakes. I have to decide if I want to forgive you is all,” you said. “I gotta check on Dean. I’ll contact you later.”

You headed back inside and up to Dean’s room, grateful to find him back in bed resting.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you said, leaning against the window. He sat up in bed and gave you a smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I told them to give me space. They finally believe me it seems. Somehow they found out about Liam. Probably from him. He was probably hoping they’d take his side,” you said. You turned around, Dean tsking you. After a moment you took a seat and looked over, Dean smiling at you.

“Do me a favor. Give them a chance to apologize,” he said. “One of us should have a relationship with our parents and for me that ship has sailed.”

“I’ll try. Your friends Benny and Cas, they’re good guys,” you said.

“Yeah. They’re alright,” he smirked. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Me too,” you said. “I’m sorry I got so mad. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. You were just trying to protect me.”

“It’s not an excuse like I said before. We’re together. I need to tell you things like that,” he said. “We’re okay, sweetheart.”

“Still feeling better?” you asked.

“Yeah. More energy today for sure. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

One Month Later

“Rossy,” said Dean, practically jumping out of his seat when the doctor walked in his office.

“Quite the crew here today,” he said, looking over your head at Sam, Jess, Benny and Cas. “Alright. As I’m sure you’re all aware, Dean’s had a rough few months. He underwent a transplant and participated in a specialized treatment plan to help his immune system come back.”

“Rossy,” said Dean, bouncing his knee. “Can I go home or not?”

“Always impatient,” said Dr. Ross as he took a seat behind his desk. “I know you’re itching to go home Dean but we need to make sure you’re healthy enough first.”

“What’d my tests show?” asked Dean, grabbing your hand. “Am I still screwed?”

“Remission,” he said with a smile, Dean letting out the breath he was holding. “With no signs of it coming back which is a very good sign. Your counts are in a normal range. You’re still a little underweight but once you begin to eat regularly again, I don’t worry about that.”

“I can go home?” he asked.

“Yes, you can go home, Dean. As you know, the first year is the hardest but you’re doing well. I need you to keep a close eye on yourself so we can nip anything in the bud if it pops up but I am cautiously optimistic about the odds of recurrence right now,” he said.

“So how do we know that it ain’t ever going to come back?” asked Benny.

“We don’t. We don’t know if any of us in this room will get sick someday either. But these milestones are important and Dean’s been hitting them and then some,” he said.

“Say it doesn’t come back,” said Sam. “What...does he…”

“I gonna live long enough to get old or did this thing screw that up for me I think is what Sammy’s trying time ask,” said Dean.

“If you take care of yourself and we get through the rest of this year with no major setbacks, I see no reason you couldn’t live a full and normal life,” he said.

“If I get through the rest of the year,” said Dean.

“Yes but it’s been two months already. A majority of the time, if something were to go wrong, it would have happened. I’m not saying you’re in the clear yet but I would say you can call this one a win today,” he said.

“Good,” said Dean, squeezing your hand. “That’s...good.”

“Y/N,” said Dr. Ross after everyone left the office, Sam off with Dean to help him get discharged. “A quick word if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?” you asked.

“I’ve had this conversation with Dean before but I felt we should have it as well. Most donors do not have the...relationship you do,” he said.

“Are we like...not allowed to kiss or something?” you asked.

“No, no,” he laughed. “You may do any and all things a couple would ordinarily do. I would advise holding off on anything physical until he gets more strength back. But I wanted to talk to you, ask how you’re doing after the transplant.”

“Fine?” you said. “Dean’s the one-“

“You underwent a medical procedure too. We took a bit more than we wanted to and I’m not the only one to notice you’re looking a little rundown still. I know this is a stressful process but you need to take care of yourself. I’ve made it clear to Dean that I want you both to take some time and rest. Hang around home for the next week or so. No work. Try to recover,” he said.

“I appreciate it Dr. Ross but-“

“No buts. You will do this, hm?”

“I need to work.”

“I will give you a doctors note and I know you work with Jessica so stop making up excuses. Sit. Rest. Enjoy the company of your boyfriend in your own home,” he said. “Understood?”

“Okay, okay,” you said holding up your hands. “I’ll take it easy.”

“Good. You guys deserve a break.”

Four Months Later

“Dean, I’m home,” you said, carrying some groceries into the apartment. He was quiet on the couch as you went past. You set the bags down and returned. “Dean. What’s wrong?”

“My parents know about me being sick,” said Dean. “Sam called. He figures it was Liam since they’re getting close on wrapping up your case.”

“Have you talked to them?” you asked as you sat down.

“No. They don’t know where I live. I haven’t spoken to them in years,” he said. 

“Do you want to talk to them?” you asked.

“I don’t know. It’s been a long time. Things didn’t end well and they’ll be angry I didn’t tell them,” he said.

“I’m not going to say that you should. I know my own parents are...questionable right now but they did move here to be close to me. They’re trying and I’m trying to forgive them. I’m more concerned with the best thing for you,” you said.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe they’ll be more understanding when they see how successful the garage is,” you said.

“It wasn’t just what I wanted to do for a living that led to everything,” he said.

“I kinda always figured that. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you said.

“Dad and I weren’t getting along because of the whole mechanic thing. It was no big deal though. We would have gotten past it. But...Sammy and I were in a little car accident. My dad was wasted when we got home and we told him about it. He lost his cool,” said Dean.

“He hit you,” you said.

“He was mad. Then he turned to Sammy and I thought not gonna happen and so I hit back,” said Dean. “It turned into a fight and after it was over, I left for good. I told my mom what happened but she made an excuse for his behavior and that wasn’t good enough for me. I get it. I was a hot head back then too but I wanted an apology and I never got it. Now, it’s been too long.”

“Sam still has a relationship with them, right?” you asked.

“Yeah. He says dad’s a different guy but he was always different with Sam. He’s never mentioned wanting to reconnect with me though so I always figured that bridge was burned,” said Dean.

“Do you think they still love you?”

He turned his head and looked at you, offering a small nod.

“Do you still love them?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “But I won’t go to them. If he wants to apologize, they both do, they can come to me.”

“You can always offer to meet them in public, that way they don’t know where you live,” you said.

“Yours still don’t know you lived out of your car for half a year, do they,” he said.

“No. They know about Liam but I told them that since the case is settled, I don’t want to talk about it ever again,” you said.

“When do you get the payout?” asked Dean.

“Two weeks,” you said, looking around. “We can buy a townhouse, something bigger than this if you want.”

“How much is it again?” he asked.

“I never told you the actual figure,” you said, looking down at your lap. “It’s a lot.”

“How much a lot?” he asked.

“Seven figures a lot,” you said. 

“Shit. Rich people will do anything to keep shit quiet. How much time is he serving?”

“To be determined. I let the other family members off the hook for the payout. I don’t care about the money. I just want Liam put away and he will be so I’m happy with that,” you said.

“I never found out what he did to you,” he said.

“Liam...told everyone that I sexually harassed him at work and got physical even, against his will. He was my young attractive boss and I was his underling. He convinced everyone I hurt him and did things to him. Bastard,” you said.

“He did those things to you though.”

“I turned him down. No one turns him down. I turned him down over and over again but I didn’t report it because if I got fired, I had nowhere in town to go or no one. I wasn’t in the best state of mind back then. He called me into this conference room he was working out of one night, a big deadline project sort of deal. I thought it was just work and then I got dizzy and he had slipped something into my coffee. He touched what he wanted and did what he wanted and when I came in the next day to report it, he’d already spread the word about what I’d done to him,” you said.

“You know...I won’t let anyone do that to you ever again. I know you can take care of yourself and he tricked you but just in general. I’m not gonna let someone hurt you like that,” he said.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you either,” you said, taking his hand in yours.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” he said.

“Ditto,” you said, poking the scar on his arm from his IV line. He brushed his thumb over the spot.

“I should be dying you realize. I should have half a year left, if that,” he said. 

“No, you really shouldn’t,” you said, leaning over and kissing him.

“I hit six months okay. Rossy said that’s a big milestone,” he said.

“Still nothing?” you asked.

“It’s not back. Fingers crossed,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder. “Right?”

“Right?” you asked.

“I know you went to Rossy’s office earlier this week. You came home kind of quiet like,” he said.

“I donated more marrow,” you said. “Not as much as before but it wore me down.”

“Does someone else need-”

“It’s for you,” you said. He cocked his head and you smiled. “Just in case.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I donated for research. If you ever...if it ever came back, years from now, not that I’m expecting it to but if it did...I want them to have a healthy sample so they can figure out a better cure for you, something more permanent,” you said.

“You got to stop saving my life, sweetheart. It makes it really hard for me to use the I left my dishes in the sink excuse,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you said. He was quiet but smiled for a few minutes, running his finger over your hip.

“I need to talk to my parents,” he said. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

“How are you feeling?” you asked Dean that night as you settled into bed. 

“Better,” he said softly, taking a deep breath. “I never knew my dad went to therapy after that whole thing.”

“Did he seem different?” you asked.

“Yeah. I think the whole me almost dying thing put everything into perspective,” he said, snuggling into you, a shuddering breath leaving his body. “I don’t want to go through it again. I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“I can’t promise it won’t ever come back, Dean,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “But there’s a lot of stuff we don’t know will happen either. Accidents or getting sick or whatever. But we can’t live being scared of everything.”

“You sound different than when we met you know,” he said. 

“I’m happier,” you said. “I was...neither one of us were in great places when we met, Dean. But you changed my life all because you asked if I was okay.”

“Granted I was also about to pass out,” he chuckled.

“Yeah but you were kind. I forgot what that was like,” you said.

“You wanted to be my friend despite everything,” he said, turning his head towards yours. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” you said, kissing him gently, his lips soft as he rolled over and pulled you into his chest.

“Do you want to do something fun this weekend? Take a trip?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’d really like that,” you said, rubbing your hand up and down his arm. “No camping though.”

“If I hit my year mark with no badness, you are so going camping with me,” he said. “Deal?”

“Alright, alright,” you said. “Maybe we could make it a group thing. Invite the boys and Sam and Jess.”

“I can agree to that,” he said. He took a deep breath and you felt him finally start to relax from the day. “You okay?”

“Mhm. You?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. I’m okay again, sweetheart . Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you want to marry me?”

You sat up in bed, your heart skipping a beat.

“I know I said two years but I got a good feeling,” he said. “What do you say? Want to put up with me for however long that is?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as he pulled you into a kiss. “Yeah. I take care of you, you take care of me. It’s our thing after all.”

“Wouldn’t want to stop now,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. “Sweetheart?”

“You’re still okay, right?” you asked.

“Still okay,” he chuckled. “I was gonna say, you lost the bet.”

“I did not,” you laughed. “You cheated and asked early.”

“Sue me. You are far too attractive for your own good,” he said.

“Sure I am, Casanova,” you said, getting another kiss from him. “I got my hottie.”

“We both got our hottie’s,” he said. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

______

[japiform]

Helmsman: Wake up somewhere new

Grand: You are doing more paperwork, fuckin kill you with a culling fork. More and more and more and you satisfy yourself by reading one, telling the sleeping psion the joke that is these assholes requesting aid, and write 'Fuck Off' in big spiky letters across the whole thing. That goes in the Done pile. Next paper, type a moment to research what the fuck they're even talking about, because you stopped hiring motherfuckers to know more details than you when they kept fucking dying or leaving. Getting exiled. Whatever.

Your typing hand leaves the husktop to run over the fuzz of the psion's warm fragile skull while you read some more shit, strike out some more shit, and sigh. "Motherfuck, I need a vacation," you mutter, and it's a joke because this is about as close as you GET to a damn vacation, but not a joke funny enough for you to laugh. You look up round the room, all the medicullers absent save the one you successfully disarmed (okay, that one you'll laugh at), and he's dead the fuck asleep. Everything's in white, save the floor which is a multihued stain down to the drain in the center of the room, though it is mostly subtle variations of purple. Not a lot of offcolor fucks that you consider WORTHY of gettin tended to, after all.

This helm don't know how lucky he has it.

Helmsman: Stirring, your hornbeds crackle with power as the sedatives start wearing off. The dull, fullbody pain makes you groan under your breath and squinch your eyes tight, before it fades and you can settle again. 

It occurs to you that you're being touched, but you don't sense any animosity from it, which is strange and new. Along with this feeling of not-bad is the voice you recognize. The one that makes you feel. Not-bad. 

Your blue eye creaks open to survey your surroundings, and you grimace at the white, zapping the troll next to you to get their attention. 

"Hey. Can'ya turn off th'lights? Ssbright." Grumble.

Grand: The crackling of his horns takes a moment to register, the groan less so. You finish writing Fuck Off on this next illustrious waste of tree pulp, running your off hand down his nug til you get to the base of it before you withdraw--Just in time to get zapped. You let out a curse that's actually just a verse of your most holy of texts (elixirs 5:18; pour one out for you, your blood is paint yet to be spilled), and bare your teeth at him, eyes flashing with menace. 

Oh. He's just waking up. 

“Poor motherfucker," you croon, and it's a mocking tone that you speak in. But what the fuck ever, you can stand for a break. You turn off the lamp closest to him, shut your husktop with a finite click, and captchalogue the stack of important papers that you've filled out. ... Oh, and the not done ones too, if for no other reason than state secrets or whatever the fuck.

Helmsman: "Thenks." Your voice is rough from both overuse and underuse, and you clear your throat a few times before swallowing a little bit of blood. Gross.

Blinking your eyes open, you take a better look at the room around you, and then up at the troll looming over you.

"Oh sshit." Oh shit is right, because if you aren't mistaken, that's the fucking Grand Highblood. In the flesh.

"Sso. Are you the personification of the Angel of Death, or am I hallucinating?"

Grand: "You fuckin flatter me," you say, batting your lashes a bit. "Either that, or you're hallucinatin, cuz I ain't been called angelic in a while." Your hands are to yourself, but you know the sound of a fucked up voice when you hear one. You wonder if you'll have to shove a tube in his mouth to get him to take somethin from you, or if he'll take it just to make you stop botherin him.

... But you also take the chance to look him over. Mostly just his face, which has the capacity for expression now, and is therefore finally actually interesting. "So surprised to see me? I told you I'd help."

Helmsman: You look confused, and a bit upset, like you'd had a present ripped away from you. "Then... I'm not dead." Thin eyebrows furrow and you attempt to sit up, which is hard when your arms feel invisible. After a bit of struggle, you flop back down heavily, hissing at the pain. The light in your eyes seems to pulse, like you're trying to focus. "The- the data..?"

Grand: "Not a fuckin clue." This is definitely about to get spicy, and you don't grin. But you want to. You want to rub your 'i told you so' in his moronic fucking face. "You ain't dead. You're limbless and on my ship, after you tried to fire up a single fuckin cannon and immediately fainted. Whether you managed ta finish transmittin your entire self into the space between helms, i ain't got an iota of an idea. But I told you that you didn't have to shoot me, that i would wait for you to get your business done. So I don't know that I feel like that's my problem."

Helmsman: "Limbless." Yeah, that explains why your arms feel invisible. You failed. After everything you did.

After all that pain and hard work just for it to fail. You're silent as you process this, before your eyes grow damp. You can't even wipe the frustrated tears away, so you curl away from the clown so you can cry with a little bit of fucking dignity.

God your life goddamn SUCKS. The sobs hurt as they rip out of you but you can't make them stop, thin frame heaving. He should have let you die. You shouldn't have told him anything. God you're so stupid!

Grand: ... Oh.

You expected this motherfucker to fight. To flare up bright, like you saw he could do in the ship, like you know he could do as a ship. The fight wouldn't do much good, him limbless and you your powerful, merciless self, but you woulda had fun trying to take him out without takin him all the way out.

You look over him, crying, weeping and just barely able to turn away from you, and you feel

something.

Fuck knows what.

"For fucks sake, we doin this shit?" you snap, and you think it should have come out a little harsher, a little louder. Or maybe you should be laughing, perhaps. No motherfucker would be surprised to hear you laugh.

"Like I ain't the most powerful motherfucker this side of the damned universe. Where the shit are your files or what the fuck ever."

Helmsman: Shaking your head, you laugh through the tears, a mirthless, harsh noise. "Where the fuck do you think they are?"

Crying is such a relief, though. Like you finally can expell all the horrid feelings you've been holding close to your chest for so long. You've been ripped from your ship, sanitized, bundled up all careful in a medical cot, what more do you need to hide? What would it possibly change?

"I was always doomed. What difference does it make now."

Grand: You grit your teeth at that unrighteous sound, but what the fuck is it you can do? Where the fuck indeed. You keep your helms and your files separate, at the rate you burn through them, and why the fuck wouldn't you? But you've never thought about the logistics of how the fuck one would store themselves, never thought about how it wouldn't be in ship storage unless it was some place the fish bitch could see.

For a second, from the way you have trouble breathing, and from the way your pump aches, you think you're finally kicking it. It's only a breath, only a beat, but still enough to get your fronds all wound the fuck up in the soft silk of the hospital bed. Still enough to have you reeling.

"Well. Guess you're gonna have to stay lively long enough ta write your fuckin memoirs, ain't ya?" you say, and it's quiet, and not all that funny, and you don't know what the hell is going on. "So, let's see to that."

Helmsman: You half feel vindicated from seeing that conflicted look on GHB's features, but the other half of you feels really bad. The guy went out of his way to save your useless life, used his resources, time, and energy to pluck you specifically from death's door and sit next to you.

Memoirs he says, like that isn't a ridiculous statement to make this late in the game. How are you gonna write them without arms, you wonder. It makes you laugh again, and this time it feels better to laugh. Once the giggles have settled down, you look at the troll next to you, really look at him, yellow streaks run down your cheeks and staining the white pillow under you.

"You've been here the whole time, right?"

Grand: There you all in all your glory, thousands of sweeps old and not quite so young looking as you were when you first caught this motherfucker, wearing what amounts to your casual clothes and the tie you wear when you're feeling like you should get yourself in the head for business. Your hair has grey, your paint has a fine line or two in it, but you're still an unholy terror when you want to be, which is still fucking most of the time. 

Your hands unfist in the covers, and you roll your eyes at him, recline in the chair you stole from your office because fuck if you're gonna use a visitor's chair, you're the fucking king. "Nah, motherfucker, I got shit to do other than tend to your pathetic ass." Your ankles cross and you look up at the ceiling, casual as you fucking please. "But I been here often enough. When I ain't preachin or doin other holy shit. Medicullers just ain't made like they used to be, and some don't know how to ask first instead of puttin their knives where they ain't wanted. Can't have them makin that mistake when I went through all the trouble to nab your scrawny ass, can I?"

Helmsman: "Well. Thanks, I guess. You've got your reasons I don't doubt, but." You avert your eyes, not that he can tell. "It was better than being alone."

Okay you need to sit up Now. Cracking your neck, you test your reach with your psionics, the energy roving over the whole room as you manually adjust the power. Ugh, that feels weird. It takes a negligible amount of thought to arrange yourself a bit more upright against the pillow, and it does wonders making you feel less like you're at the mercy of circumstance. 

"... You haven't changed a bit, huh you shitty old man."

Grand: You roll that thought around your head, feel it shifting shit behind your eyes. It was better than being alone, he said. Ain't that a terrible weakness of his, that dislike of being alone? Feels like the fucking point of a wriggler's afternoon special, soft and sweet and weak as it is. Pathetic, is what it is. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, watch him sit himself up with power that you still don't trust not to be pressed into the flesh of you, though the thrill keeps you from locking it away tight with something or another, and you are a little impressed that he even knows how to use those when he's spent so long being sucked dry of em.

"Course I've changed. I think I've gotten taller. Definitely gotten older. I think I've killed a few more thousands of fuckers, though I might be off by a decimal point or some shit. You gotta be more specific, motherfucker, if you want to get a particular answer."

Helmsman; Scoff. "It was rhetorical, fuckhead." The residual psionics definitely is filling the air with static, and now that you've tapped into them it's increasingly hard to tamp down on them. Guess you're going to be fizzing like a carbonated beverage for the next little while. 

"I do have some questions for you though."

Grand: You bark out a laugh, as your head fills with static and your hair puffs up faintly like an angry cat. You're going to have to rub him down with fuckin drier sheets or some shit, just to get some peace and not have your papers stickin to you. 

"What the fuck else have we got to do, bitch? Go on, ask."

Helmsman: You chew on your lower lip as you think of the right way to word it. "Does Survivor know I'm alive?"

Grand: "Yep," you pop the word sharp, rocking back on your heels and two legs of the chair. More throne than chair, really.

Helmsman: Would be a shame if he were to fall backwards and hurt himself... Someone's gotta teach this guy not to lean on the back feet of chairs. He could hurt himself. What a shame. 

The front two legs slam back onto the floor, and you sneer at him. "The last thing I need is for you to suffer some kind of concussion right now."

Grand: You yelp, an unseemly noise, as your chair is forced groundways, making you a six legged shape once more. "My skull is thicker than that, for messiahs motherfuckin sake, ask your damn questions instead of fussin over my old ass, you motherfuckin limbless horror."

Helmsman: “It'd just be inconvenient, is what I'm saying. Like I'd bother fussing over you, nightmare fuel." 

This fucking guy. You shut your eyes, exhaustion hitting you like a truck all of a sudden. "Will I see her anytime soon or am I just gonna be stuck in this glass bottle forever so you can keep prodding me with sticks?"

Grand: Nightmare fuel. You like that, and it makes you chuckle different, a low bass rumble in your chest. 

"You'll see her when she comes up with a plan that her and blue think will keep me from wreckin their shit, and as soon as you can get jostled without openin up every scab you got from nose to nook, which believe me, are plentiful.. And maybe a little longer than that, dependin on your amusement ta annoyance ratios. Don't go tryinna manipulate em to your wantin, cuz I ain't gonna tell you which keeps you here longer."

Helmsman: "I'm going to be honest with you: I'm a doer not a schemer. I'd pinky promise you, but, well..." 

Shrug. 

"As long as I get to see her again." You forgot what it was like to yearn for someone, but right now it's all you can take to be away from Bastet. You were being honest earlier when you admitted you don't know how to be alone anymore.

Grand: You hear that, and you tip back in your chair again, arms crossed behind your head, and you smile. Fuck yes. "Ain't that sweet," you chirr, and it could be nice if it was anyone other than you. But you are, as he said, nightmare fuel, and you ain't particularly inclined to be anything else. 

"Give it a week or two. A perigee, tops. You'll get where you wanna be. Think you can wait that long, motherfucker?"

Helmsman: "Only been waiting the majority of my life." Sinking back into the thin blanket. "If you're going to stick around, do it goddamn quietly, for fucks' sake." 

You're starting to feel lightheaded, and want to sleep now.

Grand: A snort. "And here I thought you liked my company. You'll tolerate it or you won't, and it ain't my problem either way." 

Still, when he nestles himself down, you draw the blanket up past his damaged shoulders so he don't catch chill and kill himself on something nothin much at all. And you go ahead and take off your business garb (the polkadot tie you wear when you're deep in the shit creek that is your backed up paperwork), twirling it around your finger before you captchalogue it. "Just fuckin sleep, you're gonna need it."

Helmsman: “Don't need your permission." You bite back, already fading off into dreamland. Geez, being a sassy sourpuss takes a lot of energy.

Grand: He falls asleep to the low rumble of your laugh at his expense, amusement in the face of his fucking spite. Once he's out, you realize you forgot to make him drink, and decide you'll get on with it when he's a little more conscious. No point forcing him if he's not around to make you work for it, is there? 

You don't turn on the light for a good hour or so. You just sit back in your throne, the back legs of it worn away from just such play, and you think. And you speak a few more times, half thoughts that you don't bother to explain cuz he ain't around to ask. But mostly, you just think.

[presleepthoughts]

Purpose

Pairing: Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale

A/N: Had this story on my computer for over two years now....slightly based on the movie “Hangman”.

Photo credit: Brandi Kitten from pinterest

/

Balancing a tray of hot coffee, Detective Mitchell wobbled her way between the FBI station cubicles, already feeling annoyed in the early morning. She loved her job but getting up at 5 am in the crack of dawn wasn’t her idea of fun. The station was already buzzing with energy, employees starting their day just like her. She rounded the corner and maneuvered by an officer guiding a suspect away in handcuffs and pushed the door open to her office.

 The room was fairly empty, the walls painted a light shadow of brown. Her large desk was pushed back and stationed in front of the windows and like usual it was covered in file cases in unorganized piles. A light-colored couch was pushed against the wall, perfect replacement of her bed whenever it was necessary. Often times important cases demanded her attention and she couldn’t afford to waste hours to go home.  

 She rounded the desk and settled down in the black leather chair, pushing away some of the paperwork she hadn’t completed last night on her desk and sat down the tray. The cracking of the door hinges alerted her of a newcomer and she looked up only to see her partner, Jesse Swanson.

 “I would greet you with a good morning but I don’t think you would appreciate that.” His signature easy going smile made her shook her head. They have been partners for the last five years now and Beca trusted him with her life but if she was being honest, the kid could be a huge pain in her ass.

“Rough night?” He must’ve noticed her unenthusiastic expression as he inched his way inside the room, sitting down with a smile before her desk. “Is one of them for me?” He pointed with his finger and without waiting for an answer, leaned closer and stole one of the two coffees, tearing off the lid and sipping the beverage happily.

 Beca rolled her eyes. “Well, that was just rude. It could’ve been for somebody else, Swanson. Don’t be self-centered.” She smirked, showing him, she was messing around. She grabbed the other cup and took a generous snip and sighed, leaning back on her chair.

 “I was here ‘til two in the morning. Haven’t slept much.” She admitted as she closed her eyes just for a second. Beca knew that working for the FBI would come with its challenges but the continuous intensity of her job started to take a tool on her body. She had lost weight in the last couple of weeks and her mind was overwhelmed.

 Jesse raised his eyebrows curiously. “New case?”

 Beca shook her head as her jaw clenched. “No, just some paperwork I had to finish for the Johnson’s case. One more reason for me to hate that fucker.”

 Kevin Johnson was one of her biggest cases since joining the FBI five years ago. He was a teacher who got obsessed with one of his student and tried to kidnap the girl. On a late night, he climbed in through her window and drugged her, took her from her house and put her in the trunk of his car. Her parents notified the FBI and Beca was the first one who responded to the call. She tracked him down in Chicago, Illinois and rescued the girl, putting him away for life. All that happened a week ago.

 “He’s got what he deserved.” Jesse said. “The girl is safe and he’s going to rot in prison for the rest of his life. I mean, if the other inmates let him live for that long.” Jesse commented, crossing his arms across his chest. “Crimes involving children aren’t very popular, even in prison.”

 She nodded knowingly. “One more lunatic off the streets, at least.” She mumbled, grabbing some of the scattered files and trying to organize them neatly, stacking them into the drawer.

 Jesse let the conversation die down as drank his coffee while looking out the window over Beca’s shoulder. The weather was gloomy, grey skies gathering over their heads and Jesse wondered when it would rain. The comfortable silence was interrupted when one of the agents peeked his head through the door, addressing Beca.

 “Mitchell. Captain Posen wants you in her office right away.” He waited for her to nod and left the two of them alone.

 “What do you think she wants?” Jesse asked and Beca shrugged her shoulders.

 “No clue but I’m about to find out.” She pushed her chair away from the desk and stood up. “You’ll wait for me here?”

 Jesse shook his head. “I have some things to finish too. I’ll come by later. We can go to lunch?” He suggested, receiving a nod in reply as Beca left her office and made her way down the corridor.

 Five doors down, she reached a wooden door with a sign ‘Captain Aubrey Posen’ in bold, black letters placed on the surface. Beca knocked slightly and after hearing an invitation to come inside, she opened the door. The Captain’s shoulders were hunched over a file, not lifting her gaze to look at the detective, simply waving her hand in her direction, directing her to sit down on the available chair. Beca stepped inside, noticing another visitor with her back to her, sitting in one of the seats. Her bright red hair was falling in waves on her shoulder and she was wearing a brown leather jacket.

 “You wanted to see me?” Beca asked strongly, not taking the offered seat, opting to stand.

 Captain Posen finally lifted her gaze and looked at her with her eyebrows raised. “Yes. Detective Mitchell, meet Chloe Beale.”

 The redhead, now Beca knew to be Chloe, stood up and turned around. The first thing Beca acknowledged was her ocean blue eyes as she stood with her hand outstretched for a handshake. After a stunned second, she shook her hand firmly.

 “Ms. Beale here is a journalist from the Times magazine. From now on, she’ll be your new partner alongside with Detective Swanson. She’s partaking in an all access project to write an article about our station. Wherever you go, she goes.”

 Mitchell furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. The Captain wanted to partner her up with an untrained civilian, a journalist nevertheless who had no idea about the danger Beca and all the other officers faced daily. She shifted on her feet, scrunching up her nose in distaste. She didn’t know babysitting was a part of her job description.

 If the Captain noticed her reaction she didn’t show it as she turned her attention to the journalist. “Ms. Beale, I trust you can partake in this project and write your piece without interfering with my detectives and future cases, yes?” Her tone strong and hard, indicating she wasn’t messing around.

 Ms. Beale nodded seriously and replied. “Yes, Captain.”

 Despite her frustration of the situation, Beca’s eyes kept glancing at the journalist.  

 “Good.” Posen nodded sharply, looking at her detective and Beca snapped her eyes back to her. “You’ll do everything by protocol, just like always and make sure she’s unharmed. It’ll be like she’s not even there. Got it?”

 “Yes, Captain.” Beca replied confidently. The Captain dismissed them and as Beca guided Ms. Beale back to her office, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen.

 /

 The door barely closed behind them before Ms. Beale started talking. “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this.” Beca rolled her eyes when her back was turned as she took her seat, motioning for Chloe to do the same.

Beca adjusted her blazer and crossed her arms across her midriff. “Captain Posen didn’t really give me a choice in the matter but you’re welcome.” She answered sarcastically. Her defense mechanism kicked into gear. It made her uneasy that she didn’t know her intentions. She was just a regular detective, she didn’t know why she was special enough to write about.

 Her negative answer stunned Chloe into an awkward silence as she glanced down at her notes in her lap. Beca clenched her jaw before she sighed in defeat. It was an order and there was nothing that she could do about the situations. Ms. Beale was only here to do her job and maybe if Beca helped her she would leave sooner.

 “The Captain said you’re writing an article.” She stated matter-of-factly and watched as Chloe glanced up in curiosity. “She never said anything specific. What exactly is it going to be about?”

 The first smile appeared on Ms. Beale’s face and Beca wondered why. “It’s about female detectives. I’d like to shed some light on how it feels like to be a woman in a dominantly male profession.” Her kind eyes lingered on Beca’s while she gently explained.

 Beca gazed back curiously. “Why aren’t you interviewing the Captain then? She’s the first female captain of the station in this town. She’s basically a walking legend. Why are you interested in me?”

 Chloe let her eyes roam over the detective, taking in her stormy blue eyes and hard, defensive expression. Despite her hard demeaner, Beca intrigued Chloe. The journalist learnt to always look behind the picture, dig deeper to found out the truth and she had a feeling Beca was more than what met the eye.

 “I already interviewed Captain Posen before you and I will dedicate an article for her. But she has a lot of responsibilities to take care of instead of going outside where the action is. I need somebody who’s out on the fields. I heard that’s you.” Her eyes looked deep into Beca’s and saw a slight change in her expression.  

 But before she could identify it Beca’s poker face emerged as she let her arms fall on the armrest of her chair.

 “A journalist job is to find stories worthy of being told.” Chloe stated and pulled her phone out of her pocket, boosting up the audio recorder app and placed it on the table between them. “I think yours is one of those stories.”

[lassieposting]

Vile and Mevolent, for the romantic headcanons?

Who goes to bed late and who wakes up first?

Both Vile, because he very rarely sleeps through the night. He'll go to bed whenever Mevolent does, but he has nightmares and a hard time switching off the hypervigilance, so someone coughing three rooms away or walking by at the far end of the hall or laughing in the gardens will startle him awake and he'll struggle to resettle. A lot of the time he gets up multiple times during the night, then comes back to bed once he's confident there's no threat. The sunrise, the dawn chorus, the fire in the grate burning down to embers (less crackly noise, more cold), and increased footfall in the hallways will also wake him up, so he doesn't normally sleep past when the servants start their work.

Mev, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead, and only gets up at a reasonable hour because he's got shit to do - if he's got the time to lounge in bed till noon, he'll do it. He sleeps through most of Vile's nighttime activity, but when it does wake him, he can usually calm Vile down enough to coax him back to sleep.

Who sings during daily activities (shower, cooking, etc)?

Mevolent. Some of the Faceless hymns are catchy. He's got an okay voice, so Vile doesn't mind. It amuses him how upbeat some of the tunes are for songs that are mostly about the faceless ones laying waste to the planet, though.

Who takes care of the other on sick days?

Mevolent. Not that he has to do it often - they're both incredibly tough, and sorcerers are immune to most mortal illnesses, so the only thing likely to bench either of them for more than a few hours is a Serious Injury. And? Mevolent is a sensible, rational man. When he has a Serious Injury, he goes to Nye, because Nye is by far the most competent surgeon on Mevolent's staff, and Nye fixes him up.

Vile is not a sensible, rational man. Vile is a torture survivor. He won't let Nye get within thirty feet of him, because Nye was the one advising Serpine on how much more he could take before it killed him. He's wildly unpredictable when he's hurt, because he goes into self-preservation mode, and everyone around him becomes a threat. And to make everyone's lives even harder, he has a tendency to mask an injury and try to fix it himself, because he's surrounded by the same people who tortured him and he cannot afford to show weakness. So once Mev wins his trust, he's pretty much the only person Vile will let take care of him when he's hurt.

Who gives unprompted massages?

Vile. Mevolent spends a lot of time sat at a desk, and gets the stiff neck/shoulders/back accordingly. Vile will come up behind him to look over his shoulder at what he's doing, and absent-mindedly do Mev's shoulders while he's at it.

Mev will give massages too, usually to make Vile go all drowsy and relaxed after a few rough nights of little sleep, but he asks first.

What activity do they do together in sync?

Compensate for each other's weaknesses in battle. For Mevolent, this means keeping an eye on Vile's blind side: usually, his magic does this for him and gets him around just fine, but a battlefield is so chaotic that it's difficult for him to tell his fighters' life energy and the enemy's apart. For Vile, this means being fast enough to hit anything Mevolent can't. For all that he's "slender", Mev is a big, strong guy; he's the tank, and his equipment shows it: heavy armour, massive greatsword. But the tradeoff for that sword's powerful swing is slower speed. Vile is smaller, faster and his armour moves with him, so he'll take out anything that gets too close to Mev before he has time to swing. They're a highkey unstoppable team in battle.

Who gives nose/forehead/hand kisses?

Mevolent. Vile is more neck/shoulderblade/wrist kisses.

Who gets jealous?

Both of them, but Vile is the one you really don't want to cross; he's lost everything he cared about before and it completely broke him, so he absolutely will not tolerate competition. There's a rumour that the real reason Serpine tried to pull off a sloppy assassination - when he's always been so meticulous about his schemes - and then fled the city is because he found out that when Mevolent asked what gift would prove his love, Vile asked for Serpine's head. It's also a popular theory that Serafina's death, officially a "tragic accident", was in fact the deliberate removal of a rival (although, the court is divided on whether Nef or Vile arranged it).

Mev is a lot more chilled about his jealousy. It comes with having the power to grind your rival's entire bloodline to dust whenever you feel like it.

Soft kisses or passionate kisses?

Both.

Who brings the other food at work?

Vile will load up a plate of leftovers if Mevolent is balls deep in A Project and misses a meal, and take it up to his office so he'll still eat something. He actually has a better handle on When Mevolent Last Ate than Mev does.

Who made the first move?

Lowkey both of them. It was a blazing row during a post-battle debrief-slash-dressing-down that unexpectedly became an adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. Neither is really sure who pounced first.

Who won’t dress in costume unless it’s a couple costume?

Mevolent won't dress up unless it's like, a super fancy, elegant masquerade ball costume. Vile is an introverted antisocial buzzkill and won't dress up at all.

How was their first date like?

They went riding. Vile was at the point of recovery where he was climbing the walls with cabin fever, and short walks in the palace gardens weren't cutting it anymore, so Mevolent took him outside the city to let off some steam.

Who writes love letters/notes to the other?

Both of them! The early years of their relationship were during the war, when they'd often find themselves leading the offensive on completely different continents. This being the 1800s, they'd communicate primarily by letter; incorporeal visitations were a thing, but still in the very experimental stage, and Teleporters were precious.

Originally, Vile would send field reports, and Mevolent would respond with written orders. Professional. Brief. Succinct. Then Vile has his injury. They get closer while he's recuperating, and when he goes back to the front, his orders arrive with a postscript, more or less saying, "How are you holding up?" He adds a postscript of his own to his next report - essentially, "I'm fine" - and then, after a bit of consideration, decides that sounds too brusque and adds a little funny story about something that happened with one of his soldiers recently.

The postscripts get longer. They share little anecdotes, celebrate each other's victories, comfort each other after defeats. Vile sends Mev three scrawly pages of absolute filth, which is delightedly received halfway across the world. Mevolent spells Vile's name differently on every single letter, and somehow never manages to spell it the same way twice (Veighle? Vyle? Veele? Véle? Vile is ready to end him and his medieval approach to spelling.) They even send each other little trophies or souvenirs, squeezed in at the very end of a crowded parchment.

"V - Saw this and thought of you. M"

"M - You'll probably laugh at this as much as I did. V"

Who firmly believed the other was their soulmate from early on?

They're too bitter and jaded and scarred to believe in soulmates. Vile was the one who immediately thought Mevolent Got Him, though - "finally, here is someone who shares my appetite for destruction."

How much do they touch each other (PDA)?

Rarely, in public. Once Mevolent is fully established as ruler of the world and he can be open about his relationship without risking his crusade, they might dance together occasionally, or touch one another's arm to get their attention, or murmur in one another's ear. But they were a secret for over a century, and they very rarely interact publicly in a way that would be out of character for a lord and his general. Vile still usually enters rooms behind/"guarding" Mevolent rather than on his arm (with a few exceptions, usually when Mev wants to make a point). The main "PDA" for them is that they use each other's names, rather than "my lord"/"general", and Vile will look Mevolent in the eye, which isn't really permitted for anyone else.

Do they have cute nicknames for each other?

Vile is "V" a lot of the time.

How do they feel about Valentine’s Day? Do they go on a date?

Valentine was a Christian saint, and Mevolent only endorses the Faceless religion, so while V-day might still exist in Leibniz, it would only be in the homes of those brave enough to flaunt the laws around false gods and banned faiths, and would probably not be openly celebrated.

Public marriage proposal or something private?

Private. The first anyone else hears about it is when someone notices that Mevolent's changed his family crest. It's normal for sorcerers to either impale their crest (split the shield down the middle, with half your crest on one side and your partner's on the other) with their new spouse's, or include a nod to their spouse's crest in their own, by adopting one of their tinctures or bearers or something. The gossip circuit goes wild trying to figure out what prompted the change - nobody recognises the impaled crest, and Mevolent's shown no interest in any young ladies of good family since Lady Serafina's tragic passing. Rumours abound. Changing your crest is something that happens after you get married, not before - so at some point, their lord and master got secretly married and didn't tell anyone.

Eventually, someone points out that Mevolent took Lord Vile off to one of his summer palaces for a few weeks several months ago, ostensibly to renovate. That summer palace is small as palaces go, and quiet, and that trip could...feasibly have been a honeymoon, a newly married couple wanting some privacy. But if that's true...they've been married almost a year, and nobody knew a damn thing.

After changing the crest, Mev announces a month of feasting and festivities to celebrate. He manages his public image carefully, and he knows that the commonfolk won't give a damn that he's gone and married his heathen lover, if it gives them an excuse to get drunk and stuff themselves on his dime.

Vile, being an intensely private person, took forever to okay the crest change, but since most of the court is terrified of him, he only really gets questioned by a few people.

How long into the relationship before they had sex?

Their relationship literally began with a post-battle adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. They hooked up long before ever developing Feelings.

Who drops innuendos at random?

Neither of them are hugely inclined towards innuendoes, but it happens for both of them occasionally.

Who makes romantic surprises without a reason to?

They both will, but the definition of romantic varies wildly. "I've arranged a showing of an opera you like" and "I've kept this prisoner until you got back so we can interrogate him together" are both under the umbrella of "romantic surprise" for these two.

How likely are they to have sex in a non-bedroom location?

Very. Mevolent's throne is a popular pick. The carriage, the bathtub and every flat surface in Mev's rooms are also A-OK.

Who said “I love you” first and when?

Vile really struggles with the big three. Everyone he's ever said that to, he's lost, usually in horrible ways. He's lowkey convinced himself that if he doesn't say it, he won't ever lose Mevolent.

So it's Mev that says it first, and it's kind of in the middle of a religious crisis. He's fairly convinced the gods would overlook him fucking a heathen, given all the good he's done in their name, but then one night they're in bed together, Vile is dozing off on his chest, and he's got this warm fuzzy feeling like this is How Things Should Be, and he's not really been in love before but he's pretty sure that's a much more serious sin. Vile mumbles at him to ask what he's all fidgety about, and "I think I might be falling in love with you and that terrifies me" comes out during the resultant conversation.

Who will sing cheesy romantic songs when drunk?

Mevolent. The cheesy romantic songs are from like, the middle ages. It's a bit like your older boyfriend trying to seduce you with dad-rock - cringey, but in a funny, I-love-you-but-god-you-suck kinda way.