#but yeah it's getting to the point of not just being uncomfortable but being debilitating

[ace-of-hearts-and-spades]

ok i read your menstrating thingy and i dont want to overstep but something my gyno said to me a while back. "period pain isn't Normal. it's Common. but common doesn't mean its normal and it shouldnt be treated as if it is" (also if you haven't please think about talking to a/multiple gyno's because as someone who's uterus is fucked up thats not normal and you should make sure its not something more serious)

Don't worry about it, you're not overstepping at all :>

And yeah, I know it's not normal. Which is why I'm frustrated that people (who are ignorant but not necessarily malicious) insist that it is normal. I am actively trying to find a gyno and get an appointment. Because I want to make sure it's nothing serious either!! And I want to figure out what the problem is so I know what (if anything) can be done to help it.

I do appreciate your ask and concern though. It does give me a bit of an extra kick in the ass to get moving on this 🫂💖

[sentimental-idiot25]

Shoko was lying down in bed, her laptop slid off of her stomach and was on the right side of her body. She was attempting to do some research and reading for her upcoming tests and papers but she was so tired mentally that once the screen became dim because of the low activity she just let the laptop go black on its own. She felt so debilitated. 

She was looking to the left of her room and noticed how the candle on the dresser was almost out of wax, I need to get a new one soon. It should last me the night, she thought to herself. 

She looked back up to the dark ceiling and let out a breath. She was almost done with medical school but she was facing a dilemma of whether or not to rejoin the sorcerer life she left all those years ago. It was easy to get guilt-tripped to go back— but god, she wants a life of her own. It had been on her mind constantly, even if she has more pressing issues to deal with in the moment. 


It’s easy for people to understand that Gojo is needed in the sorcerer world as much as Gojo needs the sorcerer world. But for Shoko— they need her much more than she needs them…but at the same time she often thinks that she was born for the sole purpose to be in that world forever. She was born into this world with one goal and one purpose. If she was to defer and choose a different path— then what was the point of her existing at all?

She turned her head again and watched as the flame danced around within the glass jar; how it would jolt and flicker. How the wick was slowly and gradually disappearing. 

Her phone buzzed. Her hand slowly reached for her phone which was tucked under her pillow and held it above her face. There was a message on the screen, ‘How the hell is your fridge so empty?’ it read. It was from Gojo. 

A light smile graced Shoko’s face. He was in her apartment, just on the other side of the wall or door. She didn’t hear him come inside or sense a presence. I’m getting rusty, she thought to herself.

She clicked on the message to reply, ‘I’ll be moving out soon so there’s no point’ Immediately three dots appeared on her screen indicating Gojo was typing. 

‘Aren’t you moving out in a month?’ 

‘Yeah’ 

’Jeez woman…’ 

She smiled as she let out a breath of air in amusement. 

‘Where are you?’ 

‘I’m dead’ 

‘Means I’m talking to a ghost?’

 

 ‘yeah’ 

‘That’s depressing’ 

‘Would you be sad if I died?’ She typed without thinking and sent it without much thought.

‘I mean of course’ He sent. ‘Don’t wanna lose you either’ he double texted. 

Either… Shoko felt as if she could never fully separate herself from Geto in Gojo’s eyes. It was a weird and uncomfortable thought she had. But that either brought it back to her attention. Gojo has very limited people in his life that he considers precious, but sometimes Shoko thinks he blurs them all together.

‘So don’t go dying on me. Deal?’ He texted again after Shoko didn’t respond immediately.

‘No promises :)’ 

‘Think you’re funny?’ 

‘Im hilarious’ 

‘Gonna drop being a doctor to be a comedian?’ 

‘Yup! But first gotta come back to life’ 

‘I’ll say a few jokes at your funeral in your honor— a career never fulfilled :’( so sad’ 

‘Will you shed a few tears for me?’ 

‘I’ll be the first one there and the last one to leave’ 

‘Really?’ 

‘Of course :)’ 

‘That makes me feel a little better’ 

‘O_o what does that mean?’ 

‘Nothing just didn’t expect that answer from you’ 

‘I'm a nice guy I’ll have you know’

‘Sure sure’ 

‘Really I am!’ 

‘You broke into my apartment lol’ 

‘And you still haven’t come out yet >:(‘ 

‘Never said I'm a nice person’ 

‘That I know’ 

Shoko smiled slightly. She stared at her phone until it went black automatically. The only light source was the candle again. She looked over the dancing and flickering light. The flame slowly started to become more and more still. The wick eventually was reduced to nothingness and the flame diminished on its own. 

Shoko stared up at the dark ceiling once more. She took in a big breath and reached for her phone, ‘You can come in’ 

And almost instantaneously the door of her bedroom opened. 

“Was wondering when you were gonna let me in,” Gojo said as he closed the door. 

He took off his mask and took off his shirt and set them on the bottom corner of the bed and crawled onto the mattress where Shoko was lying. He wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace. 

“It smells good in here,” he commented. 

“I have to buy a new candle,”

 

 “Don’t worry— we’ll buy that and groceries tomorrow,” he smiled into the crook of her neck. 

A few minutes pass and Shoko hears light snoring coming from Gojo. She ran her hand through his hair. Regardless of the path she chooses to take, going back or leading a ‘normal life’, the only assurance she has is that she’ll always have Gojo there with her. She felt a light bit of peace for the first time after weeks of internal conflict. 

The streetlight’s radiance spilled through the cracks of the blinds in her room. The hit the top of her dresser, Shoko noticed how there was still wax within the candle jar. Even though the light was no longer there and the wick burnt away— there was still something there.

There will always be something there.

[lastoneout]

Re that last post about the similarities between autism and social anxiety, something about this that makes me wonder, as a neurodivergent person who isn’t sure where she falls exactly, does anyone on either side of this ever experience like, being able to relax in social situations where there is a strict social framework everyone is expected to adhere to?

Because I’ve often described my social anxiety as feeling like I have to perform or follow a set of rules, and I can’t relax because I don’t really know what’s expected of me(how to appear/be Normal), and it tends to get worse the more spontaneous and unstructured the interaction is. As an example I have actually butted heads a few times with an autistic friend of mine because I find it incredibly anxiety inducing to the point of it actually making me upset when people I don’t know strike up a conversation with me randomly in public, while he sees that as something polite and it makes him upset to think of it like he’s bothering other people. Not saying he’s wrong at all, but the reason it bothers me because in those situations there is NO structure AT ALL and I have no idea how I’m meant to act or what I’m meant to say, and the thought that I’m Doing It Wrong, or being rude by trying to end the interaction as fast as possible, makes me so anxious it can honestly throw off my mood for hours after.

And again I experience that to varying degrees with basically all social interactions, even some with people I’m incredibly familiar with like long time friends or family, and there’s hardly ever a break. I think the only people I feel like I don’t have to perform in front of are like, my mom and my fiance.

But one time there IS a break is when I’m at work. I don’t really have any social anxiety there, or at least very little, and it’s because I know what my job is and EXACTLY what my relationship to the people around me is and how I’m meant to behave around them, which people I can be more familiar with and which ones I need to be more formal around, and if things ever do get weird or uncomfortable I can just remind myself that I don’t really HAVE to be friends with or like any of the people I work with because we’re all just there to make money.

It also doesn’t bother me to interact with customers, even when it goes wrong or I mess up, because again there is a script I’m supposed to follow and I know what’s expected of me, and if the customer starts to become a problem I know the mangers will step in and I don’t really have to care what the customer thinks or says about me. Like I’m the sort of person who breaks down crying when people yell at me, but with customers I couldn’t care less bcs it doesn’t really matter and they can’t actually hurt me. They’re the ones breaking the rules, after all, not me, so whatever, right?

(I even enjoy public speaking at my job, despite having debilitating stage fright in every other situation lmao)

I even get irritated sometimes when co-workers butt heads and refuse to work together or complain about not liking each other cuz like?? You’re here to work??? Who fucking cares I’m not making you be friends I’m making you make popcorn, unless there’s an actual harassment problem just get over it??? But they think I’m weird or like, inconsiderate for taking that stance.

So yeah I just wonder if anyone with social anxiety or any autistic people ever get relief from being in situations where there is a strict social framework that can be memorized, or if everyone tends to be anxious even then. Cuz idk it seems like one of those things that I always assumed was just my social anxiety, but the more I think about it the more I’m not entirely sure.

[ravenousnightwind]

You know, before I got medicated, I couldn't even cuddle with my partner or feel any kind of things about him. I couldn't even feel things when I was supposed to. Depression literally took away my ability to feel. People might say: huh that doesn't make any sense. Yeah it actually does. You know why? Because depression as an illness doesn't just sometimes make you upset emotionally. It can also deaden your emotions and literally isolate you mentally from other people. It shuts off your ability to understand others and interpret things the way you would normally if you weren't having an episode.

So how come I couldn't cuddle with my partner? Well, when you have autism and adhd, apparently these effects when paired with extreme major depressive disorder, can make a person feel uncomfortable or like something is to heavy or disturbing when it shouldn't be. So I'd always feel this sense of being uncomfortable with him because maybe his leg was on me. Plus my having other issues too that were exasperated by it.

I started to develop IBS symptoms and it got to the point any time I had coffee, potatoes, etc, if it wasn't unrefined foods or foods that weren't related to poisonous plants, I couldn't eat it. Now the interesting part with this is that there is literal scientific evidence now to show the gut bacteria communicate with the brain to help you digest stuff. So if the brain isn't working in a way it should what's gonna happen? Emotions, functionality, relationships, and even your diet will all be affected.

I went unmedicated for years thinking I didn't need that shit. Well, it has affected me so badly now that it has progressed to the point I can't be a normal human without them. So when you have had depression since childhood like I have, then..it's likely by being unmedicated that the disease will cause more damage to your brain over a period of time as it cannot function. If you pair that with adhd and autism, there's also things about that which affect it negatively too. With autism the "wiring" is there but signals aren't strong enough or don't get sent out. That part whatever it happens to be, just doesn't function even though all the things for it to are there.

Interestingly enough, the brain has the ability to adapt and even repair itself. It's an organ that is very complex, but also mysterious. When we train ourselves by doing puzzles, yes, even playing games where we have to figure out what we're doing on our own, it allows out brain to make new neural connections. So matching games, memory games, etc. All that and more can help your brain heal itself over time. But it's also possible that without meds you might lack the ability to even do that. As that's where it was going for me.

Mental illness is a serious thing, you can't just beat your kids or discipline people to be better or not be a way. Sometimes it's because you can't see what's really going on. That they're actually sick or suffering from an incurable disease. And especially if you were or your child is like me? I didn't know why I couldn't do those things, like go to school and do homework etc. I just knew I couldn't it made me so tired and exhausted but people equated that to laziness or whatever.

My point is, just because you don't know. Doesn't mean it isn't real. Just because they can't find anything wrong doesn't mean there isn't something wrong. It needs to be taken as a real debilitating disease as it is instead of seen as this "you just don't want to"

[beforelunacy]

30 Days of DID, Day 2

"Who knows about your system? Who do you want to know? What do you feel like it’s like coming out as multiple?"

I'm fortunate in that, being an adult, I can be more open about my DID than a lot of younger systems out there. I let close friends know, anyone who I will be around for a long time who may eventually encounter an alter. Of course this means I must also implicitly trust them and know them well enough to anticipate their reactions. Thankfully, most of the reception has been kind, even if it does come with uncomfortable but well-meaning questions afterwards.

So yeah, I would say like... 10 people know about my system irl? But in regards to 'coming out', it never gets easier. It sucks each and every time. Even if I think I know someone really well, who knows what they might think? What if they think this is just a disorder that kids on tiktok made up? What if they think I couldn't possibly have experienced enough trauma to have such a complex disorder? It's frightening. Plus people seem to think that the alters are the worst part of the disorder??? When meanwhile it’s like no, tbh having alters is such a small part of this all. Why is everyone so obsessed with my alters instead of, like… any of the other, far more debilitating, symptoms?

But again, I've been fortunate in that if anyone has a negative reaction, I can just stop talking to them, or at least put them at a much greater distance. I'm also incredibly thankful to the people on social media who make a point of educating people about DID so I can direct people to them instead of having to answer the questions myself, plus the greater awareness of it has made telling people a little less frightening.

[raraeavesmoriendi]

disability(ish)-related kvetching under the cut just to get it out of my system 🖤

the thing about migraines is that whenever I don’t have them I’m like “yeah I’m basically fine” and just go about my day

but then when I do have them, sunlight is a curse and even laying perfectly still on my favorite pillow feels hellaciously uncomfortable, like, “oh yeah, I guess this does count as a physical disability, huh”

and I never know which ones are going to be easy to treat and which ones are gonna be 48 hours of dealing with an ice pick in my temple, yknow?

I had a point today where I was literally like “hmmm maybe if I throw up what little food I’ve had all day this will be over faster 🤔” bc my mom and I both have the kind of migraines where sometimes you hurl and then immediately are like “you know what would hit the spot actually?” after a full day of being gross and miserable, but then I couldn’t even manage that

just. ugh. I have one of the easiest day jobs in the whole world, physically speaking, and occasionally something literally hurts so bad in the side of my head that I don’t even have the spoons to ride some buses and go sit at a desk for a few hours. what the fuck

and the way even normal things are suddenly stupidly hard!! like I’ve been meaning to change my sheets for days now (they’re not icky, I just stick to a schedule) but even dealing with putting a cover on my weighted blanket feels ridiculously impossible rn bc time = ouch and minimal effort = hurts and why bother when I’m just going to collapse in the dark and pray for swift unconsciousness either way

like, people in my family are in a panic over tylenol and liver damage, but goddamn, the way I’m throwing down excedrin over here has me thinking that’ll kill me faster than tylenol ever will. I don’t drink except socially, I don’t do more than a CBD gummy every few months, but god if I don’t spend days sometimes counting the hours between two excedrin pills and being like “well, I haven’t had too many yet I guess, might as well hit this thing again” like I’m in pacific rim and trying to fight a kaiju while my jaeger is making big red flashy lights and blaring worrying alarm sounds

and like, I’ve hit this thing with everything I have and it will not fucking budge. naps, hot showers, tiger balm, vibrators, total darkness. the only thing I haven’t tried is my ice pack and that’s bc my favorite one is at my parents’ house in texas, but god if I’m not about to go stick my head in the freezer and see if that helps any.

just. ugh. migraines are so stupid and unfair. why is the human body so fucking inept that something can just abruptly hurt so bad for days on end that multiple rounds of pain killers and two naps in one afternoon can’t even fix it. what do you mean this just naturally happens and I just get randomly debilitating pain thrown at me whenever my hormones decide I’m getting too comfortable. who’s in charge around here

[spencers-renaissance]

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly

Summary: After Spencer fails his firearm recertification, the FBI believes some hand-to-hand combat and self-defence training is in order, and who better to administer it than the BAU's very own, Derek Morgan? Everything goes swimmingly until Derek decides to simulate an attack from above, and Spencer's thrust into the throes of a horrific flashback.

Tags: hurt/comfort, past abuse, platonic cuddling, angst with a happy ending, friendship or pre-slash, crying, panic attacks, flashbacks, episode: s01e06 LDSK, protectiveness TW: !!Discussions of Underage Rape/Non-Con including Molestation and Incestuous Sexual Abuse!!

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid (Platonic or Pre-Slash)

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

It’s a dreary day in late October when he fails his recertification test. Later, he’ll look back on this moment with a strange mixture of thankfulness and stone-cold dread, but in the moment all he can feel is the burning of his cheeks and the festering humiliation sat heavy in his chest.

Hotch is kind about it, because Hotch is kind about everything.

“Do you know what happened, Reid?” he asks with a complete absence of judgement, and it’s clear from everything about his body language and tone that he isn’t angry and he isn’t being critical, but Spencer feels his defences rising regardless.

He shakes his head and shrinks back in his seat, avoiding Hotch’s eyes.

“Did anyone do anything to make you feel uncomfortable?”

His eyes snap up to meet Hotch’s and he shifts to sit a bit more upright as he shakes his head with more vehemence this time. Sure, he didn’t particularly like the evaluator, but only because he seemed unimpressed with Spencer from the moment he laid eyes on him, acting as though evaluating someone who was doomed to fail was a waste of time.

Spencer can’t exactly blame him.

Hotch sighs. “Listen, Spencer,” he says gently, “I know you can handle yourself in the field and I know you can handle a gun just fine, but you know how many requirements were overlooked for you to join the unit in the first place, and you also know that your position in the BAU has been controversial with a few of the higher-ups. So, here’s the plan. I’m going to be your evaluator for your next recertification in two weeks, and in the meantime, I want you to do some hand-to-hand training with Derek to improve and consolidate your field and self-defence skills.”

Realistically, he knows that this is the best he could’ve hoped for, and he knows how hard Hotch and Gideon fight his corner when he’s questioned by everyone from witnesses to local PDs to the director of the bureau himself.

That does not mean he has to be happy about this.

He acquiesces because he has to. “Okay,” he says quietly, hoping he doesn’t sound as defeated as he feels.

“Reid,” Hotch says, redirecting his attention from the spot on the carpet he’s staring at. He waits for Spencer to look at him before smiling slightly and looking at him with a raw kind of earnest he knows is privileged to witness. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

It’s Spencer’s turn to smile, brightening up from his miserable disposition slightly. “I do.”

⭑⭑⭑

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says cheerfully, slamming his locker closed just as Spencer enters the FBI gym. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.”

Spencer sighs, opening the locker next to Derek’s and putting his messenger bag inside before opening the grocery bag he’d brought his gym clothes in. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says drily as he pulls out his clothes and heads towards one of the two private changing cubicles.

He hears Derek chuckle to himself before he calls back to him as he opens the door to the gym. “I’m gonna set up, you come through when you’re ready.”

Spencer procrastinates for as long as he can, making sure his shoes are tied perfectly and the bows are even sizes, folding all his work clothes as neatly as possible and placing them carefully back into the grocery bag, but before long, there’s nothing more he can do and he has to face the music. He inhales deeply, steeling himself for the next hour, before putting his bag in his locker (closing it with much less force than Derek did earlier) and walking into the gym.

It’s a fairly big hall that’s usually used for academy recruits, large scale demonstrations, and the various sports teams that have cropped up in different divisions of the FBI. Spencer knows that Derek currently plays basketball for the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime team, the department that the BAU is part of.

Right now, though, Derek has them set up in a tucked-away corner, both hard and soft mats laid out on the ground surrounded by various equipment Spencer couldn’t hope to identify correctly.

“You took your time,” Derek says when Spencer approaches him, eyebrows raised and an obvious note of amusement in his voice. “But now you’re here, let’s get started.”

They begin with a short conditioning exercise that Derek says is supposed to ‘get the blood pumping’ but in actuality has Spencer panting like a dog and soaked with sweat within minutes. Maybe those higher-ups have something of a point. He knew he was unfit, but this is just embarrassing.

“Okay, now with the warm-up out of the way—”

“That was a warm-up?”

Derek doubles over with his laughter and Spencer can’t help but join in, despite how out of breath and red in the face he might be.

“It’s supposed to be, Spence, but maybe I over-estimated things a little,” he concedes once their giggles have died out. “Alright, alright, let’s move on to some basic self-defence moves. I know you probably already know most of these, but this is supposed to be a refresher, yeah? And to remind you that you can hold your own in the field, whether you pass your recertification or not.”

Spencer winces. “I don’t know, Derek, I mean I did fail every single physical aspect of the academy examination.”

“See, that’s what I mean, pretty boy,” Derek says, standing up from the mat and helping Spencer up, too. “You’re in your own head, and when you’re out in the field, you have enough enemies without making your own mind one as well. You know this stuff, Spence, I’m just here to remind you of that.”

“Alright,” he nods, holding in his sigh. He doesn’t mean to be negative, he just can’t help the way he’s feeling. The last week has been rough.

“Okay, so let’s go through front-facing attacks first,” Derek says. “What’s the first move you can do to protect yourself in that situation?”

“Elbow shield,” Spencer replies, holding out his arm and blocking Derek from coming any closer with his forearm acting as a barrier that Derek presses his chest against.

“Exactly, and what can you do to inflict damage in that position?”

Spencer responds by sliding his forearm up to Derek’s neck and applying light pressure, not wanting to actually hurt him.

“You got it. Okay, now what if I manage to grab you and pull you closer, what’s your move?”

He keeps his forearm locked to keep Derek from advancing too close, but this time he grabs his bicep with both hands and uses his core to bring him closer before he raises his shin and mimes kicking him in the groin.

“See, you know this stuff,” Derek says brightly. “The only note I have is to just remember to keep your thumbs in line with the rest of your fingers, not wrapping under my arm.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense. The thumb is easily broken, although the most common injury associated with a broken thumb is actually damage to the larger bone of your hand, the metacarpal.”

Derek chuckles. “Exactly.”

Funnily enough, Spencer actually finds himself having fun as they walk through some other basic defensive movements as well as the best way to use tactical punches to overpower or debilitate an unsub or attacker. They frequently burst into peals of laughter, as can be expected when two close individuals find themselves having to do semi-serious work together, and before he knows it, forty-five minutes have flown by.

“Okay, I want to end with some more up close and personal attacks and the best way to stave them off, alright?” Derek says as he puts away the boxing gloves and pads.

Immediately, Spencer feels a small glimmer of nerves and anticipation for how this might make him feel, but he brushes it off. He knows he’s safe with Derek, and the whole point of the exercise is to defend himself. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Let’s start with an attacker coming at you from behind,” Derek decides, coming up behind him. “I’m going to cover your mouth, and you’re going to use your skills and knowledge to remove me, alright?”

Spencer nods, hoping Derek doesn’t read the hesitancy in it, and he supposes that he doesn’t because soon enough a large palm is tightly covering the lower half of his face.

For a brief moment, he isn’t a twenty-five-year-old agent training with one of his closest friends in the gym in the basement of the FBI Headquarters, but a scared and lonely ten-year-old in his childhood bedroom, trying to fight the persistent, evil man on top of him, wondering why his dad would do this to him—

He snaps himself out of it by opening his eyes and forcing himself to take in the surroundings, and before long instinct takes over and he’s gripping at Derek’s wrist and using his core and bodyweight to bend forward and free himself from the restrictive hold.

“Good job, Reid!” Derek says encouragingly, and there’s no evidence on his face when he turns around that he noticed any sort of hesitation or deliberation, so he suspects that his flashback really was only for a second, no matter how everlasting and all-consuming it felt in the moment.

He manages a shaky smile, and invites his next method of torture. “What’s next?”

“Okay, what if I was to grab your t-shirt and immediately start punching you?” Derek asks, immediately miming doing exactly like that.

Fighting the instinct to go into protective mode, he instead turns around elbow first and uses his other hand to mime punching Derek while his knee goes up to attack his groin.

“Perfect! That’s the spirit, kid. No unsub’s ever gonna get the best of you.”

Spencer blushes a little at the praise, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to meet his eye, but inside he’s beyond pleased, both with the encouragement from Derek and his own self-confidence he can feel flooding back. Maybe he really does have a handle on the more physical side of things. Maybe he isn’t just good for his brain.

“Alright, let’s finish off with some on the ground stuff, okay?” Derek says, sitting down on the mat and inviting Spencer to join him with a pat on the space beside him.

He hesitates a little, and this time Derek notices, his face softening.

“Listen, I know this one is a bit more uncomfortable than the others, but we’re almost done, right? Let’s just get a few moves consolidated and then you can go and have a shower and head home to relax.”

Spencer nods finally and joins him, laying on his back as Derek instructs. The vulnerability of the position has him feeling deeply uncomfortable, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s safe with Derek, but he forces himself to lie still. If nothing else, he doesn’t want to reveal this very personal and private detail of his childhood to his best friend. He just needs to keep reminding himself that he’s safe.

“Right, let’s practice the pinned wrist escape, okay?”

Before he knows what’s happening, before he can process the words and prepare him for what’s about to happen, Derek’s straddling him and resting his full weight over his hips and his wrists are wrapped in a tight grip, pinned to the mat above his head.

It’s so sudden and the sensations so overwhelming that he can’t help the immediate fear response that’s triggered, because he’s not in the FBI gym with Derek anymore, he’s somewhere else entirely.

“No, please,” he begs, voice strangled by a sudden, all-consuming dry sob that heaves his chest, “please don’t, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please, dad, don’t—”

His sobs suddenly overtake his words and he’s left crying pathetically on the floor, too trapped in the memory to notice that the pressure’s been removed from his hips and he’s free to move his arms, too consumed by the physical and emotional anguish that came with the abuse to hear Derek’s desperate, heart-broken pleas from beside him, begging him to come back to himself.

“Spencer!”

A voice finally manages to break through the fog of panic, and he slowly regains consciousness, the white hot glaze of fear and crippling memory fading incrementally until he can see the high beams of the gym ceiling, until he can hear Derek’s gentle, soothing words beside him.

“It’s alright, pretty boy, I’m here, you’re safe,” Derek tells him gently, although Spencer can hear the urgency in his voice, even in his scared and overwhelmed state.

He covers his face with his hands as his desperate, heaving sobs transform into wet, humiliated cries.

“Hey, hey, Spence,” Derek murmurs beside him, “is it alright if I touch you?”

He considers shaking his head, but really, he wants some comfort right now, no matter how much he’ll hate himself for embarrassing himself further later. He’s glad he does though because Derek very carefully and very slowly lifts him up until he’s wrapped up in a comforting hug, his face buried in a strong chest. He’s not sure he’s ever felt safer than in this exact moment.

“You’re alright, pretty boy, I got you.”

Spencer continues to cry, the overwhelm of having a flashback that intense still wracking his body, but eventually, he starts to calm down, the tension slowly bleeding from his muscles as he collapses, boneless against Derek’s body.

“Here, why don’t you have this granola bar and some water,” Derek suggests gently when his tears have dried up, reaching over to the edge of the mat where he was clearly hiding some post-exercise rewards.

Spencer accepts them tiredly, not moving from his position slumped against Derek’s chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asks him once he’s sipped his way through half the bottle and the granola bar is gone.

As much as he’d like to get things off his chest, as much as he trusts Derek, he just— can’t. So he shakes his head and pulls himself into a sitting upright position, although he still doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes.

“Okay,” Derek says softly. “I’m gonna drive you home. Come on.”

Spencer numbly walks through the locker room and the halls of the FBI with Derek guiding him until they reach his car, and the motion of climbing in brings a little bit more awareness back to him.

“Thanks,” he whispers as Derek starts the engine and drives them out of the parking garage.

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy. No thanks needed.”

They don’t speak on the journey home, and Spencer contents himself with looking out the window at the passing scenery until they enter the city and trees transform into tower blocks. His mind drifts, but he’s just grateful that it doesn’t keep circling back to the flashback, having somewhat successfully resealed those memories like he always does, pushing them down and smothering them with as much good as he can collect in people and memories and things.

The silence between them prevails until Derek steps into his apartment behind him, closing the front door and helping Spencer out of his jacket before hanging his own coat up on a hook and steering Spencer towards the sofa. “You are going to sit here,” he orders, picking up one of Penelope’s hand-knitted blankets from its position neatly folded over the arm of the sofa, “while I get some tea and something to eat. Fancy anything in particular?”

Spencer remembers the satsumas and macaroons Penelope brought over the other day and tells Derek as such, following the other man with his eyes until he disappears into the kitchen and he’s left alone with his hazy thoughts for a couple of minutes.

They pass in a blur, though, and before he can blink, Derek is pressing a mug of warm chamomile tea into his hands and placing a small plate of a satsuma and a couple of macaroons on the coffee table.

The weight of Derek sitting down on the sofa next to him, and the grounding feeling of his palm wrapped around his ankle, has his hazy mind clearing until he’s in a much more present and aware headspace, enough so that Derek clearly notices it.

“You feeling a bit more like yourself?”

Spencer nods, and offers a small smile, trying to ignore the curls of humiliation and self-loathing working their way up his throat. Thoughts he hasn’t had in years are bursting at the seams Spencer had sewn tightly around them, brought up by physical memory alone, and he’s trying to hold them back, but somewhere in the back of his head, there’s his dad again, whispering dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, di—

“Hey, Spence,” he hears, and he snaps his head up, his dad’s voice shutting up and making room for Derek’s — Derek’s soft and gentle reassurances, his promises that he’s here and he’s safe and everything will be okay. “You got a bit lost in your head again there, kid. You alright?”

Spencer sighs tiredly, and a tear runs down his face unbidden. He’s not crying exactly, just— leaking. Leaking in the way a tap that hasn’t been turned on for years does when it finally experiences a much overdue release of pressure. Leaking in the way Spencer Reid does when he has a flashback to the sexual abuse he experienced as a child for the first time in two and a half years.

“Spencer,” Derek says, and something in his voice catches his attention, something serious, something earnest. He looks over at him. “Spencer, I know what you’re going through.”

His cheeks pale and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears because those words, that means— surely not, right? How could Derek— how could he—

“It happened to me, too.”

And there’s the confirmation. There are the five words that have him breaking down again, tears splashing into hot chamomile tea and onto cold, cold hands, sobs wracking his sore and tired shoulders. No one should have to go through what he did, no one. Especially not— God, especially not—

“Hey, Spencer, listen to me,” Derek says urgently scooting closer on the sofa until he can lift Spencer’s chin up with his hands and raise his head until their eyes are locked on one another and he can bear witness to the pain and the openness and the concern swimming in his dark brown irises. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re here, aren’t we? We’re safe. Don’t cry, pretty boy, everything’s gonna be just fine, I promise.”

He pauses to give Spencer a little time to catch his breath, but after a couple of minutes he speaks up again. “Would you like me to tell you about it?”

Spencer knows it will break his heart to hear. He doesn’t want to listen to a story in which Derek Morgan was the victim and not the hero, not his hero, but part of him knows that he needs to hear it; needs to know that he wasn’t and isn’t alone. And he can’t help but wonder whether maybe Derek needs to say it. Whether he also needs to tell someone what happened and have them empathise completely, have them say “I understand, I know what you’re going through” and have them mean it.

So he nods.

“His name was Carl Buford,” Derek says, resting the hand not clutching Spencer’s ankle on his knee, “and he was my football coach. A hero of the community. After my dad died, I got in a little trouble on the streets, right, and as a result, I got a record. Eventually, that record was expunged, and I learned that Buford had done it. I was confused, obviously, but he told me I had potential, that I was special, that I was going places and he was gonna help me get there.

“And so we started spending more time together. At first, it was just one-on-one football training and some run of the mill mentoring, and I finally felt like I had a real father figure again, someone who I could look up to and talk to and trust. Until one day when he took me up to his cabin. He gave me Helgeson wine to intoxicate me, and then convinced me to go skinny-dipping in a lake with him but when we came back to the cabin, he started— he started rubbing up against me. It eventually spiralled into… molestation and rape. He used to say "You better man up, boy, look up to the sky" when I would cry out for him to stop, or later — when some shameful part of me had accepted it — when I would wince in pain or he could sense I didn’t want to be there.

“And that went on for years until I guess I outgrew his preference and he— I mean— I guess, I guess he must have moved on.”

Spencer wants to be sick, and he’s pretty sure Derek feels the same, so all he can do is lean forward and wrap Derek in the tightest hug he can manage while they cry together.

“Did you ever tell anyone?” Spencer asks after a little time has passed.

Derek nods. “When it started affecting my football career in college, I started seeing a therapist, and I’ve really gotten to a place now where I’ve come to terms with it. As much as I’m ever going to be able to anyway. Half of that therapy was me grieving for the childhood I lost, expressing the anger I felt towards Buford in a healthy way, and then accepting that there isn’t anything I can do to undo the pain except work my ass off at the BAU putting guys like him behind bars since I lost my chance with him.”

Spencer nods. “I’m sorry he isn’t in prison.”

Derek shrugs his shoulders a little, pulling out of the hug. “I keep tabs on him. If I ever so much as catch a whiff of him hurting one of the boys at the centre I’ll be on him in no time. Just… waiting for the evidence, I guess.”

Spencer takes the hand resting on top of his knee and squeezes it, a show of solidarity his tongue can’t manage.

They sit in silence for long, comfortable minutes before Spencer finally feels like sharing. He knows that Derek isn’t expecting anything: if he never wanted to explain, he knows Derek would understand completely, but something about knowing he’ll understand like no one else can, that he can share and feel safe in doing so has his own story rolling off his tongue like it never has before.

“It was my dad,” Spencer says quietly, a confession he’s always been too ashamed to make. “The first time it happened was the night of my sixth birthday. He said that the day was his own celebration, because he’d waited so long and he was finally going to get his prize. He raped me. It wasn’t like that every time, sometimes he’d stop at… touching or— or fellatio, sometimes he’d come into my room and stand over me, getting off on how scared I was anticipating the act that never came.

“He left when I was ten, not far away from my eleventh birthday, and a big part of me always wondered whether the main reason he left was that I wasn’t in his preferential age group anymore. But when I was thirteen, I bumped into him in a hotel in California of all places, and even though I was bigger and stronger and nowhere near as vulnerable, he still got the best of me, he still weaseled his way into my room and took advantage of me again. After that time I carried pepper spray everywhere I went until the FBI issued me a gun. I swore I’d never let it happen again.”

Derek looks desperately sad when he finally meets his eyes again, and before he knows it he’s being wrapped in another hug, and they’re both in pieces again. However painful these memories are, though, the release of them is more cathartic than anything Spencer’s ever experienced; crying together with another survivor over everything they lost, the people that stole their childhoods and abused them for years on end, their younger, scared selves, desperate for someone to save them.

It hurts Spencer’s heart, but he also doesn’t think he’s ever felt safer than right in this moment.

“Is this the first time you’ve talked about this, Spence?” Derek asks eventually, with his cheek resting on the top of Spencer’s head.

“Yes,” he admits, another tear dripping onto the hands curled anxiously in his lap.

Derek pulls away and looks him in the eye, cupping his face gently and brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I’m proud of you.”

As broken and unseemly and ripped open and torn apart as he feels right now, as exposed as this entire ordeal has made him feel, for the first time, he thinks he agrees with Derek.

His trust was destroyed by the person supposed to protect him, and he’s carried the trauma of being sexually abused as a young child around with him for the last two decades, and still, he’s here. He’s brave enough to share himself with Derek, and he’s strong enough to cry and grieve and ache for the scared six-year-old boy he wishes he could go back in time and save.

Right now, in the early evening light of the flat and the safe and supportive arms of his best friend, he’s proud of himself, too. And that feels really damn good to finally say.

Please practice self-care after reading this, especially if you are also a survivor. RAINN Rape Crisis UK International Help for Survivors

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (taglist form)

[forsworned]

[♥]  modernau!  emergency room  {tengen uzui x reader}

Genre: Slight Angst, Slight Fluff, Slight Sensual Themes

Categories: F/M

Relationships:Tengen Uzui/Reader

Word count: 1,021

a/n: requests are open

➽────────────── ────────────── ──────────── ❥ 

It felt as if your whole world had become so fragile that it suddenly collapsed and shattered into tiny fragments. Your lungs begging you to heave an ounce of oxygen into your system, but you stood there phone in hand, motionless. Tears welled up in your eyes as you couldn't even make sense of what the doctor was saying on the other line.

"Mrs. [Uzui]-[Last Name], are you still there?"

It was as if someone suddenly pressed play and you gasped, getting right back into reality. You wiped away the tears that scoured across your cheeks and neck. "Y-yes. I'll be right there, Doctor Takeshi."

The drive to the hospital was debilitating and gut wrenching. Millions of thoughts had rushed through your head as you pulled up to the parking lot and slammed your car door to rush inside the emergency room. The front desk shocked at your sudden appearence, but remained professional as they informed you of the room Tengen was being held at. As you sped walk down the cold, white flourescent lit walls, you finally stumbled upon the room number he was situated at. When looked through the doorway, your stomach dropped at the sight. Tengen in utter shambles right before your eyes. His body wrapped in bandages and casts and a large life support tube shoved right down his throat. A hand suddenly dragged you out of your stupor.

"Is he going to be okay, Doctor Takeshi?" You words barely above whisper. You couldn't take your eyes away from his crumpled body, but Doctor Takeshi stepped in front of you to purposely block your line of sight.

"Yes," Your bloodshot eyes darted to him. "He's just in a medically induced coma at the moment. His injuries are severe, but not fatal or enough to immobilize him permanently. He's really lucky to be alive."

You gulped. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Doctor Takeshi began. "All his vital organs were missed by this much." The doctor held out his index finger and thumb to show just how close Tengen was to not to be at Death's Doorway. You let out an ugly cry as you collapsed into the doctor's arms and sobbed erractically.

"Thank you, thank you so much." You voice muffled against his sweater.

"You got nothing to thank me for. Your husband's a tank."

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Weeks had passed by and you never left his bedside. You even took emergency leave from your job, so you could continue to do so. The doctor and nurses had told you that Tengen could most likely hear you when you spoke to him, so you began to read to him and tell him about your day. You couldn't tell if it was for him or your sanity, but at that point it felt all the same. Although, you did know one thing for sure, Tengen was going to wake up soon and when he did you were going to be there to greet him.

The rain pelted against the glass and you watched as the drops raced down. Your eyes were heavy with sleep deprivation and you felt yourself starting to drift off until the sound of Tengen coughing startled up.

Your eyes were wide with excitement and full of happy tears. "Doctor! I need a doctor! He's waking up!"

Doctor Takeshi rushed in along with other nurses on standby and he began to remove the tub that was no longer needed to support Tengen's life. When it was finally out, you rushed to his side and held him in your arms as you kissed every inch of his face.

"I'm so glad you're finally awake!" You cheerfully exclaimed. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, but you didn't feel him reciprocating.

"Yeah, that's great and all, but who are you again?" You froze in place as you felt your heart drop to your stomach and slowly lifted yourself from him to gaze down at his deadpanned expression. It quickly switched into a devilish grin.

"Just kidding."

You burst into tears as you clung to him again and sobbed like a baby while he rubbed your back. He placed a kiss on the top of your head.

"Don't ever scare me like that ever again." Your voice was muffled agaist his bandaged chest. He snuggled against you as best as he could without straining himself.

"I would hug you back, but my arms are kinda broken." He chuckled. You broke into a fit of laughter as you wiped away tears.

"I knew you'd wake up, Tengen. I was here every day."

His smile as beautiful as ever. "I know, I heard you. I can't believe you read me my horoscope knowing full well I don't care about my zodiac sign."

You heard the nurses aww in the background, making their presence known because let's face it if they stood there for hours you both wouldn't even notice. The moment was too important for outside factors to affect either you. Still, though, it was a bit uncomfortable knowing they heard your whole interaction.

"We'll give you guys some privacy. Glad to have you back, Mr. Uzui." Doctor Takeshi nodded in your direction before ushering his nurses out who didn't look like they were too much in a hurry.

Once the door shut, you and Tengen were finally alone and in one swift movement you wasted no time in kissing him deeply, feverishly in fact. And he groaned in response, mostly because he couldn't reach down to grab your ass like he always did. Despite this, you continued to kiss him and slipped your tongue between his lips and he fully obliged. That was until he shifted upwardly forgetting that he needed to stay immobile, and groaned this time in pain. You broke contact and looked at him worriedly, but Tengen had a smug look on his face.

"Looks like you're gonna have to be on top for awhile babe."

"Shut up!" You covered your now rosy cheeks in embarrassment, but your expression softened as he chuckled at you. You were just glad to have your husband back.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Let me tell you all about a very personally satisfying HC I have that, whilst perhaps explaining some things within the books, is really just for my own enjoyment. 

So, the idea originates in the concept that everyone in the Dol Amrothian line are very spooky. The close elven lineage and living near an old abandoned elven haven had particularly mysterious effects on the whole family. Sure there are Dunadain in Gondor and they can develop certain spooky traits, but the Lords of Dol Amroth start out spooky and usually stay that way. It goes up and down depending on the individual, but generally they are all uncanny at the very least.

Denethor can see into the hearts of men, yeah ok cool I guess. Imrahil goes down to the Dol Amroth harbour at dusk and whispers to the swans until midnight, he answers questions you were sure you did not say out loud, he can make you weep with genuine grief over a sadness he hasn’t even mentioned. Speaking with Finduilas sometimes makes you feel like time passes in an instant, or incredibly slowly, or not at all... except no... really... how much time has passed? Wasn’t it just morning? How is the sun setting already? Or, oh my gosh, I’m going to be late! Or... not..? it’s barely been a few moments, yet I feel like I just lived a lifetime...

Ivriniel insists this is all nonsense, doggedly, she refuses to acknowledge it, no matter how many political rivals raise her considerable ire and come down with a mysterious and debilitating illness the next day. Grandmother Duilindes is just straight up a witch. ‘It’s all for the honour of Eru’ she says placatingly, as she enters her rooms in the Palace that she forbids anyone else from entering.

Denethor had heard these rumours before meeting Finduilas and, sure, he sometimes feels like he is being hunted, only to turn and find Adrahil’s eyes on him. But Dunadain are just a little strange like that! Surely it’s been blown out of proportion. He believes this up until he comes to Dol Amroth as Finduilas’ suitor. 

Denethor: Shall we take a walk after dinner? Everyone looks up from their plates in alarm Adrahil: Are you joking? Denethor: ??? Imrahil: It's the seventh day! The gardens aren't to be disturbed! Denethor, whispering to Finduilas: What does that mean?? Finduilas, chuckling: oh, Denethor! 

He sees Imrahil whispering to the swans at one point and is about to call out to him before Finduilas quickly gestures him silent.

Denethor, whispered: What is he doing? Finduilas: Shh, if the swans hear us we'll surely be attacked. Denethor: But then shouldn't Imrah- Finduilas: SHH.

One evening Ivriniel sweeps in with a stormy countenance, muttering over Lord Garahel’s stupidity. The next morning Denethor hears Imrahil mention that Lord Garahel has been taken ill with some fainting sickness. The look he gives Ivriniel is enough for her to know his mind. 

Ivriniel: Your imagination will run wild Denethor, I had thought you more reasonable. You think I, what? Cursed him? Don’t be ridiculous. Denethor, turning to Finduilas: Do you think... she knows she's doing it? Finduilas: Oh no, in fact she's determined to remain ignorant to it. Denethor: Can you... do that? Finduilas: I havent tried :)

At some point Finduilas had told Denethor that ‘Imrahil is the odd one of the family’ and by the end of the visit all Denethor can think is ‘by what metric??’

Denethor had to admit to himself privately that he was not at all put off by Finduilas’ nature, but he did have cause to worry what their children would be like. Finduilas came across Denethor, early after Boromir’s birth, rocking him to sleep and murmuring softly; 'I may have my failings as a father, I am sure I shall, but I swear they will be honestly meant, I love you so dearly my son... please do not curse me when you are older and I do not allow you everything you ask. I promise I only ever have your wellness in mind.' And she thought it was very sweet and proper, but she didn’t tell him he was wrong! And for very good reason! 

Boromir was an unnerving child. He learned to speak just a little too quickly, and when he did he would often say uncanny things, too knowing things, indecipherable things that became daunting the longer you thought about them. He had such a powerful grasp of complex feeling that he would often solve arguments between adults, explain emotions back at his parents or offer reasons for another child’s behaviour that were so accurate it became uncomfortable. 

3yo Boromir: (explains the reason Denethor’s secretary was distracted that day unprompted) Finduilas: (laughs) yes that's right! Denethor: It's.... TOO right. Finduilas: Oh well children are intuitive aren't they? Denethor, picking Boromir up: ... I feel under qualified to teach you things. Boromir: (baby-giggles but in a like way too knowing way)

And then sometimes Denethor would be sitting reading on a bench on a balcony in the early evening with Boromir contentedly playing with a fiddle-toy beside him, and suddenly his son’s voice would break the silence with; 'When I wasn't here I was colder, so I think I like it here, I'll stay. The air isn't as delicious but there's more to see.'

And then he’d go back to playing as though nothing was wrong whilst Denethor had an existential crisis. 

Denethor: W.. where were you, before? Boromir: Well I didn't know, because I couldn't know, but now I can know things, just not that. I haven't decided if I like it.

He asks Finduilas about it as soon as he can find her and she just laughs, ‘don't worry he'll forget he knows that in a few years’ she says, as though that helps at all.

But in general this is as far as Boromir ventures into the ‘spooky Dol Amroth’ territory. Sometimes he mentions things he CHOSE NOT to do that suggests he is capable of more, but other than randomly forcing Denethor to consider his position in the universe and reading him for shit, the first five years of being a parent is fine for Denethor.

At one point, when Boromir was about two, someone asked Finduilas if they were planning for another baby soon. Finduilas laughed ruefully, as though everyone would know that was a foolish question. ‘Oh no, much too soon for that’ she said. Denethor knew he had to follow up on what the hell that meant later. But when asked, all Finduilas said was ‘Oh you know! If siblings are born too close then they align their powers. Haven’t you heard my father talk about my uncles?’ She says it with the same tone as reading something out of a parenting manual. Denethor doesn’t want to hear about Finduilas’ uncles, but accepts this is important and stops thinking about it.

And it’s a good thing they did wait because, whilst Boromir was unnerving, Faramir is straight up terrifying.

What Denethor realised was that Boromir had been showing restraint. Faramir however was very comfortable with his powers and saw no reason not to use them. Denethor would find himself lost in baby Faramir’s eyes, feeling unable to move simply because of the weight of his stare. Finduilas and Boromir would have to save him from Faramir’s grasp, an act that would make Faramir look very put out. 

If people irritated Denethor when he was holding his youngest son, then just a glance from this child would make them drop whatever they were holding, Faramir grinning victoriously all the while. If Faramir did not want to take a bath then Finduilas would have to be present in case the baby decided to make Denethor relive his entire childhood. 

Sometimes Denethor would come outside to see his toddler just surrounded by the street cats of Minas Tirith, conducting some kind of incomprehensible tribunal that all the cats appeared to abide by. At one point Boromir was holding Faramir when Faramir grasped his brother’s face and pulled so that their eyes locked. Boromir passively held Faramir’s intense gaze for a while in this charged and tense moment, before calmly looking away as Faramir pouted. Denethor once again begged Finduilas to explain, but all she had to give was a fond sigh and a ‘Aw, Faramir just wants to get to know him, but our Boromir is too canny, Ivriniel and I used to do that.’ Denethor is used to helpless bemusement and concern by now. 

Now the SECOND part to this HC- YES I’M STILL GOING, THIS IS ALL IMPORTANT- the second part is that Dol Amrothians ALSO get a kind of ‘choice’. (This is likely not at all canon friendly tbh but uwu I can have a leetle canon noncompliance if it doesn’t effect the vast expansive canon... as a treat) It is far more unconscious and happens in childhood, but there is a point where a child will ‘decide’ to continue being spooky or to be more mundane. This never overrides ALL the spookiness, hence Ivriniel’s intermittent cursing and Finduilas’ occasional time dilation, but Imrahil still out spooks the lot of them. Amongst the family this is known as ‘settling’.

Boromir settles when he is eight. One day he comes to breakfast and Denethor looks into his son’s face and feels like he is suddenly more in the world, more in the moment. Boromir seems as himself as ever, but he makes friends easier afterwards. Whereas he had always been liked, now he is popular and has close relationships with children, rather than always seeming too distant. This also coincides with one of Gandalf’s rare visits. He had been trying to connect with Boromir, trying to engage him on very specific topics. Boromir had not been amused. 

Denethor would never say that Boromir hating Gandalf’s vibes was the reason he settled for mundanity. Boromir had many good reasons, he is sure. But the fact that he chose that moment to settle, so that Denethor was allowed to watch Gandalf also realise that Boromir was no longer ‘apt to his hand’, well he might have gleaned some little pleasure from it. 

The only aspect Boromir retains is his general resistance to such spookiness. Hence his frustration in both Rivendell and Lothlorien, the time distortion of those places not effecting him and the imposed rest not touching him, meaning he feels every passing day keenly. It also explains his resistance towards the Balrog’s doomful presence, as well as his heightened distress at Galadriel’s ability to see into his mind, where he had always been able to defend himself before. 

Faramir on the other hand is seven when he settles, thoroughly content with his spooky powers and wanting even more command over them. It is with this settling that he becomes able to sometimes cause people pain for lying to him. Denethor... struggles as a single father for many reasons.

[intergalactic-padawan]

inquisitor - Ezra Bridger

Requested: yes, by the beautiful @raganbridger! Sorry for the wait, it's finally here!

Warnings: angst, dark side!reader, confusion, mentions of bad injuries/blood, betrayal

A/N: You asked for le angst, so here it is! I've had this idea for a long while and this request was the motivation I needed to start. LOTS of alternative endings were written, this was mostly the reason it took so long.

Pronouns of reader: she/her

*ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! I make mistakes just like everybody else 😉*

x

.

-"oh, good, you're awake"

You sit and inhale sharply, focusing back on the real world, startled at the strange voice.

Well, not so strange per se. You knew who was talking to you. What was strange was why he was talking to you.

Before you can adjust your vision to the unfamiliar environment, the memories from hours earlier instantly come flooding back.

Malachor. The place where jedi go to die.

An easy kill for you and your inquisitor colleagues.

That's what they had said on the ship, at least. You, on the other hand, knew better than to underestimate how slippery those jedi could be - especially if they fought side by side, like they always did.

You remember cornering the younger one during the fight. His skill was minimal compared to yours, which would give you an advantage against his master if he were to die first.

The boy and his friends go after the sith holocron. There had been a blinding light when it was placed at the altar.

And also, the jedi knight who was blinded by your former master, Maul.

Maul.

Not only had the cursed man left you for dead years before, he had come back from hiding to haunt you and join forces with your other enemies.

But you were an inquisitor. You wouldn't - you couldn't let him get the best of you, not this time.

You feel a light hand pressing your forehead and recoil in fear, reaching for your lightsaber, only to feel it was not there.

-"whoah, woah, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you" - it was the padawan you'd been fighting before - Ezra Bridger. He had placed you and his master inside a cave in a planet you were not familiar with when you'd escaped Malachor.

You'd escapd Malachor? But how?

You couldn't have, unless he'd carried you back to his ship.

-"hey, hey, it's alright."

-"what do you want, jedi?" - you wince in pain again.

-"a thank you would be nice, actually. I did just save your life"

-"a foolish mistake. One you will pay for with yours"

You reach out for your lightsaber, but can't feel it anywhere close. Scouring with the force for its presence, you quickly realize he must have hidden it outside the place.

-"Nope, absolutely not" - just as quickly, he slaps your outstreched hand - "I may be an idiot, but i'm not stupid. Your lightsaber's not here, it's caused enough damage already."

You rub the hand he pushed away, more shocked at his actions than anything. How DARE he?

-"Then what do you want from me, if not revenge? Why treat my wounds if not to finish the battle we started?"

-"Listen, I'm not sure if it's the adrnaline or something, but you're in no condition to fight anyone any time soon"

-"You underestimete me, Jedi. Even in these conditions you would be no match for me."

-"Like I wasn't a match for you at the sith temple?"

At the mention of the event, images of the fight start to come back.

Back at the sanctuary, you drew him away from the fight, knowing his strengh lied with his allies. Only, you hadn't imagined your former master to join his side - not until you'd seen the holocron in Ezra's hands, at least. You'd warned him: "he will use it and throw you away. Like he did to me". Needless to say, he didn't listen.

Your vision starts to lose focus at the intensity of your anger and you groan in pain, not able to sit anymore. Driven by instinct, the padawan holds your side so you won't fall completely, pressing your abdomen and making you hiss in pain.

-"ah, looks like I was right. You're conscious, but not healed" - you feel yourself be adjusted back on the ground, too weak to fight him.

-"where are we? Why did you save my life?"

He hesitates, eyes studying you, like you might attack him any second and he still knew it.

-"not so sure" - he finally answers - "maybe because now you owe me one?"

-"Did you hit your head or something?" You scoff - "Make no mistake, I WILL kill you when the opportunity rises!"

-"And that is why your lightsaber privileges have been revoked for now."

You lock eyes, studying him like he had you. It made no sense- you'd followed his group to the sith temple, tried to kill him several times, called for the man who had murdered his strongest ally, Ahsoak Tano. Why was he helping you?

With a shiver, you realize he's still holding your side, not as firmly as before but still providing support for your back. Inhaling sharply, you graze his hand and he lets go instantly, realizing how close the two of you had gotten.

Standing up just as quickly, he brushes a strand of unruly hair our of his forehead, while you you clean your throat, diverting your attention to the exit of the cave. The rain pours on the large trees outside, but you can't make out much except for the fact that you're in a forest planet (maybe a moon?) and his ship is in less than ideal conditions to get out of it.

-"here" - Ezra kneels down with two bacta patches and a piece of fabric from a medical kit -"i felt your back was pretty sore, but didn't want to take off your shirt while you were out. Your cuts need cleaning."

You hesitantly take the items, using the rocks behind you as support to lean your body on. He stands up, hands on hips, and chuckles when you sniff the gel, suspicious.

With the small bit of privacy he gives you by turning around to check on his master, you fumble with your shirt, deciding to take it off in order to see better.

-"Need some help over there?" - he asks, hearing you grunt in frustration at not being able to reach some spots

-"Not from you, thank you very much"

-"Oh, so she CAN say thank you! That's a welcome change"

You throw the rag at his direction, irritated out of your mind. Who does he think he is??

He must sense the harmless ball of soaked fabric coming his way, turning around to catch it mid-air. Now that he's turned, you see a glimpse of amusement in his eyes at your rage, giving you the answer you needed as to why he went through the trouble of saving you; it was merely to see you suffer and laugh at your expense, apparently.

His expression quickly changed when he saw your bruised torso, however.

- "who did this to you?" - he whispers, and you look down at you look down at your sore ~ well, everything~, covered only by a wrap in the bust area.

-"As you said, jedi. I may be better than you, but you still gave me a decent challenge"

"No. I didn't even hit you there." - his serious reaction to your injuries had caught you off guard, you had to admit. - "those are old and deep, you shouldn't even be able to walk!"

-"I'm not, remember?" - you motion at your debilitated situation, unable to even sit down or cross your legs properly -"But i will be, soon. And then it's over for you"

-"you know what? I think if you wanted to, you would have killed me by now." - he shoots back and you're impressed at his audacity once again.

But he had a point. Why hadn't you attacked him yet?

Sure, you had no lightsaber or phisical conditions to stand, but your force abilities were still as strong as ever. You were vulnerable, but so was he, and you weren't kidding when you said you could deal with him even at your worse.

-"you know what? " - you cross your arms. He was playing with fire now - "maybe I might"

-"and why haven't you?"

-"because I wouldn't enjoy it as much." - you snap back venomously - "I want to see you suffer before I bring you to Lord Vader"

His expression darkens at the mention of Ahsoka's murderer. His whole body stiffens as he balls his wrists and clearly struggles to control his anger at the recent loss. For a moment, you fear you've gone too far, but reprimand yourself for worrying about his feelings over yours. You're not supposed to be anything more than indifferent to the weak and ruthless to those who dare oppose you.

-"Yeah, no matter what you do, you're still imperial scum"

You're not prepared for those words to affect you so much. You're supposed to have a response, but nothing coherent seems to come out of your mouth, so you settle for an an uncomfortable silence.

It doesn't last for long, however, as his comlink goes off. It's his droid, asking - no, demanding - that he go help him with repairs on the ship. He hesitates, looking at you and contemplating how bad it would be to leave you unnatended in the company of his defenseless master.

-"Dont worry."- You reassure him. -"I won't make his situation worse. Maul is the worse you can get, and I refuse to step that low"

You can see he doesnt like it, but leaves for a few moments before returning with what must be the droid that talked to him before. It was a C1 series unit with an orange top and a bratty atitude, you could tell that much by just seeing him interact with the jedi.

-"Chopper will stay here, just in case"

-"I understand. It's fine."

-"I wasn't asking if you were fine with it. Behave" - you can't be sure if his command is directed at you or the droid, but you weren't about to ask.

The coldness he now had to his voice was understandable - you had worked to get him to that emotional state - ,but you felt hurt at the change. The droid didn't do much to help you think clearly about what just happened, and by the look of it, your frustration would only grow bigger in the many hours it would still take to repair the ship to a normal flying condition.

'He thinks i'm imperial scum, huh?' - you think as you scour a pile of your belongings with the force, not too far away inside the cave.

Bad news, your lightsaber really wasn't there.

Good news, your wrist comm was.

'i'll show him imperial scum'

With a plan forming in mind, all you had to do now was be patient and wait for the right time. There's no exchange of words between the two of you when he gets back, which makes time fly by before he's betrayed by exaution and finally gives in to sleep. You take care of the droid easily after that.

Activating the tracking beacon, you start to leave the cave, but not before noticing the boy's lightsaber beside him. It was a bold move, he could easily wake up if you took it, but you knew that if he woke up to see you gone you'd need it to compensate for your injuries.

You were still on opposing sides, after all.

You knew there had to be an imperial ship near the planet, and they would pick up your signal in an instant when you called. Wallking to a less dense area of the forest, away from the crash site, you're proven right when, in a matter of minutes, a shuttle tripulated by four troopers and a senior lieutenant meet you on the ground.

-"and what of the jedi?" - the higher ranking woman asks when you finish your brief description of the events that led you there.

Well, not all events. You'd left out the part where Bridger had helped you recover.

You could just tell them to take the two jedi for excecution. You were supposed to do it, in fact.

-"it's just me. And the younger one's lightsaber" - you finally answer, not exactly knowing why you'd deliberately just saved them.

She nods curtly and escorts you back to the ship without a second glance. It was a good story so far, but you would have to work on it if your superiors were to believe it.

-"Wait- " - you start, second-guessing your motives for not giving away their location. One of the troopers turns to you expectantly.

-"yes, sir?"

You hesitate for a moment, ready to do what you'd beeen taught to do your whle life. Kill the jedi.

Kill the jedi.

A tingling crept up your sides, where the padawan had touched earlier to give you support. You try to betray the gut feeling pressing you to do your duty as an inquisitor, but it's stronger than you. Something is forcing your better judgement to be leaving your natural enemies alive.

-"nothing." - the tingle goes away as soon as it had come, leaving an unusual feeling of relief. - "Thought i'd sensed something. Let's leave"

'Perhaps it's for the best'. - you think as the shuttle's door closes. After all, you did owe him one for saving your life - whatever his reason was for doing so.

That was what you told yourself as you boarded the ship, at least. Now, the next time you saw him, there would be nothing to stop you from finishing him and his friends for good.

.

x

Hope you like it? I gave him a 'hands on hips' moment in honour of your videos for a more personalized touch hahahaha

[datleggy]

Totally random thought I had right as I am going to bed but ya know that show "I didn't know I was pregnant"? Buck would be on that show lol the boy is oblivious when it comes to his own body, so like I can perfectly picture him collapsing on the job one day wracked with pain, and then Hen is poking around his stomach where it hurts, her, Buck and Eddie packed into the back of the ambulance as Chim and Bobby drive to the hospital, and she gets out the stethoscope to try and listen for internal bleeding or anything but instead finds an infant heartrate and she's like "Buck, you're pregnant?" And he's like "uh, no? What the hell?" And then his water breaks and he tries to convince hen and Eddie that he had an accident bc even that would be a better alternative to suddenly figuring out he's about to have a baby???? What the fuck???? But Eddie holds his hand all the way through it and by the time they get to the hospital, Buck has a healthy newborn cradled against his chest, Eddie knelt beside him and alternating between kissing buck and the baby on the head, and observing the baby in disbelief. I can also picture Buck like, sobbing his sorry's to Eddie the entire time he's pushing, like "Eddie I swear I had no idea, if I had known, I would have told you!" And Eddie is just reassuring him the entire time like "don't worry about that now, Buck, just concentrate. No one is mad, okay? But you gotta focus on the- on the baby" and buck just sobs and nods and focuses on the delivery again. But for a good while Buck is in denial that any of this is happening and it takes a lot of convincing and encouragement from both hen and Eddie for him to start actively participating in his baby's birth. Anyways, random half asleep thought is finished sorry for the long ask hdshsjjsjdbsjsj

WELL SHIT ok so i actually love that show and i could see buck doing this lmao so i wrote a thing. also ignore all medical inaccuracies, this is my distraction from monday lmao let me have this wildly inept fic pls. 

also just in case, it’s pretty brief, i think, but TW for talk of weight and weight gain

It's nearing the end of their shift now and Buck can almost hear his feet howling at him in pain. Today hadn't even really been all that busy, he thinks, annoyed at his own body's betrayal. He's not even thirty yet, but in the last couple of months he's felt as though he's aged about ten years.

He's put on a few pounds, which isn't too uncommon, sometimes Buck goes through stretches of time where he eats more carbs than he needs and works out less than he'd like and so a little tummy fat is to be expected.

It normally doesn't bother him, except that in the last maybe three months he hasn't felt like exercising much outside of work but he's eaten nearly everything in sight every night. He's up about fifteen pounds, which he wouldn't have even noticed, seeing that he does fluctuate at times anywhere between five to eight pounds over or under what he usually weighs, if it hadn't been for Chimney teasing him about putting down his third Krispy Kreme donut of the day and picking up a barbell earlier this morning.

Chim and Buck poke fun at each other all the time--it's a staple in their friendship and brother ship, in fact--and Buck had flipped him the bird, nothing new there. What had been new was the fact that he'd excused himself to the bathroom right after that and locked himself in a stall and bawled his eyes out as quietly as humanly possible.

Buck grimaces, embarrassed still, by the outburst, even if no one had been there to witness it. He still has no idea what the hell that had been about this morning.

Eddie notices the sour mood and pulls him in close. "Hey, you ok?"

Buck nods. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to go home--shit." Buck feels a shooting pain so intense his knees buckle and Eddie has to hold him upright to keep him from hitting the floor. 

“Woah!” Eddie calls Bobby over, who’s closest, for help, “Buck? Buck, you with me? What’s wrong? What hurts?” 

Buck just shakes his head and grits his teeth, the pain so debilitating he can hardly breathe much less speak. 

The Captain is on his other side in an instant and together Eddie and Bobby help Buck towards the couch, where he collapses in a heap, throwing his head back and letting out an agonized whine. “What’s going on? Did he get hurt during one of the calls?” Bobby asks Eddie, frantic to help put a stop to this. 

Eddie’s helpless, “Bobby I don’t know, one second we were talking about going home and the next he practically fell to the floor in pain.” he turns to face his husband, “Baby, I’m here, look at me, what’s the matter? What hurts?” 

Buck’s face scrunches up and he finally exhales sharply, his grip on the couch cushions loosening, and he opens his eyes, wide like saucers, and says, “What the fuck was that?” 

At this point Hen and Chim, as well as half the crew, have gathered around and Hen is quick to put on her doctors hat and try to sus out the problem. She makes Bobby step aside and Chimney hands her a stethoscope. “Buck, is it your stomach?” she asks, noticing the stiff way he’s holding himself around his midriff. 

“I don’t--kinda? I don’t know. It was just like, this crazy wave of pain, almost like a cramp, but way worse.” he struggles to describe the feeling now that it’s more or less passed for the time being.  

Hen had seen Buck wince when he’d been in the harness on the last call of the day, but he hadn’t said anything and she hadn’t thought too much about it until now. “Did you hurt yourself in the harness earlier? Maybe pulled something when we reeled you back up?” she asks, palpitating his stomach with her fingers, watching him almost retract from her touch. 

“Maybe?” Buck shrugs uncomfortably, wincing when she hits a particularly sore spot. 

Something about this feels familiar and strangely obvious, but Hen doesn’t understand why until she puts her stethoscope up to his belly to check for lack of bowel sounds, indicating maybe some internal bleeding or sorts. 

Hen gasps out loud and sits up like she’s been smacked. 

Eddie frowns. “What? What’s wrong? Is he gonna be ok?” He almost wants to snatch the damn stethoscope out of her ears and check for himself, his eyes darting between Hen and Buck nervously. 

“Buck, you’re pregnant. And in labor, by the sounds of it.” Hen blurts out in disbelief. 

“What.” Buck blinks at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has to be a joke. 

“I heard a heartbeat in there...” Hen informs them, still awed. “Buck, that was a contraction you just experienced.” 

Eddie gapes at Hen and then at Buck. “You’re pregnant?” 

Buck gapes right back at him. “No!” he denies, shaking his head incredulously. “That’s insane, I can’t be pregn--ah--” Buck leans forward in pain as another contraction begins. “Fuck.” 

“Jesus, yeah, no you’re definitely pregnant,” Chim announces, “Your water just broke all over my favorite couch, bud. I’m getting the ambulance ready asap.” he says, before running to do just that, head reeling. He thinks about Maddie and when she gave birth to their daughter and how scared out of his mind he’d been and he sympathizes for Buck and Eddie, who up until now apparently hadn’t even realizes they were expecting... 

Back at the lounge Buck continues to deny any of this is even happening. He whines into Eddie’s chest, “That’s pee, it has to be, because I’m not pregnant. There’s no way.” he lets out a pitiful whimper as another contraction begins and buries his face against his husband to hide the tears springing up in his eyes. 

“Buck, son, we gotta get you to a hospital right now.” Bobby tries, running a soothing hand over the top of his head. 

But Buck shakes his head no, shuddering out a sob. “M’not going.” 

Eddie, overwhelmed, looks to Hen and Bobby for help. 

“Buck, ambulance is ready to go, we need to move unless you wanna have this kid at the firehouse.” Hen grimaces. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’re confused and hurting, but we need to get you into that ambulance and now.” 

Buck cries out when another contraction hits him and Hen gulps. “Your contractions are getting way too close together, we need to move.” she nods at her Captain and Eddie to help get Buck up and together the three of them manage to get Buck onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance.

Bobby rides up front with Chimney, leaving Hen and Eddie to work in the back with Buck. 

“Buck, you need to start getting ready to push, this baby’s coming.” Hen warns him, but Buck refuses. 

“I can’t.” he sobs. “I didn’t--” he throws his head back, the pain lighting his nerves on fire. “I swear Eddie, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me.”

Eddie takes Bucks hand into his and brings it up to his lips. “I know baby, I know, you don’t have to worry about that. I promise. Nobody is mad at you, ok? I’m not. But right now you need to focus on pushing, you need to listen to Hen, ok? We’re ok, and you’re gonna be ok, but I need you to push, baby. I love you so much, you know that, right?” 

Buck lets Eddie wipe away his tears, leans into the comforting touch, and nods shakily, exhaling. “O-ok, I’m--I’m ready.” 

.

.

.

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

.

.

.

The baby is so very tiny in Eddie’s arms. 

Olive Buckley-Diaz is born weighing exactly six pounds and two ounces. 

Christopher, who’s curled up against Bucks side on the hospital bed after a very exhausting day, looks up at his Buck, his little brow still knitted in confusion. “So she was a surprise baby? And that’s how come you guys didn’t tell me about her?” 

Buck tries not to laugh. “Yeah bud, it was a huge surprise to us, too.” 

Eddie nods along, smiling fondly down at the bundle he’s holding. Her blotchy red face is slack in sleep and there’s already tufts of brown hair sticking up funnily on her head under her hat. “I still can’t believe you only gained like fifteen pounds during the whole pregnancy.” Eddie chuckles, “Or that you worked through the nine months, God Buck, when I think of the stunts you pulled during calls in the last few months alone I’m--” he shudders. “Actually I’d rather not think about it.” he sighs, “I’m just happy you’re both healthy at the end of the day.” 

Really, it’s a miracle. The doctor had said as much after the delivery. 

“To be fair I never got any of the other symptoms,” Buck shrugs. “I wasn’t nauseous, my feet never swelled, I don’t remember any weird cravings? And you said it yourself, I didn’t really gain all that much weight.” 

Eddie leans down to kiss Buck’s forehead. “You should be on that show.” he grins. 

Buck tilts his head. 

“You know the one, the one Hen made us watch when work was slow that one time. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant’.” he teases. 

Buck groans. “I regret all the jokes I made at the time. I totally get those people now. Pregnancy is weird.” 

Christopher rests his head more comfortably against Bucks chest and smiles softly. “Yeah, but now our family’s even bigger.” 

.

[prof-peach]

Professor! Something is wrong with Michi! (Litten) he has this green...slime? Coming down from his mouth, it might just Be puke or something Else, But Michi has Been sick before, and this has never happend, he is also really dizzy and doesen't seem to Be sure of where he is, If i'm not closet to him he goes into panic mode, what should i do? I've Been meaning to take him to a poke-center but he HATES poke-centers and i don't want to Make him More uncomftrable than he already is,what do i do?

You dear need to get that pokemon to a centre, or a doctor. That set of ailments sounds very dubious, and you need to do the right thing for your partner, AND for the health of all pokemon who come into contact with them, for all we know at this point is that what Michi has is infectious and dangerous to others. y’all know whats more uncomfortable that Michi’s current state? Death. A lot of diseases and illnesses left untreated, or even just left too late can be fatal or debilitating, I don’t mean to alarm of course, chances are this is just a bit of a viral infection or something harmless enough, but you MUST get them to a professional when symptoms like this show up. 

We are very easily lulled into a sense of thinking that all pokemon are these hyper intelligent and almost human like beings, but sometimes (especially with younger individuals such as your michi) we need to act a little tougher to get them to the specialists they may need. 

Its like getting a young kid to go get their vaccinations, they won’t go by choice, like, yeah it sucks but if you don’t get them done, all who come in contact with your unvaccinated kids are at risk. The adults (you)  have to make rational and logical choices to give the individual (michi) the best chance at a healthy happy life. This is exactly one of those cases. 

Pokemon don’t always like going to the doctors, I know, trust me i’ve been bitten and kicked and whipped and chewed on enough to understand this. It doesn't make it any less important to train our beloved partners to at least understand that its sometimes scary at first, but necessary. 

For this particular instance, he sounds very sick, enough to warrant keeping him in his ball until you get to a secure treatment room with a nurse or doctor to look them over. They're quite trained in handling even difficult patients, so you shouldn't be too worried, so long as you tell them that Michi is a little uneasy and may lash out in his confused state. Once he’s been diagnosed and helped hopefully, get him well and medicate or do whatever is needed according to your practitioner. 

Once well again, you need to help him associate the pokemon centre with good stuff. Training a pokemon isn't just attacks and basic commands like ‘sit’ and ‘stay’, its also about them being able to be safe, get checks when sick, and not hurt people trying to help them. Take them to the centre, just get into the building, maybe hang out a while, have a soda, meet a friend, that kind of thing. If its quiet ask the staff if they can interact with your partner, give treats, get to know them. Its very important that you can build a sense of trust to pokemon centres at Michi’s young size now, because I promise you an Incineroar that doesn't want to do something just flat out wont, it takes a LOT to get them to treatment if they've built up a dislike for the facilities. fixing this dislike at his earlier age will help in the long run, and I advise you to do this once treatment is over and your buddy is better.  I do hope you two can find out whats up, I can’t diagnoses an issue such as this from a distance, this is an illness that requires hands on observations and testing of samples, somethings not right here at all. be brave, be responsible, do right by your buddy, things will be just fine if you can get them the correct care. 

[hrtthrbromanov]

Golden Boy

summary - Its been a long, long time. 

word count -  3033

Warnings - smut, fluff, maybe angst if you squint? 

Notes - Hi! I cannot write smut, so I’m deeply sorry about that. I just wanted to try my hand at it. However, if you do have any requests for future works please let me know ! I’d be more than happy to write it. 

________________________________________________________________

Two years. 

It's been two years since the incident in Lagos. Two years since the team split. Two years since you've seen him. 

You run your palms nervously up and down your thighs, the friction doing little to subside your nerves. Your mind was spinning, thinking of everything that could happen. Everything that could go wrong. You were pissed, sure, but just the thought of seeing him again made you cram whatever petty thing you wanted to say to him in the far corner of your mind.

‘What if he doesn't want to see me too? What if we can't put this past us? What if-’ 

“We're here.” 

Your debilitating thoughts stop at once. You stand, forcing yourself over to the window.  Everything was so beautiful. So advanced. You can't wrap your head around it all. You thought pointing out everything you saw was a good way to ground yourself and quell the anxiety, but once you felt the jet lowering to the ground, your nervous habits got to you again, and you have to will yourself to not wring your hands raw. 

“It's going to be okay, Lady Y/N.” A firm hand was placed on your shoulder as Thor offered you a few words of encouragement. You smile up at him, tight lipped and nostrils flared, still not convinced. 

“Yeah, what's the worst that could happen? They call you a traitor, turning their backs on you and never speak to you again?”

You turned to face the talking raccoon, scrunching up your face in confusion. “I really should've skinned you a long time ago.” You retorted, tugging at his ears as he pawed at you in protest. “Cut it out, you're gonna give me tetanus, you rat.” You giggle, briefly forgetting about your impending thoughts. 

“I am groot.” 

“Yeah, what he said. Suck it, Y/N.” Rocket hisses, pulling away from your assault. You went to reply, but before you could you felt the ground shudder below you. ‘We've landed.’ You realize. You quickly smooth down your suit, going over yourself one last time. ‘Whatever happens, happens.’ you reason with yourself. You felt a gush of wind rush past you as the doors of the ship opened, revealing tall, eccentric buildings, complemented with a deep blue sky. 

You hold your breath as you step out of the ship, unsure of what to expect. You let out your breath when the palace came into view. Your heart thudded in your chest when you made out a huddle of people right in front, no doubt waiting for you. Taking it a step at a time, you made your way over. As you neared the group you could make out Rhodey, Bruce, Natasha, Bucky, and Steve. 

“Two fossils in one place? I didn't know this was a paleontologist convention.” 

As if on cue, they all turned to face you and you could've sworn the world stopped for just a second. You didn't know what to do so you just stood there, offering a meek smile. 

“Who you calling fossil, dollface?” 

Bucky was the first to approach you, his arms open and a grin you missed so much on his face. You threw your arms around his neck as he encased you with his, squeezing nearly all you had left in you out. The hug ended all too soon as another pair of hands was pulling you two apart. 

“Share some with the rest of us, hog.” 

It was Nat. Your smile only grew upon seeing her. She pulled you into her, her hand going to cradle your head. “It's been too long,” she mumbled into your ear. You nodded against her, pulling back slightly to take in her face. 

“Hey, Y/N.” 

A small but unmistakable voice called from behind you. You pull away from Natasha's embrace to greet Bruce. He looked as nervous as you felt. “Now here's a face I haven't seen in a while. How you doing, big man?” You attempted to ease him as you took him in your arms. 

“I've had better days,” he said, the reply muffled by your shoulder. He patted your back as a friendly gesture after you escape from his hold. His expression became softer, as if he were more sure of himself now. 

“I hope you weren't thinking you could skip me.” 

You turned to Rhodey to see his smug grin. You grabbed his hand in yours as he clasped a hand on your back. “Now why would I have such a thought,” you chuckle as he stepped back.  

This left one person. The one person you haven't heard speak since you set foot in Wakanda. You knew he wanted to say something, to scoop you into his arms and say sorry, how he wished it'd never had happened, how he shouldn't have let you go. You could feel his eyes burning a hole into your head. Mustering all the courage you had, you turn to face him. But before you could say anything, a booming voice sounded from behind you. 

“Bruce and friends! Come look at my ship!”

You could hear Rocket bickering with Thor about how it was his ship, not Thor's, and how he was just some homeless pirate who needed to take a hike. You roll your eyes as everyone made their way over to take a closer look. Everyone but Steve. You two stood there, neither one of you making a move to speak. The silence wasn't normal for you two, uncomfortable even, so you said the first thing that came to your mind when looking at his face. 

“So, did you just not have razors, or were you going for a new look?” 

Steve breathed a sigh of relief, followed by a chuckle soon after. He stood up taller before he spoke, “You know, I thought I'd look cool, but now, I just feel.. old.” It was nice falling back into your silly exchanges, especially after such a time apart. The ache in your heart slowly dissipated as you looked into his eyes. You grin, tilting your head to the side, “Well, it's about time. You're only 70 years too late.” 

Steve threw his head back as laughter erupted from his throat. As his laughter came to a stop, he was the one to pull you into a hug. You melt into his arms, taking in his scent as you bury your nose into his chest. You missed this. You missed him. 

You held each other in silence for what seemed to be an eternity until he said it first.

“I missed you.”

“Getting all sentimental on me now, old man?” 

“Y/N..” he chuckled at your attempt to minimize your feelings, though, by his eyes, you could tell it was no joke to him. 

“I know, I know. I.. I missed you too, Steve. Man, I have thought about this moment for a long, long while. I-I don’t even remember everything that I wanted to say.” You were stumbling over your words, emotions getting too thick, it’s evident in your voice. 

“Hey,” Steve ran his hands up and down your arms to soothe you, “we don’t have to talk about this. Not right now, at least. Let’s just catch up. Enjoy being back.” He smiles, and this time you could see the genuine happiness and relief in his eyes. He was gorgeous without even trying, and you’d punch him later for it. 

“I’d like that. Thank you, Steve.” Your breathing finally evened and your words flowed once again. He never pushed you, and for that, you were grateful. 

“But I do have to ask..” 

“Steeeeve..” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s just been eating at the back of my mind. According to Rhodey, you left a note on the fridge six months ago saying ‘brb’?” He used air quotes to punctuate your silly informalities. 

You laugh softly, looking down, “I called up some old friends, told them I needed a getaway, traveled the galaxies for a bit..” 

“And Thor?” 

“You know, we just got him a whole, I don’t know, two hours ago, but man has he eaten literally everything in the ship.” 

You two share a laugh as you looked over to see Bucky berating the raccoon as he tried to pry his metal arm from his body. 

“Should we leave them to it?” Steve looked back to you. His eyes fluttered over your face, taking in every detail. He left deliberate glances to your lips with no attempt to act on anything. You roll your eyes playfully, “Yeah, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” 

—————————————————————

“It’s so beautiful.” 

You and Steve had made your way into the palace, now standing in a room high above the colony. You were looking out of the windows, which touched from floor to ceiling, still stunned by the advancement of Wakanda. 

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

You could feel Steve’s presence behind you now. Even from behind, you could feel his eyes rake over your body. He was trying to memorize every curve, every muscle, every ripple in your skin. 

You turned to face him, as he didn’t seem as infatuated with sightseeing, more so interested in you. You tilted your head to the side as you caught the longing look in his eyes. “I was talking about this place. Wakanda.” You quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“That may be what you’re talking about, sweetheart, but I was talking about something twice as stunning.” 

“Always such a charmer, Steven?” You rolled your eyes at his sickeningly sweet attempt to woo you. You didn't want to admit it, but even after all this time he still had hold of your heart. 

The wind was pulled from your lungs as he grabbed a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his body. Your eyes found his as he studied you more intently now. His grip on you not letting up, as if he was afraid you’d run or disappear. 

His face was closer now, his breath fanning your face as he spoke, “I miss you. I want you.” His voice came out as a low grumble, vibrating your entire body. 

“And as much as I miss you, I think I want the old cap back. What do you say we get rid of that bear growing on your face? Don’t get me wrong, it’s sexy, but..” 

“I get it, I get.” Steve chuckled as he pulled back, but not before placing a faint kiss to your lips, the feeling lingering just a little longer as he turned away, making his way to the bathroom. 

You stood there for a second, watching him disappear into the bathroom as you contemplate your next move. Once you realized he wasn’t going to come back for you, you hastily made your way after him, eager to be close to him again.

Steve’s body hovers over the bathtub, adjusting the temperature of the steady flow pouring into the tub. You move to stand behind him, your fingers running up his sides and he shivers, leaning  into your touch a bit. Your lips find their way to his neck, placing careful kisses along the curve of it, all the way down to his shoulder. 

“You gonna let me take care of you, Cap?” Your voice comes out soft, and you’re almost embarrassed because of it. But you knew it didn’t really matter, because you knew he loved it. He turns to face you, grinning like the cocky shit he’d become as he caged you in against the bathroom sink. 

“S’that what you want, sweetheart? To take care of your captain?” You shiver as his hands slide their way up your shirt, caressing your skin lightly. You roll your eyes, biting down on your bottom lip, trying to hide the smirk that desperately wanted to escape. You knew what he was getting at, and honestly, two could play that game.

“Yes, captain.” Your response doesn’t take any thought, and neither does his next move as he pulls your shirt over your head, flinging it into the corner of the room. You give his shirt the same treatment, and he chuckles as you struggle to pull it over his broad shoulders. He gives you some help, taking it off the rest of the way. You let your eyes travel down his chest while your hands go up it, and his hands find their way to the clip of your bra. Your back arches as he unclips your bra, letting it slip down your arms and onto the floor. He audibly growls and you laugh, pushing him back a little. You begin to wiggle your way out of your pants, never breaking eye contact with him. “Come on, Steve. I’ve never known you to be this slow. You can keep up, can’t you?” You tease him, giggling as you watch his eyes grow darker. Stepping out of your pants, your panties are the next to go. You can feel the nerves bubble in your chest, but it just makes this moment all the more exciting. 

You saunter over to the bathtub, stepping in and lowering yourself down slowly. You quirk an eyebrow up at him, silently telling him to get on with it. You settle yourself into the water, hissing at the feeling of the warmth that covered your aching body. Before you know it, the water was rippling once again as his much larger body made its way into the tub with you. You watched him for a second before scooting down towards him, and he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his lap.

“Missed your pretty face..” Steve nuzzles his nose into your neck and you giggle, bringing your hands up to run your fingers through his hair. You shift so you’re straddling his lap, your hands resting on his broad shoulders, pushing him back gently to rest against the wall. You let your hands travel to his beard, smirking as your fingers tangle themselves in it. You reach for the clippers resting on the side of the bathtub, tilting your head as you eye him, curiously. 

“I don’t know if I actually want it gone so soon.. It’s startin’ to grow on me. Maybe just a little trim.” 

“Maybe… Maybe you let me take what's mine first.”

“Just as impatient as always.. Relax, golden boy.” He snorts at that, letting his fingers run up your sides, occasionally dipping below the water. You just hum, running the razor carefully over the hairs of his face. Before you could make a move, you felt his hands on your hips, hoisting you out of the water. Your yelp of surprise turned into a quiet whimper when you felt his hardening member graze the inside of your thigh. “S-Steve..” He shushes you, his half lidded eyes running over your form, causing you to shiver in his hold. “It can wait. I need you, babydoll.” His voice comes out in a thick, slurred drawl. You roll your eyes, setting down the blade. 

“You’re lucky I don’t knick you with that.” Your threats are empty, of course, and he knew that too. It was all in good fun. The fun was cut short when the breath was knocked out of your lungs as he thrusts into you with no warning. You whimper, hands flying up to his shoulders as your nails dig into his skin. You bite your lip to hold in a moan as he slowly pulls back out. 

“Nuh-uh, none of that. Want to hear you. Hear how much you missed me.” his thumb comes up to your mouth, pulling on your lip until you release it. He then takes that as a go ahead to resume, lifting his hips up and pushing back into you. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud, his mouth falling open. “Fuck, baby. You’re so tight. You been savin’ this pussy for me?” he growls, taking on a brutal pace, making the water slosh up and over the side of the tub. 

You nod vigorously in response, nails raking down his chest. “Yes, sir. Waited for you.” You whine, bouncing up and down to meet the powerful thrusts of his cock. “That’s right, babydoll. This pussy is mine. And mine only.” his eyes are dark as he watches where you connect. 

His mouth goes to your neck, kissing you gently, a nice contrast to everything else. Bringing your hands up to his face, you pull him away from your neck and up to your face, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. He wastes no time sliding his tongue past your lips, yours immediately submitting to him. 

Suddenly, you cry out into his mouth as you feel his thumb on your clit, flicking harshly. “Steve, steve please.” your hand goes to his wrist, holding it in place to chase that feeling. He smirks against your lips, pulling away. 

“Use your words, princess. What do you want, huh?”

He’s driving you mad, and in any other instance you’d leave to finish off yourself just to spite him, but you need him. “Please let me cum, steve. M’so close.” you pant, grinding against him. He gives you what you want, pushing on your clit just a little bit harder, sending you over the edge. You squeeze around his cock, taking him with you. He moans, holding you in place as he cums deep inside of you and you squeal. 

“Steven! You know i don’t use birth control, you dumbass!” You quickly pull off of him, stepping out of the tub. You grab a towel, wrapping it around yourself. You turn around to glare at him, head tilted as if to wait for an explanation. 

He laughs, stepping out after you. “Just doing what I should've done a long time ago, doll. Gotta make you mine. We’ll work out the details as time goes, but I want this with you. I don’t want to leave again.” Your face softens as you nod, walking into his arms, laying your head on his chest. “I want it too. Whatever it is. Promise we’ll stick together this time? No matter what?”

“I promise.”

[sneezefiction]

home

Kuroo x Reader - Scenario

desc: sometimes loneliness finds you in your weakest moments. however, even as you grapple with your feelings for Kuroo, he still manages to make you feel at home.

warnings: depictions/discussions of loneliness, anxiety, mild angst, briefly mentions family issues, language

wc: 4k

---

This isn’t exactly what Kuroo had expected when you’d texted him to come get you from the campus library. 

He’d driven up to the building’s curb-side donning a gray hoodie and a cheeky, cheshire grin, ready to take you back to the apartment and put on some sort of sci-fi movie. But as you slowly approach the dented, familiar car, your feet lightly dragging on the concrete as you grew closer, he realizes that the movie watching would have to wait.

Because as he opens the tinted passenger-side window, Kuroo can tell you’ve been crying.

It was dark out, something you had hoped would disguise your teary eyes. But grief was etched into the lines of a tired grimace and the illumination of the lamppost was just bright enough to reveal your tear-streaked cheeks. By the look of it, he could deduce that you’ve been wiping them away for a while now.

Kuroo can’t help but stare, taken-aback by the puffiness in your face and that lost look in your eyes. You seemed so vulnerable, so alone out in the open like that.

If it weren’t for his tight, surprise-induced grip on the wheel, he would’ve gotten out of the car and held you right where you stood. But his feelings for you were… more than complicated. You also appeared uncomfortable standing out there on your own, and understandably so. This wasn’t exactly your emotional norm. Or at least, knowing you, he didn’t think it was.

You tugged at your sleeves, biting your lip sharply enough that Kuroo thought it had to hurt, and avoided his golden gaze. You were ashamed that he had to see you like this. 

Kuroo, your roommate turned best friend, was finally witnessing one of your infrequent, but debilitating mental breakdowns. No one was supposed to see you like this, eyes red and lips bruised from frustrated chewing. It was rare to even see you cry outside of a movie theater or without your face being wedged between the pages of a book with some sort of sentimental value, so this was quite emotionally revealing to say the least. 

It must have come as a bit of a shock to your usually more talkative, teasing friend, but if he was startled, he didn’t show it. Kuroo kept a calm demeanor and softened his features after getting a good look at you through the window.

But you remained a safe distance from the car, not yet ready to hop in yet. Because once you did you knew there would be questions.

The bed-headed boy had always been observant, sometimes to the point where you wondered if he had mind-reading abilities. He always noticed your mood changes and quirked expressions even when you were sure you’d hidden them well enough. Whether it was the sparkle of elation in your eye when you’d received a good grade on a project you’d poured your all into or the way your face fell while you crashed onto the couch after a failed date, Kuroo knew each and every look perfectly. Some might wonder why he cared to memorize your expressions and their meanings, but you passed it off as something that all best friends could do.

Either way, the novelty of the situation had him at a loss, so you were sure that the questions would roll once you’d made it back to the quiet of the apartment.

But the problem is... questions mean closeness.

You didn’t quite want to be an open-book with him yet. At least not to the point of spilling your heart out all over him in a messy stream of tears and endless sniffles.

Not when you were balancing your friendship and feelings for him. Not when he made your heart flutter helplessly like that. Not when your living arrangements required a certain level of comfort and freedom from both parties. And definitely not when you’d just been crying over the perpetual state of loneliness you periodically found yourself in.

Because in all honesty, you really liked Kuroo. 

And you had every reason to like him. From the black, rooster hair that you’d ruffle first thing in the morning while he made his espresso. The displeased face he pulled whenever he attempted to drink it without milk and sugar to feel more ‘sophisticated.’ The goofy, jabbing comments that managed to make you laugh after an achingly long day… 

And those small, seemingly innocent touches. The ones that sent sparks flying within your chest, warming you from the center of your heart all the way up to your burning cheeks. His eyes grew warmer, dare you say affectionate, after seeing your face light up from one of his stupid science puns that other friends of his would simply sigh at. It had your heart on overdrive.

Feelings could really fuck with this world you two had built together.

It was already hard enough living with him. You were so close, yet still so far from his reach. Your sock clad feet could rest on his lap, but not your head. You could tug at his hair, but you couldn’t tenderly twirl it around. And he could always flirt with you, leaving your skin burning hotter than a midsummer Carolina night, but you wouldn’t let yourself comment back, fearful that your true feelings would come out.

But just like dirty laundry, you were airing yourself out to the world. Or at least to the ebony-haired boy who you considered to be a big part of your world.

You’re not quite sure why you’d called him of all people anyway. You could’ve just as easily texted someone who wouldn’t ask for an explanation. Your tears would’ve probably dried by the time you’d gotten home if you’d chosen to grab an Ub*r. But you knew he would be worried for you, though his sharp eyes hid it so well. 

Underneath all of the wit and humor, those scheming smiles and that fiery determination, Kuroo was softhearted. He would listen, advise, and worst of all… he would understand, which scared you. You had already fallen hard for him and letting him see into that blackhole, that pool of murky, suffocating loneliness, would only make you want to hold him more.

But for him to see right through you, right into your long-suffering feelings for him and for them to not be reciprocated… it would break you. 

“...Hey.” Kuroo’s smile fades, his softened voice pricking at your heart a little.

He sifts through the right words to say. What phrasing would sound the most comforting? What sounded the most natural coming from him? It was like trying to catch a plummeting piece of pottery. Kuroo wanted to break your mental fall and give you something softer to land on. You were all but shattering right in front of him, so he opted for words that soothed. Words he wished he’d heard years ago when he’d been at his lowest point.

“Let’s go home.”

‘Home.’

He said it so steadily. So simply. There was authority in his tone, but it wasn’t sharp. Just sure.

How could one little word give you so much hope? 

‘Home’ meant warmth. It meant safety and security. ‘Home’ was where you could be yourself, take a deep breath, and release whispery secrets out loud without fear of judgement. 

You knew Kuroo meant your apartment when he’d said ‘home’ but you can’t help but think that there was some sentimental value to it.

You gave a sniff followed by a quiet, slightly nasally response, 

“...Yeah. Please.”

You hear the click from him unlocking the car doors and you step in slowly, one foot in, then the next. Your hands, still a little shaky, plopped down on your legs and your eyes glued themselves to the dark, starlit sky through the windshield.

You’re exhausted and you feel a little out of place, but you’re just glad you’re not alone anymore, even if his steady, thoughtful gaze is basically burning a hole in your head right now.

Your breath quietly hitches at the sudden warmth seeping into your exposed skin.

He had rested a hand on your knee, a concerned look decorating his features, and begun stroking it slowly with his thumb. His methodical movements intended to soothe an already very fragile person.

Kuroo had only touched you like this once before. At a time when your eyes were frantic and your heart, pacing with worry. You had been drowning in finals papers and your mind threatened to go into an anxious spiral. Yet somehow, his touch, his selective words, and his offer to help you out had kept you afloat. Thanks to Kuroo, you managed to keep from breaking down then.

This time however, he was a bit too late.

But he kept drawing little circles, analyzing a new, yet strangely familiar face. An expression you hadn’t personally worn before, but that he’d seen somewhere in the past.

You feared that if he kept staring, the tears would start to fall all over again, his touch only reminding you of just how lonely you really were. So close to him, yet so far.

“Can we just go?” You plead, voice at a whisper.

And as you glance over to him, he can tell that there’s something you want to say, but you can’t quite put it into words. At least not right at this moment.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking…” Kuroo’s voice is low. He nods, but doesn’t quite finish his thought.

It would be better to get you home first before asking about anything. Otherwise you might shut down on him entirely. Whether or not you realized it, Kuroo was well aware of your tendency to avoid these more ‘personal topics.’ When something got too close to home, you were suddenly tired and needed to catch some extra Z’s. When he got a bit flirty, suddenly your phone became incredibly interesting. And any time he caught you close to tears, you would play it off as though it were nothing you couldn’t handle on your own.

But you aren’t nothing to Kuroo.

So far from it, actually.

You were as close to ‘home’ as he’d ever gotten. 

Without having much close family, home was more of a physical destination to Kuroo. A structure with a solid door and a bed to crawl into. Where he could study in peace and quiet...

But there was always an emptiness deeply set within that silence.

It was impersonal at best. At worst, the space was frigid and lifeless. The iciness of the house took a toll on him, resulting in an anxious, quiet child. One who could hardly speak to friends and couldn’t look an adult in the eye.

Only when he’d met Kenma, when he had finally discovered a place where warmth overcame the bitter tundra of loneliness, did Kuroo understand what ‘home’ was supposed to be like.

‘Home’ was always welcoming. 

It was birthdays with cake and ice cream. It became multiplayer video games and frustrated sighs or bickering after a shitty round of Mario Kart. It turned into short jaunts with friends to a local 7/11 where one could spend way too much money on a basket full of snacks. It was locking eyes with you for the first time after agreeing to room with a stranger at university. It was finding out that you two shared classes and could walk together every morning. ‘Home’ was found within the conversations that bloomed like a bright, young flower from your many hours willingly spent together over the next couple of years.

And in time, you two learned each other's patterns, quirks, and minds, thus growing increasingly comfortable in the other’s presence.

‘Home,’ in its truest form, is a beautiful thing and you wore it radiantly. To the point that Kuroo had caught his own fluttering feelings for you over the years, but even his best efforts to tell you were thwarted by your little diversions.

But that didn’t matter right now. Kuroo had finally gotten you two pulled into the parking lot after a painfully quiet drive home, so he needed to focus on getting you inside and comfortable.

“Just sit there, I’ll get your door.” Kuroo directed gently.

You nod, staying in place because you really didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now.

He tugs at the door handle and before you can blink, he’s got your arm looped around his. Something he only did teasingly in the past, usually resulting in you shoving him playfully away from you. You can’t bring yourself to push him off of you and, even though you’re already warm from the heat that’s spreading to your face, you find yourself leaning into his side.

Kuroo is comfortingly warm, you note. The way he tugs you closer has you mentally tripping over yourself. You can feel the heat from his forearm radiating through your thin, long-sleeved shirt as he walks you up the stairs and towards the apartment door.

The echo of your footsteps end as you two enter the flat and, knowing that there’s a lot to talk about, you opt to grab a fuzzy blanket from the basket beside the couch and prop yourself up on a barstool at the small kitchen island.

“You want some tea?” Kuroo turns his head to check with you, his hands already busy at work getting the water boiling for his own mug.

“Yeah, something with ginger in it maybe?” You mumble out, sniffling again.

“Already got it.” He shoots you a small smile, flashing you the tea packet wedged between his index and his thumb.

He knew you pretty damn well, you guessed.

“So y/n… you wanna tell me what happened tonight?”

Kuroo’s words are prompting, but you assume he’s already got some ideas of his own.

“Would you hate me if I said no?” You let a shy, humorous smile peek through your otherwise exhausted face.

“Y/n…” Kuroo sighs, running a hand through his hair and leaning back against the countertop opposite to your seat at the kitchen island.

He’s trying his hardest to maintain some level of calm, but the fact that you won’t tell him has him even more frustrated. You had every right to keep your business to yourself… but you looked like you were dying to tell him something.

Kuroo opens his mouth again, his brow creasing when you don’t answer, but you don’t let him get another word in.

“I-- I’m just not really sure where to start.” Your eyes grow a little hazy as you begin to decipher your feelings again. You let your elbows rest on the countertop, but use your hands to prop up your chin, glancing from Kuroo’s golden irises to the steaming water on the stove.

“You can start wherever.” Kuroo answers easily, his head tilting a little.

“It may take awhile to explain…” You press, both warning him and buying yourself some time.

“I’ve got all night, sweetheart.” He quips back, unfazed by your attempts at stalling.

He turns to pour the hot water into two mugs, tea bags already resting at the bottom of the cups. Kuroo turns back, grasping both mugs and setting both on the island, only to realize that your face has changed once again.

You’re anxious. Unsure. He can see it in the way you’re studying him, trying to gage his potential reaction to what you’re about to say. And unfortunately, Kuroo recognized the look faraway in your eyes. A blank, helpless stare that he himself had once wore when the sharp fangs of loneliness had once latched onto him.

So he takes a few steps toward your side of the kitchen, sets the mugs aside, and leans his forearms on the counter. Kuroo meets your eyes at a much closer range. Your arms fold into your chest in an odd, physical attempt to hold in a breath because his face is so close to yours now.

“Look…” He huffs out, “You really don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I need you to know,”

He lifts a hand out and tilts your chin up, leaving you dumbfounded by the confidence in his reassuring touch.

“You can tell me anything, okay? I’ll always be right here.”

He’d managed to, once again, send you into a state of complete, baffling security. It might’ve helped that, even bent over the counter, his towering figure and stronger build allowed you to feel just as protected outside as you did in. Not only were the butterflies in your stomach acting up again and the burn in your cheeks back with a vengeance, but a wave of bravery flowed into you.

And that word flickers through your mind like a firefly.

‘Home.’

And ‘home’ meant safety. And safety meant you could speak freely.

So you do.

“It’s just… I haven’t been doing too well lately.” You blink at him, words frank to the point that they’re almost hilarious.

He blinks back… and then a milder version of that cheeky grin is back, followed by, “Well, I think I could glean at least that much.”

Kuroo’s fingers fall from your face, but he doesn’t break eye-contact except to snag a chair. He sits right across from you, resting his cheek in his palm. Partly to cover up the tint spreading across his cheeks, partly to fix his full attention on you.

You give him a weak but real smile and slouch into your chair, letting your tight shoulders loosen up a little bit.

“Give me a break okay?” You flick his forehead and he bites his lip, but it still remains in that lopsided smile.

However, your smile fades as his own face grows a little more serious, drawing the both of you back to the topic at hand.

“Kuroo, I’ve just been really... lonely.” You let out, voice small and soft compared to the teasing tone you’d carried seconds ago. “Like there’s this weight, this pressure inside of my chest and it just won’t lift no matter what I try, y’know? But today...”

You huff, letting out a deep sigh, “I think I finally hit some sort of breaking point.”

“I mean, saying that out loud feels really dramatic, but I think that’s all I can equate it to? And I guess it just came out in tears...” You express, looking down at your hands and messing with your own fingers. You felt silly. Like you’d built everything up only for it to sound like a stupid little problem.

But Kuroo’s face convinced you that he was taking every word seriously. That every little phrase mattered.

“Okay…” Kuroo processes, scanning your face and glancing down at your hands.

“So then why didn’t you say anything before?”

Well… that’s a pretty fair question, you think to yourself.

Because being real with someone meant being vulnerable? Because ridding yourself of loneliness meant putting your secrets and feelings out there in the open? Because it meant that closeness and proximity would change with whoever you shared your thoughts with? And because, specifically with Kuroo, you fear that the attachment would be too much for you to handle? All of these were the truth.

It’s hard to pick one answer, so you choose something simpler.

“I… was scared.” You admit, looking away from his gaze.

“Have you always felt this way?” His question at first sounds straightforward, but there’s a somber twinge to his voice.

“...Even around me?” And there’s the pause. Your words had definitely stung.

“I- Kuroo, that’s not fair…” You catch yourself speaking faster than you can think. 

“You know you’re the only…” The answer is almost honest, nearly the truth… but the words catch in your throat as you realize what you’re saying. 

“I- I mean… not around you,” You stutter out, hands actually making their way to your face this time. “What am I saying…”

You’d started this night crying hurt-heavy tears from not being able to open up to anyone... And now you’ve been reduced to this flustered, hot mess in a matter of hours? Who even were you today?

“You were saying that, ‘I’m the only… ?’” Kuroo tilts his head once again, this time in confusion.

There’s a flash of panic in your eyes. But not out of fear. It’s out of… embarrassment?

Then a lightbulb goes off and Kuroo’s eyes widen slightly in a slow realization. The puzzles pieces had finally clicked together, one by one.

You were both so close. So close to touching. So close to being something more all the time… but never close enough to tell him how you really felt. About him and about how much things, to put it lightly, sucked for you right now. And you’d pushed it to be that way. You’d purposefully kept yourself away because openness hurts. At some point in time, you had somehow convinced yourself that being vulnerable on purpose was far more painful than suffering in silence.

And you can tell that Kuroo has caught on. But not because he’s grinning nor because he’s said anything to make you think so. No, it’s those eyes again.

He’s giving you that softened look again.

The one that could convince you that maybe there was more to this ‘friendship’ than what you were allowing yourself to admit. A look that reminded you of ‘home’ more than any other person, city, or beautiful, sturdy building could.

And, once more, Kuroo’s touch surprises you. A hand found its way to your own, grasping it firmly, the confidence in his outreach creating a deep contrast to the uncharacteristic, shy pink painting his cheeks.

“Kuroo-”

“Can I be completely honest with you?” He cuts you off, eyes fixed on your hands locked within his own.

“Well, it wouldn’t be like you to be anything else, would it?” You manage to stammer out, nerves reaching your voice.

“You’re not wrong.” Kuroo hums, rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“But I think now is a good time to say that I never want you to feel alone.” He starts, “I never want you to feel lonely like that because you’ve always made me feel so… at home.”

That word again.

“Like I couldn’t be lonely even if everyone I knew left me. Because at least I’d have you, y/n.” And if your heart wasn’t already racing furiously, it’s now beating loudly enough that you would be surprised if he couldn’t hear it.

“Well, I mean if Kenma ditched me, that would suck and I’d probably be miserable for awhile, but that’s beside the point.” His lip twitches into a quick smile, lightening the mood.

“What I’m trying to say is that I- I like you. And, I think you might like me too…” He searches your gaze for some sort of confirmation.

“But whatever you feel towards me, I never want you to handle loneliness by yourself.”

“You’ll always have me. Whenever you need me. You’re home to me, y/n. I don’t say that lightly.”

He goes to release your hand, but you quickly tangle your digits with his, earning yourself a quick glance from his usually less revealing eyes.

“You’re home to me too.”

Your voice is small. The phrase comes out quickly. The emotion is heavily emphasized in that word ‘home’ again… but you mean it with every ounce of your being.

And looking into his eyes, you’re being affirmed by his knowing presence. That adoring look that’s reserved just for you, on full display. Absolute affection seeping through the gentle break of his smile.

“And I might like you too… just a little.” You break into your own small smile, reaching with the other hand to brush his messy hair away from his eyes.

And you’re shocked by the simplicity of your actions. Surprised by the sudden freedom you’ve given your hands.

Because now he’s close enough.

Close enough to card your fingers through his hair as tenderly as you pleased. Close enough to grab hold of him in a long, hopeful hug when the nights get cold or as dreams go sour. Close enough for his warmth to melt away the iciness of those lonesome feelings.

And best of all… Kuroo was finally close enough to call ‘home.’

---

Do Not Repost

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[letsbenditlikebennett]

The Crazies || Ari & Levi

TIMING: Before the Season 3 Finale PARTIES: @exleviathan @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Curiosity may have killed the cat, but no one said anything about the werewolf or the former deep-sea being.  CONTENT: Head Injury and mentions of suicidal ideation

The smell of death in town became overwhelming. Ariana knew White Crest had a higher death rate per capita than almost anywhere else, but this was stronger than anything she’d ever sensed before. Something big was happening and it wasn’t good. The roots were cause for concern, but every day, the stench of death got stronger. With it being so close to the full moon, it was almost debilitating. It brought on a fresh wave of nausea every time she stepped outside. Whatever was happening, she couldn’t just ignore it, so she did what she did best and let her nose lead the way. She trekked through the forest toward the large tree that stood above them all. The closer she got, the more intense the pungent odor became. She jumped over roots and carefully maneuvered over patches of ice. She’d made a good headway towards the tree when she found someone else poking around. Her nose scrunched as she sniffed the person out. Nothing discernibly animalistic. The stench of death was too strong to rule out undead so she listened for a heartbeat outside of her own. Okay, alive then, she thought. She stepped over some branches that snapped under her foot to announce her presence. “You know,” she said with a laugh, “This is probably the least safe part of the woods to be taking a hike in. You lost or something?” 

Curiosity had always been one of Levi’s weak points. Perhaps it was this ineffable need to explore, to stick its nose into places it didn’t belong and bury itself in the business of others that got it trapped in this dead guy’s body in the first place…? No, that was ridiculous. Those summoners were just jerks, and that was that.

 All that said, curiosity was definitely what had gotten Levi out of the house today. That stink, man, that stink… something foul was afoot, and it wasn’t just the oxygen molecules. That was saying nothing of the big ass tree that had suddenly appeared on the horizon, nor the onslaught of rooty appendages that kept cropping up wherever their little hearts desired. It was nutty, even for Levi, so the ex-demon had to investigate. 

 This turned out to be easier said than done, and if anyone asked, Levi had made it out of not one but two life-threatening situations on his trek toward the goliath tree, and those situations were definitely not just him tripping on his own feet and getting uncomfortably close to slapping an arm across the shifty, wriggly root boys. 

 Touching them is bad, Levi reminded itself, arms hugged close to its wide chest. “No touch.” Oops. Said that one out loud. 

 Snap! Levi leaped about a foot in the air, whipping around as soon as its boots came back into contact with the earth. “Holyfuckin’shit,” it wheezed, seeing a small (wow, like really small) woman standing a few feet away. “I—yeah. Yeah, I gathered that. Not lost, though, uh—” It looked around them, then up into the sky, seeing the towering branches of its destination in the not-so-far distance. “Just… curious.” It glanced back at the young’n, head cocked to the side. “What about you, huh? Got an AK-47 hidden in that jacket, or are ya real confident about your kung-fu skills?”

The person in front of her was seemingly out of breath if their panting was any indication. Ariana looked at the man curiously with a tilted head. The question mark was written all over her face as she tried to get a better grasp on his scent. Nothing animalistic to him and any smell of death was masked by the stench surrounding the tree. He could be a hunter, but something told her that wasn’t the case. At least, she was pretty sure. Most of the hunters she knew wouldn’t be so winded. She wouldn’t eliminate the possibility, but given he wasn’t pulling a knife on her, she’d let it go. Instead, an amused grin flashed across her face. “You’re also curious about the tree. Well, might as well check it out together.” 

 Her hands naturally ended up placed on her hips as she gave him another once over. A laugh escaped at the mention of an AK-47. “I don’t need an AK-47 to be dangerous,” she stated. As much was true. She didn’t even really need the knives or aerosol/lighter combo either, but it sure as hell helped for problems that couldn’t be eaten away. “I do have a few knives and a makeshift fire though. May have a few other tricks up my sleeve. What about you? I don’t see an assault rifle on your back.” 

Brightening at the prospect of having an adventuring buddy, the large human-presenting aberration allowed a wide grin to appear on its face, giving the woman an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah! Safety in numbers, n’ all that,” it agreed wholeheartedly. Her laugh only bolstered this feeling—Levi was always glad when it was able to get a chuckle out of someone. Was that a side effect of having spent so long by itself? Maybe.

 “Oh dang, you’re a little spitfire, aren’t you?” Though it could have been easily misconstrued as condescending, something about Levi’s earnest tone supported the sincerity of the statement—if someone so unassuming was that confident in their ability to kick ass, Levi wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt.

 “Nah, nah… peace n’ love, sister,” Levi responded with another grin, flashing two peace signs with its hands. “Or maybe I just know my limits. Carting around a gun would only put a target on my back, and I’m not looking to end up six feet under any time soon, so.” Offering her a shrug, it glanced in the direction that it’d been headed. “Say, was I even going in the right direction? Pretty sure I keep getting turned around in this place. Sense of direction isn’t what it used to be.”

In a place like White Crest, Ariana wasn’t sure there was a big enough number that could ensure safety, especially with roots that could make you wither by simply touching them, but it was nice in theory. If they were both equipped for a fight, they may stand to have an advantage. Not that she particularly cared whether she was hurt or not in the process. The guilt that had taken up a full-time residency in her only served to make her a bit more reckless. The fight with Metzli had staved off some of those impulses for a while, but it only took so long before she was itching to hop into the fold again. To face the darkest of White Crest had to offer. If she was destroyed in the process, would it really be that much of a loss? She realized her own turmoil was evident in the way her brows knit together. She unfurrowed them and laughed, “Safety may be a bit of a stretch. But safety tip, don’t fucking touch the roots.” 

 “Spitfire– I like that. Yeah,” she agreed. Her temper was quick to flare and she never hesitated to jump into a fight. Spitfire was apt. So were impulsive and idiotic, but tomato tomato. Or whatever it was the humans said. She couldn’t help but laugh about the peace signs when they were surrounded by the stench of death and thick forestry that was more ominous than it was peaceful. “A hippie chasing the smell of death,” she said with chuckle, “There’s something you don’t see everyday. But smart move, no need to paint a target on yourself.” 

 “Were you hoping to get to the source of the gross smell? Because if so, you wanna go this way,” she answered confidently. Could she fight a tree? She wasn’t sure. But she could sure as hell sniff out just about anything. She led the way through an opening in the trees and was careful to maneuver over any roots in the path. It was hard to distinguish normal roots from bad roots as she scrabbled downhill towards the heart of the forest. “So, why are you chasing down the tree? Are you a hippie and a thrill-seeker? Or do you have some hidden plan to make the big bad roots go poof?” Her tone was light-hearted and joking, but internally she wasn’t sure how she felt about leading someone else towards danger. Herself was one thing, but endangering others wasn’t high on her to-do list. 

Tapping the side of its nose, Levi threw the young girl a wink and a nod. “Aye, yeah, heard about that one from some busybody government official, or something. Kind of… difficult advice to follow,” it muttered, glancing around them at the plethora of what could be bad or good roots. 

 “Mmm… hippie with a morbid sense of curiosity, let’s call it. I guess thrill-seeking kinda comes with the territory, doesn’t it?” Carefully, Levi followed after her, making sure to step where she stepped so as to not disturb any murderous plants. “No secret plans, I’m afraid… just too much free time on my hands. And the curiosity, well, once I get an idea in my head I can’t really do much else except see it through. Just become uselessly distracted, so here we are! What’s your angle? Gonna roast this big ass tree with makeshift fire of yours?” Honestly, it seemed like the most logical plan, except for one big red flag— “It’d be terrible if it got out of control, though. Don’t imagine the inhabitants here would be too pleased.”

“Peace, love, and chaos then,” Ariana joked in response as she threw up a peace sign. She wasn’t sure what this guy was and why he felt the need to also investigate the smell of death, but it wasn’t like she could exactly fault him. She was also here, being reckless for the sake of curiosity and a bit of a self-destructive streak. Said self-destructive streak didn’t make her any less cognizant of her surroundings. Even if she wanted to turn it off, with how quiet the forest was, she could always hear the slightest shift in the brush or crunch of melting snow. Her sense of smell was clouded with that of rotting bodies with just a trace of pollen that made her nose itch. 

 “I don’t actually have a plan outside of the usual… which is fuck around and find out. I’d say it hasn’t failed me yet but,” she shrugged. Messing with Lydia hadn’t exactly worked out in her favor even if the fae did end up dying for her actions. “Figured if I don’t bother it or touch the roots, it’s really just whatever’s protecting it that may cause a problem.” 

 As if on cue, she heard movement. She placed her hand up and gestured for Levi to stop behind her. Her eyes narrowed and she scanned her surroundings. There was a wisp of movement in the trees ahead that was fast-approaching. “Stay low,” she whispered as she tried to get an idea of what was approaching. It didn’t take long to make out the slow-moving figures. They looked like corpses and their movements were stiff. Her eyes widened and she vaguely remembered seeing something like this before. Some of the figures had small leaves gathered in their hands that they held close to them. She mentally took count and could make out five of them. They were slow at least. As the first one staggered over, she ducked behind a tree so she could have the element of surprise in her favor. They were all taller than her, so if she wanted to make any effective blows, she’d need to get them on her level. As the first one passed her, she leapt onto it’s back. It made a strange gurgling sound and reached back for her. She slammed her head into its which launched them both toward the ground.

Fuck around and find out. Levi liked that a lot. It was basically the ex-demon’s philosophy, finally given a name. It cackled and nodded its head, about to respond when the stranger held up a hand to stop him. Faltering, it watched her look around like she’d heard something. Stay low? It was six feet tall, how the hell was it supposed to stay low? Crouching wasn’t as easy as video games made it look, that was for damn sure. Still, Levi did its best, hunching over with wide eyes as it spotted the movement she’d no doubt picked up on. 

 It wasn’t until the girl jumped on one of the figures that Lavi realized it didn’t know her name yet, so it just hissed out a concerned, “Spitfire!” and quickly scurried over to them, keeping one eye on the other shuffling figures as they made their slow approach. She seemed to have it sufficiently pinned, and Levi was wary of getting too close.

 “Is it just me, or do these things scream Romero zombie?” Picking up a large rock that sat nearby, Levi was poised to hurl it at the head of whichever one got closest first. “Same rules, y’think?”

Ariana wasn’t sure what she had expected venturing this close to the tree, but an undead piggyback ride definitely wasn’t it. A deep groan came from the corpse as they smashed into the ground. Her own grunt came out as her head was hitting its head yet again. She was definitely gonna have a headache later. While she had the leverage, she tried grabbing it by its dirt and blood covered hair so she could slam their head into the ground. She ignored the pounding in her head and focused all her force into smashing the already rotting head into the ground. It put up a fight but she managed to crush it into the ground. The smell was rancid and there was hardly any blood. This thing must have been pretty decomposed before someone did… whatever the hell this was with it. 

 She turned at the sound of the word Spitfire being called out. Before she had a chance to acknowledge she liked the nickname, there were more of the fucks closing in on them. At least they didn’t have speed on their side. She debated what good any of her knives would do. It dawned on her she should really probably learn more about supernatural species before rushing into danger. Once he was next to her, she gave him a perplexed look with her brows knit together, “Romero zombies? What are–” She shook her head, “Never mind, not actually sure how to kill these things, but if we knock enough out, we should be able to outrun them.” 

What were Romero zombies?! Oh boy, this kid had some learnin’ to do. But that would have to come later, since right now they were a little more than tied up with the current, awful situation. Levi gave the girl a nod at her suggestion. “Right, knockin’ stuff out. I’m good at that!” They were just people—dead people, but humans. Levi could handle humans. 

 Rock in hand, Levi squinted one eye shut and reeled it back like a football, taking a little hop-step forward and chucking it at the shambler that was in the front of the pack, beaning it right in the head. Its neck gave a sickening snap and it collapsed to the ground, whatever remained of its gray matter splattering over the snow. 

 Gross.

 Levi didn’t really want to get close to these things, especially if a bite from them was gonna start rotting the meatsuit it was wearing, but it also didn’t want to get swarmed and eaten alive. Searching its immediate vicinity, Levi found a broken branch that it hefted up into the air, tongue poking out from its mouth as it took a vicious swing at the next-closest target. 

At least her companion for the afternoon had good aim. And these fuckers were slow. In all honesty, Ariana figured they could probably outrun them, but that’d just make them someone else’s problem later. She was typically more fight than flight anyway. She darted ahead to attack the closest moving one and relished in the feeling of her fist colliding with the ugly walking dead nightmare’s stomach. While slow moving, the dead guy hardly even recoiled at the force of her punch. Guess there wasn’t much in the way of wind to knock out of a dead person. She narrowly dodged its hand reaching for her ponytail only to collide into another one who was grasping at her shirt. 

 “Oi, fuck you,” she grumbled as she snagged herself free of its surprisingly strong grip. Two pairs of clumsy arms were reaching out for her. Ariana used one of the knives in hand and plunged it into the first walking dead nightmare she could. She had aimed high and just barely made it into one’s neck. It dawned on her maybe she was a little out of her depth and outnumbered here. Death didn’t scare her, but she wasn’t about to get some other guy killed. So she rolled backward and out of the immediate vicinity toward her new rock-throwing hippie pal. 

 “So, they’re not fast,” she whispered to him, “But they are fucking strong as shit. You good at running?” 

“Fore!” Grinning wildly, Levi appeared to be having way too much fun thwacking these things in the head. It might have gone on like that for a while longer if not for its small companion who appeared to be in a little over her head (more literally than anything else), and it nodded enthusiastically at the change of gameplan. 

 “You bet! Y’wanna book it outta here?” It looked back at the oncoming horde and grimaced. “Think they’ll swerve off course, or are we only gonna be leading them right back to… wherever it is we end up?” 

 Ideally, they’d lead the shamblers someplace they could get caught up in something, like the mess of roots that seemed to have overtaken the woods. Or maybe— “Hey, wait, d’you know the way to that big ass cave in the ground? Bet we could lead ‘em right into that!”

“Considering how slow moving they are, I was thinking we’d just get away from them completely,” Ariana answered with a huff as the headache started to kick in. She really didn’t feel like leading the corpse monsters astray, but she guessed they could be problematic for someone else. They’d have to run pretty slow for the corpses to keep up and the gullet wasn’t exactly close. “Do you mean Devil’s Gullet? That’s pretty far.” Normally, she could probably make the run work, but the head butting left her head pounding and she hadn’t exactly been getting much in the way of sleep since Alcher had died. 

 “We could give it a try,” she started, “Up to you. Not sure if they’ll venture far away from the tree or nah.” Her hope was that he’d say no, but if he said yes, she couldn’t exactly rationalize not yeeting the walking corpses to their second deaths. It was probably the right thing to do. As one neared, she yanked on the hippie’s sleeve and said, “Either way, we gotta run now.” 

Seeing as how its companion sounded less than enthused by the idea, Levi relented. It didn’t really care if this turned into someone else’s problem, after all… in fact, it could think of a slayer that it truly hoped the little horde would encounter.

 Following along when Spitfire tugged on its sleeve, the ex-demon scurried after her while assuring her that it didn’t really care one way or the other and was happy to abandon the fight. 

 “Oh, I’m Levi, by the way,” it added once they were a safe distance from the shamblers, tilting its head at the girl curiously. “Your noggin okay? You gave that heap of moldy people-cheese quite a head wallop.”

Ariana was grateful that Levi seemed good with the running idea. While she hated to leave a fight, the way her head throbbed and vision blurred was a good enough sign to get the hell out of there. The only other living person in the area was safe and with her, so it wasn’t totally a wash. It didn’t stop the small voice in her head that chided her for running away. Nor the relief that washed over her once they were far enough away. 

 “I’m Ariana,” she responded with a tight smile. Too much movement of her head probably wasn’t the best idea. The world almost looked like it did after a few too many shots of tequila with the way it spun, but the tequila hangover headache just happened to be paired with it. Somehow, headbutting a walking corpse was actually more fun than the shots of tequila she did with one of her regulars last week. “Head’ll be fine. Hurts like a bitch, but it’ll be alright.” 

 She took a moment to gather the scents of the area to make sure she wasn’t leading them towards something even worse. “Probably a good reminder to not use my head in fights, only soccer games,” she joked, “Nice use of a rock though. Scrappy!” 

Offering Ariana a lackadaisical shrug, Levi wore a huge grin. “I’d love to take credit for my excellent marksmanship, but honestly, it was probably just dumb luck.” Glancing up toward the treetops only to realize that the interruption had set them even farther off course, the ex-demon gave a wistful sigh. “Ahh… maybe it’s not meant to be. Seeing the big tree up close, I mean. Especially if it’s got creepy crawlies like that guarding it, or at least… milling about. Dangerously.” It chewed the inside of its cheek for a moment before glancing back at Ariana.

 “Yeah, I’ve had enough adventure for one day. You wanna get something for that head of yours? Booze, meds, milkshakes… whatever. My treat! I owe you a lesson on Romero zombies, after all.”

Ariana chuckled a bit and shook her head, “Good timing on the dumb luck then. If we can’t see a giant tree up close, at least we weren’t something’s dinner.” In White Crest, that was always a plus.  She wasn’t quite sure what was with the creepy crawlies, but they looked oddly familiar. Either way, she knew she’d personally been pushing her luck lately. Her body was still sore from body slamming a streetlight and now her head felt out of sorts. The tension in her shoulders eased up as they neared the edge of the forest. “Definitely enough adventure for one day,” she lit up at the mention of milkshakes, “You know, I think a milkshake and a burger are exactly what my head needs. And you do need to tell me all about those Romero zombies.” She wondered if they were like real zombies at all. Or if there were even different types of zombies in White Crest. She knew there were vampire fruits so it wouldn’t be too far fetched for there to be other zombies. “Flipped is closest, and I think my roommate is working today. She makes the best milkshakes.” There was an easy yet dazed smile on her face as they made their way to the diner. She only just met this Levi guy, but he seemed like he was good fun. Anyone who was down to investigate the oddities of White Crest was usually good in her book.

[miracleonice87]

Begin Again

a Mathew Barzal song fic

a/n: a one shot based on “Begin Again” by Taylor Swift. obviously I don’t own any of Taylor Swift’s music/lyrics! I’m not even a big Swiftie anymore (edited: lol dying bc I wrote that before she released folklore and evermore and sucked me RIGHT back in) but I love her “Red” album and always listen to it in the fall. also, the NYC traffic/parking/location situation in this is purely fantasy BS, lol.

summary: Mat Barzal meets Hayden Parker (fictional) in a coffee shop, and they start something new.

warnings: swearing. talk of a concussion/migraines/weight loss — otherwise, complete and total fluff.

______

With a deep breath, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror hanging near your front door before you left your Brooklyn apartment. You hadn’t worn these heels for several seasons now — he hadn’t liked it when you wore high heels. You had let his opinions — on your clothes, shoes, music, books, movies, and friends — dictate how you lived for too long. You smirked now, admiring how the pointed-toe snakeskin stilettos looked paired with your raw cut black jeans and silky pink blouse. He would’ve hated this look (“too gaudy,” he would have said), which made you love it that much more.

You popped in one AirPod and flipped the inside lock on your door before pulling it closed. You made your way down the hall as the lyrics started to flow.

There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range

His horse and his cattle are his only companions...

You fought the urge to roll your eyes thinking about your former flame’s constant unwarranted comments about this classic ballad which often wafted through your apartment from the record player in the living room.

“I don’t get this song — like, is he singing to himself?” he would ask. You never bothered to tell him the real background and meaning — you loved the song, and you got it. You always had.

Emerging from the main entrance of your building, you hummed along to melodies from your favorite playlist, and walked the three or so blocks to your destination. Soon, you were stepping in from the bustle of the street to find solace in an only-slightly less busy coffee shop, one you had come to frequent because of its location — sandwiched within the six blocks between your apartment and the fashion magazine where you were interning this semester.

“Hi, one large double shot mocha, please?” you requested, stepping up after the man in front of you paid for his order. You tapped your AirPod to pause your music, just in time to hear: “Nice shoes.”

You lifted your head and glanced toward the pick-up section of the counter, where a classically handsome man in his twenties stood donning a well-tailored navy blue suit. Your heart lurched in your chest as you realized he was looking straight at you.

“Me?” you inquired softly, just to be sure, as you slipped your bank card back into your wallet. He nodded, smiling. “Yes, you. Nice shoes.”

You bit your lip involuntarily, slowly walking his way to wait on your coffee. “Thanks. You’ve got nice style yourself,” you complimented, and you were surprised by your own boldness in that moment. Something about his confidence made you confident, too. And something about his model good looks seemed unsettlingly familiar somehow.

He extended his hand as you took your position next to him. “I’m Mat,” he greeted. You couldn’t help but smile, nearly breathless from his innate charm.

“Hi, Mat,” you replied, engaging his handshake. “I’m Hayden.”

“Hayden. Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Mat mused, holding onto your hand for just a moment longer than was customary. You knew it was silly — God, was it silly — but you felt yourself blush at his flattery.

“Large Americano,” a barista called out. Mat stepped forward, thanking her and stuffing a bill — you couldn’t help but notice that it was a large one — into the tip jar atop the glass pastry display. He turned back to you as he unfastened the lid and blew gently on his coffee. Another thing you couldn’t help but notice — his perfect pink lips.

“So, Hayden, are you a native New Yorker?”

Hmm, you thought. Why isn’t he running for the door after getting his drink? You decided to play along, feeling more daring than you had in ages.

“I am not,” you confessed. “I’m from Maine, actually.”

“Ah, still an East Coast girl,” Mat remarked with a grin. “I’m from the West — near Vancouver.”

You arched your brows. “Wow, Canadian, huh?” Mat chuckled.

“Born and raised. You know what they say, though: opposites attract,” he commented, hazel eyes piercing into you even as he took a cautious sip from his cup. You studied his face — he seemed more familiar with each word he spoke.

“They do say that, don’t they?” you retorted, skirting his inference. Just then, the barista set your mocha on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” you said, also pushing a tip into the jar, thankful that Mat’s attention was on grabbing a cup sleeve from the island nearby instead of on the much smaller bills you had to offer the staff.

You turned toward the island, too, reaching for the cinnamon. Mat offered you a sleeve as if it was second nature, and you graciously accepted, trying to relax the muscles on your face that seemed to have permanently turned upward into a smile since you’d been in the man’s presence.

Suddenly, you gasped.

“Islanders,” you whispered under your breath as Mat watched you stir your cinnamon into your drink. He froze.

“What?” he asked with a nervous laugh, wondering if he had heard you correctly. Your eyes darted around, making sure no one within earshot was paying attention.

“You play for the Islanders. Right?” you asked softly. He nodded, silent, ducking his head a bit; you began to backpedal.

“Oh, God... I didn’t mean - I, uh... I promise I’m not like a hockey fangirl, or anything,” you choked out, cheeks flushed. Your hands started to shake slightly as you replaced the lid on your to-go cup. “I just, uh, my brother. My brother played hockey. He always talked about you, and, uh, I just realized that that’s why I recognized you.” You winced.

“This... this isn’t as weird as it sounds, I swear,” you insisted. “It’s just that, my brother played in the Q. He was good, and, uh, I knew about all the other good hockey players, because of him.”

Mat’s demeanor had quickly changed — from slightly uncomfortable to giddy. He was smirking at you while you sputtered, taking a sort of masochistic pleasure in watching you squirm. His grin was infectious.

“What’s your last name?” he asked when you finally stopped talking. “Parker,” you responded, the two of you stepping away from the island and taking up residence near the front windows of the cafe.

“Parker... Parker,” he repeated. You were distracted by how good your name sounded falling from his tongue. Then, he gasped, too.

“Oh shit, your brother’s Nick Parker? Damn, how’s he doing?”

Your brow quirked as you watched the light flicker on in his eyes when he pieced it together. A National Hockey League star recognized your brother’s name, your name. What the hell was happening?

You cleared your throat, attempting to come back into orbit. “Uh, yeah, he’s good now. He, uh... it was a battle there for a couple years. He had migraines every day for about 16 months... lost a lot of weight. It was... it was tough,” you told him, your voice lowering noticeably. Mat watched you carefully, concern written all over his striking features. It was evident that Mat knew your brother’s story.

Your older brother Nick had been a top 20 prospect in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League as a teen, playing forward for the Halifax Mooseheads. But after a nasty late hit during a playoff game, he had been left with a debilitating concussion and, after a long period of unsuccessful rehab, had been forced to walk away from the game just as he was entering his prime.

Those troubling days hung like a thick, black fog over your family’s history, and you suddenly recalled being 15 again, cross-legged outside Nick’s bedroom door for hours, begging him to let you into the dark room to hold onto him as he cried, both because of the pain and because of the weight of his unrealized dreams. It had taken countless neurologist appointments, physical therapy, and your parents’ unwavering insistence that he regularly see a sports psychologist for him to return to some semblance of normalcy after a long road to recovery.

Now, minus the occasional treatable migraine, Nick was thriving. You beamed at the thought, your well-polished black nail picking at the corner of the cup sleeve on your mocha as you looked back to Mat and continued.

“But he’s finishing law school now, seeing a therapist and keeps himself in great shape, which helps. He’s getting married next summer to this great girl,” you finished, pride swelling in your chest at how far your brother had come. Mat’s eyebrows lifted, his worried expression morphing into elation.

“No shit!” he exclaimed. “Damn, I’m so happy for him. Tell you what, lotta guys wanted nothing to do with him when he was tearing it up. And we were all gutted for him after it happened.” You gave him a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “I’ll have to let him know you said that.” Mat nodded, then pressed on. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to tell him myself one day,” he added brazenly, casually taking another sip.

No response came to your brain, so you curled your fingers around your own cup and took a long draw, eyes darting to the activity outside the window, Mat’s never leaving your unsure face.

The church bells chiming from a nearby steeple were the only thing that could pull Mat’s gaze from you, as he checked his large-face Rolex. He seemed angered by the time staring back at him, and he ran his hand aggressively through his hair as his eyes rolled just slightly.

“Listen, Hayden, I hate to do this,” Mat began with a sigh. “But we’ve got a game in Pittsburgh tomorrow night, and the team plane leaves in like half an hour.”

You’re surprised by how deflated you feel in that instant, casting a downward glance at the shoes Mat had complimented only minutes ago, before you’d started feeling like maybe you’d known him your whole life.

A quiet, “Oh,” was all you could muster, still not meeting his eyes.

His hand then came to rest on your upper arm, and it’s only then that you noticed how big it was, long fingers curling easily around your bicep.

“But hey... I’ll be back late tomorrow night. Whaddya say we grab coffee here the next morning? Wednesday. Maybe 8?”

You turned your eyes upward to take in his face. He looked hopeful. He was hopeful that he’d see you again.

You nodded. “I’d love to, Mat. I’ll meet you here.”

Mat beamed, a relieved breath falling from his lips. “Good,” he commented. “I’ll see you then.” He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, leaving you reeling when he pulled away.

“Bye, pretty Hayden,” Mat said with a wink before turning and exiting the coffee shop, walking down the block to the Cadillac he’d just unlocked. He was still in sight when he glanced over his shoulder and threw you another breathtaking grin. You smiled back, frozen in place as you watched him drive away.

_____

Mat was going to be late.

At least, that’s what you had convinced yourself at some point within the last 48 hours.

He was either going to be late or he was going to stand you up altogether. So even though you woke up at 5:30 and initially felt the need to rush through your routine to get down to the coffee shop as quickly as possible, you didn’t. You forced yourself to slow down. Because Mat was going to be late. Or, he wasn’t going to be there at all.

So you were surprised when, after throwing on a red chiffon dress with tiny white flowers and a cognac leather jacket, you walked through the coffee shop door at 8:02 and heard, “Hayden!”

Your head snapped up.

At a corner table in the back of the shop was Mat, dressed in a smart grey sweater and distressed black jeans, a silver chain looped around his neck, standing to wave you over with a broad smile across his face.

He came. And he’d arrived before you did.

You walked over to Mat and he embraced you warmly, the two of you exchanging kisses on the cheek. He squeezed your elbow affectionately as you stepped back from him.

“Oh, here. Let me,” Mat said as he pulled your chair out and motioned for you to sit.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, his chivalry catching you by surprise. Once you were seated, he pushed your chair in slightly before taking his place across the table from you.

“I got you a mocha,” he told you, nodding at the cup in front of you. “Double shot, right?”

You nodded. “You’re sweet. Thank you,” you said, the two of you beaming at each other for a moment, lost in a daze.

“So how was the game?” you inquired, pulling you both back to earth. Mat cleared his throat before answering you.

“It was good! We won. It’s usually a tough battle with them but we kinda dominated, which was nice for a change,” he spoke, looking pleased.

“You score?” you asked teasingly as you sipped from your cup.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he told you with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Two goals and an assist.”

Your eyebrows lifted on your forehead. “Mat, that’s amazing! So my brother was right. You are good.”

Mat shook his head, trying to shrug you off.

“Ah, nah. I kinda think it had more to do with a good luck charm I met this week,” he remarked slyly. You licked your bottom lip before biting on it gently. Mat took notice, mirroring your motions as he stared at your lips.

“So, how’s work been this week?” It was Mat’s turn to deflect.

You told him how hectic it had been, with you arriving at the office around 9 and leaving at 6 on the day you’d first met, then departing after 7 yesterday, despite it being only a part-time internship in addition to the five classes you were taking online. He asked about your combination of on-campus and online learning throughout your college career in order to accommodate your dream internships, and he was already in awe of what a hard worker you were.

You pointed out that you weren’t the only one at the table with a crazy schedule, and you asked him how he balanced hockey with his personal life. He answered you easily, launching into stories about his teammates and his family and his friends who all kept him grounded in different ways. There was one name he kept bringing up — Tito. He told you that you’d have to meet him. Before you could hesitate, you said you’d like to. His visage brightened at that answer. He reminded you of sunshine.

He continued to regale you with a vast array of stories, stopping often to ask you questions and invite you to tell him stories of your own. It took a bit of time, but soon you were opening up about your own life — your parents’ recent and shocking divorce after 30 years of marriage, and your struggle with your grandmother’s death last fall.

It wasn’t all dark, though. In fact, most of it wasn’t. You also told him about the crazy theater actor roommate you’d had when you first moved into the city to study fashion at NYU, and how her frightening antics had eventually pushed you into accepting your uncle’s offer to pay for your own apartment in the city, as he was single and childless and had always delighted in spoiling you and your brother. You told him about your only two cousins on your dad’s side, two siblings bracketing you and your brother in age, and how the four of you were more like siblings than cousins. You told a slightly off-color joke at your own expense that most of your friends and coworkers would never laugh at, but it left Mat breathless, throwing his head back with boyish giggles flowing from his mouth like your favorite song. This caught you off-guard — you couldn’t believe he actually seemed to think you were funny. The last one certainly never did.

At some point, the conversation shifted to music. Mat’s jaw dropped when you told him that you own every James Taylor album on vinyl, after he told you that that’s one of his favorite artists of all time. He said he’s never met anyone who has as many James Taylor records as you. You simply shrugged. You explained that you and your mom have seen every tour James Taylor has been on since you were eleven and had started playing guitar. Mat’s eyes went wide — he told you that he dabbles in guitar, too.

After this, you quieted a bit. He noticed. It comes off to him as shyness, but you know what it really is. It’s fear. All at once you realize just how far you’ve let your guard down with this stranger. You’ve only just met this person, yet you have more in common with him than anyone you’ve encountered since moving into the city.

He sensed that something was off, so, in the silence, he reached a hand across the table and took yours in his grasp, stroking the back of it with his thumb. You looked into his mesmerizing eyes, and your hesitance melted.

After several more minutes of easy conversation, you check the time. You need to be at work in ten minutes.

“I’m sorry to be the one to break this up this time,” you started, and Mat sat back, looking understanding though disappointed. “But I’ve gotta get to work. Thankfully, it’s just right down the street.”

“Let me walk you,” Mat quickly insisted. You smirked at him, digging in your purse to find your office key.

“Didn’t you drive here?” you asked, chuckling. He simply shrugged. “Yeah, but if pretty Hayden works just down the street, I might as well walk her to the office and spend a few extra minutes with her,” he told you with a smug grin. You felt your cheeks get hot.

“Sounds good to me,” you admitted quietly. Mat nodded, then rose from his chair, reaching for his wallet to leave another tip.

“Thank you,” you said, putting your hand on his forearm tenderly. “For the coffee. For this.”

He smiled down at you. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

The two of you walked out the cafe door, which Mat pushed open even from behind you. You pointed in the direction of your office building and the two of you fell into step, side by side. Your heart leapt when Mat reaches for your hand. It felt unbelievably natural — which terrified you.

Your recent relationship history flashed through your brain all at once, like a film reel. Your brain screamed, “Slow down!” while your heart whispered, “Relax.” You weren’t sure which to believe. You opened your mouth to bring him up, to give a fair warning, to tell Mat that you might not be ready for... whatever this was.

Then, he started to talk about the movies that his family watches every single Christmas. You weren’t at all sure what had brought that subject to his mind — maybe your earlier questions about his younger sister back in Coquitlam — but you’re grateful for the diversion from your own messy mind. You decided to engage him on that topic instead, rather than bring up your last boyfriend who’d shattered you then walked away.

And for the first time in eight months, you decided to leave what’s past, in the past.

Like a pinball machine, Mat had already bounced to yet another new topic — his practice later this morning. As he finished a story about pranking Tito in the locker room after a skate last week, you bubbled over with giggles. He watched you with admiration and wonder coursing through his entire being. You eventually observed how he was gazing at you, and you sensed that he had something more important to say than his joke on his teammate.

“Hey, so, uh,” Mat started, clearing his throat. Your suspicion had been correct. “What are you doing tomorrow night, after work? We have a home game tomorrow at 7:30 and I, uh, I wanted to see if maybe... you wanted to go? I requested a ticket for you... just in case you want it. If you do... I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner after?”

The sentences Mat spoke seemed to be rolled into one giant question mark. His unwavering self-assurance had seemed to falter slightly for the first time since you’d met him, surprising you. You only needed a moment to consider your answer.

“I’d love to come watch you play,” you told him, wrapping your hands around his upper arm affectionately. You watched him exhale, a smile slowly overtaking his face.

“Thank God,” Mat breathed, making you both burst into hysterics as he leaned his head down to touch yours for a moment.

Bewilderment overcame you as you realized that you hadn’t felt this way about anyone in... you couldn’t even remember how long. You’d thought it might never happen again. That for you, this feeling might just be... gone.

You couldn’t believe that on a Wednesday, in a cafe, you’d watched it begin again.