#he drags this kid against a rocky wall at full speed

[riamadis]

Of course I rewatched the old favorites but today I discovered sk8 the infinity and this shit is so fucking funny I'm dying. Like usually sports anime is super over the top dramatic and the thing they're trying to win is like... a regional championship but this Adam motherfucker is legit trying to kill teenagers. Like he's wholeass coming at them with full intent to throw them off a cliff or break their fucking kneecaps. He has sent MULTIPLE skaters to the hospital. He puts a character in a wheelchair after straight up using his skateboard as a weapon. The protagonists are like sixteen tops and he doesn't give a single shit, he's going for blood. Like bro you are like 30 years old chill. These kids are literally risking their lives every night and nobody says anything??? Call their moms??? I am having so much fun this is amazing

So I am relapsing right back into my sports anime phase EIGHT YEARS LATER after I thought I was done with that but at this point I'm wise enough to embrace every sliver of happiness no matter where it comes from so here we go again

[pippytmi]

16 + 4 + 2 (werewolf supercorp?)

It is not uncommon for Kara to wake up in a puddle of blood.

At this point she is immune to the shock that comes with it, really. She has adapted; knows all the best tricks to get stains out of her clothes, knows all the best laundromats that don’t ask any questions. Heck, she even has Alex’s ex-girlfriend on speed dial, just in case there is a freak chance the blood Kara wakes up in might be human (it has not happened yet, knock on wood).

But there are other parts that still take some getting used to. Like, for example, the loss of memory that comes with every night of the full moon. Because yeah, she understands why she wakes up in a pool of blood. What she doesn’t understand is why this time around she wakes up in a pool of her own blood, and in so much pain that it hurts to open her eyes.

“Ow,” Kara whispers to herself, twisting onto her side with a groan. Her clothes are gone—no surprise—but even as she is laying down on the cold, rocky forest floor, the only thing she can focus on is how much her head hurts. She’s dealt with branch scratches, sore legs and arms, the occasional plethora of bug bites, but never a headache. Her one comfort is that at least she has made it into the backyard of Sam’s cabin. It takes a considerable amount of strength to push herself up off the ground; walking is going to be much harder than anticipated.

If Alex saw her now, she'd—well first she would hit Kara over the head and yell at her about being dumb, but afterwards she would snicker. And probably hit her over the head again for good measure.

“Oh my God—!”

Okay, it’s official. Kara is now dead. Even if the stranger gawking at her is not the one who kills her, Alex definitely will.

And it’s that thought that makes Kara drop right back down on the floor, knocking the wind right out of her lungs, and she groans into the dirt pitifully.

“Oh, fuck,” the stranger whispers, almost as if to herself, scrambling to come to Kara’s side. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck!” Said stranger belatedly claps a hand over her mouth, green eyes widening in horror. “Holy shit, are you alive?”

Kara pitifully rests her cheek against the ground and tries not to look too offended. “Uh, kind of,” she replies. (So this must not be Sam’s cabin, then.) “Sorry. Am I in your yard? It is a very nice yard. Five stars.”

“No, it’s not my—I’m house-sitting,” the woman explains, though she is giving Kara a look that says really? That’s what you want to focus on right now?

“Well, it’s still a nice place,” Kara says, because she is polite and small talk is always a good thing to fall back on when you’re naked on a pile of dead leaves. “Wait, I don’t suppose you’re house-sitting for Sam, are you? Sam Arias, super tall, has a daughter who is freakishly good at checkers?”

Stranger-who-swears-like-a-sailor frowns. “How do you know Sam?” she asks suspiciously.

“She dated my sister. It was a whole—it’s a thing,” Kara says. “You know?”

“Wait. Are you Kara? Are you Alex’s sister?”

“Yes! So you do know!” Kara would grin if her face were capable of any emotion besides mind-shattering pain. “Then you must be Sam’s friend…uh, bear with me…Lena? Or Jess?”

“Lena,” says the woman, still notably wary, so Kara makes the decision to wiggle until she can prop herself up her elbows and look less, well, like a corpse.

“Hey, got it in one!” Kara says as cheerfully as she can muster. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. And can I just—uh, say—that you don’t have to worry. I won’t die here or anything. I know you would obviously be the number one suspect for murder and it wouldn’t be nice of me to put you through that.”

“…right. Never mind that you would be dead, or anything.” Lena begins to shakily unbutton her coat like a woman possessed, as if her doubt has morphed entirely into concern now that she has confirmation the freak naked in Sam’s backyard is not an entire stranger. “Here, this is long enough to cover you. Do you—do you need help getting up?”

“No, no, I’ve got it, thank you,” Kara insists, and gradually, she manages; she shifts sideways and then tentatively onto her butt, and accepts the coat when it’s all but thrown at her face. There is blood mixed in with the leaves and general guck beneath her, and she winces at the sight. “I’ll come back and clean this later,” she’s quick to add, and Lena frowns in response.

“Are you serious? Forget cleaning, you need—stitches, at the very least. I can take you to the hospital if—”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that!” Kara blurts out, and with the adrenaline from that burst of energy she’s able to scramble to her feet. She is shaky, unsteady, but she manages to stay upright at least and she’ll count that as a win. “Shoot. I’m sorry for yelling. I just—no hospitals. I can’t do hospitals.” She has never had to form an excuse for this, and her mouth can’t quite wrap around the right words.

But Lena—green eyes wide and unsure, skin pale in the early morning light—nods, like she understands. “Okay,” she says. “No hospitals.”

“Thanks,” Kara mumbles, wrapping the coat tightly around herself. There are startling black spots in her vision and her head still feels like it was used as a piñata; she wonders what the heck her next move should be now. If Sam needs someone to house-sit, she must be out of the city. And if Sam is out of the city, Kara can’t exactly waltz into Sam’s house to wash all the blood off her body (and then call up Alex from the couch while stealing whatever ice cream Ruby picked). Sam lets her do that, sure, but that’s Sam. It would be pretty rude to do that when Lena is right here.

“Do you…” And Lena pauses, nose scrunching up as if something has just occurred to her. “I can give you a ride somewhere else, if you’d like. Back to your house?”

“No, that’s okay,” Kara hurries to decline, because how can she really explain that she lives in an apartment, and that if little old Mrs. Jensen saw her coming up covered in blood she’d finally succumb to her third heart attack? “Can I just use Sam’s phone to call my sister? Then I’ll come right back out here, I promise.”

“Why would you come back out here again?” Underneath her coat, Lena is wearing plaid pajama pants that are rolled at the ankle (Sam’s, most likely), and a tank top that is extremely fitted. Very, very well fitted. Like, you-can-tell-it’s-frigidly-cold-outside-kind-of-fitted.

Kara coughs and tries not to let on how her train of thought has twisted. “Because…I’m a stranger?” she tries. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Remember, if you die I’m going to be the first one they question,” Lena says, tilting her head expectantly in the direction of Sam’s cabin. “Come inside, warm up. Call your sister.” All things considered, she is far more concerned than Kara expected her to be—as if, somehow, ridding herself of the weirdo walking around bloody and probably concussed isn’t the very first thing on Lena’s mind.

So Kara doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth; she accepts the offer. It’s a small comfort that if she really does get murdered by a total stranger, it won’t be while cold and naked.

Lena goes right into Sam’s room the instant they go inside, already gathering a million outfits for Kara to pick through. “The shower is fickle, but it does have hot water,” she says, adding a towel to the pile in Kara’s arms when she re-emerges. “You just have to—”

“Hit the wall twice, and give it a few seconds,” Kara finishes. “Yeah, Sam reminds me every time.”

“So you…visit Sam often, do you?”

“Uh.” And suddenly, despite the long, cold night she’s had, the air indoors feels a bit warmer than is comfortable. “Only sometimes.” Once a month, Kara thinks, and Lena crosses her arms and just stares.

Really stares, dragging those sharp green eyes up and down Kara’s whole body. Squints at the scratches on her face, scrunches her nose at the way Kara awkwardly shifts from side to side. Finally Lena speaks, and it’s only to say, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“...come again?”

“It’s you. Sam told me she’s been helping out a friend with a—furry predicament—”

If it were possible to choke on air, Kara would be dead right now. “Did she really call it furry? But she’s also—!” She has to pause, now, because she feels an urge to clarify, “Wait. Are we talking about the same thing right now?”

Lena narrows her eyes slightly. “You mean talking about how you’re a werewolf?”

“Oh!” Head lighter, Kara sucks in a laugh that makes her ribs feel like they are splintering open. “Then yes. That’s good, I didn’t want you to think I was a—anyway. I didn’t think Sam told anyone.”

“Sam and I have been friends for a long time,” Lena says slowly. A beat. “She actually ate my hamster once.”

Kara winces. “Recently?”

“No! Back in the fifth grade,” Lena frowns, like she might’ve added dumbass at the end of the sentence. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t own hamsters.”

“What? Come on, having pets isn’t just a kid thing,” Kara says. “I used to have a cat, but he…”

“Oh my God, you ate him?”

Kara’s jaw drops. “What—no! He turned out to already have an owner, so she took him back. He just liked to wander into my apartment.” She hugs the clothing pile tighter to her chest, and tries her hardest to scowl. “I’m responsible, okay? Most of the time. I’m not dangerous.”

“Except to deer, or rabbits, or whatever else you killed last night?” Lena quirks an eyebrow, but surprisingly not in a manner that’s judge-y. Just…curious.

“Right,” Kara says defeatedly, and her head throbs enough that her grip on Sam’s clothes begins to falter. “Sorry. I wasn't trying to be defensive or anything.”

“That's alright.” And stranger still, Lena reaches out to gently touch the side of Kara’s head. “So does the same thing happen to you?”

“Huh?” The proximity has scrambled Kara’s brain momentarily, and she finds herself unthinkingly holding her breath.

“Do you also black out,” Lena clarifies. “Like Sam does, every time she shifts.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s—a universal wolf thing,” Kara says.

Lena hums, and her hand retracts. “And are you a serial killer in wolf form?”

“Uh, I hope not? I’m pretty sure all this is…” Kara gestures over her body with one hand, still hugging the pile of clothes with the other. “Not human.”

“Okay.” Lena casually walks away, but pauses to throw over her shoulder, “I’ll help you clean up your head once you’re out of the shower. I’ve helped Sam a hundred times.”

“Are you—do you have some kind of healing magic, or—”

“Close. I’m an ER nurse,” Lena says amusedly, and when she smiles a dimple emerges on one cheek. “All the witches I know have fled the city, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“You joke, but Alex dated this witch once, and she hexed my sister to spill her first sip of coffee every time she went to take a drink for three weeks straight after they broke up,” Kara says, and Lena again scrunches her nose in that quizzical way.

“Seriously? Witches are real too?”

“Duh,” Kara says lightly. “What, you thought it stopped at werewolves? Please. I’m pretty sure the neighbor two doors down is a gorgon.”

“Well, it would explain her fondness of statues,” Lena says, strangely nonplussed. “I’ve never asked, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. How do you take your coffee?” As she asks, Lena deposits a few fingers of whiskey into a mug, and at Kara’s questioning look says, “Sorry, we’re all out of painkillers. This is as good as you’re going to get.”

“Maybe I’ll do better if it’s straight,” Kara says, unable to hide her grimace, while Lena shrugs a shoulder as if to say it’s your funeral.

So after Kara showers, she sits on the couch and sips gross whiskey out of a chipped mug that reads World’s Best Mom in bright pink letters. Lena has turned on the TV to the local news station—clearly she has stayed with Sam before—and a man on screen is recounting a tale of how he hit a giant wolf strolling too close to his farm with a baseball bat.

“If I had my shotgun I would’ve killed the fucker,” he swears, red in the face, and above her Lena gives a little scoff.

“What a dick,” Lena says, her hand steadily stitching up the wound on Kara’s scalp, and her voice has a hint of an accent; it’s really cute, actually, and Kara doesn’t even mind that the next poke of the needle is sharper than the others.

It is the strangest morning Kara has ever had. Drinking whiskey before eight in the morning, with a kind stranger who she’s barely met but is suturing her skin together, who smells faintly of lavender soap and strong black coffee.

“—National City is not safe when wolves are wandering close to homes—”

The scent of rich hot chocolate bubbling on the stove is beginning to fill the room, the ancient pipes are rumbling throughout the walls, and Lena’s fingers are soft against her head. Kara closes her eyes and decides that she will wait a little longer before she calls Alex to pick her up.

[teenyweenynightghost]

@superchrystaldrug

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?” X Damiano

Dream View

Y/n looked out the balcony and took in her surroundings. Right in front of their house was a long alley leading to a meadow, hidden deep in the woods. There were trees, plants and flowers everywhere and y/n thought she could never be more in love with a place.

What made it truly special is that it was hers. Hers and Damiano’s.

Their relationship had been long and rocky. To say the least.

With Damiano being an international rockstar and Y/n an achieved medic, work and stress brought them apart more often than they would have liked.

Oh how many nights could y/n think of in which she would cry herself to sleep, praying she hadn’t lost Damiano forever.

All her prayers must have been answered, because just today they had moved into their new house.

It was a large villa in the countryside. They both loved every single thing about it, especially the privacy and intimacy it offered them.

One month ago, when they had come to visit the house for the first time, both of them pointed out how large it was. Because of that single thought on their head, they brushed past it.

Once they went upstairs, the agent mentioned that there were plenty rooms for more than two people, a soft smile on his face. Damiano immediately dragged Y/n to a spare room and hugged her from behind, resting his hands on her stomach.

“Love, I think I want to spend the rest of our lives here.”

They were both grinning like love-struck teenagers when they exited the room, exploring the house once more, with a new-found interest.

The way y/n was currently prompted against the fence made it easy for Damiano to embrace her just as he did one month ago.

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?”

She hummed, her eyes lighting up at his presence.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered in her ear, leaving countless kisses on her neck.

“You..” she purred, pleased at the contact. Damiano chuckled a little and turned her around, pushing her against the fence.

“Aren’t you always.” He said smiling, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

“Im bored.” Y/n sighed, looking around the balcony.

A devilish grin appeared on Damiano’s face as he led her back inside.

“You know what we haven’t done yet?”

Y/n raised a quizzical eyebrow and hummed.

“Ikea. Furniture. Chaos. Let’s go babe!” He turned around, still holding her hand so she would follow him, a hand raised in the air as he gestured widely.

“Oh gods have mercy.” Y/n giggled, before she grabbed her purse and a water bottle.

***

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE Damiano! WE are NOT getting a NEON PINK glow in the dark couch!” She exaggerated each of her words, making sure all of them reached her incredibly stubborn boyfriend.

“Fuck yeah we are.” He said calmly, checking the price tag.

“I swear to fucking god, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH IT?”

“FUCK ON IT!” He screamed out so loudly, the whole store heard.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly and pursed her lips, hoping the ground would open and swallow her whole.

“Please tell me I had a hallucination and you did not scream that out.” She whispered, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks.

“You told me that honesty is key. Are you saying you were wrong?” He asked loud enough for the people around to hear, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“No fucking kisses for you, motherfucker.” She deadpanned, while brushing past a pouty, devastated, mess of a man.

***

“Y/n look!” He whispered excitedly in her ear, pointing to the baby section.

“I can see that, darling.” She answered softly, already grinning like a fool.

They made their way towards a small cradle, which was decorated with white stars and dark blue sheets.

“This one is so beautiful.” Damiano breathed out, brushing a finger along the wooden structure.

“It actually is!” Y/n responded, surprises at the creative decorations.

“Until now I think I’ve only seen clouds and princesses or bows. But not galaxies.” He commented, his gaze now fixated on the lamp above.

“So were you serious about wanting a baby?” Y/n asked reluctantly, afraid to hear his response.

“Are you kidding me? Did we really buy a fucking mansion for two people and two cats?” He faked an emotionless expression, but Y/n could tell he was amused.

“Okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure.” She blushed at the whole conversation and continued to look at the furniture.

“What would you want to call the baby?” He peeped in, magically appearing next to her.

Y/n hummed and thought of an answer, before speaking again.

“Well, If it’s a girl, I really like Calliope, we could call her Alia, and if it’s a boy, I’m kinda obsessed with Sebastian or Matteo.”

“Ew.”

Y/n frowned, confused, and turned to him.

“What?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I have two names being repeated in my music and you don’t even bring them up. Rude.”

Y/n snorted and gave him a quick kiss.

“Oh, you baby. Of course I like Marlena and Coraline but I don’t want our child to be named after someone who keeps leaving or someone who always cries and has anxiety.” She joked, earning a dazzling laugh from Damiano.

“Fair enough. I really did like Alia though!” He commented, picking up a pair of baby shoes.

“Y/N!!!” He exclaimed, holding the little shoes in his large hands, while jumping up and down.

“THESE BARELY FIT ON MY FINGERS!!” His eyes were full of adoration and longing as he looked at them, a million possibilities speeding around through his mind.

“Can you imagine? Having a little munchkin who looks just like us and is this small?” Y/n giggled, holding one of the shoes delicately.

“Honey I think we should have children with separate people.”

Y/n was shocked at his words and pulled away instantly, insulted at his words as regret flashed over his face.

“WHAT?!” She all but screamed, already feeing a dreadful sensation in her stomach.

“Chill. I meant that we are both so hot out future child will probably anger Venus herself with their looks.” He replied wide eyed, mimicking his version of a goddess.

Y/n bursted out laughing as Damiano joined her, the couple becoming the centre of attention once more.

“We should really be more quiet.” Y/n whispered through giggles, as she pulled Damiano behind a wall.

He nodded and kissed her gently, before pulling away and continuing to look at clothing.

The couple spent hours at the shop, proud with their purchases, and returned home on the dark streets.

They were both seated on a swinging chair, y/n in Damiano’s lap, overlooking the woods.

“We’re gonna make great parents some day.” Damiano whispered, breaking the silence, as his hand wandered over her stomach.

Y/n had never felt happier, her heart filled with love and certainty, as she nodded and nuzzled further into Damiano.

Author’s note: I have baby fever part two (?) or maybe three. Anyway. I think it’s cute👏🥺😩

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, dark red crosses are already completed fics and mint lambda-ish signs are prompts I’ve gotten requests for already).

Good news: my friend @nehamerchant123 still has my back and still sends in the good prompts in. Love ya friend.

This is officially a follow-up to a 2018 fic of mine named Clé de Voûte. It's not mandatory to read CdV to read this one (it's in English, btw, not French), but it's still advised as to get some context. This may have gotten a bit too angsty considering what I was going for, but man it was a blast to write (and really quick to), I love this association so let's all give a big round of applause for good ol' Neha who knows me and my tastes very well!

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Singed Snowdrops

Summary: Iori is kind of a failure and he knows that. Someone doesn't agree with this idea.

Fandom: IDOLiSH7 (Part 1 spoilers) Ship: IoTsumu (pre-relationship, more implied than anything)

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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It’s with a pounding headache, shifting temperatures, sweat pearling down his bangs and ragged breathing that Iori realizes something: he’s kind of a failure. A kind of a dull failure.

“Kind of”, because he still has skills and talents for a wide variety of things. He’s still good at accounting, at singing, at managing stuff here and there. “Dull”, because there’s nothing noteworthy about him compared to literally everyone else around him, because he can’t surprise anyone from how boring he is. “Failure”, because that’s what he is no matter what everyone says: he failed twice in a row. Someone like him shouldn’t have forgotten to sing on stage, then collapsed during a live for the unit’s fans. It soured the mood and killed their momentum back to fame, despite everyone’s efforts. It’s simply something he shouldn’t have allowed to happen, no matter what. There’s no excuse for it, that’s it. How hard is it for everyone else around him to accept that?

Maybe they’re doing that because his brother is here, fretting over him like he’s always done. They shouldn’t, to be honest: he’s not worth it. He’s not worth their care, their precious attention. They should give that to people who are actually worth it, like Mitsuki, like Nanase and his condition, like MEZZO” and their rocky beginnings. He shouldn’t be at the centre of anyone’s attention, right now, or ever in fact: there’s always a point where he’ll mess up and ruin everything for everyone because he wasn’t capable of handling things correctly. That’s it, that’s the truth nobody wants to admit.

Not to mention, they’re losing their time on him. He’s never been a full piece of puzzle, merely a keystone that’s not truly needed to keep the building up. He’s no Atlas like he thought he was before yesterday’s live; but Atlas wouldn’t have made people worry for him over a thing as little as some insomnia-induced sleep deprivation. Atlas wouldn’t have panicked on set and had his vision twirling and twirling around him because he was too stupid and incompetent to deal with things efficiently.

Atlas’s shoulders never gave in, but his couldn’t bear the weight of just an unit’s co-management. He’s a damn failure.

 He’s useless, right now. He’s not allowed to leave his bed and help with anything. Maybe they have noticed he’s a failure, after all: if he wasn’t, they would allow him to participate in practice with them, their manager would have allowed him to speak with her about the management of the unit. They’re in a time of crisis and, before, he’d have believed he was able to handle it flawlessly: but he isn’t perfect. In fact, he’s never been, he’s always known that; yet it’s easier to pretend that he is, easier to ignore all that he’s failed before that live concert, before the live show on the Web.

He doesn’t want to cry, since it’d be pointless to weep in silence while everyone around him shines like a bright star, while all he’s ever been is a black hole mercilessly trapping the chances of anyone he’s ever cared about to succeed in life, wasting their opportunities and destroying their hopes like a crushing machine whose jaw is uncontrollable. That’s happened to his brother before, it’s happening to IDOLiSH7 now, and that’s all his fault.

 Even then, Iori cries, because he’s exhausted, because he’s weak, because he’s stuck here with his black clouds and cannot see a shooting star in the sky that is his bedroom’s ceiling.

 He doesn’t want to worry anyone: really, he’s just not worth it. He’s not worth anyone’s commotion. He simply doesn’t want to be a burden to his friends, to the people he loves: his parents shouldn’t be concerned about their son. His brother shouldn’t be fretting about him when he could be working on his next show, their next song, the next step in the career he’s finally gotten a chance to start. His unit mates shouldn’t be thinking of him when they should focus on what’s truly mattered: their future, their fans, their image, their debut.

The debut his inability to make things blossom to their true potential before withering away under his malevolent influence killed in the egg.

 Iori cannot stop crying and it’s an issue. He’s not a kid anymore, he needs to handle his stuff correctly and not sob like a toddler whenever things don’t go his way. It’s all his fault anyway, so he better swallow his misery in soon and stop being such a weakling. He won’t get anywhere in life if he does.

Nobody around him is ever going to need him, to want to stay with him if he keeps messing things up, if he keeps dragging the ones he wants to help in the mud, making them fall backward and fail in the end. That’s a fact he cannot brush aside, a fact he cannot bring his overexerted mind to get over. He’s broken, he’s down the drain.

 Someone like him doesn’t deserve to share an unit as luminous as IDOLiSH7, doesn’t deserve a brother like Mitsuki Izumi and doesn’t deserve a manager as good and motivated as Takanashi Tsumugi. All he deserves is to be left behind until he can handle something right.

Which he’ll never do, obviously. If he could, he’d have done that when it mattered and not messed up on stage twice in a row.

 He’s too caught up in his own pity party to hear the manager enter his room, after he assumed the soft knock on his door was only his elbow or knee hitting the wall or an edge of the bed.

 “Iori?”

Her voice is soothing. Too much, in fact: here’s one more thing he shouldn’t be allowed to hear.

“Manager…?” His is rough around the edges and he wants to cough his lungs out so he not to speak anymore. He’s rotting her ears by speaking to her anyway.

“Are you… are you alright, Iori?!”

She panics and climbs the ladder of his bed at an unbelievable speed and, until she’s safely on his level, he’s afraid she’s going to slip every step of the way. He’s not sure if his reflexes could catch her in case she’d fall. If he ever could, that is.

 “I’m…” He hates lying. “…fine.”

Tsumugi’s face doesn’t show anything that isn’t doubt at what he’s just told her. Should have seen it coming: he’s a terrible liar on top of being a terrible idol with no capacity to react to happenings.

“Be honest, please. You’re always so frank, Iori, I hate seeing you lie all of a sudden…” Her face changes drastically as soon as she focuses on his. “Wait, have you been crying all this time?! I should’ve noticed that earlier, please excuse me!”

She’s about to get something from her pocket, but she stops midway through her gesture and instead looks on the side.

“…can I climb to you?”

“If you want, I guess…”

 In a swift move, albeit not without almost falling, Tsumugi gets right on top of him, her legs by the sides of his chest. It’s awkward, but it’s amusing at the same time, so he retains a giggle in as not to look stupid or mocking. He doesn’t deserve her light and warmth, of course he knows that; but that part of him that’s always been craving for validation and attention caves into the touch.

She looks more like a nurse than a manager for a moment. She hands him her adorable embroidered handkerchief which smells like red bean paste to dry his ugly tears, he hesitates to use it, but she insists, “I mean it, please don’t cry, Iori!”. He can’t refuse her much, not when she looks at him with these eyes, not when she knows better than him, so he delicately taps it against the water flowing down his cheeks. She presses a hand against her forehead, then his, exhales a sigh of relief when she realizes out loud that his fever has lowered.

 When he’s near her, without any exception, he feels like he’s worth something – but it’s a feeling still so foreign to him. Maybe he’s worth a lot in her eyes, but in his, he’s still the scum of the earth abusing from her kindness and patience, and he wants to cry again at that. He doesn’t deserve her, that’s it. He doesn’t deserve much, of course, but he especially doesn’t deserve her.

Still, her hand lands on his, and she smiles at him, like sun brushing a dead tree. He’s crying in all the ugliness he could display, physically beaten by his own dark thoughts and trapped in the middle of wallowing in his misery when he should have been doing something to mend his errors and fix what he’s broken. But they don’t allow him to do that, so what’s the point of this circus routine?

 “I’m sure you feel bad about everything that’s happened, Iori, but you need to understand it’s not a big deal! We’d rather have you in good health than push you to the edge like you’ve done… You don’t even know how much we’ve been worried for you!”

That’s no pleasant to hear, but that’s also not surprising to listen to her say. Her tone just makes it sound better than it is, that’s it. That’s… it. It’s not like it could be true, right?

“But that’s normal, isn’t it? You worry about the people you care about. I’ve been worried every day of my life for you guys ever since I’ve met you, and it hurts me to see you in such a state… But I also can’t tell you to recover quickly, because that’s a thing that can take a long time. It’s something you have to do alone, and we can only help you if you allow us to. So, if you need it, don’t hesitate telling us, okay? We’re your comrades, Iori.”

She has a disappointed look on her face, biting nervously on her lip.

“So… Remember that, okay? We’re here to support you. We don’t hold anything against you, so don’t isolate yourself, I beg of you…!”

 She looks like she wants to cry, and that makes him feel even guiltier.

“I… just want you to understand that it’s alright if you’re under the weather, sometimes. It happens to us all, and while I know you’ve always wanted everything to be perfect for us all, it’s also okay to mess up. I’ve done so before, but you’ve always forgiven me after scolding me, so why can’t you forgive yourself, Iori?”

The tears are back, his vision blurs, and he clutches her against his chest before she can see it, arms wrapping around her like he won’t ever see this warm smile of her again.

“It’s… It’ll be fine. Give yourself time and peace of mind, vent to us if you have to. We don’t hate you. Ainana isn’t Ainana if you’re not with us, so lean on us from now on, okay?”

“I…”

No. Yes. No, you shouldn’t give in. Yes, she’s right, it’s useless to cry over it and not do anything about. No, you don’t deserve the happiness she brings you. Yes, you deserve a second chance, a means to save everything from rotting.

“I’ll try…”

 He lets go of their weird embrace, admiring her slightly comforted features before she has to go back to her regular life. She’s red all over, but his own face is burning, so he doesn’t dare comment on that, even to tease her. He wishes he could, but it doesn’t come to her; and even if he already misses her gentle warmth, he knows she’s needed somewhere else, so it’s the least he can do to see her fly away. She’s beautiful either way.

Instead, he lets go of some of his guilt as much as possible and focuses on what’s to come, with the bitterness of their aborted debut remaining in the back of his throat despite the honey. Only time will tell, sadly so he lies back down and lets his eyes close, as staying awake is only detrimental, today.

 He’s just in a bad phase, right?

[theultrasquad]

 She was starting believe they were the only 'mons here, it seemed ridiculous to think that might be the case but there weren't many options up until now at -least. This place simply looked too massive for there not to be anyone else here. There just had to be; even if those people were beasts waiting on them to fall asleep or something worse than that – it couldn't be empty.. All the thoughts made her shudder, rather the though of saying any of it 'cause it was the right excuse for the loud-mouthed warrior to start going off again. Or worse,; she might scare the poor bird who was still wrapped around her ankles. He wasn't there a second ago, neither was the fuzzy thing on four legs that had skittered past them like a very distressed snake.

 Drenched in the tall tall shadow of a crooked crag, the furred figure zigzagged across the plateau in fumbling grace. They came from somewhere behind the mounds, leaping into sight then darting as far as they could. The stranger couldn't be bothered to even look at the three other strangers, Was he scared; did he happen to find something – could it be a way out? They weren't going to get any answers standing here that's for sure.

 She had her own share of problems right now, like Ekur being as loud as he was, the turkey being the turkey, and pluck being quite the opposite of what he entailed. It sure felt as if everyone here had their platters full today because nobody bothered to even look to where they ran, nor did anyone even move. They all sat still; ifi like a tree; pluck like a pile of bones, and Piplup like some rattling Popsicle. Alright, maybe little pip wasn't as still as she thought but he wasn't looking like he'd run anywhere.

 On the contrary he may not be the 'mon to start running but Piplup was the first 'mon to say anything about it. His voice piped up like a candle flickering in the night, “The rest of you saw that, right?” spoke Piplup. “What was that?”

 It might be the only time he knowledge could come in handy. She's seen her share of house-mons – any sort of 'mon who had a master but no human they'd ever call a trainer. Certain species were pretty popular; meowth were in particularly high demand the last she'd remind. All she managed to see of them were those determined eyes and their chestnut pelt. There was an answer somewhere, she might just have if it she had been given another minutes of humming and hawing.. But as it seem the cubone back knew a bit more than her, as right before she got a hold on the thought the voice skittered next to her grumbled.

 “That was an eevee.” he matter-of-factly “The last I heard people were arguing if they'd become endangered – or something like that. It's been long..”

 “Right...” she stared at the bone-headed mon from the corner of her eye. “How is it you know so much anyways?”

 “About what?”

 “About- hey!”

 She got about maybe one or two half-steps towards the 'cubone behind her when she realized the bold adventurer just wasn't going to let go. He was stuck on like a feathery parasite, frankly it was starting to get a tinsy bit on her nerves. But good gracious; now wasn't the time to make him upset. She just shrugged, stood there and accepted her fate as this kid's barstool.

“..you know.” awkwardly, ifi continued. “..um, everything?”

 Club in both of his hands like a graduate with their diploma, all the would-be-scholar had been missing was a thinking cap as his eyes flashed to the dirt in a pensive scowl. Clap, clap clap, he smacked the femur against his open palms in a habitual beat.. Clap, clap, clap, he continued on before he hit his hands with a solid thud and clutched his club like it were his lifeline. The cubone sprung his head up, providing an answer that took a whole boat load's worth of trimmings just to cut around the bushes.

 “I know they make good coats, that's sure.” he paused long enough for the shock to form across ifi's flat face then picked right up to speed just before the kid could figure it all out “-anyways.” he stammered on. “It wouldn't hurt to look would it?”

 She had to take another moment to reassess her already poor opinion of it, but in the meantime she nodded her head wildly in agreement. She just wanted to get a move o, but making coats out of people? Isn't that a bit cruel? She might as well be running along with a criminal now. If he is one, he's sure well mannered once she bothers to overlook all his morbid anecdotes. Naturally they'd ask the piplup next. They didn't. If he wanted to go nowhere he'd get off her leg and say no. The lad wouldn't budge, he refused to move. Like some shackled mine worker she dragged the feather-weight around as she and her not-so-friendly bone doctor went to see what's what.

 They were careful, the cubone making sure to place his club between whatever came next as the bayleef lugged behind him in the event thee helmeted 'mon was willing to take a hit for her. He was a touch too runty to be a shield anyways; not like she'd do such a thing to anyone. But he may as well be the difference between a rock hitting a bone-hard wall rather than big squishy plant.

 It's about when they skirted up to the corner between those the two mounds, peeked their heads over the rocky edge with the Piplup finally dislodging and lying between the legs of everybody did the trio see what was stirring. Call it a plant, a street light, fixture or whatever the cubone felt like calling it once she gives him the honors of twisting his head into a knot. Whatever was making the spindly shadow it was just as gnarled as they expected, almost a bit spooky. Only twenty yards away from their boulder barricade, as black as the night above them the thing stood like a diminished lighthouse..

 She recoiled back, leaning down and nearly coming a hair away from bumping right into the cubone's horns. It's a good thing she didn't; she was getting a hunch she might need to run and having a hole in her chin wouldn't be too nice on her cardio.  Getting a good look of it's wires; or roots; or veins all strewn over it's perch she whispered to Pluck.

 “You wanna tell us if that would make a good coat?”

[itbethatwaysometime]

Some of Your Own Advice

Relationship: Frank Castle x Karen Page

Summary: Frank’s back. And he decides to stay.

Words: 3.6k (I got a little carried away) 

Warnings: some swearing, mentions of injuries, a lot of blood and some stitches, angsty as hell, fluff at the end.

A/N: OK. I have fallen in love with this ship so hard omg, the way Jon Berthnal plays The Punisher KiLLS me. And him and Karen paired together is just the emotional roller coaster that I just love diving into. Anyways, it took my a really long time to write this but I’m happy with how it ended up. Hope you do too! Xx

Six months. Six months since she last saw him on the edge of that roof top. Six months since her life resumed full-speed. Six months and her mind still lingered on Frank Castle.

Her job at the Bulletin was full-time in every way. She was rarely home, her apartment, a pit stop. She finally saved up the money to get herself a new one that was surprisingly spacious despite the low price. Boxes still littered her home, unpacked. It might say something about her unwillingness to let go of the past, but she never dwelled on it too long.

Her friendship with Matt was rocky at best. Once the anger had simmered down, she found that him being the Daredevil didn’t bother her all that much. The little talk they had over coffee was awkward, but it relieved a bit of the weight on her shoulders once she found herself joking with him. She went out for drinks at Josie’s once or twice a month with Foggy to catch up. She was proud of him, he was the new hotshot lawyer, taking big cases and winning them.

As for her, she’s been working her ass off and has a permanent case of sore feet ever since she started chasing leads herself. Someone had to do it, and she definitely took matters into her hands.

She groaned at the scattered files and papers at her desk. She had been following a sex trafficking ring for well over a month now and all her leads are dead ends. The facts don’t add up and the victims are still being taken away.

She pulls open the bottom drawer of her old desk, digging through old files hoping that  she’d find something. But, instead of finding a list of names from a previous stunt she find the skull x-ray of the infamous Punisher, Frank Castle.

She sighs and sits back in her chair. It’s been awhile since she’s thought about him. She did think that was he was doing was definitely the most unethical thing possible, but she also new that Hell’s Kitchen had need for his… methods.

Ellison knocked on her office door telling her to go home from the night. Staring at her screen for another hour isn’t exactly going to help.

She shrugs her purse over her shoulder and hails a cab.

The three story walk up to her apartment is excruciating as her feet scream for sweet relief.

She fumbles around with her keys and finally unlocks the door. The inside of her apartment is pitch black as she kicks of her feels, feeling along the wall to flick on the lights.

She turns around and what she sees makes her yelp and grab her .380.

There, in the middle, stood Frank Castle. His large frame taking up all the space. Immediately, there’s a hand on her mouth and she’s pushed roughly against the wall. His huge body up against hers.

She breathes hard against his rough, calloused hand as he gently shushes her, surprised by just how gentle he was.

“Sh. Sh. It’s just me.” Once she’s quieted down, he lets go and steps back.

“What the fuck are you doing here Frank.”She spits angrily at him. He doesn’t react though, he stays composed except for a raised eyebrow.

She stalks towards him, throwing her purse to the side.

“You were gone for six FUCKING months and you just show up?”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry about the Schoonover thing-” He starts apologizing, his gaze on her.

“You think I give a shit about Schoonover right now?” Now, that gets a reaction out of him. He furrows his brows and stares down at the floor trying to figure out what just came out of her mouth.

“Are you angry at the fact that I was gone or the fact that I came back?” His voice was rough and gravelly, as if the words were a struggle to get out.

There’s a tense pause. Where the only sound was Karen’s heavy breathing. His eyes remained steady on hers, she couldn’t find the power within her to pull away.

He just stood there, waiting, watching, reading her like an open book. She guesses that’s why she enjoyed his company so much. He never lied, but he also just knew what needed to be said or what needed to be done just by looking, observing.

She whispers it, and he barely hears it. “That you were gone.” She runs a nervous hand through her hair and walks past him to make some coffee. She knows he’d want a cup, so she doesn’t even ask.

He sits down on a barstool and the only sign physical sign of any emotion is the rhythmic tapping of his trigger finger on the edge of the table.

She lets the silence settle like a blanket over them, the whistle of the coffee machine as loud as a sledgehammer in her home.

“You know. It should be the second one.” He says quietly. “You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t want me back, Page.” A tremor betraying his voice.

She pours the steaming hot coffee into two mugs and hands one to him.

“Then why are you here?”

“Two men were trailing you.” He says, anger flaring up inside, he clenches the mug tightly in his fist.

She isn’t shocked. She’s been poking around places she shouldn’t, digging around for classified information that involves dangerous and powerful people. She doesn’t ask whether they are dead or not, she knows the answer to that. She can see it in the taut muscles of his shoulders. In the clench of his fist and the sharp intake of breath he took mentioning the two men. She noticed these things. The small things. The things that mattered most, especially with Frank.

“Do you want some cookies with that?” She saw him relax a bit, relieved she wouldn’t have to deal with an even colder side of him. “They’re the ginger snap ones.”

He smiles a small smile, almost a ghost, recalling the memory of Karen telling him how she hid in the broom closet with her cookies.

“Gosh, Frank Jr. He was trouble, that kid. Shit. He’d- He’d put all those damned cookies in there. Because of that stupid TV show he made me watch with him every Sunday morning. Sesame Street. He was in love with the friggin’ cookie monster. And, God, Lisa would steal them just to get to him.” He starts laughing quietly. Sadness overtaking his handsome features.

She starts giggling quietly at the thought of Frank, the Punisher, being forced onto a couch by a little boy to watch Sesame Street. She looks up at him and sees that look. That look she just doesn’t understand. She’d caught him looking at her like that a handful of times only, and every single time, it made the tips of her ears red and her toes tingle.

She smiles at him, she likes it when he remembers. She sees a glimpse of who he had been before. Despite what he said, he had a face made for smiling. Even the little ones prove that right. The way his eyes would crinkle at the corners or how he had deep smile lines and dimples. How is eyes would light up when he’d talk about his kids or his wife. She respects that, their memory, the pain that it brings him, the sorrow.

“Tell me more.” She can still feel a bit of the anger simmering within, but she deems it a waste of time. This is more important. He’s more important. He breathes in deeply, debating whether or not he should just leave, get out of her life. But, he doesn’t.

“You know, Maria. She uh, every Sunday, she’d make us a big ass breakfast. Didn’t matter if she was pissed at me, or the kids were annoying her, she always did it. Always.” At first, there was a lot of hesitation, pauses, but once he got going, the stories flowed easily, the smiles showed up more frequently, and laughter happened more often.

It was with a lighter conscious and a soaring heart that Frank leaves that morning, when the sun was nearly up.

“Goodbye, Frank. Be careful.” She says, sincerely, her hand hovering, deciding against laying a hand on his forearm.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He replies, that look she doesn’t understand looking at her.

His heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway as she slides the door shut.

She knows that asking him about his family was deflection, but it was needed. That man lived with a heart made out of lead and it wasn’t getting any lighter. Tonight he just, felt like he couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about why he came back. Why he came back to her, in particular. She ignored the butterflies floating around in her stomach at the prospect. The Punisher doesn’t love. But maybe Frank Castle does.

He doesn’t show up on a schedule. He just shows up whenever he wants. Sometimes he’s there before she gets home from work and has takeout and coffee. Sometimes he waits on her fire escape and knocks on the window. On really bad days, she’d get a text that would say to join him on the roof.

Another six months pass, a rocky six months, but a whole lot better than the six before.

This time she hears a thump on her door she rarely opens it  without a gun but she hears him groan a :”It’s me, Ma’am.”

She swings the door open and finds him leaning heavily against the wall, blood dripping on the door mat.

“Oh my god, Frank.” It’s not the first time she’s seen him bloody, but it leaves a pang in her chest every time.

“Bathtub.” With that he practically topples onto her and she barely keeps her knees from buckling under his weight. She half drags half pulls Frank into her bathtub and reaches for her first aid kit that has been equipped with more than the basic since she started dealing with dangerous crowds.

“Take this off” She starts gingerly pulling at his heavy duty jacket, hoping he doesn’t have a shoulder injury.

“Dislocated shoulder, popped it back in.” He mutters while helping her. She gags a little.

His black shirt is soaked in blood. She sees that he has a hard time lifting his left arm up and just goes to cut it.

“Here, this’ll be easier.” She cuts down the front of his shirt revealing three large gashes on his right side and a deep bullet graze on his left.

She has to look away for a few moments, willing herself not to vomit, keeping whatever Indian takeout she ate earlier in her stomach.

“All four of these are going to need stitches and I’m not good at them.”

“It’s alright, Ma’am, it won’t hurt any more than when I got’em.” She sighs at the absurdity of the situation, but exits the bathroom to get herself a bottle of whiskey to steady her hands.

“Ok, I’m good.” He chuckles at the wince she makes after drinking a large sip.

She grabs the antiseptic wipes and gently passes over them. She knows how much this hurts, but Frank goes through without complaint, only a wince and groan every once in awhile to indicate any discomfort.

“You know, you’re only the second person to receive the Karen Page stitches treatment.” She declares, after preparing the thread and sterilizing the needle.

“Was the first on Red?” He asks, gruffly.

“Ya,” she laughs,” he uh, cut himself with a knife while trying to cook.” She starts stitching, earning a wince from Frank. “Sorry.”

“ S’alright. So you didn’t hold on with both hands?” Recalling the conversation in the diner.

She chuckles sadly, but pleased with herself that her hands aren’t shaking as much. “It’s hard to hold on with both hands when he’s actively in love with someone else.”

She could feel him tense under her hands, his breathing coming out a little harder.

“Well, Altar boy’s an idiot.” She’s taken aback by his statement, her hands stilling. Does that mean?… No, it can’t be.

She continues to do the stitches quietly, trying to do them as neat as possible.

After maybe an hour and a half  she’s done all four.

She grabs some gauze and some tape and starts bandaging all the cuts making sure they don’t irritate his skin. The whole time he’s  just watching her with that look she doesn’t understand. The one that makes the tips of her ears red and her toes curl.

Once done , she stands up and grabs a towel and wets it with warm water. Hey, he asked her to take care of him and she wasn’t going to do this half-assed.

“Ma’am, I can do that on my own.” His dark eyes watching her movements.

“You wanted me to help, I’m helping.”

She gently swipes at his forehead, wiping the blood away. Running the cloth over the sides of his nose, treading extremely gently under his eyes where there are two bruises that are as dark as night. She goes over his cheekbones and the swell of his lip.

She couldn’t help but admire how good he looked, despite the bruises, the cuts and the blood. If he noticed the sharp intake of breathe, he probably took it as a reaction to all the gore. But it wasn’t. By the time, she got to going over his chest, he had practically fallen asleep over her shoulder. She liked the steady weight of him, it reassured her, comforted her. Is that what he’d become? The Punisher, the man who killed criminals mercilessly was now dozing off on her shoulder in the confines of her bathroom. He had become her failsafe, her life line and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was his.

Once she was done, she gently shook him awake. “Take a shower, I’ll be back with some clothes. Towels are in the cabinet on top.”

He stared at her with a mix of confusion and bewilderment before she left.

She scoured her closet for an XXL shirt she really liked sleeping in hoping it’d fit the broad expanse of his shoulders. She closed her eyes in relief when she found a pair of men’s sweatpants at the bottom of her drawers that could’ve belonged to a one night stand.

When she heard the water stop, she knocked on the door and earned a grunt in response.

He opens the door half way, steam escaping the gap. She sadly catches herself staring. He was shirtless before, but now she noticed. His broad chest, the chiseled muscles and the protruding collar bones. He was holding a towel around his waist only showing off the V of his hips.

She clears her throat, seeing him with a smug smirk on his lips. “Here’s the only stuff i could find.”

“Ma’am, I don’t wear sweatpants.” She rolls her eyes.

“You’re going to have to tough it tonight, Marine.” And he smiles at that, a small one, but a smile nonetheless. She beams with pride. He takes the clothing from her and shuts the door.

It’s well past 4 AM but she goes to make another pot of fresh coffee. She was going to have to be in the office in five hours, might as well make one now. She hears him scuffling around in the small bathroom.

She hears the soft padding of his feet on the wooden floors. He walks up to the counter, rubbing a rough hand over his short hair. She couldn’t help but admire the slightly too tight fit of his shirt. No shame in that, he looked like a man who worked out… even if it was for his… nightly activities.

She clears her throat and hands him a mug, he hums appreciatively. She had a million questions buzzing around in her mind, but she knew that if she asked the wrong one, he’d back out and leave.

“How?” A a bit of tension leaves his body, now that she’s asked whatever she’d wanted to ask. This was ok, this was safe territory, he could work with this.

“There were more than I expected, but for once they were smart about it. Lined up real nice and shit.” He sips a little bit of his coffee.

“Hmm.” Is all she responds with. There’s not much else to say. She knows what job he was working on. She’s been keeping tabs on him and he’s been very kindly keeping her updated. He convinces himself it’s to give her leads, but it’s mostly to warn her and keep her out of harm’s way, even if the danger comes to Karen Page, or vice versa.

“Have you seen Red lately?” He asks, catching her off guard. Her eyebrows raise slightly at the sudden change of subject and how he’s suddenly so… talkative. Normally, she always asked the question and he answered with grunts, curt nods and the occasional Yes, Ma’am, No Ma’am, Please, Mrs. Page…

“No, I haven’t. We haven’t really… Is he bothering you?” Sh.  e knows that they bump into each other during their escapades, and probably gets a lecture just like her.

“Ya. He gave me the new shiner. Fuckin’ Altar Boy.” He sees the flickers of emotion pass through her face, anger, surprisingly, he still can’t wrap is head around the fact that Karen even cares enough to be angry, and then, the most adorable little snort passes through her lips. A giggle is pulled out of the cute blonde and she tries to hide it with the back of her hand.

“Sorry, it’s just. Altar Boy.” She snickers, she knows she’s being ridiculous. She’s heard him call Matt that before, it’s just the way he says it that was so funny. As if, saying the words insulted him.

“Ya, he was up on the roofs with me, his catholic righteous ass. No killing tonight, Frank.” He says, doing the most incredible impression Karen has ever witnessed. She’s gaping at him with her mouth wide open and blue eyes shining bright. And then she busts out laughing. Honest to god laughter, that resonates deep in his chest. She’s clutching her stomach, tears of happiness threatening to spill.

“Oh my god, do it- do it again” She asks, now staring at him intently and giggling like a little girl.

God, her smile. And just to see her laugh again, just to see a smile grace those beautiful lips, he gets up, and pretends to be Matt Murdock.

“You know he’s all - Frank, not tonight. And he does the thing with the stick.” And mimics the movement and now Karen is laughing so hard she’s fallen off the chair and clutching her stomach and while it dies down Frank’s just looking at her. The way she’s learned to like, the way that sent tingles down her spine.

And for a while they stay silent. Frank’s deep in thought, his eyes trailing over her. She’s become his lifeline, his salvation. She’s this bright white light in the consuming darkness that is his life. Lately, he’s been teetering off the edge. On the face of a cliff, fighting to find purchase. But, she, this stubborn, smart, gorgeous, beautiful strong woman was the only thing keeping him together.

And that realisation hadn’t hit him like a truck, it didn’t drop kick him in the chest and hit him the face like one of Red’s fucking batons. It just was. She just became the thing he needed. Maybe, he should’ve seen it coming, the way he always came back,  should’ve been some sort of indication. But, she just slipped into whatever was left of his life so seamlessly.

And he liked it, no, he loved it. And he wasn’t supposed too. He said it that night too, I won’t ever feel that again. But, shit, he fucking does. Every time he sees her strawberry blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes. Every time she walks in after a hard day of work and makes him coffee anyways. Every time she makes him remember and every time she’s there.

Suddenly, she’s really close to him, in his face. “Hey, where did you go?” She asks, and she says it with so much emotion, so much kindness, like someone who cared. And who in their right mind would care about him, no one. But, she did, and that’s all that mattered.

He looks up and stares straight into her eyes. Then, he looks up at the ceiling, sending a prayer up to Maria. Deep down, he knew that she’d be happy for him.

He looked back at Karen, his Karen and slips a rough calloused hand onto her cheek and slides into the back of her hair. She leans into it with the softest sigh that he swears sounds like angel’s wings.

“Tell me to stop.” He says, his voice low, rough and so raw. She opens her eyes again, slowly. He oh so gently cups her face into his hands and rubs a thumb over her cheekbones. “Tell me to go away and that I’m bad for you.” And all she does is look at him with those sparkling doe eyes and she smiles.

“Never.” And he smiles back, and it doesn’t feel foreign anymore, not with her. He pulls her to him and places the gentlest of kisses to her rosy pink lips. And it’s everything he’s imagined it to be. They’re soft and warm, and she feels so, so real. And he can’t stop. It’s soft and innocent, but it means so much, it’s pouring any words left unsaid and any emotions left untold.

And maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d take his own advice… he’d hold on, hold on with both hands and never let her go

@kcstles @kteague