#its just gotten progressively worse since the game came out

[doodlboy]

I am mentally exploding tiktok so much rn

[callsign-mayhem]

hold me tight or don’t

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 1.1k CW: Mentions of depressive episodes

After a horrible week you are feeling low, bordering on depressed. Not wanting to worry your boyfriend you try to hide it but, as always, he sees right through you.

Use of Y/N but no description of reader

To say that you’d had a rough week would have been putting it lightly. It had gotten progressively worse with each passing day, with one thing after another going wrong and causing you strife. By the time you left work on Friday evening, you were emotionally and physically drained and crying behind the wheel of your car as you drove home. Ordinarily, you loved your job. You were in a good position at the company and publishing had always been your dream, but as with all jobs, it had its moments. 

This week just so happened to be one long moment. 

When you pulled onto your driveway it was empty meaning that Bradley was still stuck at work. As much as you needed your boyfriend more than ever in that moment you also knew that he was dealing with a lot at work and the last thing you wanted to do was give him something else to stress about. The part of your brain that always worked against you was telling you to go inside, take a bath and calm down so that when he got home it would be like you were never upset in the first place, but the rational part was telling you to stop being so silly. Because this was Bradley Bradshaw who loved you like the moon loves the stars, so of course he would want to be there for you when you were feeling low. 

But you were coded to deal with things by yourself - to not burden anyone with your problems - so you went inside and started running your bath. 

By the time Bradley got home it was past eight and you were cooking dinner. Since the weather was terrible you’d decided to make homemade soup, one of the dishes Carole had taught you to make before she had passed.

Your boyfriend came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder so he could see what you were cooking.

‘I thought it smelled like home,’ he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, ‘I love it when you make this.’

You’d been sullen before he walked through the door, but this warmed your heart, ‘I know. Thought some comfort food would do us good.’

He hummed in agreement and peppered the side of your face with kisses, drawing a giggle from you, ‘How was your day, sweetheart?’

You put the lid on the pot so the soup could simmer and turned around so you were face-to-face with Bradley. You’d reached a crossroads; it was either tell him the truth or see how well you could fake being okay and pretending to be okay when you felt like you were crumbling on the inside was a dangerous game to play. Nine times out of ten it exhausted you to the point where you ended up breaking down anyway, and then Bradley would get upset that you didn’t just tell him the truth in the first place. 

‘Was that a hard one?’ he asked bemusedly. 

‘Sorry,’ you said, unable to meet his eye.

‘What’s going on? Did something happen?’

‘No, nothing happened,’ you sighed, busying yourself with the kettle and mugs so you didn’t have to look at him, ‘you want some tea?’

As always, he saw straight through you, ‘Well now I know you’re lying. Talk to me, baby. What’s up?’

‘It’s been a long week,’ you told him, ‘and I just want to sleep for a thousand years and never leave the house again.’

He took the box of tea bags from you and replaced it with his own hand, leading you through to the living room and sitting you on the couch. He was searching your face for the details you weren’t telling him, looking at you almost pleadingly. 

‘Is it going to be a bad one?’ 

He was referring to your episodes. You’d been dealing with them since you were a teenager and they weren’t getting any easier the older you got, but at least now you knew the warning signs and better ways of coping with it. You’d only ever been to the doctor about it twice, and both times they told you that nothing was wrong with you, but you knew that your emotional responses to things were far from normal. Since meeting Bradley your episodes were few and far between, but when they did happen they were still awful. You honestly didn’t know how you ever got through them without him. 

‘I don’t know,’ you replied, eyes welling with tears, ‘I think if I didn’t have two days off and I had to go to work tomorrow, it would have gotten worse.’

He pulled you into his lap, cradling you like a small child. The first time he’d done this it had been almost demeaning, but now that you were totally comfortable with him it just made you feel safe. 

‘We’ve got the whole weekend to turn this around,’ he assured you, ‘and if you still aren’t feeling a hundred per cent on Monday you can call in sick. One day one hurt. And if this storm carries on the way it’s supposed to, I won’t even be able to fly Monday.’

‘You don’t need to miss work for me, Bradley.’

‘We have this fight every time, Y/N. It’s not that I need to, it’s that I want to. It’s what you do for the people you love,’ he was rubbing circles into your back and you were in danger of falling asleep, ‘but we’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that. We’ll do nothing but self-care all weekend and then we’ll have you back to normal again in no time.’

You pressed a kiss to his lips, overwhelmed by the honesty of his words. It didn’t matter how many times he helped you through your sad days, it still never failed to astound you how much he cared for you. You’d learned not to thank him because it rubbed him the wrong way; he didn’t see it as a favour and he wasn’t doing it for appreciation, it was - as he’d said - what you did for your loved ones. Growing up you hadn’t really experienced that kind of love, and you were still getting used to it. Before Bradley, you’d had no idea there was such a thing as love with no limits. 

‘I’m gonna go shower and finish dinner,’ he said, ‘your only job is to pick a movie.’

‘But-’

He silenced you with another kiss, ‘No buts. Pick a movie.’

‘Can we watch Harry Potter again?’

‘We can watch whatever you want, honey.’

You swallowed another thank you, opting for an ‘I love you’ instead, which was basically the same thing. His existence alone was enough to put you at ease, but at the thought of spending the whole weekend in his arms with no work to get you down and nothing but love as far as the eye could see, you couldn’t help but feel better. 

And when he smiled at you, you didn’t have to fake the one you gave him in return. 

[mistfallengw2]

4, 12, and 20 for Tocchix! -couple-o-commanders

Just an asura ask game (questions are cut short in the reply)

4. How is their social life?

Tocchix was always pretty solar and friendly by nature, and while he generally has many friends and is on good terms with pretty much everyone he knows, he has a tendency to mostly stick around those friendships that make him very comfortable. Back in Metrica Province he almost exclusively hung out with Bunnie, and, after moving to Lion's Arch with his fathers, he spend most of his time just with Fynn, at least until he found Adamas and he became his adoptive brother. His first years in the Order of Whispers and the beginning of the Pact was probably the peak of making new friendships for him, but at the same time the nature of his job as an agent precluded deeper connections with most of them. After losing half of his team in Orr, he worked with Iotta for the most part (and they got together), but since she was adverse to social life (and actual dates, since she wanted to keep the relationship a secret), he spent a lot of his little free time (when she wasn't around) with family and friends.

After Iotta's multi-leveled betrayal during S2 and the following ouchy episodes that happened in S3 and S4, he progressively closed himself off from everyone until mid-IBS, focusing only on his job in a toooootally not self-destructive manner. Friends and family didn't know what to do to try to help without making matters worse, and the logical solution in his mind was to see them less to keep them from worrying. The only person that grew closer to him as a friend during that time was Ethanryel, and having his life saved by them during and right after the crash of the Pact fleet in the jungle was a pretty solid groundwork for that, along with the fact they never tried to "force" support on him.

After meeting Huki in Taimi's lab in early IBS and seeing them a bunch during a long-term covert mission with some shenanigans, they became another of those comfortable friends, and somehow they eventually managed to break into his heart and break him out of his shell. Dating them came with better balance in his life, more social occasions and a big family, and he's been awkwardly enjoying it all.

-

12. If given the chance, would they take the position of professor in one of the Colleges? Or would they prefer to become someone's mentor? What would they teach? Would they be a good teacher?

Tocchix didn't go to College nor continued his studies past early education, and his father only taught him medicine-related stuff once they opened a little hospital in Lion's Arch, so he couldn't become a professor in the Colleges even if he tried.

As for actually becoming someone's mentor, he had... quite conflicting feelings about it, at least until quite recently. Iotta was his main mentor once he joined the Order of Whispers, and he learned nearly all he knows from her. Too bad that unbeknownst to him she was Inquest and trained by one of their most ruthless operatives, so that damaged his own self-perception quite a lot, on top of the emotional implosion for the fact they had been romantically involved for over a year by the time that came up and that he had lost his mother to the Inquest. He knows what he learned from her is what makes him a great agent and that it's something worth teaching others no matter its origin, but the idea of becoming someone's mentor made him queasy. He felt like he's part of a line of mentors that eventually end up betraying their apprentice's trust (Iotta left to go back to the Inquest, and later died because of her mentor's selfishness), and he never even want to risk it.

Getting the chance to kill Iotta's mentor during a mission kinda shook things up in good and bad ways (mostly bad), but he's also gotten a few years of proper healing process since then. Since he and Huki have adopted a pair of orphaned siblings a couple years ago, he's been faced with the fact he's technically in a teaching position already, and in spite of the anxiety he's not taking it as bad as he thought. So who knows what will happen?

-

20. Has any experiment (or experience) blown up in their face?

As for experiences blowing up in his face, Tocchix's line of work in the Order of Whispers never lacks such occasions, and at times that includes other people's experiments! Raiding Inquest labs is a dangerous job no matter the objective or scale of the operation, and he has to thank his mentor for teaching him the appropriate methods and distance from which to safely damage machinery and experiments. In retrospect it kinda stings to realize she likely knew that stuff from being Inquest herself, but it sure would have stung more to be caught in the blast that one time Iotta saved him from a really close call and then berated him for close to an hour afterwards.

Other than that, he hasn't done much experimenting since his early education days, and the worst that ever happened was the occasional mini-explosion coming from his and Bunnie's golem prototypes when they were kids.

[themotherofblood]

Getting your hands dirty

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Tears of Gold AU

A/N: The skinning of the stag scene always has me in whips. The most powerful man in Westeros doing something that you could have had a squire do. This is a short one but it’s to build up to the upcoming parts of Tears of Gold au. Things are about to get a bit rough

Mentions of skinning a deer, so blood and death obviously

The battle of the five kings had progressively gotten worse, at first the fighting was stuck to the open ground but now innocent people in villages were being raped and slaughtered. Your husband was none the innocent in this game. He’d set Gregor Clegane free, but you knew better then to question his judgement when it came to war. Being Lady Lannister you just had to swallow the truth.

You could tell he was stressed, since he’s been up late at night working to find battlement decrees and political alliances. Your own family marched for your husband in the Westerlands.

This morning Tywin and his squires had gone out hunting, and in pure poetics brought home a giant stag. You’d gone down to visit him by the shore garden where he was, turns out he was going to skin the stag himself.

“You know we have people that can do that for you, my lord.” You cocked a brow at him. While looking at the deer.

Big mistake, it was an adorable creature. As you instinctive found yourself petting it. Sure it was dead but he would have felt pain nonetheless.

“Do not name it, wife.” Tywin warned you as he cut open its gut

“But!”

“Do not name it.” He looked up at you through his lashes

“Ah, I wasn’t!” You scowled at him like you were being accused of treason. He looked back at you like you were full of shit.

“You have a soft heart, my wife. Naming it will only make it worse.” He said as a matter of fact as he began to peel the its skin back and you began to feel nauseated. Right on cue maester Pycelle arrived with news

“A-a r-raven from th- the Frey’s, my lord.” His sickly old voice said.

“Here help me hold this up.” Your husband whispered to you.

“Do drop the act, Pycelle.” Tywin said to him while still focused on the stag. You held some of the skin up to help him skin the rest off.

You were confused by what Tywin meant until maester Pycelle just stood straight up. Making your brows further scrunch up in shock. What you were even more confused about was why had Walder Frey sent a raven to a Lannister? Were they surrendering. Tywin looked at you for privacy and you simply nodded, wiped your hands and began to walk away. However your young ears caught what was in the note as Pycelle read it out for your husband

“Rosalind caught a fine fat trout, her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding.”

You frowned walking away trying to figure out what that meant, you knew most of Tywin’s correspondences were written in riddle and his allies knew how to write them back. You didn’t think much of it and decided to leave it.

next chapter

[matwith1t]

A/N: A part two!! As much as I love angst…I couldn’t leave the first part like that 🥴 You don’t have to read the first part to understand this fic, but you’ll definitely catch some little call backs!! If you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it all!! I hope you’re all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening !

Summary: Nearly a year since the break up with Mat, your life slowly started to revert back to life before him. But all of that progress goes away when you keep crossing paths.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking // WC: 15K // Angst & Fluff

With the sun shining down, and no clouds in the sky to cover up its hard rays, it felt a bit warmer than the usual October day in New York. It was neither an excruciating humid day like the summers, nor a brutally frigid winter day. It just felt…average. But something in the air made the average day feel abnormal.

Maybe forgetting to set your alarm, and rushing to get ready, had something to do with why you felt on edge. Or maybe it had something to do with finding a crinkled polaroid picture of you and Mat––him laughing and you looking up at him––that you found in your sock drawer last night.

Maybe it was the picture.

But you definitely knew your sour mood could be traced back to this morning––seven minutes ago to be exact––when you ordered a coffee and the barista informed you that they were out of an ingredient for the drink you wanted.

“It’s not that bad,” your friend, Kennady, came up to stand beside you after she finished ordering her drink, “Worse things could happen.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you crossed your arms over your chest, “I know…”

And you knew things could be worse. There had been days in the past ten months that were definitely worse than a coffee shop being out of an ingredient to send you into a spiral. But this minute detail in the beginning of your day felt too mundane compared to everything you had felt in the past. And for some reason, it bothered you more than it should have.

Was it a sign that you were getting over him?

With a quiet laugh to yourself and a slight shake of your head at that thought, you quickly buried the idea. Not a chance, you thought to yourself.

When a barista called out your name for your americano, you politely excused yourself around other customers until you got to the counter. With a tight smile, and a small thanks, you picked up your coffee and went over to a little station where you could fix the drink to your liking.

You were in the middle of opening a sugar packet when you heard someone questionably call out your name.

It was an accent you hadn’t heard in quite sometime…A friendly French-Canadian accent that always reassured you of Mat’s feelings whenever he wasn’t in the room. After all, it’s what any best friend would do.

Not expecting to run into anyone during your little outing, your hand jerked back in surprise––sugar flying out of the packet––as you spun around in shock.

“Oh, I––Wow, Tito––I’m so sorry,” you tried to laugh, tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you met his blue eyes, but you hadn’t seen him––or a picture of him––since you unfollowed him on every social media platform you had him on.

Like every time you found yourself in his presence, he smiled, “Don’t worry about it, really,” he brushed off the sugar from his sweatshirt, “Shouldn't have snuck up on you.”

You shook your head and waved him off, a ball of anxiety slowly brewing in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew if Tito was here, then Mat would be too. The two of them always traveled in a pair; you learned that they were a package deal early on in your relationship. And you could pray all you wanted that Tito was on a solo coffee run, but by his freshly showered look and Islanders athletic wear…You knew he had just come from a practice.

“It’s okay,” you closed the lid on your americano, forgetting all about adding sugar or creamer in it, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been good,” He smiled, eyes glancing down to your foot tapping against the hardwood floor, “Yeah, just busy playing a lot of…Hockey.” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, as if he thought hockey might still be a sore spot for you.

And in a way, it was.

Tito cleared his throat, “And you?” He politely turned the question to you, “How…How’s the job?”

Relieved he didn’t ask you how you’ve been, you smiled softly, “It’s really great, I’ve had a lot more time to concentrate on it.” You looked over his shoulder to see if you could see Mat anywhere in the coffee shop, “I’ve been given more responsibilities.”

“That’s great to hear,” Tito sounded genuine, “I don’t want to hold you up, but it was really great to see you.”

Tito had always been very emotionally intelligent with identifying others feelings, and you had no doubt he picked up on your uneasiness.

You offered him a smile, “It was good to see––“

“Did you grab my coffee?”

The smile dropped from your face and instead of feeling the anxiety in your stomach churn, you felt nauseous.

Tito looked at Mat with the same hung open mouth and wide eyes that you had. Mat came up next to him so nonchalantly––so casually––as if he didn’t know he was in front of the person whose heart he knowingly wrecked nearly a year ago.

Still unable to form a sentence, Tito’s eyes briefly glanced over at you, standing frozen, “Yeah I––yeah.”

As if Mat sensed some tension in the air, he followed Tito’s vision. He had to do a double take, seemingly not trusting his vision that you were right in front of him. And in an instant, just like you and Tito, his eyes slightly widened and his mouth hung open. You knew that he was thinking the same thing as you…that you had gone nearly ten months of living in the same city and had not run into each other once.

But now that streak was broken.

Your breathing stopped as you looked at him for the first time since that unfortunate day in December where the air felt a little colder than the rest of the month.

As usual during the season, he was clean shaven, but you saw a few small pimples littered on his chin. He looked more tired than usual, but had a slight glow to his skin from a recent shower. The ends of his hair flicked out under his baseball hat, just above his ear. You always used to tell him how cute those flecks of hair looked as he tried to push them behind his ear.

But the one thing that made your heart shatter was the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was the navy blue Islanders sweatshirt from a few seasons ago that you had found stuffed away in the back of your closet last year.

The one you broke down into as your mother held you.

The one that Kennady took away when she saw that you still held on to it after you said you’d donate it. It caused quite the argument between the two of you…You wanted to keep the sweatshirt because––while it was delusional for you to think––maybe Mat would notice it was missing, then he would reach out, and you would talk again. Kennady didn’t think that was very healthy and said she would pass it along to Tito.

And pass it along she had.

With a shaky breath, and one last look at the man who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, you spun around with your coffee and walked away.

You had only gotten a few steps away when you felt a burning hand catch onto your elbow, “Y/N…”

His hand hadn’t left your elbow, and you stood stiff in the middle of the coffee shop,“I have somewhere to be,” you said to him without turning around.

“Can we talk?”

His voice was barely audible––a plea––a whisper that should’ve easily been lost in the chaos of the coffee shop, but whenever he was around, all you did was solely pay attention to him.

You gulped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not here,” he was quick to follow up, knowing he shouldn’t be this lucky to get this much time with you, “I just––I want––How’re you?”

With an irritated sigh through your nostrils, and clenched jaw, you spun around to face him. Half of you melted at his wide and pleading eyes, a mix of uncertainty and care, but the other half of you wanted to leave him standing alone without an answer; much like he did with you when he broke your heart.

“Do you need something?”

He looked taken aback by your bluntness, “I…” Nervously, he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “I scored a hat trick last week.”

You despised the way your heart fluttered with pride at his accomplishment.

Instead of focusing on the unconventional feeling of your heart soaring with pride, but simultaneously feeling crushed in his presence, you tried your best to respond with a monotone voice.

“So, a start to a good season?”

Again, he looked confused at your short phrases and general disinterest in what he had to say, “We…Yeah, looks like a good season. Last season was good too..” His eyes briefly left yours to look at your slightly shaking hand that was holding the coffee cup, “Did you…Have you caught any games?”

“I don’t watch hockey anymore.”

Unlike his sentences that wavered with doubt, your sentences were sharp and unremorseful.

But you knew your stoic demeanor came closer to breaking with every second you stood in front of him. It had been ten months since the break up, you should be fine, you kept telling yourself. But seeing him and not being able to mutter an inside joke under your breath and hear him gently laugh, not being able to reach across the inches between you two and give his hand a squeeze, and not being able to muster up the smallest of smiles in front of the one person who could coax a smile out of you with just their presence…You felt the exhaustion catch up to you.

And like everyone else who asked if you watched any hockey lately, he looked stunned at your answer. Because when you were together, you never missed a game. While you weren’t always physically at a game; you either kept up with it by following social media updates, watching it on television, or listening to the radio broadcasts of the game while walking to the subway or in a cab.

“You…You don’t watch hockey?”

You could’ve given him the long answer. How you unfollowed everyone and everything related to Islanders hockey, blocked every variation of the Islanders team name from social media to keep any news from popping up, muted his name on Twitter, deleted the NHL app, and if you were at a restaurant with friends and a television had a hockey game on, you always requested to sit at the furthest table away from the game.

Instead, you shook your head, “No.”

The longer you stood in front of him, the more you felt your composure slip. You didn't like feeling out of control of a situation, and standing so close to him only reminded you of what you didn’t have anymore.

“I have to go.”

But again, he took a step forward and tried to stop you from leaving, “Please, can we just––”

If only he had fought this hard ten months ago to keep your relationship alive; you wouldn’t be running away and he wouldn’t be begging for a basic conversation.

You could feel the tears well up behind your eyes and the familiar sting as you shrugged off his touch, “Mat, I really can’t do this right now––”

“It doesn’t have to be now––”

“Mathew,” Kennady’s harsh voice ripped through Mat’s desperate one.

His arm fell to his side, accepting defeat, as he kept his pleading eyes on your frame, “Ken, hey––”

“We’re late for something,” she took the shaking coffee cup from your hand and looped an arm around your bicep, “We’re leaving.”

And with her direct tone, and guidance of turning you around to exit the coffee shop, she kept a strong hold on your arm for support. Your breathing became more irregular, because out of all the coffee shops in the area, how did you manage to run into him. Maybe you were meant to run into him…Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling you that maybe you should talk to him.

“Don’t turn around,” Kennady whispered in your ear as you came up to the door, “I know you want to, but don’t.”

The first tear fell when she opened the door and you so badly wanted to get one last look at him. One more look at the one person you would still love no matter how much time passed. The second tear fell when you were waiting for the light to change at a crosswalk, as Kennady whispered encouraging words. The third tear fell when the two of you made it to a park and sat down on a bench.

She handed your coffee back to you, “You did great,” and gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, “So great.”

You tried to take a sip of coffee, but your hand shook too much. You tried to swallow down the scratchiness at the back of your throat, but it only came back stronger, “Why…” Another single tear fell as your voice cracked, “Why wouldn’t you let me turn around?”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Because I know how much you still love him.”

A small pathetic laugh escaped your lips at her honest answer, and you tried your best to mirror her smile, but it was as everything had just caught up to you. You had felt his comforting touch on you again. Heard his soothing voice again. You were with him again.

With how persistent he was to talk with you, it felt like he wanted to be with you.

The tears welling up in your eyes caused your eyebrows to pull together as you cupped a hand to your mouth and over your nose. Slowly, you leaned your head onto Kennady’s shoulder as she placed a comforting arm around your shoulders that shook slightly.

––––

The next time you saw Mat was another coincidence.

You were in the living room of a house in Garden City, softly chatting with friends in the corner, when a sudden roar of cheers from the front of the house interrupted your conversation. You and your friends laughed it off as more drunk antics of other guests, but then you heard his name.

“The person who absolutely crushed tonight’s game and that we’re forever grateful is an Islander; Mat Barzal!”

More cheers of agreement.

The plastic of the red solo cup in your hand easily cracked under your grip.

Deep breath in, he won’t come into this room…Deep breath out, who does he even know here…Deep breath in, did he come alone…Deep breath out, or was he here with teammates since it was after a game…Deep breath in––Oh my God, Tito just walked in.

He caught your eye immediately, and just like at the coffee shop, his eyes widened along with yours. But unlike the coffee shop, he didn’t come over to greet you. Instead, he offered you a slight nod of his head and turned around on his heel. Vaguely, you heard him speak over the music and talk of the party, but all your ears could pick up was ‘let’s go to the kitchen…’

A sigh of relief passed through your lips as you felt your shoulders relax. The small group you had been part of for the better portion of the night all gave you knowing looks, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m alright,” You took a sip of your drink. None of them looked convinced, Kennady specifically, but you stifled out a laugh before you took another, much longer, sip of your drink, “Really! I’m alright. It’s been over a year…” You gulped and locked eyes with Kennady, “I’m alright.”

She didn’t look convinced, but restarted the previous conversation, diverting the attention away from you.

It was January, three months since you saw Mat at the coffee shop, and you were fine. At least you thought you were capable of not breaking down in front of him. While you still were without much––if any––closure after your relationship ended, seeing him at the coffee shop felt like turning a page. Not necessarily a whole chapter, but just enough to start feeling a little better.

You both lived around the same area and still had a few mutual friends. To think you would never see him ever again would be foolish, so you had to make the best of this situation. Although, part of you hoped not to run into him ever again.

There had been times where you overhead a ‘Barzy’ or a ‘Beau,’ an Islanders chant, or someone complimenting Mat on his goals of the game. But for the most part, it felt as if he wasn’t there. You enjoyed the rest of the night, but a few hours later, his laugh caught your ear and you saw him tilt his head back from your peripheral vision.

You hadn’t even realized he was in the same room.

Progress, you smiled into your red solo cup as you went to take a drink, small steps of progress.

But your tiny smile disappeared when you saw you were all out of alcohol. With a frown, you quietly excused yourself from your group and walked into the kitchen. You waved at people you recognized, and felt great up until this point of the night. With every genuine smile you offered a friend, they returned it with a sympathetic smile, assuming you were overcompensating happiness by being in the same place with your ex-boyfriend.

And in turn, it caused doubts to float through your mind.

Were you really feeling alright being so close in proximity to him? Were you really starting to feel the process of mending your broken heart, or were you lying to yourself? Would you break down if he were to cross paths with him?

Repeating your breathing exercise from earlier, you calmed yourself down as you weaved through more people to get to the kitchen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to have the same drink, or something different, so you stood still for a few moments debating in your head. You were far from coming to a decision, but when you heard a familiar voice say your name, you quickly came to a decision that you needed to be sober.

You spun around and came face to face with Mat.

Unlike the athletic wear you saw him in the last time, he was currently dressed in a white button up shirt tucked into a pair of navy slacks. The top two buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves cuffed up, and a small wisp of hair rested against the side of his forehead.

You felt your heart erratically beat against your ribcage as you stood in front of him. He looked as if he didn’t expect you to turn around for him, and the two of you stood in silence. His brain failed at forming a thought, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“You got a haircut.”

Mat’s cheeks went red as he ducked his chin into his chest, letting out a small laugh, “Yeah,” he looked up at you with the faintest of smiles, “I did.”

Silence.

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “Uh…What’re you drinking?”

Snapping back to reality, and to why you were in the kitchen in the first place, you blinked your eyes a few times, “Water.”

“There’s some––I can, here,” Mat stumbled over his feet, like he did with his words, as he walked past you and to the fridge. You followed him toward the fridge, and watched him lean forward to grab a water from the back. You only had a few seconds to admire his side profile before he stood up straight and uncapped the water bottle for you.

“Thanks,” you uneasily said as you took the water from him, making sure you didn’t brush your fingers against his.

Mat took a deep breath, looked away from you, and ran a hand through his hair. You could now hear your heartbeat in your ears, knowing exactly what he was about to ask.

“Can we talk?”

This was exactly why you wanted water.

You took a long sip of water, and watched as Mat anxiously fiddled with his fingers. You brought the bottle away from your lips and offered him a tight lipped smile, “Not now.”

He looked like he wanted to say more; like he wanted to push you to your limits in order to get any type of reaction from you, but he knew that you wouldn’t play into that, especially in public. So he took your words as a cliffhanger––not an outright no––that you would revisit the topic of conversation he wanted to discuss.

But in actuality, you planned to dodge the conversation if he ever brought it up again.

Mat stuffed his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels, still not knowing how to direct the conversation, even though he was the one who approached you.

As you stood in silence with Mat, little by little, you began to overthink.

It was in a kitchen where you and Mat had first met. You were at a different mutual friend’s house, but it was eerily similar to how you met the first time…talking over drinks. Except this time, there was so much history between the two of you that it was hard to find some common ground to talk about without feeling like you were walking on eggshells.

The first time you met him, you had only heard his name in passing from occasionally tuning into Islanders games or hearing your friends talk about their friend Mat. The conversation flowed easily, laughter was present nearly every minute the two of you talked, and he slowly moved toward you thinking you didn’t notice him trying.

But you noticed everything.

Like now; you noticed there was no conversation, no laughter present, and how Mat leaned slightly away from you. There were too many memories that couldn’t be forgotten. Too many nights where the two of you were at a friends house like this, but would ride home together with fingers intertwined, instead of leaving separately which would happen tonight. Too many nights where there was an extra set of clothes on his bedroom floor that looked like they belonged.

Too many feelings involved.

You wanted to believe that you were strong enough not to break down in front of him again. You wanted to think that you were alright; wanted to think that you weren’t moments away from shutting down and having your heart wrecked all over again. But you didn’t want to leave his presence just yet. You weren’t at your tipping point yet.

“You had a game tonight?”

Mat nodded his head rapidly, taking in any interaction and conversation he could get with you. He seemed to also not want to leave your presence just yet.

“It was a good game,” he easily smiled with a shrug of his shoulders.

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, “Stop being modest,” if you were closer to him, and felt more comfortable, you would’ve shoved his shoulder, “People were cheering your name when you arrived.”

His eyebrows rose with excitement, “You heard all of that?”

“Now tell me how you really played,” you tilted your head back slightly to take a sip of water.

There was a smile toying on your face, but the grin on Mat’s face stretched from ear to ear, “Really fucking good,” he let out a breathy laugh, “I scored twice, had some really nice plays, a couple of assists…” his eyes held a certain gleam to them whenever he talked about hockey, something you never saw even when he talked about you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled, “That’s amazing. Only one short of another hat trick.” Both of you let out a small laugh at the attempt of your joke. There was more silence, and you could tell you were about to hit your tipping point soon, no matter how many times you scolded yourself not to cry, but you spoke up.

“If you keep playing this well I might have to watch a game.”

The way his face lit up was different than anything you had seen before, even with what you saw just seconds ago when he was talking about hockey. There was a difference in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrows arched in an excited way, his smile showcased all of his teeth, and there was a different spark in his eyes.

“Yeah that’s––You should,” he cleared his throat, but still had a grin on his face, “If you watch you’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll do that––”

“Barzal!”

Both of your attentions were pulled away by the shout of his name. And when you saw that the person who called out his name held up a ping pong ball, and Mat turned his head to look at you with a small smile––one similar to the night you first met, but a little less devilish––you knew that this was your tipping point.

While it would be fun to pretend like you barely knew Mat, partner up with him for beer pong, and relive the moment how your relationship first started…It was too much.

You smiled apologetically, clenching your jaw tight to keep your chin from wobbling, “My sister texted saying she needs a little motivational talk.”

He hid his disappointment well, but you saw that spark in his eyes fade away when he nodded his head in understanding. But he still held a small smile on his face for you, “You were always the best at those.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself with words as memories of you motivating Mat before a game or cheering him up after a hard loss came flooding into your mind. You silently sniffled and picked your water up, “I’ll see you later, Mat.”

“Yeah…” he sounded like he was in a daydream, “See you later.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor and texted Kennady asking if she could meet you out back, as you weaved through people. This time as you made your way through the crowd, you didn’t smile at anyone.

The first tear fell when you heard someone cheer Mat on by saying he should play basketball instead of hockey. The single tear slowly slid down your cheek as you heard his laughter echo around the house. The second tear fell as you replayed the similarities of the night you first met in your head compared to tonight. Everything almost lined up the same way, everything almost felt like that night.

Except this night…there were less smiles, more silences, and instead of your heart fluttering with butterflies because a boy you thought was cute talked to you at a party, you felt your heart drop down into your stomach like a broken elevator.

Your phone buzzed when your hand reached out to open the back door; Kennady saying she was making her way to you.

And the third tear fell when you turned your head to look back at Mat one last time.

You should’ve known he was already looking at you.

His eyebrows were pinched together in concern, head slightly tilted to the side, as he looked straight at you and mouthed “are you okay?” Sometimes you forgot that he knew you just as well as you knew him. And this moment made it clear to you that he didn’t believe the lie you told to get out of being his beer pong partner.

Your chin wobbled as you tried your best to smile––which you were sure looked more like a grimace––and you mouthed back, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t wait for him to either repeat his question or ditch the game to comfort you. And in a matter of seconds, you were out the door, the cold January air prickled your scorching hot skin, as you saw Kennady already waiting outside.

She looked up from her phone, and when she saw the deep frown on your face and silent tears falling down your cheeks, her shoulders dropped as she opened her arms. Hastily, you made a few long strides over to her and collapsed in her arms. She held you tightly as one hand trailed her finger tips up and down your spine to sooth your quiet cries.

“I––I still love him,” you hiccuped.

“I know.”

––––

January passed slowly as ever, and you didn’t see Mat for the rest of the month.

You tried to watch an Islanders game, but when the camera panned to Mat, and the announcers praised him for how amazing of a season he was having, you shut it off. You had a plan to watch the game, send him a text after, and then maybe it would lead into a conversation…but it was too soon for you. Even after over a year of not seeing him play, it was too soon.

So you tried again in the first week of February. It was an away game, and while Mat rarely ever showed it, you knew from previous experience that he was always more nervous playing those than a home game. And to hold yourself accountable to actually watch the game, you texted Mat a few hours before puck drop.

He never claimed to have any superstitions about looking at his phone before a game, but you knew he always kept it away to lessen distractions. So, after composing a few different variations of a message, you sent a small good luck tonight!! And then set your phone face down on the coffee table.

Your heart was beating more than it should have for just sending a simple text. You felt bile churning in your stomach as you buried your face into your clammy hands. It’s a text message, you scolded yourself, no need to overthink everything. But overthinking was what you did best.  

Maybe you shouldn’t have used two exclamation marks. Maybe you should’ve said your name in case he deleted your number. Maybe you shouldn’t have prematurely sent a text message, because what if you couldn’t make it through a whole game? What if your text messed up his pre-game ritual? What if he lied when he told you he wanted to know if you watched a game?

What if he changed his number and didn’t tell you?

But your phone vibrated against the coffee table, snapping you out from your inner-turmoil. And with a deep breath, you flipped it over and saw his contact name: Mathew Barzal.

And from his message, you knew that he knew it was you; Are you watching tonight?!

A small laugh escaped your lips as you sent back a simple, yeah!

Stop using exclamation marks, you scolded yourself.

But before you could overthink the one word you sent him, he responded instantly: Guess I’ll have to step up my game.

You bit your bottom lip to conceal your smile as you typed a message back to him. And for the next half hour, the two of you messaged back and forth about your days, Mat expressed his nervousness, you sent him a little motivational message, and then he said he had to go put his uniform on for warm ups.

There was still some time before puck drop, so you tried your best to busy yourself with tasks. You cleaned the kitchen, made a grocery list, and reorganized the books on your bookshelf. But no matter what you did, your thoughts circled back to Mat. And this time, you didn’t try to block them out, because you came to peace that he would always linger in the back of your mind.

He was there when you put away a mug––one that never rested evenly on a flat surface, due to a chip on the bottom, caused by Mat accidentally dropping it when hot water spilled over the top and burned his hand. There when you made the grocery list––because he would always leave it behind when you two would go to the store together. And there on your bookshelf––when you moved the hockey book he got you for your birthday.

His presence would always be tangled with yours, like a stubborn knot in a necklace that was impossible to disentangle.

You busied yourself by making tea, using the chipped mug, and turned on the game. The players were in their starting positions, and you saw Mat at the face off. Holding your breath, you said a little prayer, because you knew how nervous Mat got during a face off. He always said that he would turn the nerves into excitement to give him adrenaline, but you knew there was a tiny white lie in that.

But you watched the game, with your cup of tea to try and lessen the anxiety you felt, but it was of no use. While Mat was playing a fantastic game; you still cringed when he got smashed into the boards too rough, bounced your leg whenever he had the puck and an opposing defenseman came up on him, and shut one eye when he brought his stick back to shoot a goal.

Sixty minutes of hockey went by excruciatingly slow, but it was worth it, with the Islanders winning by two.

You shut the TV off, placed the mug on its side in the sink, and went to grab your phone off the charger. The game had not even ended fifteen minutes ago but there was a text from a Mathew Barzal on your screen.

With a deep breath, you unlocked your phone and read his message: Did the game meet your standards?

You let out a chuckle as you walked into your room while typing out your message; Nice goal.

The comment was going to inflate his ego, you could picture his wide smile and raised eyebrows in the locker room reading your message. And like how you messaged before the game, it lasted for quite some time; with Mat admitting he was more nervous with you watching, and you reassuring him he played an excellent game. When he finally had to shower, you wished him a safe ride home and he wished you a good night sleep.

While you still tossed and turned under your covers, you managed to get more sleep that night than you had in the last year.

–––

Two weeks later, Mat called you.

It was after a home game, one that the Islanders lost, and a game where Mat wracked up a few penalties. Like every hockey game of his you’d watched since you promised him that one night, he texted you not even fifteen minutes of being off the ice.

Can I call you?

You paced around in the living area of your apartment thinking of what to respond. You wanted to talk to him…You felt ready to talk to him, but there was still some hesitation. The two of you had branched out to texting each other even when there wasn’t a game scheduled, and he had yet to bring up wanting to talk about your relationship again. So part of you had an inkling he would try it over the phone if you agreed. But then there was the other part of you that knew he just wanted cheering up.

To have a little more time to psych yourself up for a phone call with him, you responded: Sure! But why don’t you shower and head home first.

He sent you––sounds good. I’ll call you––And you prepared yourself for Mat to take the fastest shower possible and to maybe break a few traffic laws to get back to his place.

The assumption you made turned out correct, because in just under an hour of Mat officially off the ice, there was an incoming call from a Mathew Barzal.

The phone vibrated in your hand a few times as you breathed in and out. But before his call went to your voicemail, you clicked accept, “Mat…” you started off slowly, “Hey.”

“Hi,” his voice was low as you heard his door shut. Neither one of you said anything, but you heard movements from his end. You heard him put his keys in the bowl by his front door, fling off his shoes, open another door––presumably his bedroom door––and heard the sound of blankets shifting. You imagined he was sitting on his bed, as he let out a deep sigh, “I played like shit.”

“No you didn’t,” your automatic instinct was to reassure him, “Everyone has their off days, it doesn’t mean that you’re a shit player.”

He groaned, and you heard a soft thump. You imagined he fell back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling, “I just––Some of those calls they made on me––and how I tripped over my skates and ate shit with no one around me?” He let another deep sigh, “It was embarrassing.”

Thankfully, you had done your nighttime routine during the second period intermission. So while you listened to Mat list out all of the things he thought he had done wrong during the game, you slipped under the covers of your own bed.

“And then when I thought I scored a goal, but the puck hit the crossbar, and it came back to hit me in the face––”

“Mat, that’s an honest mistake––”

“But it was embarrassing!” He raised his voice out of irritation. And this time, you knew for a fact he wasn’t irritated with you…He was irritated at hockey, the one thing he loved most in the world. “I swear I could hear people laughing at me. And I just know that the media is going to write how I should be a better player because I was a first round draft pick and with how much money my contract is––”

“Mat,” his sentences were strung along, and you don’t think he took a single breath during his rant, so you cut him off, “You can’t always be a perfect player, but you were a first round pick for a reason. It might not have been the outcome you wanted, you played the best you could tonight.”

“But it wasn’t good enough.”

His negative self talk sounded eerily similar to the thoughts that swirled around your mind after the break up.

“How many other twenty-three year olds do you know that play professional hockey?”

“There’s Beau, Mitch Marner, Carter Hart, Matthew Tkachuk, Tyson––”

“Stop,” you harshly cut him off as you sat up in bed, taking a pillow and hugging it to your chest, “They don’t count because they’re like the one percent of people who make it to the NHL.” You tried to stress your point, “Like you, they’ve trained an insane amount to get where they are. But how many other people do that? And how many people do train for most of their life and still don’t get to play in the league you do?”

He was silent.

“The average twenty-three year old isn’t playing professional hockey,” you shut your eyes, because no matter how great of a hockey player you thought Mat was, he never had the same faith in himself, “The average person isn’t playing professional hockey. Mat, you’re an incredible player; honestly one of the best in the league right now. And it’s not just me saying that to make you feel better, just look at the Islanders stats from before and after you came along.”

Again, he stayed silent.

“You came into this league so young, but so talented. Sure, you still have things to learn, but you’re the best version of yourself you can be right now. And there’s still so much time for you to grow to be an even better player,” you let out a small breath, “It blows my mind how good you are. And some people might talk shit and say you played poorly, but if they were to be on the ice with you?”

You waited to see if he had anything to say, but when he stayed mute, you let out a soft chuckle, “If they––an average person––was on the ice with you they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Mat let out a small laugh, and you imagined that he had one hand covering his eyes as he still laid on his back on top of his duvet, “Thank you.”

Unclenching the pillow you hugged closely to your chest, you slid down your headboard, and made yourself comfortable under the covers. You laid on your side, staring out your window at the same night sky he was under, and whispered, “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

You imagined he sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, as his interest piqued, “And how’s that?”

“As someone who’s great at everything they do.”

It was silent on his end. But you expected that with how honest and instantaneous your answer came.

He cleared his throat, “Are you in bed?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you pulled the sheets up under your chin.

“I…” he let out a shaky breath, but whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t say it, “I still have to get ready for bed.”

“I won’t keep you.”

“We…” he started off slowly, and you imagined he stared at the wall in full concentration, and this time, he said half of whatever he wanted to say, “We should do this again.”

A small smile tugged the corners of your lips upward, “Talk?”

“Yeah, um, talk,” he let out a nervous laugh, and you imagined him rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “On the phone…In person…”

You reciprocated his nervous laughter, but it wasn’t the bad kind of nerves you had felt in your stomach over the last year…this feeling reminded you of the excited nerves you had when you first met him, “You must really need more motivational talks,” you joked with him. But his answer, his honest and instantaneous answer, was not a joke.

“I feel like a better person around you.”

You were the silent one now.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” his voice was soft and light, yet he sounded like he didn’t want to let you go, “Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Mat.”

After he hung up, you imagined he slept with a smile on his face, just like you.

–––

February might be the shortest calendar month in the year, but it felt impossibly long.

Between late night phone calls with Mat after a game and texting whenever you had a free chance at work, your nerves never disappeared. They were a mix of an excited spark with a dash of anxiety that festered in the pit of your stomach, and only intensified when you saw his contact name pop up on your phone. Yet, the more you communicated with him, the more relaxed you felt. Laughter came more easily between you two, awkward pauses were few and far between, and you smiled more.

But part of you was still hesitant that he would leave unexpectedly like he did nearly a year and a half ago.

After phone calls and texts, March was the month you saw Mat in person for the first time since January. It was in a group setting, but it was planned with the intention of seeing each other. It was a group lunch––you sat next to him––and he occasionally knocked his knee against yours. He apologized every time, but you didn’t think his movements were an accident.

March had more group outings, more texts, and a lot more phone calls randomly throughout the day.

April was a little more different.

The spring air sent a chill down your spine as you walked toward the entrance of a sports bar with Kennady and a few other friends. It was another group outing, another pre-planned meeting where you would see Mat. Weaving your way through tables and standing patrons, you finally got to the high rise table your group was at. A mix of average twenty-something year-olds and hockey players; but Mat caught your eye first.

You saw him sitting on the barstool, hands wrapped around his beer glass as his index finger anxiously tapped the sweating glass. While he softly laughed along with friends who boisterously laughed, he didn’t look too enthralled with the conversation around him. But then he picked his head up and saw you.

A wide grin slowly spread across his face as he straightened out his slumped shoulders.

Everyone greeted each other with hugs, while you settled for waving. When people took their seats, coincidentally the only open seat was next to Mat. Easily, you slid in as he slid a drink in front of you.

“When you texted saying you were almost here, I ordered you a drink,” Mat whispered with a small smile, “I hope that’s alright.”

You picked up the glass with a tight lipped smile, “Yeah, of course, thank you,” you took a sip as he let out a nervous breath through his nose. You set the glass down on the table and angled your body in the chair to face him, “How was practice?”

“Got my ass handed to me,” he let out a breathy laugh, head hanging low as he shrugged his shoulders, “It was alright.”

While Mat had played excellent hockey since you started tuning in again, the past few games were rough. He kept missing easy plays, his shots went wide, he talked back to the referees more than usual, and had more penalties called on him. From your phone calls, you knew he felt uneasy––he admitted that to you––but whenever you pressed the topic further, he brushed it under the rug.

His avoidance of communicating his feelings gave you a sense of deja vu.

You picked a french fry off his plate, “You scored a nice goal last game though, surely Barry couldn’t have beaten you down that much.”

“I just need to get out of my head,” his eyes were far off, staring off into the distance over your shoulder. You wanted to press him further, wanted to know what was causing him distress in his head, but he changed the conversation. He completely changed his demeanor with a smile, as he swatted your hand away from his plate, “Stop stealing my fries.”

As a few fries dropped from your hand, you successfully managed to keep hold of a single fry. And with a proud smile, you popped it in your mouth, “You could’ve ordered me fries, but instead you bought me a drink.”

He gently laughed next to you as he inched toward the edge of his seat, his knees knocking against yours. “Sorry.” he lied with a smile he couldn’t contain.

You raised your eyebrows and purposefully knocked your knee against his in retaliation, “No you’re not.”

He picked up a fry and threw it at you.

The night continued as it had, conversing with friends, and also going back into your own little world with Mat. Throughout the evening, while he held steady conversation with people from across the table, he occasionally knocked his knee into yours. And when you bumped him back, a smile stretched across his face as he maintained eye contact with whoever he talked to.

Everything about the night felt easy until the first hiccup happened.

You and Mat were off in your own little world again, facing each other on your barstools, knees knocking against each other, as he talked about an article that reminded him of you.

“I have to send it to you,” he shook his head with laughter, as he scrolled through his phone, “Just by the title I knew I had to show you, but wanted to wait until I saw you in person to see your reaction.”

You felt your stomach flip at his admission. He wanted to see your reaction. And based on how giddy he looked as he searched for the article to text it to you, he thought your reaction would be similar to his. He wanted to see you smile.

Your phone vibrated on the table as it lit up with his contact name; Mathew Barzal.

When you opened your phone, you let out a laugh when you saw the article populate with an image. It was definitely an article you would enjoy, and when you brought your gaze back up to Mat, a smile wide on your face, you noticed his giddy look was gone. It was replaced with a more contemplative look with his eyes locked in on your phone screen.

Your smile slowly faded away as you knocked your knee against his, “What’s up?”

He left you unanswered as he kept his stare on your phone until the screen turned black. He picked his head up to look at you, a frown on his face, “You changed my contact name,” you sat frozen in your seat, “and took away the  picture.”

His words registered with you, but all you heard was ringing in your ears.

Because yes, you changed his contact name and removed the picture of him. His name went from just Mat, with a hockey stick emoji, to his full name after the breakup. And his contact picture, one Tito took of him in lounge wear in a hotel room at an away game on the phone––talking to you––with his head tipped back in laughter, was now just MB in a gray circle.

Did he still have your contact name and picture the same in his phone?

“I––”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged his shoulders and tried his best to smile. But the corners of his lips barely turned upward, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his observation, so you stared at him with your lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Mat tried to show another smile, but his lips just formed a straight line. You wanted to tell him you were sorry; that you had to change those details or else you would cry whenever you looked at your phone. But you didn’t know how to verbalize that without breaking down in front of him as the painful memories of stripping Mat away from your life replayed in your mind.

This was the longest silence you sat in with him since January.

Mat slowly shifted his knees away from yours and as you continued to stare at his side profile. He joined in on a conversation with Tito and someone else, but you had no idea what they were talking about. All you thought about were Mat's forehead creases, his glossy eyes full of despair, and the frown still present on his face.

Reluctantly, you turned away from him and found yourself listening in to a different conversation, but all you could pay attention to was Mat’s slumped posture in your peripheral vision.

An hour later, another round of drinks were bought, and everyone was still having a good time with lots of laughter and smiles present. Except your smile was forced and you couldn’t hear Mat’s laugh.

But then you felt someone knock their knee against yours.

You dropped your vision down and saw Mat’s knee an inch away from yours. Thinking that this time, he knocked his knee against yours on accident, you kept quiet. But then you saw him knock his knee against yours again, with his knee resting against yours for an extra few seconds, you looked up at him.

A small hopeful smile was on Mat’s face.

Mirroring his shy smile, you ducked your chin into your chest as you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You knocked your knee against his.

Both of your smiles brightened, and just when Mat opened his mouth to say something, someone clapped a hand on Mat’s shoulder. He looked surprised at the contact, but when you heard the TV behind your table report on the top hockey highlights of the week––with the announcer commenting on Mathew Barzal’s goal––the table erupted into obnoxious cheers. Mat’s face went beet red as he shied away from the praise his friends offered.

After the rowdiness at the table calmed down, you knocked your knee against Mat’s as he picked up his beer. He raised his eyes up to look at you, a small smile making its way onto his face as he took a sip of his drink. When he placed his glass back on the wooden table, he knocked his knee against yours.

“Why are you acting so shy,” you let out a small laugh, because in all of the time you’d known Mat, he craved the attention and praise that came with being a hockey player.

He shrugged his shoulders, tapping his fingers against the table, “The compliments get to be too much sometimes.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tilted your head back in laughter. And when you opened your eyes, Mat was looking at you with gentle eyes full of fondness, “Stop lying.”

There were still some small laughs coming from you, but when Mat took your statement literally, your laughter ceased.

“I like the compliments more when they come from you,” he said with a serious facial expression, “Your words mean the most to me.”

You looked into his eyes; ones that were full of regret as it looked like he was retracing the steps of how your relationship came to this point. How it went from two people who were so in love with each other, in the most idyllic relationship…to people who painfully avoided each other for nearly a year, people whose voices wavered with skepticism when they spoke to each other, and to people who still loved each other but didn’t know how to reconcile.

Sometimes you thought it would be easier not to know him, in turn that you could forget about the heartbreak he caused you. But that thought was always easily diminished; the love you felt when you were with him were the most joyous moments of your life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Well…Maybe one thing.

If you could trade those early days of happiness to fall in love with him all over again––and not experience any heartbreak––you would do it in a heartbeat.  

Mat cleared his throat, “You don’t…” he offered you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

With a nod of your head, you bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your throat tighten up. To alleviate some of the tension in the air, you took a sip of your drink. And when you tore your eyes away from Mat to look at the table, you saw that the table was empty, save for you and Mat.

You didn’t know the last time just the two of you sat at the same table alone.

“Where did everyone go?” You turned your head to face Mat with a tilt of your head.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I think they’re off getting more drinks.”

You chuckled and faked offense, “And they didn’t ask us what we wanted?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, as he turned his head over to look at the bar where everyone stood. When he turned back to look in your eyes, you could see the wheels turning behind his head as he thought.

“We could get our own drinks…” He said slowly, eyes shining full of hope as he leaned in toward you, “Somewhere else…” and the next word he added, voice dangerously low in a whisper, sent more shivers down your spine than the spring breeze, “Alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Mat took your breath away, and without thinking of any possible consequence, you nodded your head once, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at you, the signature grin on his face was contagious as you smiled back, nodding your head even more rapidly. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see where your friends were, and then when he turned back to you, he smirked, “I think we have less than thirty seconds before they come back.”

As if the two of you communicated telepathically, you jumped off the barstools at the same time and walked at a brisk pace toward the doors. Once the two of you were safely outside and at the street corner, both of you doubled over in laughter.

“Did we ditch our friends?” You looked up at Mat who clutched his stomach.

He nodded his head, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Instead of painfully remembering all the times the two of you would duck out early from a party to spend time together, you remembered them with a smile and a laugh.

Once your laughter subsided, you straightened your posture and slid your hands in to your jacket pockets, “Where to?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” he apologetically smiled, “There are some bars a few blocks down.” He suggested as he raised his wrist to look at his watch. His eyes widened slightly, “Shit, it’s late. We’ll either make it right before last call or miss it entirely.”

You stood in silence as you saw the wheels behind his head turning in thought again. It looked like he had come up with another place to walk to, but he looked uneasy as he suggested it, “There is…another place.”

Your curiosity sounded too hopeful, “Where?”

Mat looked down at his shoes, scuffing them against the pavement, before looking back up at you in uncertainty. He took a deep breath, “My apartment.”

Your eyes widened at his suggestion. 

His apartment.

The apartment where you had your last moments as a couple right before he broke up with you. Were you ready to go back? Did you want to go back? Because there was no doubt in your mind that going there would unlock more memories of when you were the happiest with Mat. But if you wanted to progress in anything––in a friendship––with Mat, you needed to get over the little fears you overdramatized in your head.

“We don’t have to,” Mat was quick to backtrack the offer of his apartment, “I know that’s where we––But I––I have drinks there. It’s not a far walk, and we won’t have to worry about getting into a place. But I understand if you don’t want to––”

“Let’s go,” you sucked in a deep breath and nodded your head the same time Mat’s eyes widened with shock, “It’ll be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

You took another deep breath and lied, “Positive.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but he wasn't going to press you any further. So, with a nod of his head, he gestured toward the way of his apartment like you didn’t already know, “This way.”

The walk to his place wasn’t far at all, in fact, it was most likely closer than any of the bars you would definitely not make it to in time. So his apartment was a safe option as the two of you walked in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but the two of you were replaying the last time you were both in his apartment.

Once you arrived at the building, Mat waved at the doorman––whose eyes brightened at you with recognition––as he hit the up button on the elevator. The ride up was just as silent as the walk to his place, and when you stood in front of the door to his place, your palms began to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But you stuck it through, and when Mat unlocked the door and let you in first, a wave of nostalgia hit you like a ton of bricks. Everything was the same, albeit a bit messier, but it felt almost like you were back in a home again.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over,” Mat let out a nervous laugh as he walked past you and picked some of his belongings up that were strewn across the floor.

You waved him off, heading over to the living room area, and folded a blanket for him, “Don’t worry about it.”

You heard Mat let out an anxious deep breath as you watched him turn around and head into the kitchen. He seemed just as nervous as you. When he was out of sight, you set the unevenly folded blanket down on the ottoman and walked over to the couch. You sunk down and let out a shaky breath that you had been holding in since you walked through the front door.

You didn’t have much time to dwell in your thoughts, because you heard Mat’s footsteps, and sat up straight on the couch. He came around the other side of the couch with a beer bottle in one hand for him, and then a wine glass and a wine bottle, for you. He set his beer and wine glass down on the coffee table as he took a seat next to you.

“As your bartender for the night,” he sarcastically said as he took the wine opener and screwed it into the cork of the bottle, “I expect a very nice tip for bringing your drink to you.” You laughed at his comment to lighten the mood, but all you could focus on was the way his arms flexed when he twisted the corkscrew around a few times, “I even provided you with a whole bottle of wine just for yourself.”

You let out a small laugh, “Lucky me,” you whispered just as Mat looked up at you through his eyelashes.

He offered you a small smile, and then went back to concentrating on opening the wine. When the corkscrew was in the center of the cork, he pressed his hands down on the miniature levers, and the bottle opened with pop.

He looked up at you with a proud smile and eyebrows raised proudly, “Eh?” He asked you as he poured you a glass, “You should be impressed.”

You snorted, “That you opened a wine bottle?”

“Mhm,” Mat hummed as he handed you the glass. You offered him a smile as a thanks, as he grabbed his beer and rested an arm on the back of the couch, “And that I didn’t spill any of it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a sip of wine, as your mind pieced together that you were drinking your favorite type of wine. That led to a flurry of questions in your mind because why––after all this time––would he still keep your favorite bottle of wine at his place?

But Mat asked you about how your presentation at work went before you were able to bring it up.

Much like the time spent at the sports bar earlier, it was all laughter and smiles, except this time you weren’t under the scrutinizing gaze of Kennady or the hesitant glances of Tito. It was just you and Mat, alone in his apartment, as if no time had passed. With every twenty minutes that went by, it felt as if Mat would move a tiny bit closer to you. You didn’t mind at all, and when he was close enough, you knocked your knee against his.

It was well past midnight, and you were still enjoying yourself the same as you did when you first walked in. The bottle of wine was nearly empty; Mat joining in on the wine drinking after he finished his beer.

Everything about the time spent at Mat’s place felt easy until the second hiccup of the night happened.

Mat placed his empty wine glass down on the coffee table and let out a deep breath through his nose. His face looked serious; eyebrows pinched together that caused a crease to form between his eyes, mouth pressed in a straight line, with his eyes firmly concentrated on you. The look made your stomach uneasy, so you finished off the last of your wine, and sat it down next to Mat’s empty glass.

You let out an apprehensive laugh as you leaned your side into the back of the couch, just below where Mat’s hand rested, “What’s on your mind, hockey player?”

With his hand so close to your shoulder, he stretched out his fingers and lightly grazed your shoulder. He gently moved his fingertips along your shoulder blade a few times before he gulped, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you breathed out as a chill ran down your spine.

Both of your bodies were facing each other as he moved an inch closer to you. While his fingertips withdrew from your shoulder, he knocked his knee against yours. But instead of retracting it like he had done all night, he kept his knee against yours. With another deep breath through his nostrils, he inched closer to you again, his thigh pressing against yours.

You held your breath as you stared into his yearning eyes, and like he was telling you a secret, he whispered, “Sometimes you feel like a stranger.”

Your eyes widened, stunned at his confession. You were at a loss for words, but luckily you didn’t have to respond, because he expounded upon his admission.

“And it…It’s so frustrating,” his voice was low as he maintained eye contact with you; his soft eyes full of longing stared into your wide and timid eyes as his fingertips reached back down to touch your shoulders. But instead of just staying in one place, his fingertips trailed down to your collarbone, “I know how you relax after a stressful day,” his fingers slowly moved to the side of your neck as he let out a soft chuckle, “I know how you organize a closet.” HIs fingers moved painfully slow up your neck, “I know the facial expressions you make when you’re nervous…”

You clenched your jaw, as your breathing hitched, and you slightly tilted your head to the side to give his fingers more room to wander.

Mat traced his fingers along your jawline as he leaned his face closer to you, “I know what makes you happy,” you felt his breath fan against your face as his fingers caressed your cheek, “What pisses you off.” He kept his mouth in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as he moved his fingers to the back of your neck, cupping your cheek. He kept quiet, the only noise in the apartment that could be heard was your own heartbeat and Mat’s breathing.

Finally, he rested his forehead against yours as he slightly brushed the tip of his nose against yours. You kept your eyes wide open in anticipation, as Mat closed his eyes for a moment. He let out a shaky breath before slowly opening his eyes to look at you with an amount of adoration you’d never seen before, “How to love you.”

“We’re friends.”

“No we’re not,” his voice was strained with irritation. But this time, the irritation in his voice wasn’t directed at either you or hockey…his irritation was at himself, “All I want is to love you again but you’re so far away.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh and muttered, “You’re a stranger who I know better than anyone else.”

You brushed your nose against his, eyes glancing down at his lips, before looking back into his wistful eyes, “I’m right here.”

With your lips parted and breath shallow; the tone of your voice hinted at what you wanted to come next.

“If I were to kiss you,” Mat’s low voice murmured as he laid out his intentions, “Would you stay?”

“Yes.”

There was no wavering hesitation in your voice, only desire for the person in front of you who you’d spent too much time without. But Mat…Mat blinked a few times as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, staring at you as if he didn’t believe this was real life. The pull you felt toward him was stronger than any pull you felt toward anyone else. There was something in him that made him irresistible, he felt it in you as well, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Eyes closed, Mat pressed his lips against yours, desperate but chaste as you tasted the wine off him, both of you holding yourselves back for each other's sake. He rubbed his lips against yours, urging you to tip your head back. You leaned into his direction as your fingers carefully crept toward his stomach, clutching his shirt into a small fist.

The tip of his tongue peeked out in a quick stripe across your lower lip, and a strangled whimper in the back of your throat involuntarily left your lips. With his nose against your cheek, he took his hand that cupped your cheek, and ran it down your back. His palm and the tips of his fingers gliding across the expanse of your back; feeling every ridge of your spine, every bone, every dip, and every curve.

Ever so slowly, his hand trailed up your back, over your neck, as he cupped your cheek again. He deepened the kiss, tongues meeting with soft strokes, mouths hot with anticipation and need.

You had kissed Mat more times than you could count, but both of your movements were timid. While he had a hand on your cheek, his other hand laid stiff on the couch. And while your hands gripped his shirt, they weren’t physically touching him. There were so many thoughts circling your mind; how you never thought you’d be in this position again with Mat––having him want you again.

That’s when the first tear fell.

It had officially been a year and a half since your break up with Mat. A year and a half since you felt any sort of honest affection from a person. And it had only been about three months since you started to openly communicate with him again. It had taken you longer to watch a hockey game than it took for you to speak to him regularly again; longer to gain the courage to watch him skate in circles with a smile on his face because you knew he was happiest on the ice.

Happier there than he could ever be with you.

You broke away from his kiss with a sniffle.

Mat delicately pecked your lips one last time before pulling away. Your eyes were still shut tight, but you felt his burning stare on your face as his thumb wiped away the single tear from your cheek.

The second tear fell when he repeated the sentence that you didn’t know held any truth.

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

As if you were transported in time, you smelled the April air of two years ago seeping through the open car windows as Mat whispered that promise to you as he kissed your hand. But the other memory…The cruel and poignant memory that overshadowed the good memory of that sentence took over. Instead of the sweet April air, your mind fast forwarded to the month of December where the air was frigid and eliminated your relationship.

You sucked in another deep breath as you opened your eyes to get you out of the headspace of that bitter December day. Mat’s eyes were desperate––silently begging you not to go––as if he knew you were planning an escape.

“I can’t do this,” you dropped your hands from his shirt and moved away from him on the couch.

“Will you ever be ready to do this?” Mat’s voice shook, but he was withstanding from surrendering. You could now see the athlete in him––the dedication he used to train to attain all of his goals––coming out as he fought to mend your relationship, “I want to talk.”

Your hands shook just as bad as your voice, “I can’t.”

For the countless time tonight, Mat let out an irritated breath through his nostrils, “When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know.”

Mat leaned his head against the back of the couch as he rubbed his temples, “Don’t you miss this?” He turned his head to look at you, his bloodshot eyes noticeable in the dim lighting of his living room, “Don’t you miss us?”

“You broke up with me,” you reminded him as you flared your nostrils in annoyance, “You gave up on us.”

“I was confused!” Mat sat up and angled his body toward you as he threw his hands in the air, “I wanted to be with you––Still want to be with you––But something was off and I had to––”

The deja vu of Mat listing off reasons why something in the relationship wasn’t right––and how his judgement convinced himself that getting away from you would solve everything––caused bile to churn in your stomach.

You placed both hands on the cushions as you pushed yourself up, “I’m not doing this again.”

With your back to him, you itched the bridge of your nose as you sniffled away your runny nose. But even with your back to him, you could still hear the desperation and utter heartache behind his wavering voice.

“You told me I would end up alone and unloved,” you heard him inhale a shaky breath, all the confidence from his previous tone of voice gone, as he choked out his next words, “The one person who I love most in the world told me that––The person who I thought loved me––”

“I do––”

“Told me I would be unloved? That not even you could love me again if I didn’t put more effort into the right things?” You spun around on your heel to see a silent path of tears easily falling down his face, “Do you know how much that messed me up?”

“You told me I wasn’t enough,” you counteracted with just as desperate of a voice, “You told me––”

“We just didn’t see each other enough,” Mat’s words continued to cut you like a knife, “But I never said you would end up alone and––”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to love you!” your devastated tone matched his raised voice. His mouth slowly dropped open, “I loved you so much and you tore me apart.” You felt your throat tighten up, but you held back your tears as your voice cracked, “I wanted to be the last person to love you.”

Mat sat in silence on the couch as you stood a few feet away from him. Silences were never common in your relationship, but they were definitely more common now. Coming to terms in your head that he wasn’t going to say anything, you were about to turn around and make your way out of his apartment for the final time.

“Stay,” Mat stood up from the couch. His hand barely raised from his side, as if he wanted to reach out to keep you from leaving him, but his arm stayed stiff at his side, “It’s after two in the morning, I’ll take the couch and you can sleep in my bed.”

“I’m not far from here,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “I can get an Uber.”

“Then I’ll take the Uber with you to your place.”

You let out a deep breath at his persistence, “That’s unnecessary––”

“Believe it or not,” Mat started his sentence out strong, but he took a pause and let his shoulders deflate as his tone softened, “I still really care for you and don’t want you in an Uber alone this late or walking up to your place alone. So please,” you hated the way your heart melted at his words, “Stay.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about his proposal. He had a point…Ubers alone at night in New York wasn’t the most ideal situation in the world. And you knew he would hop in the car with you; he always held your safety high on his priority list.

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head, “Okay.”

Mat let out a relieved breath, “You can…You know where everything is,” Mat awkwardly rubbed a hand behind his neck, “Everything’s the same.”

Except us, you thought to yourself.

You asked Mat if he had to get anything from his room, but he said he had some stuff stored in the spare bedroom where he would get ready for bed. And for what may be the last time, you wished each other goodnight as the two of you walked to separate ends of his apartment.

You blocked out every memory that swirled around your head as you entered his room and got ready for bed. Everything was going fine until you opened the cabinet under the sink and saw that he still had an unopened bottle of your shampoo that you always kept at his place. But you were done crying. Done crying over Mat. So you closed the cabinet, regretfully changed into one of Mat’s oversized t-shirts for pajamas, and slid under his covers.

With the sheets pulled up right under your chin, you laid on your side in a fetal position, as you stared out his window. There weren’t any stars in the sky, but instead of being in your bed and thinking about what Mat was up to when you couldn’t sleep, all you had to do was walk down the hall.

You tried everything you could to fall asleep, but none of the methods you usually used worked. Even when you stayed in separate bedrooms when Mat met your family for the first time, similarly down the hall from each other, you didn’t have any trouble sleeping like tonight. But back then, you and Mat were together in love. And this time…you and Mat were somehow still in love, but further apart than ever.

Fed up with not being able to get a decent night’s sleep in over a year, you flung the covers off and stepped out of bed, because you knew the cure to your insomnia was just a few feet away. Slowly, you opened the bedroom door and snuck out. You quietly closed the door and made your way to the living area where Mat said he was.

And in a few seconds you saw Mat, whose face was illuminated by his phone from above head as he scrolled. The single blanket he had only came up about halfway to his bare stomach.

As if he sensed another presence in the room, he turned his head. With an empathetic smile, because you imagined he had the same trouble falling asleep in this past year as well, he shut his phone off and placed it on the coffee table. Without a word, he lifted the blanket up, inviting you to sleep next to him.

You crawled in next to him, the side of your face pressed up against the crook of his neck. You let out a silent, uneven, breath as you felt his warmth spread across your body. And when he lowered the blanket, he curled a tight arm around waist, drawing shapes on your back as he held you close to him.

And the third tear fell when Mat pressed a firm kiss to your forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A year and a half of sobbing didn’t compare to the flood gates that opened up in this moment. Your senses were in overdrive, everything screamed Mat, and that one little forehead kiss paired with a simple apology tipped you over the edge. He held you tight as you cried into his chest, taking responsibility for the suffering he had put you through the past year and a half.

One of your arms was tucked under you, but your other arm was stretched across Mat’s chest as you clung to his bicep. Your shoulders violently shook as you muttered incoherent words out through choppy breaths.

You hurt me, you said. I know, he answered.

I never wanted to see you again, you said. I know, he answered.

I missed you so much, you said. I know, he answered.

I still love you, you said. And as your cries began to soften, he cradled you into his chest more as he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead; I still love you too, he answered.

It was the first night both of you slept soundly through the night, missing all of your alarms.

–––

New York in August was unbearably hot.

Between the larger than life gray skyscrapers and dark concrete that paved the city, the heat of the sun always got trapped in the most unpleasant way. With crowded sidewalks of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, the heat attached itself to sweaty bodies. With sewers that always smelled, but reeked even worse in the summer, the heat attached itself to the polluted water.

But if you paid close enough attention, there was a certain aroma in the air that always drew people into the city. And like how the skyscrapers and concrete trapped the heat in the most unpleasant way, the sweet smell of new beginnings that New York offered trapped people in the same way.

Walking down the sidewalk, with your fingers intertwined with Mat’s, you breathed in the captivating smell of New York.

The smell of new beginnings.

“Are you nervous or is the heat getting to you,” You looked up at Mat’s side profile with a smile as you pointed out his sweaty hand.

With black sunglasses covering his eyes, he kept his head forward as he chewed on his bottom lip, “It’s your family.”

You rolled your eyes as you came to the end of the sidewalk, waiting at the corner for the light to change, “You know them already.”

“Yeah, but––”

His words were cut off when the light changed and a mass amount of people crossed the street. You tugged him along with the crowd, “No buts,” you squeezed his hand, “They still love you.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders.

He knew the pain he caused when he broke up with you. And he knew that your mom, dad, and sister all witnessed the aftermath of what he put you through. There was part of him that would never forgive himself for acting so immature, and he was still working through his insecurities. But after that night of confrontation where you slept peacefully in his arms, he promised to always be upfront with his feelings.

You had been officially back together for four months, and made changes from the first time you were in a relationship, but Mat’s nerves surrounding your family were still present.

Your sister was the first to find out that you and Mat were back together. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her before she figured it out not even a month into your rekindled relationship. She called you out of the blue, and before you could greet her, she went straight to the point; Are you back together with Mat? You were a stuttering mess, not prepared to tell your family; You liked Tito’s most recent Instagram picture, your username came up next to the heart, and I know you unfollowed him after you weren’t with Mat.

Her sleuthing wasn’t that impressive, but you couldn’t lie to your sister. She warned you that a few more jokes would come at his expense to turn him red.

You told your mom in June. You had let it casually slip that you were going out with Mat for the day, and she was silent on the other end for a few moments. Like any mother who held their child as they openly sobbed after the end of a relationship, she was skeptical. But you reassured her that changes were made, and continue to be made, so it wouldn't end like the last time…So your relationship wouldn’t end at all.

She said as long as you were happy, she was happy.

You also told your dad in June, a week after you told your mom, because you knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto that secret for long. It took a bit more planning and practicing on your end to tell him. You saw the way his jaw clenched and eyes full of hurt whenever he saw you cry. And when you told him, he sounded stiff, and reminded you that you were too good for him. But like your mom, you reassured him that things had changed; Mat had changed.

He reminded you that he never liked Mat that much to begin with.

When you and Mat reached the restaurant you were set to meet your family at, Mat opened the door for you. A breeze of air conditioning and the smell of clean air brought you out of your thoughts.

"Your dad’s already glaring at me and we’re not at the table yet.”

You let out a laugh and rested your forehead against Mat’s bicep briefly as you looked up at him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I talked to him plenty before this and told him to be on his best behavior.”

Mat took his sunglasses off, and as he stared down at you, you finally caught a look at his hazel eyes that shined bright with admiration for you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

You dropped his hand and elbowed him at his sarcastic comment.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister was the first one up from her seat to greet you with a hug.

You hugged her back tightly, “We’re on time, you guys got here early.”

She held you at arms length away and gave you a knowing look saying that of course they were going to show up early. It was the re-meeting the boyfriend lunch. She slightly gazed over your shoulder at Mat, who was politely talking with your mom, and you rolled your eyes silently telling her he was more nervous than the first time. She deviously smirked.

With a stiff handshake and a curt, Mathew, from your dad, you knew Mat felt as if he was drowning.

Appetizers and a bottle of wine were ordered for the table before you and Mat were present, so they arrived shortly after the two of you were seated next to each other. Like the first time Mat was around your family, he sat with perfect posture as he rapidly tapped his index finger against his thigh.

You discreetly scooted your chair closer to his.

Mat had just finished his first glass of water when your mom brought up hockey, “How did this season go, Mat?”

“It went well,” he answered as he took the water pitcher from the center of the table and poured himself another glass, “There were a few times we went up and down in ranking, but all in all, it was a strong season.”

“I watched a few highlights,” your dad said after he finished swallowing an appetizer, “You played well, especially towards the end of the season.”

Mat shyly smiled, his eyes glancing at you, because toward the end of the season was when you started communicating more, “Yeah, the end of the season was the best.”

You knocked your knee against Mat’s.

“And almost made it to the Cup again,” your dad shook his head with a light smile, “How’s the team looking this season?”

Mat took a sip of water, “We’re looking good. A few changes to the roster, but all for the best.” He fiddled with the white cloth napkin on his lap, “If you guys––I don’t know the next time you’re in town, but just let me know if you want to go to a game.” Mat smiled at your dad, and then turned to your mom, “I know my family wants to come down for a game.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Thanks, Mat,” your dad easily smiled, “I appreciate that.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders, a smile slowly growing on his face as your dad called him by his nickname, “I know how much you all like hockey, might as well use me for what I’m good for.”

Your parents laughed at his comment right as the waiter came up to take everyone’s order for their main course. You, Mat, and your sister had ordered, so your parents weren’t paying attention to your little trio.

“So, Mat,” your sister stretched out the lone vowel in his name, “Looks like you won the girl back before your franchise could win the Stanley Cup.”

Your eyes widened at her bluntness. It was always hard for a team to be so close to clinching that championship title––and well deserved praise as they lifted the Cup above their heads––only for it to be ripped away from them. And for the Islanders to be in that position another year, losing in the final round, it only aided in more salt to the wound.  

Mat’s face still turned red at her unapologetic comment, but he recovered quickly, and wasn’t nearly as blindsided by her words like he was the first time. Instead, Mat offered your sister an easy smile, as he quickly made eye contact with you. His smile widened, “I think I won something better.”

Mat knocked his knee against yours.

[bonny-kookoo]

Ready Player 01 | JJK x Reader | 🔞❤️☁️

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: dystopia!AU, former Game developer!Jk, former pro gamer!JK, former IT specialist!Reader, former programmer!Reader, romance, Smut, slight cyberpunk elements

Warnings/tags: injustice, forcefully controlled public, violence (police/government officials against citizens), unfair powerplay, interrogation, tech talk, Jungkook be antisocial as FUCK but so is the reader lmao wbk, fear of physical contact (Haphephobia), past trauma and mentions of a bad childhood, insomnia, crime, smut because yes it’s me hello my content isn't kiddy-proof in the first place what yall want from me I'm not sure, but that’s waaY at the end ya know, friends to lovers, a slightly sassy AI but we love her, reader struggles with emotions, I mean same tbh, they're both so sweet tho I cant, not proofread because let me live

Summary: there’s a war going on; silent, but it’s there. Media has been strictly become controlled and regulated- to the point of making it illegal to own a TV or phone with internet access without a valid license. But there’s always some people that will try to break free from the controlling force.

"-a new age. This is a new year. And remember; we're doing this for the greater good. Until tomorrow." The news reporter stops talking after she somberly looks somewhere behind the camera that is pointed at her.

Your room is dark- the TV brightness on it's lowest setting so you can see what's going on- but outside, no one can see the light shining in your tiny apartment. Investing in blackout curtains had really paid off at the end of the day.

You don't want to get caught.

There's an announcement van driving past your window; the tiny slits in your curtains where the light from outside can creep its way inside brightening a bit as the headlights pass your windows. Something is spoken, and by now everyone knows the routine speech.

"Electricity will be shut down in five minutes. We advice to save all progress immediately- and we wish a good nights rest. Electricity will be shut down in five minutes..-" It repeats, over and over, counting down the minutes. You slowly move into your kitchen, opening one of the loose floor tiles to turn on your own emergency electricity system. With well practiced movements you close the tile again, moving the rug over it as you walk back into your living room, swiftly sliding the TV behind your wardrobe to make it disappear. As if on cue; there's a knock at your door.

The same as always. Routine. Two times, loud and clear. You don't even have to look through the peephole to know what awaits behind it.

"Yes?" You ask, rubbing your eyes as if you had been already asleep. The officer behind the door nods at you shortly, a mild smile on his face as he looks down at you.

"We didn't mean to wake you miss. Just routine, as usual." He says, peeking into your apartment to look for any electronics still running. It's pitch black however- so he simply nods, as his colleague notes something into his tablet. "We wish a good nights rest miss. Again, sorry for intruding." He apologizes, and you nod, closing the door.

Only when the street lights turn dark, do you move from your bed.

"Creator." The AI voice chimes up, her voice greeting you as as you lift the tile on the floor again- your phone connecting to the AI to show information you instantly decode and note down inside your head. "Player01 has just connected." The voice states, and you sit down on your cold kitchen flooring, smiling a little. "He has sent a message. Would you like me to play it?" The voice asks, and you take a deep breath.

"Yes." You say, and there's a small sound indicating the start of the voice message. A male voice is head.

"Hey, whats up?" He asks, and you can hear something in the background- maybe an empty can or something similar. "I uh.. I'm on my way. Should I bring anything? Ah wait, I know the answer to that.." He says, chuckling at the end of his sentence, and you can hear him zip up his jacket as he moves around. "Yeah uh.. just text or something, I'll bring stuff over. Can't have you starve." He ends, and the AI speaks up again.

"Would you like to repeat the message?" She asks, and you shake your head at her; a signal the artificial intelligence has come to detect quite well. "Should I archive it?" She questions again, and this time, you nod- something your invisible assistant can pick up due to motion sensoring.

"Send him a message." You say. "Tell him: I only need you. Get yourself here in one piece and I'm happy. And I'm very capable of taking care of myself." You state, and your phone shows a small loading message- indicating that the voice is doing as you said. It chimes up after a moment. "Thanks Kana." You say.

"No problem creator. Would you like for me to run through the databases now?" She asks, and you nod, a smile on your face. "Database search in progress. Estimated time: sixteen minutes and eighteen seconds." You huff out a breath as you look at the tiny display on your arm; tiny, yet powerful as it's your way of keeping Kana- your AI assistent- close at all times. Tonight, there would seem to be a lot to dig through.

They really added a lot of content these days.

It's not the door that makes you notice that there's a visitor after a while- He never uses it anyways for some reason. You're sitting on your kitchen floor with a small cup of tea in your hands- kept hot inside a slightly beaten-looking thermos can since you can't use to water boiler at night. Using anything other than Kana would cause a spike the police would be sure to notice; and you're not ready to get caught yet.

Not tonight.

It's a boy who, after a moment, opens the unclosed kitchen window to climb in; his combat boots getting a little snow and dirt from the outside into your apartment as his 80's looking jacket makes distinctive noises as it brushes against the sides of your window. His blonde hair has grown out a bit these days you notice- the roots clearly showing. It's a little wet and slightly curly from the moisture. It must be snowing outside- or maybe it had. You couldn't know for sure.

You never left your apartment.

He closes the window after slipping on the tiles inside a little, the plastic bags noisy as he almost drops them- sheepishly taking off his boots as he smiles at you. His socks are different from one another- but that's another thing so distinctive and just so.. him. He's his own person, always has been; it's what brought you two together, after all. You both stood out against the 'regular public' these days; with his brightly almost white-bleached hair he was like an albino in a sea of crows.

But you knew he didn't need that to stand out to you.

You can still remember the first few times the boy in front of you has visited you; the times where he had just dyed his hair to rebel out, or when he pierced your ears in exchange for you to do it to him as well. It was like you had made a blood pact in your kitchen that night- you had somehow gotten closer, formed a little more than just a simple companionship in order to riot against the law. He began growing close. Gave you a nickname. Began calling you his player 2. Began calling you his 'ace'. He had explained that he thought of it from memories of his gaming days; the two fighting teams always called red and blue, and one of his favorite weapons having that nickname- simply because it always 'saved his ass last minute'. He had rambled on about his last tournament after that, eyes sparkling and cheeks round from cold noodles.

You had become friends.

"hey." He says after sitting close across from you on the cold floor; the opened tile and Kana's core exposed to you two, the only source of light apart from your bracelet. The colorful LED's paint marks on his face and illuminate his features to you; but it does the same to you from his point of view. It's a familiar sight. "How are you?" He asks, almost shyly, but you know that's not what's bothering him.

"Hey Jungkook." You simply say with the hint of a smile, as you answer him. "Haven't slept well these days but, what's new I guess." You chuckle, and Jungkook smiles too- though a glimpse of concern is still shown your way. He knows however that forcing you to sleep won't do much good- your insomnia was too bad to really conquer it in a day or two just by taking naps.

And also; who was he to talk about solving personal issues.

"Have you seen the most recent reports?" You ask him, and the boy somberly shakes his head.

"I was unable to." He states. "They were patrolling close to my apartment complex because there had been someone reporting a Glitcher today." A 'glitcher'- a slang word now commonly used for people like Jungkook and you. People who went against the nightly routines, people who tried to trick the system by using electricity at night, owning media, consuming it, or dealing with it. It somehow became worse than underground drugs. "They pulled him out at around twelve or so- but they seemed too on edge the entire day, so I didn't risk it." He says, and you nod. Jungkook had always been a very good person when it came to calculating risk versus reward. He was good at reading people too- even though he didn't interact much, he got out of his apartment a lot more than you did. "Anything important?" He asks, and you shrug.

"There was a report that China and Japan were still on edge- with the chinese government arguing that they would soon start with 'more drastic measures to get things under proper control', whatever that means." You say, and Jungkooks brows furrow as he starts to pick on the skin of his jaw. "Let's just hope the flood doesn't throw us under the sea as well if it escalates I guess.." You say, and the boy across from you nods.

"Creator." Kana's voice chimes up, making Jungkook look up before remembering that the only source would be your bracelet, which you look at as well. "My scan of your body shows that you have not consumed a sufficient amount of calories today. I recommend a meal in the next five to eight minutes to avoid malnutrition." She says, and you groan. "I take this as a form of verbal communication. Running data search..." She says, as Jungkook looks at you; thoroughly amused by the teasing banter between the AI and his friend. "My data search concludes that you are annoyed, creator. I have only stated a fact however-" She continues, and Jungkook steps in.

"I've brought some leftovers from my dinner today we can eat." He says, pulling out some plastic containers as he moves to get proper cutlery out of your drawers. He makes sure to push them towards you, making sure to nod with a smile as you nod and thank him a little embarrassed. "It's nothing. You know I love you too much to let you starve!" He states with a grin, bunny teeth on full display as bitterness creeps up your throat- something you make sure to swallow down before beginning to eat.

Because the kind of love he's talking about right now, is not the kind of love you want him to feel for you.

"You forgot to give it a proper validation there-" He points out as you type away. "Otherwise it will just run instantly, and everything at once. That could crash older systems, and we know that V95 uses an older laptop, so we should take that into account." He says, and you nod, clicking back to the spot Jungkook is talking about.

This is what you're both good for.

Writing code for you had always been something you did with a passion- simply because you were good at it. Numbers and short phrases were something you could remember with ease; but you never had to think much about the visual aspect of programs in your department back when you were able to work for a simple programming company. You had simply always been tasked to program security systems and automatically updating firmware, or simple AI's for factory robots. Jungkook however had been all about the visuals; he had been programming games after all. That's why you two fit so well together in this scene. Whenever he would be in complete awe of the broad knowledge you had about official guidelines and security breaches, of staying undetected and unseen while still gaining as much as possible from every single line of code, he could always throw in his input to make sure the program you were both writing and updating for the glitch community was easy to use and simple enough so it could run smoothly on as many systems as possible. Be it phone, laptops, PC's- you two made it possible.

This program was connecting Glitchers all over the globe- and with yours and Jungkooks knowledge, you made it almost invisible. And even if it was somehow detected; there was no possible way to track down any of it's users.

The fact that you had to hide a simple program from the government made you sigh.

"Okay. Yeah I think that fixed the bug." He says, and looks at your arm- at Kana. "Oh, by the way, Kana?" he asks, and the chime gives him the cue to talk. "I heard you had a bug-fix too recently." He says, and the AI chimes again.

"I did, Player01." The AI answers. "The addition of code to my current program has proven to significantly increase my ability to observe and save more data." The female voice answers, and Jungkook grins. "You are happy, Player01." She states, and he nods.

"I am." He says.

"Why is that?" The AI asks, and Jungkook shrugs.

"I'm just happy you're doing well. Someone has to take care of ace when I'm not close by, yeah?" He states, and you try not to react to it. Jungkook is by now used to your more stoic expression; you're not too emotional and barely let things get under your skin. You've been hurt before, he knows this even if you never told him- he can see it in the way you hide inside the safety of your home, how you're so cold on the outside but still clinging onto him. Sometimes he wishes he could touch you; run his hand over your head to ruffle your hair like in those cheesy movies, hold your hand, or simply give you some reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back whenever you struggle.

But he's got his own demons, and they love clinging onto him just as much.

"V95 has connected to voice chat. Would you like to talk to him?" Kana states, ripping him out of his thoughts as he watches you nod.

"JK? Y/N?" A deep voice asks.

"We're here. Heard there was a raid close to you?" Jungkook asks, and he can see you grow a bit more serious at that. "Are you okay?" He adds, and V answers, although quite.. tired?

"I'm good. They got Jimin though." He states, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair as you stand up, frustrated. Jungkook knows you're trying to calm down by pacing. He doesn't mind. "They didn't officially arrest him, took him for 'questioning' though. We know what that's about." He states somberly, and Jungkook takes a deep breath.

"Jimin is a master manipulator V. He'll get himself out of it, I'm sure." Jungkook tries to reassure, but it doesn't gain him much than a hum from Taehyung on the other end of the line. "What about Sleeper?" He asks, and a chuckle is heard.

"He's been checking the videofeed from inside the past few nights. He said he's send some of the big bites to Ace though?" He says, and Jungkook looks over at your form.

"Yeah I've seen it." You simply say, though Jungkook grows uncomfortable with the way you're suddenly standing there. You're a little hunched, biting the skin on your thumb as you look at the tiles as if they suddenly began to move. He knows himself that things inside the 'rehabilitation centers' weren't all that nice to see- but you rarely ever displayed so much distress over it. "Let's just hope Jimin get's his ass out of this situation. We can't afford to loose him." You say, and V stays silent before he sighs.

"Yeah. I tell sleeper you've seen the stuff. Oh, and our prince charming has asked for a date with Ace. Again." Taehyung chuckles, and you groan- while Jungkook can't help but clench his jaw. Kim Seokjin was a very good asset to the team; with connections reaching deep inside the government and his position as a former lawyer- but he still hated his guts.

You didn't need to waste your time dating. You were totally capable of taking care of yourself, you had even said it personally! And for anything else Jungkook would provide for you. You didn't need anyone else than him.

He was totally not jealous of him.

"Can he not use our underground connections for that circus?" You say. "I don't even go grocery shopping, why would I want to go on a fucking date?" You mumble, sitting down next to Jungkook as you take a spoonful of rice. Jungkook feels a weird sense of satisfaction about the situation.

"Who knows." Taehyung says. "Alright, 10 Minute mark- I'll hear from you two soon. Take care." He says, and you both say your goodbyes before the line goes silent.

Although Jungkook hates physical contact, he likes keeping you close.

His heart is melting like chocolate as he notes the way your hand grips his jacket tightly as the two of you walk through town to get your license renewed- a way of holding onto him, and he somehow wishes it could be his hand. He knows yours would fit so perfectly in his, and yet he can't bring himself to do it.

His body is not cooperating.

He remembers vividly how his fear had developed; with his father and mother both being dramatically overworked and overwhelmed with having a kid at a young age, they had no idea how to make a child behave. Every second touch would bruise, every time he had been held would be force.

And at some point, he started to dislike physical touch completely.

It had just been like his growing interest in freelance climbing- the way he would walk and jump high over the heads of unsuspecting people, away from all judgemental gazes they'd throw his way for behaving the way he did. Only when the wind could hit him freely, only when he couldn't make out faces of anyone down below, only when he was high up- that was when he felt safe. The ground below had nothing of interest for him, no point in going down, as his apartment was located on the top floor of the complex. Jungkook never took the elevator, always the stairs.

He liked being reminded how high he lived.

And yet, there's one thing that pulls him down, brings his feet to the earth below, calls him like a siren song. It's you, hidden away from everyone's sight inside your tiny home, just as troubled and judged as himself.

He'd fallen in love with you the second you told him his name.

It had been a rainy night, his clothes drying on your heater as he was wrapped in two of your blankets; the smell of your fabric softener and something so typically you surrounding him like a mother's hug would a child. It had given him a feeling of comfort he had never quite experienced before, and it had also been the first time he had imagined what it would be like to hug you.

To have you close.

He had explained to you why he had freaked out when you reached for his arm to steady him when he almost fell inside your apartment through your window; had apologized and bowed his head in shame until you had simply shrugged.

"You don't have to justify yourself to anyone, Jungkookie." You had said. Jungkookie. "You're you. And I like you." You had said, not looking at him as you typed in some code to Kana's internal system.

His heart had warmed up at that.

And while you had accepted him, he had accepted you just as much. While at first caught off guard by your quiet and sometimes harsh way of treating him, he had also gotten to know just how gentle and delicately you treated the ones you loved. You were a loyal person, always going out of your way to be helpful, and silently basking in praise any time it was directed at you.

He loved that view. The way your cheeks would grow warm, how your eyes would sparkle; and he loved most of all, that he had been, according to Taehyung who was the second closest to you, the only one to see you smile.

You even laughed with him.

It filled him with pride to know that you were able to let go around him, even if it was just a little. It made him feel like he did something huge. It helped him sleep at night knowing that you were trusting him enough to let down your guard a little.

And it hurt him even worse knowing that he couldn't do the same thing for you.

He was a coward-

and you deserved a hero.

"Ace?" He asked, slipping through your window as he noticed the apartment silent and dark. Nothing greeted him. "..Ace?" He tried again, maybe you were asleep? But your apartment was quiet, empty, nothing spoke of your presence. Dishes were in the sink, a cup of water left untouched on the counter, and something inside of him churned painfully at the way this looked. He checked the kitchen tile, sliding it to the side like he's seen you do it countless of times.

It was dark.

Instead, he was greeted by a post it note. "Underneath the bed. Take care." Was all it read. He stood up, pushing your bed away from the wall noticing how your carpet had been torn a little. And as he lifted the cut flap of carpet, there was an envelope.

Your watch. A small in-ear piece, and your old IT-identification, folded.

A noise outside your hallway made his head snap up as he pushed the bed back into place, making an escape for it as he climbed outside the window, watch safely inside his jacket as he climbed back up on top of a building, before he examined it further, turning it on, after putting the earpiece in.

"Hello, Jungkook." Kana greeted him, and it felt weird to hear the AI say his name like that. "Creator has advised me to answer all questions you might have, and assist you from here on." She said, and Jungkook simply put the watch on, making his way to his own apartment.

"What happened?" He asked, his face serious as he walked.

"At around 6:12 O'clock, creator was taken into further questioning regarding illegal possession and knowledge of classified information and technological equipment. She had shown no resistance and complied with authorities. My observations however showed that she was taken with more force than necessary." Kana explained. Jungkook shook his head. "She had prepared for this instance during the night, approximately twenty-six minutes after you had left."

"She knew?!" He suddenly said, shutting his apartment door violently as he started to pace around, throwing his jacket on the couch. "Why didn't she contact me?"

"Analysis; your body shows signs of-" Kana started, but Jungkook interrupted.

"Shut up. Why didn't she tell me?" He asks again, and Kana seems to hesitate for a moment.

"Considering her close relationship to you, she probably wanted to not get you involved." She stated, and Jungkook sighed, sitting down on his couch as he gripped his hair. He should've stayed. Hell, it wasn't the first time he wanted to stay. He had dreamed of staying over, of fucking living with you for months to no end by now, but he was a coward. And this was his paycheck.

"Kana." He said lowly, and the small tune gave him the cue to talk. "Contact V95. Tell him it's urgent. We got an emergency." He says.

"I can't watch this." He says, jumping up and holding onto his head as to not punch his wall, unable to go through the videofeed of your interrogation room.

There's not much to see, but Jungkook knows that's simply because they haven't had the time to see to you yet. You and him knew best what really happened in these rooms, and he hated knowing that deep down they wouldn't go easy on you simply because you were a young woman. It didn't matter to them.

He'd seen teenagers way younger than you and him getting the rough treatment before- and elderly didn't get spared either.

The government bragged about having everything in order; yet they couldn't even control their own law enforcement it seemed. When he really thought back on his history lessons in school, not much had changed at all.

The world was still in utter chaos.

His palm shuts his laptop harshly- earning a tiny chime from the AI he’s already forgotten shares his home with him now. “I suggest that you practice care in treating your electronics to-“ he groans, successfully shutting it off at that. “Why are you frustrated?” It- she? Asks, and he sits down.

“I don’t know how to help her.” He admits in shame, thinking back to the footage of your hidden camera; the way they had pushed you to the ground, before grabbing you, leading you out of your apartment a few minutes away from him. “I don’t know what I should do.” He says.

There’s a bit of silence, until the AI speaks up again. “Do you have a romantic interest in my creator?” She asks, and his head snaps up at that.

“What the fuck? Why would you ask me this?!” He barks, unsure where to look since he can only hear the voice.

“I have observed both my creator and your behaviors; you seem to have a very deep rooted interest in each others well-being and opinions. This is commonly found in partnerships. I was only asking you to confirm if my assumption is correct.”

He’s silent for a moment, until he speaks again, watching the announcement van pass his window; voices dull and unintelligible though the walls and windows. “It’s no use anyways. Who wants someone they can’t even shake hands with?” He sighs, looking into his lap again. He hates that he’s like this; that even though he very much loves and adores you, there’s no magic moment that makes him forget- even though he craves the contact, he can’t do it. Every time he’s close to you, he knows that he could simply hug you; or let you rest your head on his shoulder, like in romantic movies. He wants to hold your hand, wipe your tears- but his body won’t cooperate. He can’t do it.

Not even with you.

“Creator seems very comfortable with you.” The AI states. “I have been asked to archive all text messages and phone calls of you two recently. When I asked for a reason, she claimed she would need it someday- I was unsure what she meant.” Jungkook furrows his brow, raising his head again. “Sometimes, when creator is deeply upset, she has the habit of playing some of the recordings of you singing, or reminding her to take care. My research has shown that it slows down her heartbeat to a more normal level and also improves her insomnia.” Jungkooks eyes widen at that.

Does that mean.. that you like him back?

"Kana, fuck- cut the feed." He says, agitated.

"Are you sure?" She asks, and he sighs, before yelling his frustration out, sitting down to take a deep breath. He slowly shook his head no. He couldn't let all your hard work go to waste like this.

He couldn't stay a coward.

"Jungkook, it appears to be that the creator is being let go." Kana suddenly chimes up, and Jungkook rushes to his pc setup to see for himself. And she's right- your arm is being held tightly, and something is being said to you, but your hands are no longer chained to the chair- you're free.

What just happened?

Jungkook sometimes really hates himself for being the way he is.

There's no sugarcoating it that you need comfort now more than ever, even though you don't openly show it to him. He can see it in the way you're still biting your nails, he can see it in your eyes which never stay on one point for too long. And he can definitely see it in the bruises on your upper arm, and the cut on your lower lip where you had bitten in anger and frustration. He wants to comfort you, he knows you'd let him- and yet he can't move any closer than where he is right now; only the length of his palm of space between you two. And yet it's like his joints are locked into place. He can't touch you.

What if he hurts you?

And it dawns on him right then and there while he watches you drink your can of overly sweet soda while typing your code like second nature, that he's not scared of you hurting him. He's scared of doing to you, what's been done to him. Because deep down he is aware that his parents never had bad intentions, never hated him or wanted him to suffer; they were simply unsure and not at all confident in how to really care for a child. They had been caught off guard and gotten overwhelmed by the sudden shift in their situation that they never truly knew what to do. And nowadays he felt like he was simply heading down the same road.

He was starting to feel like he was becoming just like them.

"Hm?" You ask him, ripping him out of his thoughts as he looks at you, your eyes wide and worried as you put down your almost empty can of soda. "What is it?" You ask him, and he wants to scream. He wants to throw a fit like a child at the way you seem to worry for him every time you should worry for yourself. He's a coward, he's useless, he's everything you don't need nor deserve in his eyes, and yet you always look at him like he's the main character of your favorite movie.

If he was, he was sure he'd be merely a sidekick- because you deserved to be the focus of every story told in his eyes. And if you weren't included in the tale, he knew he didn't want to ever know about it.

He swallows, before he manages to make his hand move, finger pointing at your arm where a green-ish bruise already formed. "Does it hurt?" He asks, and he's not even sure if he's asking you about the bruise, of if he's asking something else. He doesn't know what he's saying, doesn't even know if he's asking you or himself.

"No." You answer, and he looks at you, searching for any hint of a lie in your eyes. But he only sees that slight smile, lips turned a little, almost unnoticeable. But its there, he can see it, and he wants to print it into his mind to never forget it. You were so observant, knew him so well, that he was almost certain you knew of his inner fight and what he really meant with his blurted out question. "Are you okay?" You ask him, and he swallows again, eyes stinging with unshed tears as his body grows rigid like an unoiled machine, only moving with as much force as he can manage to come up with. His breathing is heavy as his eyes can't leave the spot on your arm, and your watch him with wide eyes as his shaking hand slowly reaches out.

He doesn't know what he expects to really happen.

Maybe like those electric shocks you get when someone had rubbed their socks on a carpet before touching someone else. Maybe he had expected to recoil instantly. Maybe he had expected nothing- but he was suddenly in a rush the moment his fingertip touched your warm skin, delicate, soft, everything his rough hands weren't.

And you were still as prey in front of a wolf.

But the wolf in this scenario was holding his breath while his tears finally fell. He wants to speak, but he can't, he doesn't know how to ask for something when he doesn't even know if he wants it.

But suddenly he moves again, his palm now resting fully against your upper arm, shaking, as it moves over the length of it, softly, as he imprints the way your soft skin feels. "Jungkook.." You whisper out, and he suddenly snaps, leans forward, his legs on either side of your body as he snakes his arms around you from behind, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel him shake as he holds you, his cheek resting against your back and you don't care about his tears staining your shirt as he suddenly cries openly and possibly for the first time since he was a mere child.

He's unsure, overwhelmed, because you're so warm, you smell so nice, you're so soft, and he can't let go, doesn't want to let go. He whines out as you turn a bit as he thinks you're moving away but you're simply placing your legs over his as you sit in his lap, hugging him back as you make sure to give him a gentle squeeze.

He calms down after a long while of simply existing. Of breathing you in, of feeling you. "You're right." He whispers into your neck, and you can't help but shiver, leaning into his hug.

"It doesn't hurt at all."

"You know, I get why you come up here." You comment, as Jungkook makes sure to hold your hand tightly in his, your feet dangling off the edge of the building you're sitting on top of. "It's nice." You say.

He's not listening that well though.

All he can really do is watch your face, illuminated by the neon lights of the city, hair swaying in the wind as you look down below. He doesn't quite know what you two really are, doesn't know how long it will take him to really come out of his shell and give you the love you deserve, but he's trying. He's fighting, he's left his cowardly self behind.

He want's to change.

And not just for you alone, because while he hates seeing you hurt, he knows what you two are doing- what all of you are doing- is for the greater good.

Jungkook hates your ideas sometimes.

Simply because he knows they will work, but also end up with you getting into danger at the end of it. And just like now, all he can do really is hope that you make it out as he keeps a watchful eye on your movements from above, giving you directions via Kana as you sometimes trip and stumble a little.

You're not a very active person; running wasn't really your thing.

Fuck, you were basically a hermit, the most you walked around was from your bedroom into the kitchen!

But then again, sacrifices had to be made somewhere. And Jungkook really admired you; because every time he thought that you had reached your limit, you would face it head first and break through it.

"Ace, try and somehow get to higher ground. They're caging you in from all sides." He urgently tells you as he watches police chase you down the roads, pushing citizens aside to not loose sight of you.

The plan had been simple. Gain all the attention so Taehyung could infect one of the police station's servers with a new worm, giving you all a better and easier access to any data and communication of the area. Jungkook couldn't play the bate well enough; and you had been on their radar already, making you the best option to gain their interest quickly enough.

Although Jungkook hated that part.

"Come on, ah fuck it." He grits out, jumping down to grab a ladder, making his way to a nearby area he could pull you up. There was no way you could reach any of the fire ladders yourself, and by now, things were getting too hot for him to risk anything. "Here!" He barks out, not thinking twice about grabbing your hand and helping you upwards, trying not to worry too much about your heavy breathing. And then there's it.

A pop, loud, followed by another, and another, and another. You're suddenly falling, scraping your knees on the ground below as he can't catch you, too startled by the fact that they had actually decided to shoot to react quick enough. "Fuck!" He says, eyes wide and pupils blown as he looks at you.

"Jungkook, why the fuck aren't you running?!" You yell at him, a scratch on the top of your left cheek as you push his leg away from you- the only thing you can reach. "Go!" You bark again, and he growls out something, before he manages to pull you onto his back, adrenaline not letting his brain process what he's doing.

He can't just leave you.

"Taehyung, get out, Ace has been shot. Whatever was uploaded has to be enough." He says via the in-ear piece, doesn't wait for a response. He still gets it.

"Fuck, what?! Okay okay, I'm out" He says, and Jungkook can only catch a glimpse of the older man leaving the building via the backside entrance. He's only concerned with getting you somewhere safe.

"Urgh." You groan, slowly sitting up on Jungkooks couch. "I mean, I know paintball hurts, but rubber bullets? Jesus.." You complain, while Jungkook looks at you with a dark expression. "What?" You ask him, and he huffs.

"You sound like you haven't almost been killed yesterday." He grimly says, and you shrug. "Stop. I'm serious." He tells you, and you let yourself fall back down onto his couch.

"Whatever. At least we killed their communication." You say, closing your eyes. "Must've at least pissed them off." You say.

"Kana." Jungkook suddenly says, waiting for the familiar sound to tell him she's active. "Shut down for now." He says, and you sit up, hissing instantly at the sudden movement.

"Hey- ah fuck!" You say, as you watch on your bracelet how Kana complies; shutting down. "Why would you do that?" You say in an offended matter, before you grow quiet, watching him go onto his knees in front of you, as he lets his head rest on top of your lap.

"I just want.. you to myself. Just.." He mumbles, and you slowly bring your hand to his hair. "Just for a moment." He says, and you sigh. Jungkook had been under a lot of stress recently, you no doubt being the main cause of most of it recently. So you simply let him be, as he closed his eyes. "Y/N?" He asks suddenly, and you answer him. "I love you." He says, and your body stops moving.

What?

"It's okay if you don't." He says, not moving from his spot, and neither opening his eyes. "I mean it. I only want you to know." He explains further. "Because I.. couldn't fucking live with myself if something happened to you, and I've never told you." He admits, and you can't help but stare at him. Jungkook looked down on himself so much that it was sometimes frustrating to see; simply because you saw him as such an amazing human being with countless talents and beautiful flaws.

You knew you couldn't muster up the strength to actually answer him; not so spontaneously. You weren't that expressive, you couldn't communicate as freely and colorful as he could. All your words seemed black and white to you, mixing into grey and mundane sentences while his words seemed to bloom into the most amazing paintings. He had a way of charming those around him- and he didn't even know.

You slowly leaned down instead, moving his hair to the side as you placed a feather-light kiss to the top of his cheek, close to his eye.

You hoped he would somehow understand you.

And as he moved again, looking at you with eyes that sparkled brighter than any city's skyline ever could, you knew he did.

He'd always understand you, no matter how you communicated with him.

You didn't need words to understand each other.

The shy kiss you two shared, bathed in the purple glow of the neon lights outside his window, spoke enough.

"You should try and sleep." Jungkook tells you, taking away your can of soda as you whine at him. "No buts. Come on, I'll finish this for you." He says, and you let him take over the keyboard of your laptop. It's something you really only let him get away with- anyone else would've probably lost a finger or two trying to touch your work.

You don't trust anyone but him at this point.

"I know that Kana snitched." You comment, as you lean your back against his shoulder. He chuckles. "Can't believe my own creation goes behind my back like that." You mumble, and Jungkook has a light tune to his voice as he speaks.

"Well, it's a good thing though." He tells you. "I worry about you." He says.

"Ugh come on, you know that's not the part I meant." You laugh, and he grins.

"Oh, you mean the part where you listen to my crappy ass singing to help you sleep?" He tells you with a teasing undertone. "No wonder you got insomnia trying to find rest to that." He chuckles, and you playfully hit his thigh.

"Shut up, your voice is nice." You say, and he's glad your eyes are closed, and you can't see him blush.

Somehow, moments like these re-energized him again. Because it proved to him that there was still a piece of that innocent and untainted you inside that thick shell you had put up to protect yourself. And considering that you let him see you like that made his pride grow taller than any of the skyscrapers of his city.

Maybe one day the two of you will have a future together that won't be so difficult and unfair like your current one was. Maybe one day, you both will have changed enough to teach the next generation about what you've overcome.

But then again; living in the moment seemed to fit a lot better in his eyes, as he watched you sleep soundly against his shoulder.

Yeah, this moment was more than enough for now.

The world won't change over night- you both know that. All of you know that. But small things were starting to make a difference here and there; for example, the letter you held towards Jungkook as his eyes widened.

"..and we have officially decided that we no longer want to participate in the case against the defendant. The result of this agreement is that all charges against Y/N L/N have been dismissed and are no longer being investigated." He reads out loud, almost whispering as if saying it too loud could make it a lie. "They let you go?" He asks, and you nod, the small bandaid on your cheek making you look even cuter in his eyes as you shrug.

"Jimin had reached out too. They've let him go home as well." You say. and Jungkook huffs out in disbelief.

After infecting the police station with the worm you had all worked on, you had scared the entire country enough to take a step back from the overall aggressive tone. It wasn't much- but it meant that they knew you were there. You existed, and you were not bowing down.

You were still untamed.

Jungkook smiled brightly as he put the letter down to the side, reaching out to you to pull you onto his lap. He simply holds you for a moment, his lips kissing the skin of your shoulder as if in a trance. "I love you." He tells you, and you smile, squeezing him a bit in your arms. "I really do." He assures you, and you nod.

You don't answer him, and he doesn't seem to mind as he leans back from you, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grins, hands holding your face so delicately as he places a kiss onto your lips, making you close your eyes as he breaks away from you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder.

He's still not letting anyone very physically close other than you; he's still scared of going out and around like everyone else. You're still rather hiding inside his apartment- both of your apartment now- and you still have trouble sleeping.

But Jungkook keeps the nightmares away.

And you make him brave in exchange.

It's really weird to hear the sound of a radio nowadays.

Things are still far from normal- but recently, citizens had been given radios to listen to public broadcast again. It only played crappy music with some rare good tracks here and there, but it was better than nothing.

Jungkook couldn't help but think that your breathless voice was far more entertaining than any music station he can remember from his youth.

While he hates touching other people, even friends and family, he can't help but feel a rush whenever he touches you.

His hands can't stop on one specific spot, can't seem to stay still even for a moment as his lips nip and suck at the flesh of your neck and shoulder, marking what's his, visualizing that you really belong to him. He bears the same mark on his collarbone from last night, and he should have been satisfied, but even an early morning couldn't keep him away from you.

The rain hit the window harshly, but he didn't notice at all. All his eyes could see was your form underneath him, skin glowing as he moves above you, euphoria filling his veins as he can't look away from where you're connected, where his cock disappears inside of you over and over and over again.

"I love you." He breathes out as he comes undone, holding you close, resting his head against your shoulder, as you hold onto his arms, a smile, a genuine and big smile thrown his way as he can't help but smile along.

"I love you too, Jungkook." You say, and he chuckles.

The radio in the background still playing, as you lay in each others' arms.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please stop reposting my content on AO3 thinking I won't find it. I'm literally everywhere you clowns.

To everyone else: Thank you for reading this mess- I really apologize for the messy storyline, but I just wanted to put this out before the entire thing escaped me again and I would end up struggling to find my way back into it (cough cough flashback to mean lmao). I promise to somewhat post more regularly. Thank you for your kind words and for sticking with me!

[amethystdarkwolf]

Broken

AU: X Ship: Poly of Eijiro Kirishima, Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero, and Hitoshi Shinso (This was easier than typing out all the pairings) Prompt: X Requested by: X Warnings: Internalized Acephobia, mentions of sex, non con like elements (Nothing happens though it is mentioned), insecurities and fears of breaking up. If I missed any please let me know! Summary: Eijiro loved his partners. He loved them more than life itself. They were more than accepting of any eccentricities of each other, which is to be expected from a poly of seven different personalities. But he didn’t know if they would accept him when they realized he was broken. F/A/H-C: Hurt/Comfort POV: 3rd, following Eijiro. Word Count: 3,735 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Side Note: Hi, I’m finally back to writing fics, even though it’s for a different fandom now, it’s still something lmao. I may come back to writing Sanders Sides eventually but we shall see. Let me know what you think of it! And I hope you enjoy! 

They are all 3rd years and about to graduate UA! I wasn’t sure if that was considered an au or not but they are of legal age! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eijiro knew there was something about him that was different from his other classmates. Originally he had just blamed all the weirdly delayed interest in any girls, moreso any talk of ‘hooking up’, on him being gay once he finally figured that out. 

But then the thoughts he thought he should have about guys, about doing things with guys never came either. He knew that he found guys attractive, obviously, he developed the biggest crush on two of the most powerful students in his class incredibly quickly after seeing both of their strengths, but whenever he thought about them, about being with them. Nothing sexual came from it. He’s a teenager he should be having these thoughts right? 

He heard Denki talking about some of the guys in the class at one point, saying how hot a few of them were. And, well, Eijiro could agree, however when Denki started going into more detail about what he saw in the locker room, the redhead went silent. He couldn’t see anyone like that, not even two of his most prominent crushes. Was there something wrong? 

He was not able to figure it out until their third year of high school. Now in a relationship that consisted of seven total. Polyamory was a thing introduced to him by Izuku once they had started dating and Eijiro realized he still had feelings for Katsuki after quite some time. He was overjoyed that Izuku had shown him that, moreso that he and Katsuki both agreed to it. 

Not too long later, Izuku realized his feelings for Shoto, and Denki. Eijiro came to these realizations himself later. Denki then had feelings for both Hanta and Hitoshi. After quite a while of this, everyone in the poly was dating everyone. Which made things both a little less complicated and a little more complicated. 

Eijiro loved his partners. He loved them more than life itself. They were more than accepting of any eccentricities of each other, which is to be expected from a poly of seven different personalities. 

But he didn’t know if they would accept him when they realized he was broken. 

He didn’t start off thinking like that. He just thought he was taking longer than everyone else to develop these kinds of feelings towards the others. Denki and Hanta using obviously suggestive flirting with one another while the group was together was to be expected. Then Hitoshi joined in, then Katsuki, Shoto, and eventually Izuku was making remarks that can and were meant to be taken in a not so innocent way. 

Eijiro laughed along with these jokes, he understood them and was fine with them. So he thought there was nothing wrong with him. It wasn’t until the words turned into actions that he came to the realization about himself. 

Katsuki and him were both incredibly physical with their fighting styles. So it’s only natural that every once in a while, their very playful spats would turn into wrestling matches in one of their rooms. 

It was later into the night, a majority of the students were either asleep or down in the common area. Eijiro smirked as he managed to pin Katsuki down onto the floor, his hands grabbed his wrists keeping them pinned beside his head, using his quirk to ensure they stayed there. Both of the boys were a little out of breath panting in eachother's faces. 

Eijiro wasn’t thinking about what position they were in. The fact that he was on top of Katsuki, kneeling on either side of the others lower body was lost on him. Until he realized Katsuki wasn’t continuing to struggle. As the pairs of red eyes met one another, Eijiro noticed the look in his partner’s. They were slightly darkened yet hazy. A look that he recognized instantly. 

The same look he had given Denki before he had pinned him against the wall, marked up his neck so much that the bruises were left for at least two weeks. There was probably more to that story that he hadn’t quite heard, or had subconsciously tuned out due to the nature of it. 

A sickening feeling of panic bubbled up in his stomach, along with a feeling of near disgust. The second he realized it, he jerked away, scrambling off of his boyfriend with a nervous laugh. “Ha! Gotcha, man!” He prayed Katsuki wouldn’t pick up on the tremble of his voice. Katsuki’s expression immediately changed from the look he had before, to one of confusion. He was silent as he seemed to examine the redhead. 

Eijiro had gotten really good at reading Katsuki’s expressions, but there was one he was never able to quite pinpoint. Katsuki’s blank expression. None of his normal anger that seemed to constantly reside on his face, no annoyance, no smugness, absolutely nothing. That was the expression most of his partners tended to worry about when it showed up, just because it was so unreadable. 

That was the expression Kirishima was met with after the confusion seemed to fade. 

“Right.” Katsuki mumbled. 

Eijiro glanced around the room quickly, looking for anything to change the topic or clear the awkward air around them. His eyes caught his bookbag and he grinned, “Oh hey, would you mind uh, helping me study again? I’m getting a little hung up on how some of the equations work.” Please work, please work, please work. 

It did and it didn’t. 

Katsuki hummed, the annoyance finally reading on his face once again. He knew something was up, but he knew that Eijiro was trying to hide it, he could tell. But despite that, he nodded, “Fine. What is it?” 

There was going to be a talk later. It was going to be asked, Eijiro could tell. But now it wasn’t happening. He could only hope that he would have some explanation once the talk did happen. 

---- 

He did come to an explanation. A much worse one than he hoped he would come to and in a much worse way. 

He thought he had it figured out. That he was just awkward about it since he had never tried it, the position he had gotten Katsuki in was weird and that’s all it was. Maybe it would stop being like that once he was prepared to take that step with his partners. They had all waited for one another to be ready before trying anything at all so he figured it would be fine.

That’s all he thought it was. 

Like Katsuki and Eijiro’s playful wrestling matches, Denki and him had something very similar. Only, they were often brought on by Kirishima winning in whatever game they were playing, and Denki tackling him, which led to more of a tickle fight than anything. Both laughing and giggling as they rolled around on the floor. 

Golden eyes met red ones once they calmed down, the electric boy was now above him. Easily Eijiro could push him off, but he was still too giddy from the childlike roll around they had just had to even think about it. Denki leaned down once he caught his breath, placing a small chaste kiss onto Eijiro’s lips. Another small laugh leaving him before he repeated the process. 

Eijiro was fine with this, this was sweet. He returned the kisses gladly, not at all complaining even when it progressed to a full makeout session. This didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. This didn’t make him have that feeling of panic and disgust. Maybe he was better now! Maybe he’s finally over whatever that was! 

He should have known not to be so hopeful. 

He leaned up on his elbows a little, feeling like he couldn’t get enough of his boyfriend’s kiss. He didn’t stop Denki when the other’s hands began to wander down his chest. This felt okay, this felt nice. This was just Denki being touchy. He was used to it. 

Until it wasn’t just that. 

Denki’s hand wandered down, down further past Eijiro’s stomach, as it made its way closer and closer, that feeling came back. Bubbling up much worse than last time, the thought came too quickly, the thought of any of his partners touching him like that, made him immediately tense up. Finally he was getting those thoughts he thought he should have been getting, but now instead of getting aroused by them, all he felt was that gross, uncomfortable and panicky feeling. 

He finally snapped out of his own thoughts when he felt a small shock course through him. He blinked a couple times, feeling hot tears falling down his face. His body was shaking, and in front of him, he saw those golden eyes again. Looking at him with so much worry. 

Eijiro drew his hand away from Denki’s wrist quickly. When had he grabbed him? “Eijiro!” He managed to register that his boyfriend was talking to him. It took him a moment longer to gather his voice enough to respond, “w-wh… what happened?” 

Denki looked even more confused, “You tell me! I-dude I would’ve stopped! You were just suddenly shaking and crying and you jerked my arm away from you! Are you okay?” 

Eijiro nodded after a moment, “Yeah, Yeah sorry, I just kinda freaked out I guess?” That was the only way he could explain it, though it was obvious enough that Denki knew that much. Denki’s expressions were much easier to read than Katsuki. Which only made it that much easier to see the confusion and worry now be joined by hurt. 

“Did… Did you not think I’d stop?” He sounded just as petrified as Eijiro felt currently. Eijiro shook his head immediately, “No! No! I mean-Yes! I knew you would have stopped! I trust you! I just wasn't thinking, I guess…? I don’t really know.” 

Denki nodded, seemingly content with that answer. “Okay, dude. Uh, do you wanna keep playing?” Gesturing over to the forgotten Switch. Eijiro smiled a little and nodded, “Yeah! Can’t wait to kick your ass again!” He said hitting his fists together. 

The blonde grinned, immediately returning back to his normal happy self. “Oh whatever! That last round was a total flub! Doesn’t count!” 

-- 

That night, Eijiro rested his head against his pillow, his mind racing through the events of the day. Something that hadn’t quite clicked in his head finally did. “I trust you” was what he had said in reassuring Denki. Which was true, he trusted all of his partners, he couldn’t have a relationship if he didn’t. 

But, if he couldn’t even bear the thought of the people he trusted with his life, he loved with all of his heart, to touch him like that… Then that wasn’t the problem. Being awkward and nervous wasn’t the explanation. Not being ready wasn’t the explanation. 

Finally he accepted it as tears came to his eyes. “I’m never going to be ready for it…” he murmured to himself. “I’m never going to want that.” 

It made sense, he had never liked the idea before, never thought about it before, and now that it was almost thrown in his face (On accident, Denki of course didn’t know he felt like this and Eijiro couldn’t blame him). He panicked. He wasn’t afraid of it. It didn’t make him nervous. It made him uncomfortable. 

He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, as a sob left his mouth. He wasn’t like any of his partners, he wasn’t like anyone in the class, hell he didn’t even know if there was a possibility of anyone like him being at the school. He’s Broken.

 Quickly remembering that Katsuki was right next door, he grabbed a pillow, biting it in order to muffle himself. 

He was broken, he didn’t feel the things he was supposed to. He didn’t want the things his partners wanted. What most people consider a crucial part of a relationship he couldn’t even think about without feeling sick. 

It hurt, it hurt and ached every part of his being. His partners were all accepting, but they’ll want that. He’d be a horrible partner to deny them something that they’d consider important in the relationship. Why would they bother sticking with him if he wasn’t enough? If he couldn’t make them fully happy what was the point? 

How vividly he could imagine their faces made it so much worse. Izuku would smile softly, try to let Eijiro down slowly, probably even apologizing. Katsuki would be annoyed, thinking he wasn’t tough enough to handle it. Denki would think it was funny and ridiculous. Hanta would be confused, who wouldn’t want to have sex with their partners? Shoto wouldn’t really have any glaring expression, just a simple sigh of dissatisfaction, and Hitoshi would just roll his eyes, like Eijiro had been a waste of time. 

He was pretty sure he had torn open his pillow at this point, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He never wanted to see them like that. He never wanted to lose them just because he was broken. He was supposed to be unbreakable after all! He needed to fix it. There had to be some way to keep that from happening. 

A terrifying thought crossed his mind.

‘If I just force myself through it once, with one of them, and then it’ll be fine after that.’ 

It made him feel sick again, thinking about it. He wouldn’t want it, and he knew his partners would stop and question if they noticed how uncomfortable he was. He sniffled as he continued to debate on it, it would make him feel disgusting, gross and uncomfortable, but it would only be for a little while, and then after that, he could keep his partners, and make sure they’re happy. 

That’s what was most important. 

--- 

He made out a little plan, to try to get himself to go through with this. In his mind it was like training. Trying to think of what he thought of that day with Denki without tensing up. Or at least learning how to hide it. Trying to convince himself that ‘it’ll feel good. It’ll feel good.’ The shaking he wasn’t able to get under control, he could blame that on nervousness though, right? 

He knew which partner he was going to try to initiate this with. The one he had been with the longest. Izuku. He was so sweet, gentle and kind, but was incredibly strong and determined. It would feel safe, comfortable, right? It had to, it was Izuku. 

If Izuku said no, he would go to Katsuki, who he knew would have no problems taking the lead if he teased a little, he would be a lot more to deal with than Izuku though, but if it’ll work then he had to do it. If that didn’t work he would go to Denki, then Hanta, then Shoto and then Hitoshi. Hopefully, Izuku would say yes. He loved and trusted all of his partners, but it would be easiest to handle with Izuku. 

-----

It started off a lot like the other two mishaps. Just some playful roughhousing ending with Eijiro pinning Izuku. Eijiro tried desperately to hide any hint of feeling off, looking up to Izuku’s eyes quickly before kissing him. 

Izuku returned the kiss, and he was both a little surprised and not surprised at all that Izuku was the one to push it to a makeout session. He was hesitating a little and Izuku seemed to be enjoying this. Good. Good. He was doing good. 

He remembered what Denki did with his hands, how he touched him and tried to mimic that on Izuku as best as he could. The memory however, caused that feeling to bubble up again. As he began tracing Izuku’s thighs through the shorts he was wearing, an arm on his own stopped him. He swallowed and looked up to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. 

“Ei…?” His voice was so soft and gentle. 

Eijiro pulled his hands away immediately, “S-sorry, was I-do you not want-I didn’t mean to-” Everything was crumbling. He could feel the barriers he put up beginning to crack and break. The feeling was only getting worse. He’d have to go to Katsuki. 

Izuku shook his head, “No! I-I do, want that! Just… you’re shaking…?” 

Eijiro gave a little fake laugh, “Ah! I’m just, kinda nervous, don’t wanna mess this up.” He lied through his teeth. Izuku smiled so gently again, “Don’t worry too much, it’s okay, I’m here.” he murmured comfortingly, the hand that had grabbed Eijiro’s forearm moved down to hold his hand. 

The redhead let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you.” The sickening feeling only bubbled up once more once he continued. Now placing kisses down Izuku’s neck, while his hand went back to tracing up and down his boyfriend’s body. 

He could feel the trembling get worse. He tried to swallow down the panic that was trying to force itself through him as he scraped his teeth against Izuku’s neck. He reached a spot right where his neck and shoulder meet that made Izuku breathe heavier, and whine, right next to Eijiro’s ear. He had no chance. 

Hearing the sound was so different than just the touch. With the touch he could try to think of something else to keep from breaking, but with that noise it shot him right back. Making him realize exactly what he was doing. Exactly what he was about to force himself to do. It was too much. It was all too much. 

The barrier broke. 

The tears and sick feeling he had been trying to hold back now came in full force. He withdrew his hands from Izuku but kept his face in his neck for a moment as he let the tears fall. Izuku tensed under him. Strong arms immediately came to wrap around him. “Ei?” he asked again. His voice sounded so much more panicked than before.

Sounded like Denki did, concern, worry and panic.

Eijiro shook his head, “I-I’m… I’m so sorry, Izuku. I tried, I really did. But I can’t.” the words managed to get choked out between sobs. “I can’t do it, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m broken.” 

He couldn’t see Izuku’s face, but with the silence he could only imagine what he had thought of when he first came up with this plan. The soft smile, ready to let him down slow. To end things with him. He deserved it anyways, for not being enough. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see it when he felt Izuku start to pull away.

Suddenly he was being picked up, and placed on the bed. “Ei… Look at me, please.” Izuku’s voice was shaking, that he wouldn’t pick up until later. But he didn’t need to. Once he finally managed to open his eyes and look at Izuku’s face. The thought of Izuku letting him down slow with that smile vanished instantly.  

Izuku had tears in his eyes too. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to hold him more at that moment. “Please, just breathe, okay? Then we can talk, I’m just confused.” He was more than confused. Eijiro could see it. But he accepted that for now. And slowly worked through calming himself down from the panic attack. 

He looked back at Izuku and nodded, “‘m okay to talk now…” 

Izuku smiled at him, genuinely luckily, and nodded back. “Okay, please tell me what you meant by that…?” 

Eijiro looked off to the side, not wanting to meet those sad green eyes again as he gathered his thoughts to explain. 

“I never, ever really, felt anything like that towards anyone. Whenever I’d get a crush, I couldn’t even imagine anything like that with them… This is just how I’ve been. And I just thought that eventually, I’d get those feelings. They didn’t come. And when I fell for all of you, I thought, okay maybe once I’m comfortable with them, maybe it’s just because I’m nervous at the thought of it that it was like that… But I am comfortable with all of you, I trust all of you.” 

He sniffled, rubbing at his eye as he could feel more tears threatening to spill. 

“I realized that I probably won’t ever want to do anything like that. Or be comfortable with it. Even when it came to you guys, any thought of that I felt… Gross and uncomfortable and panicky. But, I know a lot of people, most people say that that is an important part in a relationship. And-And I didn’t… Didn’t want to be a bad boyfriend. I want you guys to be happy and satisfied and content and… all of that… and if you all wanted that to be happy, then… you wouldn’t want me…” 

“Eijiro…” Izuku’s voice was barely above a whisper, in more shock than actually wanting to get his attention or stop his talking. 

“So I thought, maybe. Maybe if I can just bare it once. Then I’d stop feeling that way. But, I-I couldn’t… so…” He finally let the tears fall as he shrugged. That was the end, he was expecting Izuku to agree with him. But when he looked up at Izuku’s face.

There were tears falling at a rapid pace down his pretty freckled cheeks, his mouth was slightly open in shock. “Eijiro… Can-Can I hug you?” Eijiro barely let him finish his sentence before he practically lept at Izuku. Holding him tightly, Izuku held him just as tight. 

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you feel like that, it doesn’t matter. None of us will think any less of you for that. We love you. It isn’t about sex or anything! We love you. Please, please don’t force yourself, if one day you do feel okay to try then that’s okay! If not? Then that’s also okay. You aren’t broken, Eijiro. You’re perfect.” 

Eijiro sobbed as Izuku spoke, murmuring ‘Thank you’s and ‘I love you’s between breaths and sobs. They stayed like that until both of them fell into a comfortable silence. Cuddling and holding one another, perfectly content. 

That night Izuku introduced him to a new term. One that meant exactly what Eijiro had thought was him being ‘broken’. The term was ‘Asexual’. He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t wrong, he’s Asexual. 

Now, many years later, as a pro-hero that is married to his partners, Eijiro wears that label with pride.

[darkicedragon]

Fanfic: Virus in the Machine

Fandom: Assassin's Creed/Prototype Summary: The Animus is malfunctioning, and Desmond is developing a cold. Then his week gets a whole lot weirder. Pretty typical, really. Rating: PG-13 Contains: Fighting and death in the Animus Notes: Set post-Revelations for AC, set post-Prototype. Spoilers for Brotherhood and Revelations; spoilers for all of Prototype. Outright ignoring Prototype 2, apart from the one instance, and it's not plot relevant to P2.  Also bumping Prototype to the year 2012. Additional side note that this was written before AC3 was released. Spaaaaawned by dogmatix. XDDD Massive, massive thanks to her awesome work with the beta-read too! Genre: Friendship Word count: 11,721 Status: Work in progress (sort of… This part is finished, anyway.) LOADING… LOADING… LOADING… ERROR. UNABLE TO SYNCHRONISE. ERROR. UNABLE TO SYNCHRONISE. ATTEMPTING TO SYNCHRONISE. LOADING…

"Yeah, this isn't working," Desmond said to the great white expanse around him. This was, what, the fourth cycle it had gone through now? He heard Rebecca's frustrated sigh as the world started to fall away with tinkling chimes. "I don't get why Baby isn't accepting you! She was fine with you before!" There was a pause. "Unless…" He raised an eyebrow. "Unless what?" "Maybe something happened while you were in her?" Desmond winced, memories of the Island deleting itself flooding his mind. "That…could be it." Who knew what that had affected? Rebecca was rubbing her head when Desmond came out of the Animus. "This is going to be an interesting problem to fix, but I'm game." She threw him a grin before settling into her chair, her hands a blur over the keyboard. Pushing himself off the Animus, Desmond made his way to the kitchen-area to have something hot to drink; he'd been feeling warmer than usual lately and he just hoped that after all had happened, he hadn't gotten ill on top of everything. * Whatever Desmond was suffering from, it wasn't a cold – there was no sniffing or sneezing, and while he felt warmer than usual, almost clammy, his mind was clear. As clear as it had been before he'd been kidnapped by Abstergo. And that worried him. It was almost too clear; if Desmond wanted to, he could recall Altaïr's memories with no problem and then if he tried to think about something that had happened while he was bartending, he could do that too. No interference, no ghosts, no memories trying to jostle each other out of the way. It was like his memories and genetic memories had finally been organised into a library where its books stayed in place and, more importantly, separate from each other. He didn't want to delve into the memories too hard though, in case it was merely a pretence and as soon as he poked in the wrong place, it all fell apart worse than before. Shaun raised an eyebrow as Desmond helped himself to his third sloppy-joe burger that night. "Where exactly are you putting it all?" He shrugged, obeying his stomach's demand for more food first. "Hey, I haven't eaten in this body for how long?" He'd been feeling hungrier and hungrier ever since he'd caught whatever-it-was; he seemed to have a craving for meat and well, there were worse things to want. "Yes, but…" his dad said carefully, watching him as he ate, and that was something Desmond was going to have to get used to again, having his presence near him. "You're supposed to have small meals so your body can get used to digesting again." He paused and then sighed softly. "You haven't been throwing up, have you?" "No – you would've heard me," Desmond said dryly. Their new safehouse wasn't exactly on the big side – and it said a lot about their situation that a post-virus-stricken city was considered safe. Desmond grimaced as his mind suddenly connected the dots between their current location and his health. Fuck, his luck couldn't be that bad, right? He'd seen the pictures and videos though – he wasn't mindless or eating people (yet, one part of him pessimistically whispered, but he shoved that away) so he wasn't infected by the Mercer virus. Plus, if he was infected, then the others should be as well since they were hardly more than three minutes away from each other at any given time and he was the only one reaching for the fourth bun. He continued having dinner, determinedly ignoring his active imagination; he had more than enough on his plate already without adding 'infected cannibal' to the list. * "Aha!" Rebecca crowed, punching the air. "Got it!" She waved to Desmond before indicating the Animus. "Try 'er out now." "All right," Desmond said good-naturedly as he slid in. It didn't take long for the white world to come up and he waited to see if whatever Rebecca had done worked. LOADING… LOADING… SYNCHRONISATION COMPLETE. Oh, good. Desmond let out a relieved – SYNCHRONISATION: 70% "Uuh, Rebecca?" "That's weird…" He could hear her tapping away, but it didn't budge. "She's still a little glitchy, but she should be okay. Still wanna give it a shot?" He nodded. "Yeah, sure." * Everything was running pretty normally; Desmond got to learn about his new ancestor, Shaun provided entries for anything he could possibly have an interest in and Rebecca updated him about the Animus' problems (which weren't changing). The problems started when Desmond had to find his first target. He'd activated his eagle sense and froze, his mind halting in shock as his entire vision went red, a high-pitched sound echoing around him. "Shit! Desmond, your synchronisation just dropped to forty!" "Yeah," Desmond replied, dazed, "I'm not surp-" The shriek was getting louder. He whirled around to find the source and his eyes widened when he saw a rapidly expanding circle of –grey? Normal colour?- coming in from his left and then passing him. "…Did you just develop sonar?" Shaun demanded in disbelief. "I don't think so…" That couldn't be right. Still, his vision had been telling him something, so he started making his way over in that direction. "Make sure you don't use your eagle sense again," Rebecca warned him. "Who knows how Baby's going to react next time." "Got it." * Habit, unfortunately, is a hard thing to break. Desmond had gotten to the area that his vision had indicated but there was a crowd there and without thinking, he activated his eagle sense again. The world flashed red but almost instantly, there was an answering call, the man on the outer edges the source of the expanding circle. He wasn't glowing gold but a bright red, and Desmond stared as his vision apparently became x-ray, suddenly seeing the man's heart and neural network. What the fuck…? The world greyed out, the usual shimmering sound accompanying him as he desynchronised. Shaun cleared his throat. "Well, that was, uh, interesting." Desmond snorted, eyeing the space around him. There was a sigh from Rebecca. "Gonna have to call it quits here so I can find out what's wrong with her." Again, he wasn't surprised, and Desmond waited to be brought out of the Animus. * Desmond flicked through some of the Manhattan files on his laptop, boredom and restlessness starting to make itself known. At this rate, he was going to start playing Solitaire but- '…Where am I…?' Desmond froze, not wanting to even breathe. He couldn't have. After what had happened in the Animus so he could sort his mind out, he'd gained another voice in his head already? 'Uh…' He sighed, tipping his chair back onto its back legs. No visual hallucinations (yet), only auditory so far, and well, they were seeing about the thirty seconds. 'I'm just a hallucination…?' The chair legs hit the floor with a bang. Whoa, wait, why did that sound like the hallucination was responding to him? 'Because I can hear you.' The voice was dry, but there was some humour to it, and Desmond could feel the other's hidden confusion. That was new; normally he only heard and saw things. Oh…fuck. Desmond leaned his head in his hands. Great. He was talking to Connor in his head. Barely a day into his ancestor's life and Desmond was already losing it. '?' There was a quiet pause. 'I'm not "Connor"; I'm Alex.' He lifted his head, blinking. That wasn't… But now that he was paying attention, Alex's voice didn't sound like Connor's. But how had that happened? Had the Animus' glitching knocked some of his other ancestral memories loose or something? "So…what year is it for you, then?" Because apparently his mind deemed this important. Alex sent him some amusement, but that quickly faded, and if he'd had a face, Desmond was sure he would be frowning. 'I don't remember.' "Huh. Do you remember anything? Where you're from, being an Assassin…?" He waved towards his hidden blade. 'An assassin?' Images flickered in Desmond's mind's eye, and he couldn't help but snort at the people shrouded in black. "No, not those kinds of assassins." Alex sounded like he was an adult though, so if he hadn't been brought into it by then, he was probably from one of Desmond's non-Assassin branches of the family. So, that led him to the question of whether he should tell the others. He was talking to a voice in his head (and he was fairly sure the thirty seconds had passed by now) but for some reason this felt more…real than the other hallucinations, but that was like comparing watching a blurry film to a phone-call. Still, the next important question (which really should have been the first, but since when had Desmond's head worked in the usual way?) was: "Thinking about taking over my body and killing my teammates?" If Alex had eyebrows, Desmond was sure they would have risen. 'No.' He felt like he was being sincere and Desmond was mollified with that, trying his hardest to suppress memories of Lucy. 'I don't think I could; I think I can only watch…?' "Yeah, let's not go testing that theory, huh?" He got a chuckle for that comment. 'It's your body.' Which could be taken in so many different ways but Desmond was interrupted from retorting by a clearing of the throat. He froze, ice running through him. Shit. He shouldn't have been talking out loud!  He tilted his head back, pretending everything was normal (and it was, now that Desmond thought about it, which was just a little depressing), and saw his dad standing there, looking at him curiously. "Testing what out?" "Uh." Great, wonderful start there. "Seeing what would happen if I tried to connect to the internet." He waved towards his laptop for extra emphasis. "Don't exactly want to bring the Templars to our door." "You don't have to worry about that," his dad assured him, "they've been fitted to be untraceable." Well, fuck. He'd been bored out of his mind for no reason? "Huh. Really?" His dad responded with a smile and then nodded towards the door. "Rebecca thinks she's fixed the problem with the Animus." Desmond was already on his feet before his dad had finished. * Desmond could feel Alex's curiosity when he approached the Animus ('"Soul"? Why would you name it that?' 'I didn't; don't ask me what was going on in their heads.') but he tried to keep his attention on what Rebecca was saying. Lying down, Desmond waited to get in the Animus. 'What are you doing…?' 'Would you believe me if I said I was going to relive one of my ancestor's lives?' A small considering pause. 'I guess I'll be finding out.' Desmond couldn't help the small grin that flashed across his face as the world fell away. * Alex had been quiet while Desmond worked through Connor's memories, but he could feel that his ancestor was keeping a tight hold on his questions, intense curiosity still leaking through between them. By the time he was exiting the Animus, Desmond wondered if it would just be faster for Alex to go through his memories than trying to answer them all himself. Desmond had been trying to keep an eye on his own thought processes in between everything else but he felt fine and everything seemed to be running the same as usual. Which didn't change the fact he was still talking to his ancestor in his head. Rebecca hummed, still focused on her laptop. "I think that was the last of the bugs," she told him, a finger tapping on a key. "I'm not entirely sure, but she seems to like you again." Desmond nodded to show he'd heard, rubbing the back of his neck. "Think I'm just going to hit the sack right now." More for the fact that there was no way he would be able to keep track of talking with the others while trying to answer Alex's questions at the same time than actually feeling tired. At least his hunger seemed to have finally settled down to something more normal so missing dinner wouldn't be too bad. "You okay?" He smiled at her, seeing her worry. "Yeah, just fine." Okay, so talking to his ancestor in his head wasn't good, but there hadn't been any merging of personalities or memories, so that was definitely better than some of the other stuff he'd gone through. * Desmond stared up at his ceiling, surprised he was actually feeling sleepy. Huh, maybe he hadn't been lying as much as he thought he was. And Alex was still burning with questions. And still not asking them, waiting, though not exactly patiently. Desmond couldn't stop the wide yawn that escaped him, and he shook his head afterwards. "You don't really need sleep, do you?" he asked softly. The door was closed, but it couldn't hurt to be careful – though, keeping his thoughts in his head would probably be a lot better. Alex turned the question over, considering it. '…I guess I don't, without a body. I'll need to rest my…mind, but I don't think I'll need to do it as much as you. Why?' He shrugged, already feeling his eyelids getting heavier. 'If you can poke through my memories, you can bring yourself up to speed that way – you're going to end up seeing them one way or another anyway.' Either by accidently tripping over them or Desmond bringing it up himself; at least this way, Alex could have most of his questions answered. 'If you're sure…' 'Yeah, I am.' He yawned again, harder this time. 'Just don't make me have nightmares,' he joked. Except Alex seemed to be taking that seriously. 'Mm. All right; I'll make sure you don't.' Desmond fell asleep before he could think of a response to that. * 'Desmond.' '…Wha-?' 'I think you should wake up.' There was something in –it took a second for Desmond's mind to catch up and give him the information he wanted- Alex's tone, but it wasn't urgent, so Desmond flailed an arm at him. Which wouldn't work since this was all in his head, but he really didn't care at that particular moment. 'Shaun sounds kinda pissed.' 'Shaun always sounds pissed; it's his default setting.' 'Yeah, but…' A sigh. 'You're going to wake up anyway,' Alex muttered. There was amusement there, the kind someone had when they were sitting back and about to watch something very interesting. …Desmond mustered enough energy together to crack an eye open. Shaun was standing by his head, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. "Oh? Is Sleeping Beauty finally awake now?" "So long as you didn't kiss me to wake me up," he replied. He breathed a laugh at Shaun's squawk. "Or else I'm going to punch you." "Yes, well," Shaun said, flustered, "I wasn't that desperate to wake you up." Desmond waved a hand at the other man. "I'm up, I'm up." He waited until Shaun was gone before getting out of bed. "How much did I sleep in?" 'Hell if I know. Can't exactly see anything unless you're looking at it.' That was a good point. The only way he'd know would be if he switched his laptop on, but that was a waste of time. Humming, Desmond started getting ready for another day in the Animus, only to freeze as someone yelled from far away. It wasn't anyone in the safehouse –Desmond knew what they all sounded like and this accent was all wrong- and Desmond's stomach dropped out from under him when he recognised it from yesterday's session with Connor. Fuck! Dammit, he'd hoped – but he could hear it clearer now, building in volume and number: people's cries as they died, their normal day conversations overlapping and coalesce into a low babble of nonsense. Desmond gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as the first ghostly figures flickered into view. 'What the hell?' 'It's the bleeding effect,' Desmond explained, peeking around him and still seeing them there. They looked more solid than usual, more defined. That was ten seconds now. Another twenty to go. 'Another twenty until what?' Alex asked, his tone dangerous. 'It's… All the time I spend in the Animus, all the stuff Connor is doing? I'm learning it.' Had they just passed fifteen? Shit, Desmond did not like how long this was going for its first run. 'I know that.' But Alex was listening, watching everything that was happening with a critical eye, looking for threats. 'Thing is, I'm taking on his memories at the same time and…yeah. This is the result.' The hallucinations still weren't abating and Desmond's heart kicked up a notch. Shit – fucking – okay, so Alex talking to him had turned out all right, but he wasn't becoming Alex, and Desmond could already feel the little slide of his thoughts, going from 'Connor' to 'me', the slight hiccup where he couldn't place whose memories were whose, the unconscious shift in the way he stood. Except the hallucinations disappeared between one blink and the next, and all Desmond could do was sway on his feet as his brain tried to adjust to the sudden change. The air rang from the lack of sound, and Desmond's eyes kept trying to find the hallucinations, focusing in and out. "What just happened?" he whispered. The bleeding effect normally ended by the hallucinations fading off or flickering into the background, not abruptly stopping. Was this it? Had he finally gone insane…? 'I…think I did something,' Alex admitted reluctantly. Desmond blinked. Then his jaw dropped open. "You – you did?" Swallowing thickly, Desmond cautiously prodded at the memories he had just been seeing. He saw it only in his mind's eye and when he pulled his attention away, the memory disappeared from his sight instantly. The mixing of his sense of self and Connor's had gone too, Desmond firmly knowing exactly who he was. 'Yeah. It's just - When you were hallucinating like that, the inside of your head went kinda nuts. Not all of it, just some of the memories started rattling around. And - I don't know, maybe it's because I'm in your head, or seen enough of your memories already, but the ones that were freaking out all "felt" like Connor's, and I was trying to concentrate on what you were seeing, so I…nudged those towards the rest of Connor's memories to make them settle down.' There was a drawn-out pause. 'I did it automatically, all right? I wasn't thinking and…' There was a frustrated sigh, Alex's thoughts tumbling against each other. And Desmond gaped harder when he realised Alex was trying to apologise. "Why are you sorry?" he blurted out. Maybe talking would help distract Desmond from mentally throwing himself at Alex's feet, wrapping his arms around his legs and never letting go. Because after all the weeks of trying to keep his head together and failing, still feeling his sanity slip bit by bit after every session in the Animus, having someone who could help him was an absolutely amazing feeling. 'Because…' Alex trailed off as he heard the rest of Desmond's underlying thoughts. 'Really?' And Alex still heard them anyway. Gah. "Really." Desmond sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. "Look, whatever it is you did? Keep doing it. Believe me, you have my full permission to muck around in my head if you have to." Alex didn't seem very convinced so Desmond tried for a different approach. "Have you seen my memories about subject sixteen? Clay," he corrected himself. Even after all the time he'd spent inside the Animus, talking with the remnants of Clay's memories, Desmond still found himself thinking of him as 'subject sixteen'. Maybe it was just a little easier thinking of him as a faceless subject than someone who had sacrificed himself again for him. Desmond shoved the thoughts away before they could spiral. There was a careful pause as Alex tried to find the answer, missing where Desmond's thoughts had nearly gone. Or maybe he was politely ignoring them. Who knew? 'He was the one who painted your room with bloody symbols,' Alex eventually said. "Yeah. Him." Desmond nodded, then flopped back, feeling the blanket under him. "That's what'll happen to me if the hallucinations last for more than thirty seconds." Alex didn't say a word, stunned. "So, like I said: go right ahead next time I hallucinate – I like being sane." 'I'll keep that in mind…' * The next couple of days ran smoothly with no more hiccups from the Animus, though Alex's memory stayed stubbornly stuck. They figured it was either because of how Alex had ended up in Desmond's head, or Alex had actually been amnesiac at one point in his life. It did bother Alex, but there wasn't much they could do about it. They had also started a small routine where, after every session in the Animus, Alex did a bit of 'spring-cleaning' of Desmond's head, making sure his memories were all in the right place. Strangely, even though Desmond was finally in a working Animus –and making good progress with Connor's memories, go him- the feeling of restlessness didn't leave him, growing with every passing day. Alex was similarly affected by it and it was getting to the point that Desmond was pacing his room as soon as they were out of the Animus. The rooms were suddenly too small, and Desmond felt the lack of fresh air like something was crawling over his skin. He'd found himself wandering more and more towards the exit, making whatever excuse he could to just be there for a few minutes. Which, okay, he could take a hint. 'What do you think about seeing Manhattan for ten minutes once we're done here?' Desmond asked as he got into the Animus. Relief was Alex's answer. 'Sounds good.' Desmond just hoped the restlessness didn't carry over too much or else he was in for an exercise in frustration. Surprisingly though, most of the session went off without a hitch; that should have been enough to warn Desmond that something had to go wrong near the end of it.   Fuck! Desmond ducked a bullet and threw himself to the relative safety of a tree. Except that meant he'd just doubled-back and ended up running straight into the soldiers that had been chasing after him. He started scaling the tree but he knew he was going to be pulled or knocked down in about two seconds. Maybe if he – 'Use your tendrils!' 'My WHAT?' Desmond demanded, and fuck, there went his grip. He was able to push himself off though, and he was high enough that he soared above his enemies and landed behind them. 'Tendrils.' A very fucking awkward pause. 'You can't use them…?' Desmond grunted, dodging something pointy aimed at his head, his hidden blade drenched with blood. 'Of course not! Why do you-' A flurry of images, a fucking monster attacking him/Alex –but he recognised it but dammit, now was not the time to be trying to remember where from!- and that monster was suddenly in engulfed in- 'The FUCK was that?' 'Tendrils?' Alex offered hesitantly, and Desmond just gave up after that, bracing himself for the pain that reverberated through him as he was shot in the chest. Before the world could reform again, Desmond said, "Hey, I think I'm done for the day." Rebecca laughed. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to do that so soon again either." Once Desmond was out, he headed straight for his room, switching on his laptop as soon as he got his hands on it. 'Desmond…?' 'Alex.' Desmond took a breath, not sure what the fuck to think. 'That wasn't human.' Not that he had much of a leg to stand on with his First Civilisation genes, but apart from his eagle sense and reflexes, he was human. He'd felt the hunger Alex had had, the eagerness to…consume the – that was what it was. As soon as his laptop was ready, Desmond started searching through the stuff he'd been looking through when they'd first arrived in Manhattan. 'No, it wasn't,' Alex acknowledged quietly. 'Yeah…' And that wasn't the only thing that was off about all this. 'You were remembering something that happened only a couple of weeks ago – you can't be my ancestor.' There it was, and Desmond scanned the pictures of those 'Hunters'. Unless of course the Hunters had appeared somewhere else in another time, but the buildings that Desmond had glimpsed before the…tentacles had encompassed his view were far too tall and modern. 'But – I don't-' Alex was a whirl with confusion and Desmond was right there with him. What the fuck had happened? Desmond scrolled down, skimming over the contents but he paid attention when Alex suddenly focused on one particular picture, recognition exploding from him. A pale, sickly looking man with deep shadows under his eyes, though that was partially hidden under a dirty hoodie. The man denounced for unleashing the Mercer virus. Alex J. Mercer. Desmond could only stare, his mind completely blank. 'I released the virus?' Alex said softly, disbelief emanating from him. 'I – No. I didn't. I didn't.' The last word was a hiss, dull anger replacing his disbelief. Alex took a shuddering breath, and then as if something that been tripped, both he and Desmond were overwhelmed with memories, Alex's memories. Waking up in the morgue, releasing Elizabeth Greene, finding out he had never been Alex Mercer, but was a sentient virus that had absorbed the man's memories after Alex had released it and died, believing them to be its own. The nuke going off below him seconds after it had been dumped in the sea. Desmond found himself sprawled over his table, his face resting on his keyboard. He blinked, and then his breath caught in his throat as his hand rippled, a morass of red and black tentacles hissing into view before settling back into his hand. '…Shit,' Alex whispered harshly. "I'm infected," Desmond said faintly (an Infected, some part of Alex's memories tried to correct him). "But I didn't…" He swallowed. It wasn't like he knew how the virus spread. There was an uncomfortable silence on Alex's side. "What?" he asked, resigned to whatever worse news there was. That was his life, after all. 'I was, uh, caught in the explosion over the sea,' Alex carefully pointed out. And Desmond could see that, see as the helicopter was engulfed in flames, see as the helicopter spiralled…into the sea… "Please do not fucking tell me I drank you." 'Uh…' That – how did that even work? Shouldn't that mean there was a ton of Infected running about right now, and how weren't the rest of the Assassins - oh, of course. "It's because of my genes, isn't it?" Desmond groaned. "My genes fucked me over again." 'I don't know,' Alex said, giving an impression of shaking his head. 'That's the last thing I remember before this.' Desmond sighed, a long slow breath. How it had happened didn't matter; it didn't change the fact he was (an) (I)nfected. How long did he have until he became a Walker? And to think, losing his mind and thinking he was Altaïr or Ezio or his brain shutting down used to be a worry. At least then he wouldn't have been eating people! 'I…can stop the infection,' Alex offered. 'I can control every part of me, so I can halt the spread, but…I don't know about changing you back.' There was buried guilt there that Alex tried to hide but Desmond could still feel it. It was better than nothing; definitely better than becoming a Walker. "All right," Desmond said, nodding, bracing himself. 'Okay.' Desmond started feeling warm, a thrum underneath his skin, but that quickly died down after a few seconds. 'Done.' Desmond blinked. "…That's it?" He'd been expecting…more. More pain or something…flashier. 'I just had to tell myself to stop replicating.' A mental shrug. 'And-' Apparently Alex's memories came in waves because there was another wash of them, this time centred around a woman with red hair. Who had been stolen right in front of Alex's eyes. And had been in a coma when he'd gotten her back. 'Dana!' Alex gasped. Alex's –the human- sister, but this Alex cared for her as if she were his too. 'I – we have to see her! I need to know if she's all right!' "Alex," Desmond said, gritting his teeth against the onslaught as bits of information started flashing up in his mind's eye. Where Dana was being kept, where it was on the map, what Ragland had said. "We can only stay outside for ten minutes – we can't make it to the hospital in that time!" 'Yes, we can,' Alex said stubbornly. "Look," Desmond said as he rubbed a hand over his face, "even if I'd mastered every Assassin move and had kept training every day of my life, we still couldn't make it." A self-deprecating laugh, and Desmond started at the sound, not expecting that from Alex. 'You're thinking like a human,' he said not unkindly and holy fuck, Desmond was suddenly viewing Alex running up buildings, performing  multi-storied leaps from a standing start and…gliding. Did he mention shapeshifting? Because, yeah, shapeshifting was in there too. "Oh…" Desmond didn't say anything for a few seconds, just watching the memories play out. "I – yeah, okay, we can make it. We probably won't even have to worry about the ten minutes if I can change what I look like." 'You won't be able to do as much as I…could, but it should be enough. Ragland's morgue is underground, so that should provide some protection too.' Desmond nodded, closing his eyes and seeing the path he should take. Now to get out of here without arousing too much suspicion. * And…that had been too easy, Desmond sighed after fitting the earpiece in. His dad had seemed relieved when Desmond poked his head through to the main room to tell him he was going out for a few minutes; seemed like the others thought he'd been cooped up for too long and were just waiting for him to explore. He'd gotten the usual warnings about staying out of sight and keeping in contact via the earpiece, but that was it. Then Desmond's thoughts halted as the first gust of fresh air coasted over his skin and he almost shuddered, something in him responding to it like it had needed it. 'I've never stayed inside for so long,' Alex mused. 'Guess going outside'll be something else to pencil into the schedule.' It didn't take him long to get used to it, and already, Desmond felt lighter, more energised. The restlessness that had dogged him for days lifted away like it had never been there in the first place. 'So…' Desmond drew out as he scanned the area around him for people watching him, 'how do I do this?' Alex pulled away, thinking, and then sighed. 'It's instinct for me: I go near a wall; tendrils appear at my feet.' '…Right. Helpful.' Desmond eyed the wall right next to him before he started jogging down the street. '?' 'We need to see if I can actually change what I look like.' He'd seen bits of how Alex did it, and Desmond really hoped he didn't have to do the same. Consuming a person by absorbing them whole via tentacles, gaining their memories at the same time? Not something Desmond wanted to do, especially since he'd just gotten rid of Altaïr's and Ezio's. A cautious shake of the head. 'I think…if you just have skin contact, that should be enough to get their DNA, and you won't get their memories either.'  Well, that didn't sound too difficult.   There wasn't a lot of people milling about but Desmond grimaced when he realised the closest people around him were women. Yeah, just, no. He kept searching. '? What's wrong with them?' And Alex honestly sounded like he didn't understand what the problem was. 'They're women,' Desmond pointed out. The confusion didn't clear, Alex still waiting. Oh, god, he was going to have to explain? 'They have breasts; I am not going around with breasts!' Alex was still unmoved. '…You want to waste time looking for a guy.' And unimpressed. Thankfully Desmond spotted a guy not too far away from him except dammit, the only exposed parts were his hands and face. Which wasn't surprising seeing as they were well into November but it would have been nice if he had a bigger surface to work with. At least the guy had stopped at traffic lights, waiting for them to change. Just a small 'accidental' nudge, nothing out of the ordinary should do the trick… Steeling himself, Desmond made his way over, raising his hood up at the same time. "Whoa, whoops, sorry 'bout that," Desmond said after bumping into the man, his hand flashing out and brushing the man's hand. He sent the man a guileless smile to counteract his glare and then carried on, somehow just knowing he'd been successful taking the man's DNA. Desmond glanced around to find some place to shift his appearance in…and couldn't find a convenient alleyway. 'Manhattan doesn't have that many alleys.' '…You're serious.' Why was none of this going as easily as Desmond wanted it to? A snort. 'Yes.' But – then – how the hell was he supposed to change his appearance without drawing attention to himself? 'Just shift here; so long as no-one's looking directly at your face when you do it, no-one'll notice.' Desmond's jaw nearly dropped open. 'You cannot - how can people not notice a guy suddenly going a few shades darker and his hair changing colour between one look and the next?' 'The hood helps,' Alex said dryly. 'They'll assume they were looking at someone else, or they'd remembered wrongly.' A small shrug. 'Wouldn't you think the same?' The retort that was on Desmond's tongue died. Any normal person would think that… 'What if they have a camera?' You couldn't argue if someone had solid evidence. If it was uploaded on the internet and the Templars found it… 'Does anyone have one out right now?' Desmond looked around, and he could see a few around people's necks and in other people's hands, but none were pointing towards him. '…You're sure this is going to work?' A nod. With a short sigh, Desmond could feel his heartbeat quickening as he hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, hoping that would be enough to cover most of his face, shoving his hands in his pockets at the same time, trying to hide as much of his skin as possible. He couldn't believe he was going to attempt changing his appearance in the middle of a busy street, but it wasn't as if he had any other choice, not without wasting even more time. Once he was ready, and after he'd checked that there was no-one looking directly at him from under the rim of his hood, Desmond gave one small nod. 'Think of that guy you just touched,' Alex instructed. He did and then he could feel the tentacles writhing over his skin. When they stopped, Desmond brought his hands out and saw that his skin was darker, his tattoo gone. His hidden blade was still there, a little looser than before, but he wasn't going to dump that, even if that identified him as an Assassin. Desmond lifted a hand to his hair – longer and curlier. And no-one was staring at him, pointing or screaming. Okay. That had been surprisingly easy, even if his heart hated him right now. But anyway, time to get moving. …Uh. 'Changing in front of people won't draw attention, but jumping and running up a building will.' 'By the time they notice, you'll be too far to see properly.' 'Cameras,' Desmond reminded him flatly. 'I really don't want to announce my presence to the Templars like this.' Or ever. 'How will they know it's you?' Alex asked pointedly. Desmond couldn't help his embarrassed wince. …Right. That had been the reason why he'd changed his appearance in the first place. 'And they'll assume I'm back long before thinking of you,' Alex added quietly. So they had the choice of the Templars finding out there was a virus-powered Assassin around, or panicking the public because they thought a virus-powered bioterrorist was back. Which he was. Aaand Desmond was just going to cut that thought short before his head started going around in circles. He walked over to the closest building, and he could already feel the tendrils curling at his feet in preparation as he tilted his head back to look up at it. Taking a deep breath, he jumped – and holy fucking shit he was suddenly several feet in the air, wind whipping through his hair. On instinct, he spun around so his feet touched the building and then he was sprinting up the side of the building like he was still vertical. He could hear screams and horrified yells below him, but all too soon, they faded from hearing. His hood slipped off and Desmond raised a hand to bring it back up; there was…a twist of something, and then he just knew the hood would stay in place and it did when Desmond flipped onto the roof. He wasn't even breathing hard and Desmond couldn't help the grin that spread wide across his face. He was loving this. Okay, the fastest route would be by air, but then a thought occurred to him, making him frown. 'We're going to be seen.' Not that that really mattered now – being followed on the other hand… Amusement was sent in his direction. 'No-one looks up.' Desmond was going to trust that, after everything else he'd found out, and seeing indistinct flickers of so many times Alex had been leaping over people's heads with them none the wiser, so that just left him actually flying. …Why did he have a feeling it was going to be the same deal? '…Instinct?' 'Instinct.' A brief pause. 'Jump and spread your limbs slightly.' Great. Taking a deep breath, Desmond launched himself into the air and did as he had been told; the air just seemed to catch him and then Desmond was gliding. It took him a few tries to figure out steering (and the 'dashing' as Alex put it, he would leave for another time, when he wasn't trying to wrap his head around the idea) but it was already starting to feel like second nature to him. Desmond hadn't chosen a very good place to leap from though since he nearly crashed into the adjacent (and taller) building straight away. He twisted to land on his feet –'Didn't even need to brace myself, huh.'- and was instantly running up the new building. Another multi-storey high leap and he was in the air again. 'Hey,' Desmond said when they were probably about halfway there and looking like they would have a couple of minutes to spare, 'you've been kinda quiet this whole time.' He didn't know what to expect, but he'd at least thought Alex would have been interested in the scenery or something. As far as he could tell, Alex hadn't been paying attention to the outside world. But then again, this sight was probably normal for him. 'It's…' Alex was giving off an aura of tightly controlled worry. 'How do I know this isn't the same? What if I've consumed you and our memories have scrambled together?' Desmond shrugged, then swore as that caused him to suddenly dive. 'This is different; you don't think you're me.' He paused, and breathed a laugh. 'And if you have? Congratulations – you've just inherited "save the world" from my shoulders.' '…I really hope I haven't consumed you then.' Alex relaxed slightly though, watching what Desmond was doing and correcting it so Desmond had an easier time moving around. Getting into Ragland's morgue wasn't that difficult and Desmond peered around cautiously, not seeing the doctor anywhere. No sign of Dana either. Probably a good thing though – less questions asked if someone came down and saw a clothed, breathing woman on one of the slabs. The door on the other side of the room opened and Ragland came out. As soon as Ragland realised he was there, he paused, raising an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?" "It's…" Desmond sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He hadn't thought about what he'd actually say once he got here, too focused on actually getting here. "I'm looking for Dana," Desmond said cagily, in case there were listening devices around. Ragland blinked and then his lips pursed slightly while he glanced at Desmond's still raised hood. "Prove to me who you are." Uuh… 'He thinks I'm you.' 'I noticed,' Alex replied dryly. Lie or not lie. Hm. It would be obvious that he wasn't Alex, especially when he couldn't change into his form (not that they'd attempted to, but Desmond really didn't want to try that out now). Letting out a breath, Desmond focused on his own appearance, his skin tingling as it changed. "I'm not him," Desmond stated, though Ragland would have already figured that out. "But he's…here." Head, heart, it would still be wrong whatever he chose to point at. Desmond ignored Alex's snort. "As for proof…" Uh, damn. Desmond had too many memories to pick from, all trying to be the one Desmond could use. It was kind of like trying to grab a pebble when a bucket of them was pouring down on your head. It felt like that too. And that there was Alex rolling his eyes. 'Here.' The jumble of memories cut away to focus on one particular memory and Desmond watched it for a few seconds to get the gist of it before trying to summarise it. "You needed access to the Penn Station bodies to try and find a cure for the virus, and Alex-" The words were already tumbling out of Desmond's mouth before he realised he was also translating Alex's thoughts about what had happened "-ended up playing bodyguard on the opposite side of a glass wall." 'He wouldn't stop complaining.' There was more, but it was mostly an undercurrent of thoughts and Desmond couldn't hear them. Desmond managed to catch himself before he added that part too. '…Yeah, I'm not going to say that to him. Attacking zombies are kinda stressful, you know? People panic.' 'Some people panic,' Alex opined dismissively, clearly feeling put-upon by squeamish civilians. Desmond was only just able to keep a grin from spreading across his face. Fortunately Ragland hadn't seemed to notice the hiccup in Desmond's attention, and the doctor nodded slowly before sighing. "I'd wondered what had become of him when the nuke went off," he said quietly. "When he didn't return… "Dana's here," Ragland said as he moved towards one of the coolers. "I had some tests done and as far as I can tell, there's nothing in her bloodstream that shouldn't be there." 'She still hasn't woken up…' Alex said softly, fretting. 'What are we-' "Where the hell are you?" Shaun's voice suddenly bellowed in Desmond's ear, making him jump. "Ow." …Oh, fuck. Desmond had been primarily worried about getting to the hospital undetected; he'd forgotten the others would notice if he wasn't back by the ten minute deadline. He caught Ragland staring at him, and he indicated the earpiece with a wave of his hand. A look of understanding flashed across Ragland's face, and he nodded. "What are you doing at the hospital? Oh, wonderful, you got hit by a car and got taken into A&E, didn't you?" The what and what? "Hey!" Desmond protested, shaking his head. Focus on the important stuff first. Like how did Shaun even know where he was? Did the earpiece have a tracker on it? Wait. Desmond stared as Ragland pulled Dana out - she looked like she was only sleeping, except that illusion was broken by the IV drip attached to her arm, the listless movement of her head. They didn't know what had been done to her while Greene had her, but the Assassins did have something that could possibly help. "Can you come here?" Desmond asked urgently, feeling Alex's attention on him again. 'What are you thinking…?' "Of course we're going to you, you idiot!" Shaun snapped. "And when you're back, we're tying you to the building so you can't wander away!" Ouch, that was one really worried Shaun there. "I'm not hurt," Desmond explained, hoping that would calm Shaun a little bit, "but…" He swallowed, taking a breath. "I need you to help me bring someone to the safehouse." Travelling at how many miles per hour, jumping dozens of yards in the air and landing? No, he was not going to be jarring Dana like that over and over again to get to the safehouse. Silence. "…I really hope you have a good explanation for all this," Shaun said quietly. Alex had caught where his mind was going, and there was surprise there. 'You're going to use…?' "It's worth a shot." "What?" Crap. Wrong method of communication. "Just…trust me." There was a rustle and then the distinctive sound of a car door closing. "We've been doing that since we met you," Shaun murmured. "We'll be there as soon as we can," Shaun said in a louder voice. "Don't go anywhere else, understand? Do I need to use smaller words?" Desmond rolled his eyes. "No." "Good." The sound cut off and Desmond realised he was standing next to Dana, stroking her hand, Alex feeling slightly embarrassed but unrepentant. "…Please tell me my body was just following directions and you didn't control my body," Desmond muttered. 'I wasn't actively trying to do it,' Alex admitted. A quiet sigh. 'I needed a closer look.' "Well, if I had any lingering doubts about him being there, they've been cleared up," Ragland said, hiding a smile. "Thanks," Desmond said dryly. There were a few moments of relative quiet as Ragland got back to work, Desmond staying by Dana's side, Alex's thoughts going around in circles. The earpiece crackled. "Desmond…" Rebecca said slowly, and Desmond blinked, paying attention. "How did you get to the hospital?" "That…" Desmond sighed, screwing his eyes shut. "I'll explain once you get here." Somehow. "I'm in the morgue." "Body snatching, Desmond? Really?" he could just hear Shaun say. Oh, the irony. "Well," Desmond said, looking at Dana's face again, "she's still alive, so not exactly." More silence. "We can't talk about this over the channel, can we?" Desmond let out a breathless laugh. Talking about how he'd been infected by a sentient zombie-causing virus? "No, we can't." A sigh. "All right. Be there in twenty." Desmond hadn't been keeping that close an eye on the clock but all too soon, he got the message that the others were waiting for him outside. Making sure he looked like himself (which just sounded weird), Desmond picked Dana up, cradling her head against his shoulder. Ragland waved a hand when he thanked him as he left, telling Desmond that he'd always be there if he needed anything. Rebecca frowned when she saw Desmond come out with Dana in his arms, but she didn't say a word as she followed him into the back, closing the door behind them. Shaun had turned around in the driver's seat, his mouth open to say something, but he stopped short when he saw them. "Desmond," Shaun said tightly once Desmond had laid Dana out on a chair. "Mind telling us why you've apparently stolen Dana Mercer from a morgue?" He froze. "How did-?" Right – it had been Shaun who had given him the files detailing what had happened in Manhattan in the first place. "But then again," Shaun continued on like Desmond hadn't said anything, "it would have been nice if you'd told us you were bloody infected!" Desmond gaped at him, his eyes wide. He checked Rebecca's reaction, but she wasn't surprised, nodding to show she knew too. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "We did the math: it took us almost forty minutes to get here by van - you made it here in just over ten." "Unless Assassin abilities now include 'teleportation' –which would be rather useful, by the way- the most likely  explanation is that you were infected by the Mercer virus." Shaun sighed, looking over Dana's comatose form. "And now we get here to find you with the body of Mercer's sister… "So," Shaun said, leaning an elbow on the window, his lips a thin line. "Care to fill in the details?" Desmond let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about them not believing he'd been infected; now how to say what had happened without looking crazier than usual. "I…" He let out a helpless chuckle. "We're not sure what happened – just, one day, I'm messing about on my laptop, and then Alex was talking to me. He didn't remember anything so we just assumed he was my ancestor." "…Just so we're clear here - when you say 'Alex', you mean Alex Mercer?" Shaun asked, his eyes narrowing. "Uh, yeah." Well, yes and no, but now was probably not the time to get into that whole situation. "Shit, Desmond, why didn't you say anything?" Rebecca asked softly. "Because we need what Connor knows and we're running out of time – we couldn't waste who knows how long trying to fix my head again, especially since that wouldn't have made any difference." He stared down at his hands, closing his eyes as he felt the tendrils convulse under his skin. The silence that surrounded him probably meant the others had seen that. A hum and Desmond opened his eyes, seeing Rebecca looking over Dana. "So you knew where Dana was because of Alex?" "Yeah. She'd…" Desmond blew air through his teeth. "Stuff happened." His eyebrows drew in as he went over their reactions. That was weird. "No-one's freaked out or anything by this?" He'd just admitted that he had the mind of a bioterrorist in his head and was infected with the virus he'd supposedly unleashed. Rebecca shrugged, a wry smile on her face. "We're Assassins fighting against Templars who specialise in misdirection and misinformation; just because the media blames Alex Mercer for releasing the virus, doesn't mean it's true." Except Alex Mercer releasing the virus was true, but Desmond was going to keep that to himself. "And it's not like there's a lot we can do about it, is there?" Shaun added, his tone softer than Desmond expected. "We've spent days with you while you've been infected. Chances are, we're already..." He trailed off uncomfortably, looking away. Desmond blinked, then mentally poked Alex. 'I don't know,' he admitted after a pause. 'The Walkers spread the infection through scratches and bites but I'd never…' He shrugged. 'If…I spread through the air, I don't think Manhattan would have survived.' "He doesn't think he's airborne," Desmond told them. "There needs to be contact and an open wound and anyway," he said, considering, "if you're not showing signs by now, you're clean." Since the usual incubation period for the Mercer virus was… Yeah. Way too fast. "Well, that's one bit of good news," Rebecca said with a grin as Shaun sighed in relief. The van started moving then, and Desmond leaned back, letting the rumble soothe him. He couldn't stop watching Dana though, and he guessed that was mostly because of Alex, making sure she was still there, that she hadn't fallen into an awkward position. "Do you have a plan?" Rebecca asked, her face lit up from her laptop screen. "About Dana – don't have to tell you it could make things difficult if we need to make a run for it." "Then again, we do have some experience with that," Shaun muttered under his breath, and Desmond wasn't sure if he was supposed hear that. He'd pretend he hadn't. "Yeah – I hope it'll work anyway." Desmond sighed, tugging at his sleeve. "Ragland doesn't know why she's like…this," he said, waving at Dana. "But, I think the Apple might be able to help," he admitted quietly. She glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised. "The Apple?" she repeated. He gave one slow nod, his stomach churning. "Yeah." They didn't know the exact extent of what it could do, but it was because of that he had hope it could help Dana. So long as… Desmond hoped the Apple didn't have any more secrets to unleash on them. Rebecca studied him intently for a few seconds before letting out a long breath, rolling her shoulders. "You sure you wanna do that?" He huffed, shaking his head. "It's the best chance we have of waking her up." If Ragland hadn't found anything in the time Dana had been in his care, and she hadn't woken up naturally with nothing else in her system weakening her or stopping her, then maybe something outside the usual scope of normal medicine would have better results. There was no reply for that, not that he'd been expecting any; they knew he was very aware of the dangers of using the Apple. It wasn't long until Desmond started to become aware he was hungry again. He frowned, eyeing the cabinets that surrounded them. They'd been in Manhattan for a few weeks already so everything had been cleared out and anything left had probably gone off already but… He got up, searching through them for anything edible anyway and eventually found a couple of breakfast bars squirrelled away at the back of a drawer. It was better than nothing so after checking the dates, he started eating them. Alex was paying attention to what he was doing, a squirming guilt rising from him. 'What?' 'That's…not going to be enough.' Desmond stopped chewing and looked at the wrapper suspiciously. He knew that, but the way Alex had said it… Desmond was becoming aware that his hunger was familiar, not from Alex's memories, but from his own. When – right, when he'd been ill. … Stifling a groan, Desmond screwed his eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 'Was it because of you I suddenly started eating my own weight in meat?' A small nod. 'Great. That's just…great.' And Desmond could feel Alex was right, his stomach still demanding food at the same volume it had before he'd eaten. 'That's going to happen every time I use the tendrils?' 'Yeah.' He let out a loud sigh. He should have expected that, really, but so long as he didn't start wanting to eat something while it was still alive, Desmond was fairly sure he could deal with it. Desmond was able to finish the rest of the bars in peace and they were silent for a few minutes. It was while Shaun swore at the traffic under his breath, Rebecca making sure that they weren't being followed, Alex started grumbling, restless. 'We'll be there soon,' Desmond tried to reassure him. Alex gave off an impression of making a grimace. 'We're moving too slowly.' 'Only because you're used to taking the more direct route.' A snort. 'Like I said: we're moving too slowly.' Desmond spread his hands. 'Well, if you want, I can get out and we'll be at the safehouse way before the others.' He tried to keep his tone as innocent as possible, but there was no way Alex wouldn't have picked up he was teasing him. Glaring. Alex was definitely glaring at him. 'No. We're not leaving her alone.' More flickers, not of memory, but of imagined worries (if the van was in accident, if there were still Walkers or Hunters about, if the Assassins were found by Templars or Blackwatch or Gentek. What if he failed to protect her again?). 'So, all we can do is wait.' 'Fine.' While Alex continued to grumble after, it seemed more for something to do to pass the time and an attempt to not have his worry about Dana take over everything. Eventually, Alex started poking around his own memories to keep himself occupied; it wasn't long until Desmond heard a muffled groan. '? What's wrong?' 'I can't believe I went through this again.' 'Went through – oh.' Desmond could see Alex's memories and they shuffled so Desmond could see the parallels between what Alex had gone through the first time compared to this time. 'At least no-one was trying to kill you this time?' A snort. 'No; they're trying to kill you, which means indirectly killing me,' he added as an afterthought. Which was a weird way of thinking about it, and it made Desmond realise something. 'Since you're in me now, does that mean I'm invulnerable to most weapons?' That would be pretty handy. There was a small pause as Alex mulled it over. 'That would depend on how much of me is in you,' he said slowly. Alex's attention turned inward and Desmond had only a second to check on Dana again before he felt Alex's bewilderment. '? What is it?' 'Dammit,' was the near inaudible reply. That didn't sound good. 'Alex…?' For a couple of seconds, Alex didn't say anything, which really didn't help to ease anything. 'I stopped myself from replicating but there's still more than when I regained my memories,' Alex told him quietly. Desmond's breathing stuttered. Fuck. Alex had perfect control over himself; had something happened to affect that when Alex ended up in his body? 'I don't understand. I'm not replicating now - how did I start and stop without noticing?' There was a pause. 'The only time it could have happened is…' He trailed off, realisation sweeping away the rest of Alex's emotions. 'When you were using your abilities.' What? Desmond stared as the back of his hands darkened, twitching and rising into black strands with flashes of muted red beneath. Tendrils of biomass writhed in sympathy with the ever-tightening knot in his stomach, the slamming of his heart. Which, fuck, meant Blacklight was active right now. Desmond knew he had to calm down, that was the rational thing to do, but his body wasn't interested in logic, and panic continued to steal his breath, tighten his chest. He couldn't seem to stop once he'd started; Desmond's eyes were fixed on the multiplying black-and-red tendrils that were lifting off his hands, spreading towards his wrists and fingers, and one strand twitched aside to show something dull off-white that could only be bone- Alex's cool presence welled up, quelling the erratic tendrils of biomass with a practiced ease. Desmond's stomach hurt, his heart still beating wildly in his chest, and he felt colder than before but. No tendrils. No tendrils. That was all that mattered. He let out a shaky breath, bowing his head and resting his hands at the back of his neck, feeling every muscle quiver. Fucking hell, his life was so screwed up. He was going to have to monitor his emotions more closely now, so he wouldn't end up becoming completely infected. And Desmond couldn't stop his mind inanely comparing his situation with the Hulk's - except instead of worrying about turning green and destroying everything in sight, he had to worry about turning tentacle-y and eating everyone in sight. A strained laugh escaped his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep it together through sheer force of will. "You okay?" He waved a hand in Rebecca's direction, trying to appear as calm as he could, except his smile was weak, barely even there. "Just - found out I'm a bit more infected than we thought," he said, his voice a little hoarse. And he'd just kicked himself even further down the Infected scale. …Great. There was a sharp intake of breath and Desmond glanced up to see her staring at him. "Anything we should be worried about?" "No," he said instantly, shaking his head. He paused, focusing on Rebecca, double-checking. She gazed back at him, her eyebrows rising in question. He was still feeling hungry (actually, was he hungrier now?) but it was still directed towards food, not people. "No," he said firmly, relief flooding him. The way things were going though, he was going to end up more virus than human. He let out a long breath when Rebecca nodded, getting back to work on the laptop. His stomach was still churning, practically trying to eat itself, but it could have been so much worse. 'Hey, thanks for stopping…you know,' he told Alex subdued, but sincere. There was an uncomfortable silence. 'There wouldn't be anything to stop if I wasn't here,' Alex said quietly. Desmond closed his eyes, just breathing in and out. 'True,' he said slowly as he shrugged, leaning back again. 'Can we…talk about this later?' Because, really, he kinda needed time to sort through his thoughts and gut reactions to everything they'd found out within the last…two hours? Was that all? 'Hm,' Alex agreed. They lapsed into silence for the rest of journey. * Desmond's dad was waiting for them, unsurprisingly, when they finally reached the safehouse, but Desmond's eyebrows rose when he saw the Apple innocuously sitting next to him, glowing softly. It hadn't been there when he'd left and Desmond threw Rebecca a look; she merely grinned, waving as she passed to already start setting her laptop up again next to the Animus. He glanced down at Dana, his heart thudding in his chest. "Could you bring it to my room?" he said, trying to talk with a suddenly dry mouth. Being surrounded by strangers wouldn't be the best thing to wake up to. There was of course the problem of if something other than Dana waking up happened (and Alex snarled at the thought) but…no-one had been able to stop him last time. 'I will,' Alex promised grimly. That actually did make Desmond feel better slightly, and his lips lifted in a small smile as he brought Dana to his room, easing her onto his bed. He shook his head when his dad tried to hand him the Apple, gesturing awkwardly to the bed. The Apple had latched onto him as soon as he'd touched it last time so he wanted to make sure they were alone, just in case it happened again. Once his dad was gone, closing the door behind him, Desmond let out one long breath, half pacing his room, his eyes drawn to the Apple every time he passed it. So. The last time he had touched this, Lucy had died. Hopefully, this time, Dana would live. He eventually stopped and stood next to it, staring at it as he tried to steady his nerves, but it didn't do much. No consolations, thoughts or changing his breathing could make him take that first and final step towards the Apple. 'Desmond,' Alex said quietly after a few minutes had passed, 'do it.' Closing his eyes and swallowing, Desmond reached down and grasped it, feeling the cool metallic smoothness under his fingers. The reaction was instantaneous, the Apple lighting up, but Desmond couldn't see that, because there was something else in his head, a curious thing, and it trilled when it found Alex, pleased. What, why-? Whatever-it-was (Seriously? Was this the Apple?) lifted information from Desmond's mind, about Dana and what he wanted to happen and then Desmond found himself blinking away the spots in his eyesight, not having a clue what just happened. Except Dana was heaving a giant gasp, her eyes snapping open. 'Dana!' Desmond was sure he'd shouted that out loud too, and he didn't know whose emotions he was feeling at that particular moment, but they were worried. Dana skittered away as soon as she saw him though, and Alex drew back, hurt. Augh, dammit. Of course she wasn't going to recognise… "Dana, it's all right," Desmond said softly, holding a hand up. "I'm-" "Alex?" …Was the hoodie really that distinctive? She must have read something in her face, because she chuckled, the sound husky from disuse. "I know you can shapeshift, jeez; I picked it up listening to the Blackwatch chatter. Only you look at me like that." Both Desmond's and Alex's thoughts crashed to a halt. That wasn't – crap, maybe Alex had consumed him. "So, what'd I miss?" She was looking around curiously, trying to pull herself up into a sitting position at the same time. When Desmond tried to help her, she waved him away, rolling her eyes. She grabbed an unopened bottle of water from beside Desmond's bed and raised an eyebrow in question; Desmond had already nodded before he realised he'd done it. What had she missed? A lot. Desmond sighed, pushing his hood back so he could rub the back of his head, watching her as she drank. "Dana," he said softly, "I'm not Alex." As far as they were both aware. And there was the ripple of tendrils again; Desmond winced, backing away from her, ignoring the twist in his stomach as best as he could. Shit, he was really going to have to learn how to control his emotions quickly.   Dana froze, staring at him. Which was better than screaming and running away, Desmond supposed. Or throwing the bottle at him. "Then who are you?" she demanded, attempting to scramble out of bed. "Desmond," he told her quickly. "Alex is…" Fuck. How much did Dana actually know? If she knew about Alex's shapeshifting, what else had she heard? Did she still think Alex had only been changed by the virus, or had she found out Alex was the virus? 'I don't think she would have treated me as her brother if she knew.' And Dana was glaring at him, waiting for him to finish. "Alex is what."   They couldn't lie to her but telling the truth… "Randall initiated Operation Firebreak," –Dana's eyes widened at the name; so she knew about that too- "but Alex was able to get the nuke out over the sea and dump it there before it went off." He paused, his eyes sliding away as he waited for Dana's reaction.   "Okaaay." Desmond glanced at her, and saw she was frowning. That was not the expression either of them had been expecting. She raised an eyebrow before bringing her knees to chin level, wrapping her arms around them. "I know my brother can take bullets to the face, okay?" she muttered. "They've used rocket launchers and tanks against him and he still came out fine. Just…tell me the truth: did he die doing that?" When Desmond didn't answer straight away, her lips became a thin line. "Look, whatever you think I don't know I probably do, so how about we lay our cards on the table and get this over with." Somehow, Desmond doubted it, but he nodded all the same, feeling Alex's uneasy acceptance as well. "What do you know about the connection between Alex and the virus?" he asked cautiously. He got a humourless smirk. "Nice try, but you first." '…Alex?' A weary sigh. 'She should know her brother died.' There was pain there, loss, and Desmond could feel Alex pull away and try to pay as little attention to what was going to happen as much as possible. He looked away, crossing his arms. "Alex stole a vial of the Blacklight virus from Gentek as a security measure when he found out he might be killed for being involved with the Blacklight project. He was caught in Penn Station where…" -Desmond swallowed- "he smashed the vial. He was shot there, killed." He took a breath, his hands tightening around his arms. "The virus entered his body and reanimated it, taking on his memories at the same time." He stopped, waiting for Dana to take on this information. "Good. So we're on the same page then." He snapped his head around to stare at her, and she gazed defiantly back. "That means you can tell me whether my brother died from the nuke or not, right?" Desmond was having a bit of a hard time trying to compute what just happened. So was Alex. "You – wait, you knew?" "Yeah. Wasn't sure if Alex knew but…" She shrugged. "I found out just before the Hunter grabbed me." Desmond continued to stare and then finally tried to gather his thoughts, shaking his head. '…She still sees me as…?' 'Yeah.' It still took him a bit of time to say something. "Alex didn't die, but he didn't exactly come back-" Fully? With his body? In his body? "-the way he expected." Dana eyed him critically for a second. "He came back as you?" "…We're still figuring that out." He was fairly sure he was actually Desmond, but who knew? He flexed his hand, feeling the familiar dig of the hidden blade. "All I know is Alex talks to me in my head, and I have the same abilities he has." Mostly. She breathed a relieved laugh, leaning back on the wall. "This is some fucked up world we live in." Desmond snorted, glancing at the Apple where it was resting near his foot. "You've got no argument from me." They both fell silent then, Dana playing absently with the bottle in her hands, a contemplative look in her eyes. While most of Alex's attention was on Dana (checking and rechecking that she was all right, both physically and about the situation), Desmond became aware of a vicious anticipation starting to grow from him. '? What are you thinking about?' He got the impression of a grin that was more baring of the teeth than anything else. 'Dana's here and she's all right; now we can concentrate on stopping the Templars.' Desmond blinked, realisation dawning in him. With his new abilities, maybe they had a chance of winning this war. ___ So I have some transiting head-canon that Alex either has TWCB genes or Blacklight/Redlight had some TWCB genes injected into it at some point. :3

[toxicityriot]

Shishigumi Family AU Drabble:

Summary: Ibuki is up late at night, trying to wrap his head around the recent events of his (formerly) missing boss. Louis is awake too dealing with his own struggles and the lion comes to grip that he doesn't just see the young and stubborn buck as his boss or friend but as something more: family

Disclaimer: I've only seen the anime once and skimmed a few random manga pages to try and learn about characters (currently making slow progress on reading the whole thing online). I'm sorry if I butchered personalities and/or backstories in canon so I guess anything messed up would just be part of the AU lol.

Things were beginning to look like they were heading in the right direction. It only took about two months for things to start moving slow once more. Tensions have fallen and eased back into the normal casual lifestyle of the Shishigumi-or whatever the ‘norm’ for a ragtag group of lions keeping a rather taboo location in check. It was their norm anyway and they frankly did not care if anyone thought different. 

Despite the feeling of calmness washing over the rundown tower of a mansion, Ibuki could sense the underlying troubles that shook the members of the Pride down to its foundations. Even though the future was looking pretty good as of now, it had only just started to calm down after a rather devastating event that had even him sick to his stomach. He did not allow this feeling to really present itself publicly but he was still a bit shaken from the events that had unfolded a couple of months ago. 

It had started when the Shishigumi boss had run off, ordering his lion followers to stay behind. That it was his duty to help a friend. Normally, the lions would not care to meddle with high school drama or fighting students but with one of their own running straight into the snarling jaws of carnivores, it had them all worried. Ibuki could recall the sheer power and determination that blazed like orange flames in his boss’ copper colored eyes, mingled with the heavy scent of fear that radiated off his body like a furnace. A few of the lions almost broke their ‘promise’ to try and give their boss bacup after hearing about what this fight was about. But in the end, it was not their fight and they respected their boss too much to go against his orders. 

It had been a nerve wracking waiting game as the sun had slowly risen over the streets of the Market. They patiently waited for a sign. 

No calls, no texts, no check ins, and not a single letter. 

The Shishigumi boss had gone off the radar. Being an herbivore thrusting himself into a fight between two apex predators and had not returned, hope was slowly fading. By night three, the lions began to schedule patrols to keep an eye out for their horned friend, just in case. They kept their eyes and ears open in the market as well tracking any shipments of deer meat in the market just in case. 

By the end of the second week, there was still no sign of their missing boss and Ibuki had taken the role as the new leader of the Pride. It was heavily suspected that their friend had gotten too close to the deadly fight and had been devoured. It sickened Ibuki. He had grown fond of the deer and it devastated him to think of the outcome of that fight. 

Ibuki removed his glasses from his face with a sigh. It had only been about a week since Louis’ return and reassignment as boss once more. He could tell that whatever happened at that fight was troubling the boy. He never spoke of the full story in detail and that was his choice. He would respect that. The others did as well when they haute their poking and prodding but Ibuki had noticed that their were more changes to the former high school student than just physical. He noticed that he had slowly started to take better care of himself and was a lot more open on his thoughts and feelings than before. Even though these changes were not necessarily bad, it still left him in questions as to why. Louis had even halted his newfound carnivorous diet in favor of the much healthier greens he was supposed to be eating and gained a couple of pounds back in the process. He was still poorly underweight and underdeveloped for his age and species but Ibuki was proud to see the small glimmers of improvement in the field of self care. 

Small tap like thuds drew the old lion out of his thoughts as he redirected his attention to the flight of stairs. He had been so lost in his own head that he failed to realize that Louis was almost at the bottom of the staircase. He watched calmly as the deer slowly inched his way down, step by step with a hand on the wall for support, occasionally whispering small mutters to himself. Quite possibly cursing the terrible night vision he had as an herbivore. It was also good to see that Louis did not seem on edge at this hour of night as he seemed to have full trust in the Pride to not attack him when he was basically blind. A louder tap and a metallic thump let the deer know that he had made it safely down the stairs and with a flick of an ear, he adjusted his loosely fitted white shirt. Ibuki decided to make his presence known as he slowly strode towards the deer, making sure his footsteps were not light so as to not startle him. Wide unseeing copper eyes looked up and his head turned to the general direction of the footsteps. “Hey,” he greeted softly. 

Ibuki noticed the tiredness in the young buck’s voice and gave a small nod of his head. “Louis,” he returned the greeting warmly. “What are you doing up? With all due respect, i thought you would be asleep.”

Louis strugged a shoulder, not caring that the hem of the shirt has slipped over his shoulder. The lion could see the small white spots dotting the brown fur. He frowned slightly. He had only seen the fawn spots once before. Being brought up in the Market did its damage on the boy in more ways than one. “Couldn't sleep.” Louis slowly limped towards the kitchen, keeping one hand slightly away from his body to feel around his surroundings. “I could ask you the same thing.” The lion followed, impressed by the boy’s navigation skills. Even though he was relying on the sense of touch and his memory of the mansion’s layout, he seemed to be doing quite well in the dark. 

Being an herbivore living with a group of lions certainly had some of its perks. 

Ibuki observed the way Louis tended to keep most of his weight into his left leg with each step, putting only a small amount of pressure onto his prosthetic while he limped. He could tell the deer was trying to hide the limp but his efforts were not working well. He hung back a bit as he opened the fridge, squinting his eyes a bit to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness that flooded the kitchen with a white glow, just standing there as if debating what his next move would be. The lion glanced down and noted how his left leg hovered about an inch from the ground and how he gripped onto the fridge for support. His ears twitched and his tail swayed slowly. "Does it hurt, boss?"

Louis did not reply. In fact, he made no indication that he heard the question but it seemed to snap him out of his trance when he grabbed a bottle of water. He closed the fridge and leaned his back against the door, twisting the cap off and taking a drink. Ibuki wondered if he hit a nerve. 

"Yeah." Louis responded after another sip. He sighed and looked down, slowly moving his right leg as if observing it. "Sometimes it's like I can still feel my hooves on the ground. Sometimes it burns. Sometimes its just numb. Sometimes it's a little bit of all." Pushing himself off the fridge, he screwed the lid back on the now empty bottle and placed it back in the fridge in a drawer that held his own personal food items and drinks. "I try not to think about it too often. Thinking about it only makes the pain worse." 

There was a long silence that fell between carnivore and herbivore. Ibuki, just standing near the doorway of the kitchen and Louis, leaning against the fridge with his head down, antlers making soft scraping noises as they accidentally brushed against the fridge door. He could see the boy's ears were drooping, his tail low, and his eyes nearly closed with a sorrowful expression on his face. So many thoughts must be lurking in his head, so many questions about life in general. It was one of the many things that had changed since Louis’ return. He seemed to be more readable than ever yet so unpredictable. In fact, he was always unpredictable, especially from the start when he took the first bite of meat at the table, asserting his growing authority over the lions who had watched his every move with wonder and some disbelief. 

Ibuki ran his hand through his mane as Louis straightened himself a bit. The deer came closer, keeping his eyes downcasted as he seemed to follow the sound of the lion’s breath. Ibuki watched with concern that melted into confusion as Louis hesitantly leaned his head against his chest, careful not to accidentally impale him with the sharp ends of his antlers. He stood there, immensely unsure about the gesture. It wasn't until Louis’ smaller arms held onto him that he realized he was seeking comfort from whatever was plaguing his brain. Inuki slowly lowered himself to kneel on his knees to reduce the massive height difference and returned the embrace gently, hoping that his act of affection and care would sooth the boy. It was just another thing that made its way onto the unpredictable things to come from the smaller animal. Hell, he never would've thought that he even liked hugs but this interaction proved him wrong, 

“I'm sorry,” Louis had whispered as he moved his head to rest his chin on Ibuki’s shoulder. “I was harsh on you guys. All you wanted to do was help and I turned your offers down. I should have let told you that i was still alive and-”

“With all due respect boss, i'm going to stop you right there.” Ibuki gently pulled Louis off on him and laid his hands on his shoulders, a soft look from his eyes even if he couldn't see it. “You don't need to apologize for anything. You were loyal to your wolf friend and helped him out when things got ugly. You put the ones you cared about first before your own needs and that says something about a person.” The lion smiled, gently scratching the fur behind the deer’s left ear. “You might have antlers instead of a mane, hooves for claws, and flat teeth in place of fangs but you damn well have the heart and soul of a lion. I dont think ive ever heard or witnessed another herbivore like yourself doing what you did back there. I know you made a remark about me not being your father but Louis...im proud of you, as if…” he trailed off, studying Louis' expression for a sign to continue. He could not see any negative thoughts or maybe even a furrowed brow of disgust. Hell, if anything, his expression was completely unreadable. 

He could not bring himself to say it, at least not yet. He just simply gave a small nod and a smile. “All that I'm trying to say is that I'm glad to have you back with us, Louis. You're always welcome here as our Boss, friend, and a part of our family.” Ibuki slowly raised himself back to his feet, giving Louis a playful rub between his antlers. “It was nice talking with you, son,” he added. He saw Louis’ ears perk up straight at the nickname. “ I'll let you get back to whatever you were wanting to do. I'll see you in the morning. Try not to stay up too late. You need your sleep.” As Ibuki made his way out of the kitchen, he could still feel the deer’s eyes on his back, following the movement of his departure as he made his way up the stairs for the night.

    Night had fallen and the morning had come. Ibuki was greeted to a rokous in the dubbed ‘recreational room’ as he watched the lions chat amongst themselves as they played a video game. He could pick out Agata and Free sitting on the floor in front of the television, Dope behind Free, Dolph a few steps away, Hino and Jinma watching every now and then as they spoke about their own thing, and Sabu crouched near Dope. Between Free and Agata sat Louis, the three of them going head to head in a heated game of Claws Of Duty on the TV. Ibuki did not exactly have the same interest in the video game but he took amusement in the younger members competing on who can score the most kills or who slaughters who first. He faintly heard Dope exclaim “kick his ass, boss” just before one of the sections of the screen displayed a kill animation for a round of bullets to an avatar's head, followed by Free’s groan of defeat in his loss and Agata’s laugh before he looped an arm around Louis’ neck in a celebratory semi embrace. 

    The eldest of the lions smiled. Things were indeed looking good for the Shishigumi, the band of mischievous lions and a theater performer of a young buck. He could not ask for anything better. 

[emotionalsupportbun-chan]

i'm talkin WIP WIP WIP thats a work in progress

cw: sub Daigo, dom Ryuji, praise kink, hand jobs, feelings

You Look Pretty with Your Mouth Hanging Open

He is sitting in the back of some no name cabaret, eyes glazed into the middle distance. A woman, unpretty enough for her name to get lost in the back of his mind, clings to his arm. She’s telling him about an expensive watch at Le Marche - something jewel toned and European. Like what decorates the wrists of half the girls in Kamurocho. Dime-a-dozen.

But he’s not hearing the plain-ish hostess beg for trinkets. Or at least not listening to her. He lets his boys do that, and splash out on expensive affirmations of counterfeit love. He didn’t need that. To be reminded that anything he got here was a pleasant imitation at best.

And you think it was different with him? You think he loved you?

No, but at least there was no pretense otherwise. 

“Hey, Aniki. We have time for another bottle, right?” This one - Hiroki? - is getting an eye full of tit and an expensive earworm.

Daigo looks down at the half empty glass of half-water whisky in his hand. The color is hatefully reminiscent. He knocks it back and leaves the glass coasterless on the cheap table. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

-

He finds solipsism near the end of the third bottle. He is younger. He is full of piss and vinegar. He wants to take the world and crumble it between his teeth. There are no hostess clubs or expensive European watches.

But there are hands that tame him from time to time. Hands that weave his hair tight between their fingers. Hands the prise open his jaw, relieve the pressure on his world-crumbling teeth, and pull sighs and moans and Yes, sirs from his throat.

And there is a mouth with a scar in the corner that he traces with his tongue. A mouth that cracks open his skull and relieves the pressure on his world-weary mind with cock-throbbing Good boys.

Of course there have been hands and mouths since. Hands and mouths that repeat the refrain, sing the same chorus and bridge. But out of key. Octaves too high.

You’re just upset he gets your engine going hotter than any hostess could.

And?

But.

But?

The last fill station was a hundred kilometers ago. And you can’t conceive of another showing up any time soon.

He is jostled by an elbow to the side, still preoccupied with hands and mouths and cars and songs. “You good, bro?”

His glass is empty and so is bottle three. His gut is left full of liquor that feels like it’s trying to rot out the bottom. “Yeah, fine.” The response is far away, half way out the door already. Looking back to ask if they’d paid the bill yet.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. No, really. I’m great.”

Can’t even muster up a smile.

For lack of liquor, Daigo chewed ice until the check came.

-

The door is only a few dozen feet away, but he is full of feelings and fire water. Cotton head, cotton mouth, cotton heart. Only a teenage eternity faking sober to see him through. Concentrate.

What, hear that?

What?

That voice.

From a private room nearby. Bass-low, strutting around like it owns the joint. Peacocking. He’d know it anywhere.

There it is. Last stop for who knows how long.

But why is he here?

Does it matter? Think about it.

Don’t think about it. He’d never live down walking out of here with a half-mast cock.

From what? A memory? Of being on your knees while he drips cigarette-flavored spit from his pretty lips into your mouth?

He centers himself with a hard breath through the nose.

Think of it as motivation.

“Hey, you coming or what?” The others are paces ahead. He’s been loitering near the short hall to the private rooms for an embarrassingly long time.

Now or never. What’s it gonna be?

Beat.

Well?

“Yeah, uh. I just gotta, uh, piss first.” He slips into the hall before any response, knowing full well the bathrooms were upstairs.

Attaboy.

His honey voice fades in and out with laughter and exclamation. It makes Daigo’s palms sweat. His pulse quicken.

What if he tells you to go fuck yourself, huh? What then?

Maybe that would be a mercy. Maybe if he couldn’t have him forever, he shouldn’t have him at all.

What if he doesn’t even remember you?

Worse. To become insignificant to the best thing he’d ever had.

What happened to not loving him?

He didn’t. Doesn’t. It wasn’t love, it was peace. Not romance, but oblivion. Emptiness.

Freedom.

Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.

Someone had left the door to their room open. There are fewer people than Daigo expects. Three, four. And him at the center of it all. The sun, cock-sure with an ugly hostess petting his chest.

Now what? You gonna go in there and beg?

No.

He’d like that. You’d like that.

No. Something else.

Please sir, can I have some more?

Something else.

Daigo rubs his hands on his jeans and screws his face into something akin to a scowl. He doesn’t fill the doorway. “Ryuji Goda, what the fuck are you doing in Kamurocho?” His voice doesn’t fill the words either. It’s false confidence.

“Haw?” His mouth - dangerous, exciting, the second best part of him - pulls into a signature sneer. “And who the fuck is asking?”

And so the worst has come to pass.

No, maybe he’s just putting on a show for the boys. Daigo can play along.

“I am.”

“And who are you?” No hesitation. Unflustered.

The same could not be said of Daigo, who searches his face for any spark of recognition. Anything. Anything to alleviate the growing, gnawing pit eroding his chest.

It takes everything he has not to say ‘They guy who’s had your cock in his mouth more times than you can count’ or ‘The guy who used to let you blow his back out daily’.

Instead he says nothing and leaves with a muttered ‘whatever’. There is nothing productive to be had in the exchange. Nothing to gain, but so much to lose.

Poor, poor Daigo. But you were prepared for this, remember?

A likely story. A convenient lie. He isn’t sure that had even been possible.

-

He is puking in the back of some no name alley off east Taihei, drink having finally caught up to him. Red eyed and snotty, he remembers the first time he’d gagged on cock, when Ryuji’d gotten impatient and shoved it half way down his throat. He hadn’t puked then but he’d wanted to, more out of revenge than anything else. And the thought of the words that’d follow the act of returning all the cum he’d swallowed to its rightful owner.

But he hadn’t. He’d let Ryuji fuck his mouth, whispering soft affirmations.

‘Good boy, take it.’

‘You can do it.’

‘That’s it.’

Later he’d said how he’d liked the way it made Daigo’s eyeliner run. How he’d liked seeing the strings of spit and cum the stretched between Daigo’s mouth and the head of his cock after he’d finished and pulled out of his throat.

You’ll never find another one like him.

Yeah.

Take a minute, mourn the loss.

Yeah.

Unless…

Unless?

Stiff-soled shoes power down the alley behind him. They pause - there was the hesitation - before a large hand sweeps up into the hair on the back of his head to grip it just tight enough. He pulls Daigo’s head back, leaving his throat open and bare.

Just like old times.

Daigo is still in puking position - half-bent, hands braced against the grimy wall - so Ryuji towers over him. By the hair, he pulls Daigo up, other arm wrapping around his chest. Keeping him close. Holding him tight enough for Daigo to know he hadn’t really forgotten.

Exactly like old times.

“Ya always did like to play hard-to-get, Daigo-chan.” Ryuji all but whispers the words into his skin, letting the bass of his voice rumble through his chest and into Daigo’s. “I’m real sorry I had to scare ya off earlier, but ya didn’t have to wander so far.” He sets his teeth against the skin of Daigo’s neck. Just a little pressure. Just enough to thrill.

So how are we feeling about this?

“Please -” is all Daigo can manage, and just barely.

Guess you’ll have to unpack this later.

“Damn. Missed me that much, huh? Sweet boy, ya missed my cock?” A hand travels up his chest to rest encircling his throat. No squeeze yet, but the promise is there. He places a little kiss behind Daigo’s ear.

Daigo cannot respond. He is all nerve endings.

“Answer me, pretty boy. I need to know yer in there.”

“Yes.” He chokes it out.

“Good boy. Ya wanna play a game with me?”

“Yes!” Daigo’s cock jumps at the memory of their games.

Ryuji laughs low and it’s like something soft weaving between Daigo’s knees. The hand in his hair and the other hand at his throat are all that’s holding him up. “Can’t say I haven’t missed yer pretty mouth too.” He plants another kiss. Then a few more.

This man is gonna leave you comatose, sending all the blood from your dome down below.

And it’ll have been worth it.

“Ya wanna hear how our game’s gonna go?

Answer him.

The best Daigo can do is nod.

“Thought so. Ya’ve always been such a good little slut for me.”

And you always will be.

More little kisses evolve into something harder. Ryuji works gently at his neck with teeth and lips and tongue before continuing. “For now, I’m gonna make ya cum. Just to hold ya over for a little while.” The hand leaves his neck to pull his shirt up and drag fingertips up and down his belly.

It won’t take much

“Then tomorrow, somebody’s gonna come pick ya up. Not sure when, not sure where. They’re gonna be a little rough about it, but don’t worry.” Ryuji moves on to his belt and button. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt my little cocksleeve.” The belt is gone quickly but he takes his time with the rest, hand playing over the bulge of Daigo’s cock as he spins his story.

“They’re gonna tie ya up, just how we like it. And bring ya out to see me. We’re gonna have a great time together.” Finally, Daigo is free. Once Ryuji was done teasing him, the button and zipper came in quick succession.

And now Daigo’s breath is coming in pants, making cloud-bursts of heat in the night. Ryuji grips the base of his cock with the smallest amount of pressure. “Sound good, darlin’?”

If Daigo could produce a single coherent thought, he’d have wondered what all the theatrics were for. But he’s past that. Way past that. Half way to bliss. “Yes, sir.”

Old habits die hard.

He strokes up once, just to send a thrill down Daigo’s spine. Just to make his knees quake. “Good boy.” He keeps Daigo’s head pulled to the side to continue working at the deepening bruise at the crook of his neck. Keeps his hips pressed firmly into Daigo’s ass. Keeps a steady pace on his cock and a steady stream of sweet words in his ear.

Daigo is unravelling. At some point, the hand in his hair leaves to slip two fingers into his gasp-open mouth for him to suck on. His favorite gag.

Happy now?

Euphoric.

He makes small noises as the fingers push back into his throat - less sensitive now that it had once been - as Ryuji growls into his ear. “Ready to cum for me, sweet boy?”

No. Yes. Both. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. Or does he want to ride this for as long as he can?

He decides to let Ryuji make the choice for him, answering only in doe eyes and a pleading look.

His pace slows. “Pretty boy can’t make up his mind?”

Daigo gives him a muffled moan.

He has stopped altogether. The hand in his mouth returns to his hair to tilt his head downward. The hand on his cock returns to neutral, resting with a firmer grip around the base. “What does my lover boy think? Does this cock look like it’s ready to cum?”

Daigo is swollen red and leaking onto the trash bags below his spread-eagle legs.

“D -”

“Yes, baby?” He gives Daigo’s cock a short squeeze. “Spit it out.”

“Daddy, please.”

He laughs. “Well, since ya asked so nicely.”

It doesn’t take much more than that.

From somewhere in his coat, Ryuji produces a few pocket tissues and cleans his hands, all while keeping Daigo propped against his chest. He returns to trailing kisses up and down Daigo’s neck. “Look at ya, bein’ so good for me.” He tosses the tissue over his shoulder. “But ya’ve made such a mess. I’d make ya lick it up if I weren’t worried about the germs.”

You would too, if he demanded it.

He knows.

Haven’t you ever heard of a refractory period?

But it feels good to want again. To ache for it.

Ryuji turns Daigo around once he’s tucked him away, put his clothes back in place. He keeps his arms slung around Daigo’s hips, hands on his ass. Daigo knows there is want for tenderness in him. Typically, it went unexpressed.

Tonight, though, Ryuji presses his forehead against Daigo’s. Kisses first the tip of his nose, then one corner of his mouth, then the other.

Then back to the nose, then each eyelid, until they were laughing again like the young idiots they once were. Like they used to.

He ends things with a kiss full on the mouth, more romantic than Daigo expected. He says his goodbyes and pulls away. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, hot stuff.”

He is at the end of the alley when he stops. Almost out of ear shot. “I’m sorry, by the way. For what happened. For all that.”

It knocks the air out of Daigo’s chest.

Right.

That.

Did you think you could just go back to the way things were?

[scoutception]

A look at: Moon.

Writing reviews is always a learning experience for me, and one of the important things I’ve learned is that, sometimes, it’s pretty hard to write about certain individual games, visual novels, or such considering the kind of detail I like to go into. Therefore, this will be the first in a new series of mini reviews, or as mini as they get with me. Maybe there’s just not enough to a game to really give me details to dig into, or maybe it’s difficult to talk about without giving away more than I wish, or maybe there’s just something related to it that I’m more interested in talking about than the actual product; whatever the reason, these will hopefully be less rambly and excessive than my usual reviews, while still giving enough of an overview that they stand as proper reviews on their own. Either way, the subject of this post is an old, obscure visual novel from 1997 with a bit of history to it, called Moon.

Moon was developed by Tactics, a humble developer of adult visual novels, and was the second one developed by them, with the first, Dōsei, seemingly just being, well, a plain H-game, and the third, One ~To the Radiant Season~, while still obscure, is actually fairly notable for being a prototype to Kanon in a lot of ways, as many key staff at Tactics would later break off to form Key afterwards, with them having also worked on Moon beforehand. Thus, Moon is in a very interesting spot when it comes to the progression of the developers that would change VNs as a genre with the release of Kanon, and that’s really the only reason I checked it out.

Moon follows Ikumi Amasawa, a girl who joins a mysterious organization called Fargo, which recruits others with the promise of acquiring an alleged “invisible strength” that can put one far ahead of ordinary humans, in order to investigate their possible connections to the murder of her mother, and if possible, take revenge on the ones responsible. Upon arriving at the Fargo facility, Ikumi quickly befriends two other initiates with ulterior motives of their own for joining: Haruka Mima, a determined girl with a cool attitude who keeps her goal to herself, and Yui Nakura, a cheerful, but naive girl who’s seeking to bring home her older sister, who joined Fargo several months prior. Though the three agree to become allies and help each other achieve their goals, they are quickly separated in different “classes” housed in different buildings, with Ikumi being assigned to Class A, the most prestigious of them all. Settling into her new life as a Fargo initiate, which mostly consists of “training” with the Minmes and Elpod, machines that confront her with various parts of her very troubled past for the purpose of “mental reinforcement” in the form of a vengeful doppelganger of herself, Ikumi gradually discovers many strange things about her situation, such as there only being one other member of Class A, that being Youko Kanuma, a quiet, cold woman who has been part of Fargo for many years. Additionally, Ikumi is forced to share her room with a strange boy who doesn’t volunteer his name, who, though part of Fargo itself, is quite low ranking, and more than a bit dim witted at times. Worst of all, upon finding a passage that allows her to access the buildings where her allies are kept, Ikumi finds that the other classes are subjected to horrific abuses by Fargo’s personnel in order to further their mental reinforcement. As Ikumi struggles to aid her allies however she can, the confrontations with her past begin to put a heavy strain on her mind, and the existence of the invisible strength Fargo claims to have starts to become more and more plausible.

Needless to say, Moon isn’t exactly Clannad. I did not know much about this VN before I got into it, and finding it to be a psychological horror VN was a bit of a shock. Even more of a shock was just what form the majority of the horror came in. You see, even though One ~To the Radiant Season~, Kanon, and Air were all released as adult games, the h-scenes are very disconnected from the plot, most of the time, to the point of losing nothing from skipping them or even removing them from the game, and were pretty much just obligatory inclusions to help them sell better. From Clannad onward, most Key VNs have been clean to start. With Moon, on the other hand, you can’t go 5 minutes without running into some explicit scene, the main source being the Elpod sequences and the abuses the Fargo personnel inflict, and it wastes no time getting to them, at that. This is the biggest thing that drives off many of the few who go out of their way to experience Moon, and even with me having just watched an understandably censored playthrough of this on Youtube due to its shorter length, I almost quit very early into it, and definitely would have if I had actually played it. The Elpod is one thing, as the sequences are used for the purpose of developing Ikumi, but even then, most of them are just excessively disgusting more than disturbing, and that goes doubly for the sequences outside of it. Instead of really changing things up, they’re just content to get gradually more and more depraved, and outside of disgusting, the main thing I can even call them is repetitive. This is one of my biggest problems with Moon, and it was pretty hard for me to get into it because of it.

Another major problem I have with Moon is how it handles its cast. Moon is pretty short for a VN, only around 10 or 11 hours if you go straight for the true ending, and even though there are 7 endings in total, they don’t add much more time onto that, with two being worse variants on the true ending, and the rest being bad endings gotten through making bad choices. Having as small a cast as it does should naturally work fine with that, but they really aren’t balanced well. While Ikumi gets developed across the whole game, and Yui gets a good arc pretty early on, Haruka only gets a short arc that ends as quickly as it starts and doesn’t do a lot for her, Youko barely has any screentime despite establishing a good dynamic with Ikumi, and the boy doesn’t have much presence or relevance until late in the story. The pacing is just bizarre and rushed feeling.

That’s not to say there aren’t a number of good points to Moon’s story. Ikumi is very well developed throughout the story, with the Minmes in particular leading to many melancholic scenes that make her quite sympathetic, and were definitely the high points of the normally rigid daily schedule much of the story takes place during for me. Despite the story’s flawed handling of some of them, the cast is still decent on a whole, with Youko’s gradually developing friendship with Ikumi and Yui’s development during her arc being some of the more memorable parts for me. The atmosphere is very well done, with the cramped, depressing corridors of the facility always feeling like they’re hiding something awful just around the corner, especially since you need to manually navigate the place using a map screen, and once the plot really kicks into high gear things become much more compelling, with the final days containing many high points in characterization and an infamous mindscrew of a sequence that, once looked back on with a more understanding eye, is actually quite fascinating in its own right.

Visually, Moon’s art was done by Itaru Hinoue, the same artist as the majority of Key’s VNs, and it’s a lot rougher than the art of, say, Kanon. It’s not outright bad, but it looks very dated, with the designs and sprites not really sticking out. The CGs vary in quality, as some look pretty ridiculous, but others are quite good. Most impressive, though, is two animated intro sequences included in the DVD version, which happens to be the only version with an English patch anyway. They’re fairly brief, but do a great job of setting up the atmosphere and premise despite that.

On the sound side, the soundtrack is great. It’s not a very big one, with only about 16 tracks, and the use of them can get a bit repetitive, but most of them are just a joy to listen to. From the electronic and tense Closed Space, to the wistful, yet peaceful The Place Where the Sun Shines, to Youko’s ethereal theme, to the credits theme, Sorrow, and especially the nostalgic music box theme, Memory, it’s worth looking up even if you hold no interest in the VN itself. There’s also voice acting, also added in the DVD version, and most of it is just average, with not many performances standing out, with the exception of Kahoru Sasajima as Ikumi, who delivers a very solid performance, especially during the more intense moments.

Overall, Moon can be a pretty hard sell. While I thought it was a decent experience by the end, its very offputting content, lack of similarity to any other Key works, and bleak atmosphere can make it pretty hard to go through even if you’re prepared for what’s to come. Even if you wanted a horror VN, there’s plenty others out there, like Chaos;Head and Chaos;Child, Higurashi: When They Cry, Wonderful Everyday, Raging Loop, or just about anything from nitro+. That said, if you can stick to the end, I definitely feel it becomes fairly satisfying, and when I got to thinking, I realized something that actually boosted my opinion quite a bit just by itself. As much as Moon is a story about cults and psychic powers with a somewhat unclear point to it all, it’s even more so just a story about a very troubled youth struggling with her grief, irrationally falling in with a bad crowd, and being forced to face her past and actions if she wishes to accomplish anything. Looking at the story that way, it’s actually quite well done, and going in with that in mind may even make it a bit more palatable. Still, I wouldn’t especially go out of my way to recommend it, and ultimately it’s still very far from being one of my favorite visual novels out there. Either way, that concludes my first mini review, which still turned out longer than I thought it would. My next post will be something unusual for me as well, but that’ll take a bit to come. Till next time. -Scout

[wakatoshine]

crush CULTURE ☆

3rd year! shirabu kenjirou x fem reader

WC: probably around 2-3k

shirabu kenjirou has always enjoyed the quiet. he was raised to value the silence and to fight for his wants and needs in the shadows. he was taught that his future success would speak louder than his own words.

for someone raised with that philosophy, shirabu surrounded himself with quite rambunctious individuals. he was an athlete! he couldn’t stay in the quiet comfort that was his head on the court.

his first real friend at shiratorizawa was, unsurprisingly, kawanishi taichi. he was a fellow first year when they joined the club, and shirabu felt like he was the only first year in his bunch close to his level. they were similar, they bonded quickly, and just like that his first year at shiratorizawa had passed by in an instant.

complications that shirabu would rather avoid arose at the start of his second year. second year was monumental for many reasons. shirabu had surpassed his senpai, semi eita, and recieved a starting position on the shiratorizawa male volleyball club. second year also brought about goshiki tsutomu (much to shirabu’s own chargin) and more college preparatory classes.

shirabu was the only member of his team who got accepted into shiratorizawa based on merit. he knew he worked hard and deserved what he got, but it was difficult to not have teammates who could relate to his own struggles.

that was where you came in.

the first time shirabu saw you was in your shared college preparatory biology class. your eyes were filled with such passion for the subject and you walked in the room with a huge smile on your face every day.

you were quite the individual. there was this journal of yours, you were teased about it quite often, but shirabu found it endearing. you could be seen around campus plucking leaves off trees and gluing them into your journal. it was full of the daily discoveries and observations you made. you were quite the upcoming scientist.

when your mutual teacher announced that you and shirabu were to be lab partners, he had no complaints. he knew you were smart and he had a good feeling that your presence wouldn’t be a hinderence to his own studies.

it was a week before interhigh when you first met the rest of the shiratorizawa boys volleyball club. you knew absolutely nothing about the sport and you only stopped by because shirabu had left his calculator behind.

“kenjirou-kun,” you called out (another thing to note, you had absolutely no semblance of manners. you had practically called shirabu by his first name since the first day you met him) “i have your calculator.”

everyone’s eyes navigated over to you, and you couldn’t help but cower a bit once coach washijou sent you a harsh glare.

“pardon the intrusion,” you had muttered, remembering that you only knew one person in the room. maybe it would do you good to pretend you had proper manners.

shirabu dropped the ball he had been holding and made his way over to you.

“thank you, l/n-san” he nodded before taking his calculator out of your hands.

you smiled in response, “it’s no problem at all kenjirou-kun! don’t be so careless next time, i may not be around to save the day.” you teased.

shirabu had only blushed at your retreating form. his teammates noticed, of course, and he faced an intense round of questioning after you were out of sight.

taichi had called it a crush, goshiki seemed angry that shirabu managed to clinch a girlfriend before he had the chance to, tendou made fun of him, and ushijima had been completely indifferent towards the matter.

shirabu had denied that he had any attraction to you. there was nothing special about you, other than your intelligence of course. that’s what stood out to him the most about you. you were undeniably one of the brightest minds at the academy, and you stood out from the rest because you were so passionate.

shirabu had wondered if he would ever have the chance to feel that passion you had towards life.

you became more and more of a presence in shirabu’s life as his second year progressed. tendou had made sure of that with his endless heckling.

you attended games, you began waiting for shirabu after practices. you became friends with taichi and suddenly you were part of shirabu’s own friend group. he wasn’t complaining, it was a change of pace and you felt like a breath of fresh air.

it was the week before the beginning of your third year when shirabu had realized his admiration for you was deeper than a reverent respect for your intelligence.

the break before third year had been busy for you. you had decided to send in your journal (with no expectations for it to be seen as important) and some big shot lab in tokyo had found it interesting. boom! you were published in your first scientific magazine at the tender age of 17.

you had ran the familiar route (due to countless study sections over the past year) to the shirabu household to share the news. you had knocked on the door completely winded, and shirabu had opened the door to see you standing on his porch with a flushed face, wild hair, and the biggest grin on your face.

“i did it kenjirou!” you had yelled before attacking him with the tightest hug you could muster.

shirabu had known what you meant immediately, and it was as if your joy had transferred through a wire into his own brain.

you had watched in wonder as a genuine smile found its place on shirabu’s face. he was beautiful, you had known that for awhile now, but he was simply stunning with such a genuine expression on his face.

pulling away from the hug, you moved to clutch shirabu’s hands and shirabu swore he stopped breathing in that moment. despite how cliche it might be, shirabu knew he was in love in that moment. maybe taichi was right, he was a hopeless romantic. only for you.

despite being a fairly straightforward person, shirabu decided not to confess then and there. it was your celebratory night and he didn’t want to overshadow your success with some silly emotions. it would have to wait.

and wait it did. two months of your third year had passed and still no progress was made. shirabu was frustrated, but he didn’t want to seem like a fool confessing without knowing your emotions.

“just go for it,” taichi had told him, “it’s so obvious that she feels the same way.”

even goshiki was giving him advice. shirabu had snapped at him afterwords, he was just a kouhai what did he know about love and feelings.

everyone but shirabu knew about your love for the male. it was obvious when you had cried in pride after shirabu had recieved his captains jersey at the start of the year. it seemed like you were happier for shirabu than he was for himself.

you had been there for shirabu (and the team of course, but mostly for shirabu) when they faced another defeat when trying to clinch the ticket to nationals during interhigh.

you found shirabu sitting in the hallway alone.

“i should have seen it coming,” he had said bitterly, “it’s not like i could ever live up to ushijima and what he did for the team.”

you took his face into your hands and forced him to meet your eyes. your heart broke when you saw the way his eyes shone with unshed tears.

“that’s not true kenjirou,” you whispered, “ushijima knew what he was doing entrusting you with the team. you’re talented and deserve everything you have gotten this year.”

shirabu had shook his head, “even so, y/n, it wasn’t enough. maybe the golden age of shiratorizawa is over after all.”

you hadn’t said anything back at that point. you only forced him up from his crouched position and gave him a short side hug before leading him to the bus.

your relationship with shirabu had taken a massive step back after that day. you knew shirabu was going through something so you chose to step back. it hurt, but you had genuinely thought that it was for the best.

it was no more than a month later when you heard a sharp knock on the wood door to your dorm room. it was shirabu, and to be quite honest he has never looked worse.

the past month had been difficult for you, but it seemed like it had taken quite a hit on shirabu as well.

he had let himself in once you opened the door and immediately moved to sit on the foot of your bed. your roommate was out at the mess hall at the time, so you thankfully had the dorm to yourself.

“would you mind telling me why you’re here kenjirou?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to look angered.

shirabu sighed, “i’m sorry,” he stated, “i shouldn’t have ignored you for the past month.”

your eyes softened. it was no secret that you had a soft spot in your heart for the brown haired boy. it was impossible for you to actually be mad at him.

“you shouldn’t have,” you agreed and shirabu immediately tensed up, “but i know you had to figure things out, so i can understand why you did.” you added, making shirabu relax once again.

at this point, shirabu’s heart was running a mile a minute. there was no doubt in his mind that tonight was the perfect time to confess. he just had to figure out what to say.

but when you sat down next to him and rested your cheek on his shoulder all thoughts left his head. it was almost as if your head was meant to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

needless to say, shirabu kenjirou did not confess that night.

however, the relationship between the two of you had improved drastically after that night. your interactions had grown from platonic to something more, and it made the rest of the team sure that the two of you were together.

“how could you ask l/n out and not tell me about it,” taichi said, clapping shirabu over the shoulder, “i thought we were buds”

shirabu had rolled his eyes, “there’s nothing going on between y/n and i, stop fantasizing.”

“nothing going on? how could you say that when the two of you were clinging on to each other last night when we got meat buns after practice?” goshiki called, which resulted in him receiving a slap from shirabu himself.

“there’s nothing there, we’re just friends,” shirabu scowled.

“friends with emotions though.” taichi teased.

shirabu blushed, “ok fine, i may like her but it’s not like she feels the same way.”

it was taichi’s turn to scoff this time. “yeah right dude, but if you want to think that go ahead,”

months passed once again and it was time for the spring qualifier tournament. shiratorizawa lost, but this time shirabu didn’t harbor too many bitter emotions. he was ready to pass his title down to goshiki, lord knows the kid deserved it.

you and shirabu had sat on his porch the night after the loss. the moonlight reflected on his eyes as you turned to look at him. he had a small smile on his face, you would almost say it looked a bit sad, maybe even nostalgic.

“are you upset about today?” you asked.

“i don’t think so,” shirabu answered, “i’ve had countless opportunities with this team. i’ve gone to nationals three times. twice my first year and once my second. maybe it’s time another school in miyagi had the chance to shine.”

you chuckled, “that’s a very noble opinion kenjirou, but i’m sure washijou would disagree.”

“washijou’s an old man, he’s upset at everything at this point of his life,” shirabu laughed “what does he know.”

it was silent, but the kind of silence between partner flames that was comforting.

“besides,” shirabu started, “it’s goshiki’s turn now. i think he’s as talented as he is annoying. he’ll be good for the team.”

you nodded and chose not to say anything more about the topic. your heart felt heavy, and you started to think back on the time you had spent at shiratorizawa academy.

graduation was nearing quickly, your future was too near to ignore. your time as a child was almost complete. you thought you had lived it out to it’s fullest.

you reached out and clutched shirabu’s hand. he looked up at you in curiousity.

“is anything wrong?” he asked.

you shook your head, “no, i was just thinking.”

shirabu squeezed your hand and turned to look up at the sky.

“the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” shirabu whispered.

your head whipped around to face him. surely you hadn’t heard him right. your lips parted and shut a few times before you sighed.

“what did you say?” you asked.

“it was nothing.” he responded.

the last few months of your third year at shiratorizawa passed quickly. shirabu and kawanishi’s retirement from the volleyball club was unceremonious. goshiki was, as expected, thrilled to be named captain.

shirabu had placed a hand on goshiki’s shoulder and told him that the team depends on him. goshiki cried like a baby and thanked him too many times to count.

the night before graduation found you, taichi, and shirabu at the local ice cream parlor.

“i can’t believe it’s over!” you exclaimed, slamming your hands on the table.

“we had fun, didn’t we?” taichi asked, and shirabu nodded, reaching under the table to squeeze your hand.

you blushed, “it’s hard to believe that kenjirou and i will be in tokyo. what are your plans taichi?” you asked the ginger haired boy.

“i’m heading to tokyo too, maybe i’ll work a few years to get myself through uni.” taichi said.

“i’m glad we’re all heading to the same place,” shirabu stated with a small smile.

the three of you sat in quiet comfort as you all finished your ice cream in peace. it was then that your phone chimed with a notification from you mom.

“shoot!” you shouted, standing up and grabbing your coat and bag, “i was supposed to be home an hour ago! i’ll see the two of you tomorrow!” you explained while running out the door.

shirabu and kawanishi stared at your retreating form. shirabu sighed, slightly peeved by the fact that he didn’t get the chance to walk you home.

“what are you going to do tomorrow?” taichi asked.

“confess,” shirabu stated as if it was a known fact.

his companion nodded, “i wish you luck then.”

shirabu stood at your doorstep the next morning. the third years had moved out of the dorms the week before, so everyone was at home. the two of you had decided to make the long trek to the academy together.

you looked stunning in your uniform that day. your mother had made sure that it was pressed and proper the night before. for once in your high school career, you were wearing the uniform correctly. it was a strange sight to see, but shirabu didn’t mind it.

“see something you like?” you asked while doing a quick twirl on the pavement.

shirabu blushed and took your hand in his. the gesture was normal between the two of you, and you were seen holding hands with the brunette more often than not.

the two of you split ways once arriving at the school gate. shirabu headed towards the gym and you went to speak to your teachers in the building.

it wasn’t until after the graduation ceremony that you reunited with him.

you had already bawled your eyes out by this point. you looked horrendous with mascara all over your cheeks. shirabu had laughed when he saw you, but he enveloped you in his arms once he heard your quiet sniffles.

“why so many tears?” he asked you.

“i don’t think i’m ready to leave,” you choked out, “i’m going to miss this place so much.”

shirabu took your face in his hands, a complete role reversal from the last intimate moment the two of you had shared months before during the interhigh tournament.

“i’ll miss it too, but we can’t look back forever.” he said while looking into your eyes.

he didn’t let go of your cheeks, and instead looked at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite recognize despite normally being able to read shirabu easily.

“can i kiss you?” he asked.

all you could do is nod before shirabu tilted your head gently upwards and covered your lips with his. your eyes widened for a moment before you relaxed into his arms.

you tasted of peppermint and salt. peppermint from your cheap convenience store chapstick and salt from the tears that had been spilled earlier.

shirabu found it endearing, like every other aspect of you.

you had been the first one to pull away from the tender kiss. you looked up at shirabu with wide eyes only to see him looking back at you with an emotion so intense and sincere it made you take a step back.

he fiddled with the second button of his uniform, successfully taking it off and placing it in your hands.

“i meant to do this earlier but i didn’t think it was the right time,” he said shyly.

“don’t get shy on me know kenjirou,” you chided, “where did your confidence go?”

shirabu rested his forehead against yours and chuckled softly. his expression softened into something more serious before he next spoke.

“i like you a lot, y/n” he said.

“i figured” you laughed, “i’ve been waiting for you to say that for awhile now.”

shirabu watched in quiet delight as your nose scrunched up and your eyes sparkled with joy.

yeah, he thought, he had been waiting for this as well.

— fin —

well guys that was it! i hope you enjoyed. this was something i wrote quickly in class, so that’s why it is pretty rough. i had fun with it so i hope you did too!

[itsbenedict]

I didn’t post about everything I played this year, so here’s my opinions on the stuff I played that I didn’t make a rec post for:

Raging Loop 

Raging Loop is one of them twisty meta Zero Escape-y branching-path visual novels where an ensemble cast is trapped in a mysterious circumstance where people are dying gruesomely, and you have to find out what’s happening and stop it by looping a bunch. 

I can’t wholeheartedly recommend it, because... it tries to have its cake and eat it too with the supernatural elements. Clearly magic is real and has important impacts on the scenario, but then other parts are trickery you’re supposed to see through, and it’s entirely uninterested in cluing you in to how that trickery was accomplished. Not exactly a fair play mystery, in that regard- you have to kind of just be along for the ride, rather than try to figure it out.

That said, it’s a good ride- pretty strong character writing, and the central conceit of the Werewolf/Mafia-style murder scenario creates really interesting drama. It’s more concerned with making itself feel clever than letting the player feel clever, but it’s still well-paced and gripping and has a pretty decent resolution.

Detective Grimoire

I recommended Tangle Tower, the sequel, pretty strongly- and this one, while obviously a little rougher around the edges with the art and mechanics (the suspicion tracker system is a total dud; I didn’t even realize it existed until I realized I was missing an achievement for using it), it’s still pretty darn good. Really fun character designs and animations, fully-voiced, and a solid whodunit backing it all. Plus- while the two are more or less self-contained, the continuity threads with Tangle Tower raised some really interesting questions.

Contradiction - the all-video murder mystery

This one was pretty fun, largely on the strength of the actors. The main mechanic of interrogating people on evidence and using their own statements against each other was some good stuff, too. Definitely had that Phoenix Wright quality to the deductions, and Jenks is a really fun character. (Had a few points where progression was just linked to standing in a certain previously-abandoned area of the map where a clue was suddenly there for no reason, there- good thing it had a hint system.)

As a mystery, it could use a little work- most of what you end up finding out is sequel bait (for a sequel that never actually came together, unfortunately), and the actual whodunit is just sort of hiding in the cracks of all that. And... cornering the culprit just sort of happens out of nowhere once you’ve got your hands on the right piece of evidence, without much fanfare. You’re following up on leads like usual, you find a little lie in someone’s testimony, and then- oh, shit, they’re just confessing everything! Unlike all the previous times you questioned them and they were super evasive like everyone else! And then the game is over. 

All in all, it’s pretty meaty and entertaining and I’d recommend it, but unfortunately the creators have moved on to other things, so there’s not going to be any follow-up on the stuff it left unresolved.

Ikenfell

Ikenfell is a tightly-designed RPG about kids at a magic school, with Paper Mario-style action command mechanics and a battle system that makes a big deal out of careful positioning and movement, which was really enjoyable. The difficulty’s a little high (I recommend always always always speccing into max damage because killing things before they kill you is worth more than any amount of defense, speed doesn’t work, and healing is cheap), but I found it really satisfying.

There’s... something... off? About... I don’t know how to put it, it’s... doing that “yes, everyone is queer and mentally ill, deal with it” thing, which, sure, okay. But for a lot of them it’s such a background thing, like... half the playable cast is unambiguously nonbinary, but like... I don’t know if it’s trying to make some statement on how there are no rules to being NB and you can 100% perform a particular binary gender presentation but still count, or if they wrote the whole story and then changed the pronouns of some of the characters for Representation Points, or what. Probably the former? I dunno, it just feels weird. Maybe I’m just not woke enough to Get It.

(unrelatedly: why the heck is the official art they use everywhere so... off-model? none of them look like they do in-game- they look like the creator commissioned someone to draw a group shot with one reference image each and didn’t tell them anything about the characters. how much you wanna bet they commissioned a friend and it came out wrong but they were too polite to say “sorry, no, this is wrong, can you do it over?”)

Trails of Cold Steel IV

Hoo boy. It’s... not great, and it’s not great in a pretty predictable way for an even-numbered entry in the Trails series. It happens every time- first there’s a game in a new engine with new characters and a new world to explore, and it’s really nice and does interesting things... and then it ends on a cliffhanger, and then there’s a sequel game in the same engine with the same characters and the same world, reusing as many assets as possible. Also the League Of Generically Evil Anime Supervillains is there causing trouble for reasons they refuse to explain, and the plot is a storm of magicbabble and macguffin-chasing that makes little to no sense. 

Cold Steel IV is that for Cold Steel III, full stop. Welcome back to all the same places you visited last game, except this time there’s some stupid magic apocalypse happening (not that it stops you from taking the time to do random sidequests constantly, of course). The whole “oh, the evil curse mind controls people and that’s why they do stupid bullshit that’s in no one’s interest” plot point is leaned on super hard, and it’s just a big yawn the whole way through.

It’s still really fun, though, because the battle system remains really well-designed. (The same battle system that was just as fun in Cold Steel III, mind you, but it hasn’t gotten old.) And- though they’re struggling to square it with the dumb mind control apocalypse plot, the NPC dialogue continues to make the world feel believable and lived-in. They don’t slack on the parts that make Trails good- it’s just the parts that make Trails bad are making themselves more evident than ever.

did finally get to date Towa though so that’s a win

One Step From Eden

OSFE is... uh. It’s fucking hard is what it is. It’s sort of a deckbuilding roguelike, and there’s this combat that takes place on a grid, and- wait, it’s like Mega Man Battle Network, it’s exactly like Mega Man Battle Network. Man, I forgot about that, but the mechanical influence is extremely obvious. It’s MMBN meets Slay the Spire.

Except it’s super duper hard as hell, because unlike MMBN you can’t pause and swap out chips or anything- everything is just always happening so much, all at once, everywhere, and you have no recourse but to git gud and learn all the enemy patterns and the behavior of your own spells and develop the twitch reflexes necessary to not fucking die from all the shit that’s on the screen always.

(What’s the story? Uhhhh, there was some kind of magic apocalypse, and some anime girls are trying to reach a city for some reason that doesn’t really get explained ever. The game doesn’t really care to build its world at all- it’s all mechanics plus a little token character dialogue that doesn’t say much.)

The point is it’s really frickin’ hard but I am an epic pro gamer and I got ALL THE ACHIEVEMENTS, MOTHERFUCKER. If you’ve played it, I expect you to be really god damn impressed with me, okay???

A Short Hike

This one was really relaxing! It’s a platformer where you explore an Animal Crossing-y island of cartoon animal people, collecting mobility upgrades- but like, mainly it’s about straight chillin’. The flight controls are fun and there’s lots of little secrets to find and it’s just a nice time that doesn’t drag on too long. Not too much to say about this one.

Pokémon Sword

Ehhhhh.

I’m not here for the hot takes about how Dexit is good actually. Development hell happened, they had to make cuts for time, I get it. It’s disappointing and makes the game a little bit worse, but it’s not the end of the world.

Apart from that... perfectly serviceable? The Wild Area could’ve used a little more technical polish (as could most things in the game, really) but was a step in the right direction, giving the player a wider array of early-game team-building options than ever before. No HMs is good. Story and characters were kind of nothing, but that’s par for the course. “At least this time they’re not shoehorning in some kind of stupid evil-team-wants-legendary-pokemon-to-destroy-the-world apocalypse plot”, I thought to myself before they managed to shoehorn one in at the last minute with zero buildup- but, hey, beats wasting half the game on it.

It’s nothing special and it’s missing a lot of polish, but its problems are mainly due to being rushed, and presumably next gen they’ll be able to reuse a lot of the models and animations (maybe even improve the animations so they’re not so boring??? a man can dream) and make something interesting. SwSh seem like they were testing the waters for something else, and not taking too many chances in the meantime. 

(yo why would you sell all these cosmetic items and then turn them all off during gym battles, though) 

Hades

Hades is- oh, who am I kidding? Everyone knows Hades, it’s the game of the year, greatest thing since sliced bread, Supergiant are heroes, yada yada yada. I’ve played almost 300 hours of it and I’ve completed everything except all the Resources Director levels (currently a Sigma Wraith), it’s extremely fun and you don’t need me to tell you that.

Petal Crash

It was that thing the Paranatural creator helped on? It’s, uh. It’s a block-sliding puzzle game thing, sort of in a Puyo Puyo vein. It has fun character designs and some good dialogue, like you’d expect from Zack’s involvement, but it didn’t really leave an impression otherwise (besides how got dang infuriating some of its Turn Trial puzzles can be.) The story is... kinda heartwarming, kinda didactic, kinda childish, not especially deep or interesting. Hard for it to be, when it’s told through little bits of fluffy character dialogue that exist to set up a puzzle battle as quickly as possible. Not super recommended unless you really really like block-sliding puzzles.

Hollow Knight

Man, why’d I sleep on this for so long? It’s a metroidvania platformer with heavy Dark Souls inspiration, in terms of tone and difficulty and death mechanics and environmental storytelling. And it’s... apart from all that, just really good as a game, with tight controls and juicy movement and great animation. Progression is linked as much to mastery as it is to upgrades collected- I found myself in lategame areas facing down things that would’ve killed me ten times over at the start- not because I had the best gear, but because I’d learned the game’s language and understood how to move in ways that wouldn’t get me killed.

(Usually. Sometimes I’d walk into a room and sit on a bench and suddenly there’d be a boss fight and I’d get slaughtered. Ain’t that just the way it goes?)

Anyway, on top of all that it’s just charming as hell, with a really unique and well-realized world full of little bug people. I love how, like, your character is clearly some kind of eldritch abomination, but it’s small and cute and so everyone (besides enemies that attack you on sight because they’re possessed by some kinda evil mold) is like “awww, who’s this little guy? want some help, little guy?”

(except Zote, who is just an ass hole. i love him.)

[exosmuttytalk]

Just Dance

Characters: Chanyeol, female OC

Genre: Fluff, hurt and comfort (kinda?)

Word count: ~2400

Summary: Following a round of her favorite videogame, Chanyeol makes the best effort to prop his girl up.

A/N: Originally, this was going to go a different route with a different main character, but then I thought about my friend @blogmariasan​ and wanted to write something for her ~

How cute does he look in that gif tho

The rapid beating of your heart in your ears and the loud music coming out of the speakers were strong enough for you to miss the noise the front door made when it turned on its hinges. Or the rummaging at the hall as he left the keys at the usual spot on top of the dresser and hung his coat on the hanger.

“Oh, so that’s what you do when I’m not at home, hmm?” his voice came from the doorstep to the living room, where you had moved the coffee table out of the way to make enough space for your workout, standing in front of the TV. “Fraternizing with our enemies.”

The high amount of energy your body stored at the moment combined with his voice startling you sent you practically flying across the room and into the sofa that had been pushed backwards. Sweat dripped down your back and you could feel blood rushing to your already flushed face.

The subject of dance came up fairly often in conversations with Chanyeol, who would sometimes need reassurance when he compared his own dancing with some other of his band mates, but who you’d never let watch you dance. Not on purpose, of course.

Dance is one of those things that do not matter to normal people. Everyone’s been to a club or a party at least once, has made a complete fool of themselves and then has gone home, hopefully having had fun. Not you.

When you were a kid, almost all your female classmates had enrolled in some sort of dance classes: ballet, regional dances, hip-hop, you name it. You knew many people who were part of an amateur band that learnt and performed their favorite artists’ dances. You weren’t one of them. At those end of year performances at your primary school, you’d always be left at the back, fulfilling the inconspicuous roles of trees, random animals, or the time when you had gotten quite a share of the spotlight as a door knob in a musical version of Alice in Wonderland. Coordination was just not your forte.

Everybody who knew you knew that as well. Including your boyfriend, who had found out about your slight incompetence when it came to being a protagonist and to moving your body in a graceful manner quite early in the relationship, when he had taken you as his companion to a family wedding. As enthused as always, he dragged you across the room to the dance floor, and knowing many of his family members were scrutinizing your every move, you had no option but to dance with him. Thankfully, one of his uncles was a nurse and was able to examine your ankle and determined you had only sprained it. As soon as he heard that, all the worry he had been sporting on his face since he saw you trip and hit the ground, disappeared. It was instead replaced by a slight mocking expression that only grew bigger when his grandma patted him in the back and told him you were nice but he needed to teach you to keep a bit of balance. What a beautiful family introduction.

Wasn’t that funny though? You wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, but you would have preferred if dance wasn’t such an important aspect in your partner’s life. Being energetic as he is, Chanyeol would usually blast music while at home, didn’t matter to him whether it was his own music or someone else’s, and dance around while doing chores. He’d do it in the car as well.

“Dancing is very fun, baby, you still haven’t found the perfect song for you.”

Just watching him prance around the house made you unbelievably happy, but you never let yourself get into it. As much as you watched and enjoyed every single one of his performances, and for many of them, you’d learnt the whole choreography, you didn’t allow yourself to get carried away beyond a gentle sway.

The thing is you loved dancing. You actually loved to the point it was your main form of exercise. Who doesn’t love getting carried away with their favorite music? You just were aware of the quality of the movements you produced, so you refused to do it in front of other people.

“I wasn’t doing anything with your enemies! And they’re not your enemies, you’re just petty!”

You stood back up and forcefully pulled the sofa back to its original place. Then, you turned off the game console without even worrying to save your progress and left the controller on top of the table a bit more harshly than necessary and left the room in a huff.

When Chanyeol asked you to move in with him, you knew you wouldn’t have as much privacy as you used to do living in your tiny one bedroom apartment, but you didn’t particularly mind it. By that point, you had already spent plenty of time at each other’s homes and he was an easy going person, so you felt at home. Besides, his busy schedule kept him out of the house most of the day; so you felt at ease. Even more so when you discovered, in a party with his band mates where he pulled it out as an entertainment safe bet, that he had unlimited access to one of your favorite videogames. So now, whenever he was out and you wanted to exercise, you’d turn it on and dance on your own, enjoyed yourself and bumped into enough stuff around the house Chanyeol would always enquire about the bruises on your legs.

His brows furrowed when he heard your snappy tone and you made your way out of the living room.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” He followed you into the bathroom where you struggled to get out of your sweaty workout clothes while at the same time avoiding his gaze from scanning your flushed face. “You’ve already been living here for long enough, you can use anything here whenever you can, you know that?”

“It’s not that!” You responded, annoyed and in the verge of tears.

He waited for you to come out of your t-shirt to grab your hand and pull you back into the bedroom, where he sat in the middle of the bed, cross legged and making a space big enough between your legs for you to fit in comfortably. You flinched when his fingers started sliding down your still damp back in soothing movements, but couldn’t help but dive into his comforting hug.

“So now you’re gonna tell me what’s got you all up in arms today, hmm?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but you know keeping bad things in will get you nowhere. Why are you angry? You seemed so happy when I came in.”

“I am not angry…” you said in a low tone while you tried to hide your face against Chanyeol’s chest.

“So what is it?” He cupped your face in his hand and raised your head to look at you. As soon as his eyes fixed on yours, you felt another wave of heat hit your cheeks. “Are you blushing?” You could almost hear the gears grinding in his brain as he connected the dots. “Is it because I caught you dancing?”

You let out an undefined sound that served as an affirmation and took your eyes away from him.

“I remember how embarrassing it was for you at Hee’s wedding, but there’s no one else but me here. You can enjoy yourself without a problem!”

“It’s not that… I can’t dance in front of you.”

“But why not, baby? I will do it with you, it’s fun!”

“I just…” you hesitated, but the expression on his face as he waited was enough. “I am a bad dancer, okay? I know that.”

He nodded with caution, not wanting to make you feel worse with his acknowledgement.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Of course there is a problem! You dance for a living”

“Well, I do other stuff too, but it’s a pretty big part. What does that have to do with this?”

“I love you, okay? I really like seeing you perform and I know you love what you do. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for you,” you finally confessed.

“What?” his voice was higher pitched than usual to express his confusion. “Where is this all coming from?”

“I sometimes think…maybe if you see how bad I am at this, you will compare me to your other friends who also dance and think you can do better than me.”

“Are you really telling me you’re scared of me leaving you for someone who dances better than you?” his voice kept raising in disbelief.

“Well, if you put it that way! Just listen to me! You are always around people who are more talented, better looking and who have more interesting lives than me. I have none of that. How am I supposed to feel!?”

Chanyeol leaned back into the mattress and pulled your body along with his, so in the end, he was lying across the bed on his back with you on top of him, resting you face against his t-shirt. You rose up your gaze at him and saw him staring at the ceiling with a blank expression, while his fingers never stopped drawing random patterns against your bare skin.

“You know, when I first got into this I was an awful dancer.”

“What?”

“Yeah, in comparison with Jongin or Sehun, there’s nothing I can do in terms of dancing even now. They were so much better than I was, and not just because of their natural talent. I’m a terrible dancer. My legs and arms feel too long to be controlled and collected as they are when they dance. All that you see now is the result of years of practice.”

“I have never been too self conscious about it because I trusted myself enough, but I remember there was this girl at the training centre who always made comments about my dancing. She was a bit older than I was and she used to tease me about it all the time. She wasn’t very nice.”

“Is she still mean?”

“Oh, maybe she is. I haven’t seen her in years, I ended up debuting with the guys but she never got to that point, despite the fact she had been training for years at that point.”

“That’ll serve her right,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, well. I try not to think a lot about it, because I can still hear her snickering while I performed.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” you hugged him softly from your position and his arms returned the favor around you.

“It’s okay. The thing about this is that I know how you feel. I know how hard it can be to face the world, expose what you have and to be confident enough that it’ll be good enough. But some people around us are more than willing to tear us down over our smallest mistakes, so it’s quite unfair that we do that to ourselves too. That’s what helped me get over it.”

“Yeah, but now you are a quite good dancer and get paid to do so! Why would I show something I know I am bad at?”

“Because you actually enjoy it! Allowing yourself to enjoy things is part of being kind to yourself, and that’s something you need to work on.”

You let out only a soft sigh as a response.

“You know you’re the most beautiful thing that’s ever been in my life, right?”

You propped your head up by resting your chin against his chest, looking him on, silently. His hand caressed your hair.

“Sometimes I have bad days too. Sometimes I’m sad or angry. Or frustrated, because I am not getting where I want to be. But then, I come home and see you around. Maybe you’re in the kitchen, or you’re working on your laptop, or playing with the dog. Doing whatever. Just by being there, you make my day brighter. You make me smile and laugh. You support me when I need to. You get me in ways barely no one else does and I get inspired by you daily.”

His confession left you speechless for a while. Of course, you knew you were in with Chanyeol for the long run. You’d gone through terrible enough times together when your relationship was made public, so now you weren’t going to give up and neither was him.

“You’re so beautiful and so good I don’t even care about other people anymore. Yeah, I have many beautiful friends and coworker. But they have nothing against you, doesn’t matter how much prettier you think they are. Besides, my grandma loves you very much despite your stellar introduction to the family; that can hardly be beat.”

A small tear managed to slide its way down your cheek when you closed your eyes and laughed wholeheartedly to the mention of his grandma, but he didn’t notice. Just seconds after he’d finished his speech, he’d sat up on the bed, kissed your forehead and started rummaging through the closet.

“Here, wear this one!”

He tossed you one of his older t-shirts, with the name of his group written on the back, worn out and soft, before stripping off his own work clothes and searching for more comfortable stuff.

“I’m a bit rusty lately, so it’s a good thing you were already working out, we can help each other.” You were still sitting on your bed, t-shirt in hand but in your underwear, not sure what to do. His head popped up behind one of the doors when he noticed you hadn’t moved and his eyes scanned up and down your poorly covered figure, with a cocky eyebrow raised and a smirk. “Or we could head into the shower and I could teach you some of the moves we do under artificial rain… but only if you want, of course…”

_________________________

A/N: It probably wasn’t made clear enough, but the song OC was dancing at the beginning would’ve been a BTS one, if those were included in the game, which I’m not sure of. BTS and Exo are not enemies and they probably even get on fairly well with each other, so take it just as a joke

Other Chanyeol shenanigans 

Holidays   (OC/One Shot/Fluff-Smut)

Experimentation    (Chanbaek/One shot/Fluff-soft smut)

MASTERLIST!?

[blueeyeswhitegarden]

So guess who got their first death threat on tumblr today? Or at least the first death threat that I’m aware of from this site. Now I get to sit with the other cool kids at the cool kids table.

In all seriousness, it might not be the best idea to talk about it and maybe I’ll delete this later, but I want to at least vent about it. It’s kind of strange since a part of me has kind of expected this for awhile, but it was still a bit of a surprise. I don’t allow for anonymous questions, so they got around it by submitting the threat as a post instead, which I guess shows that they really wanted to threaten me. I have reported it, taken multiple screenshots and I no longer allow people to submit posts. I’m going to post a copy of the threat under the cut, so if seeing death threats is too upsetting for you, especially when the title they used for the post is rather large, please don’t look.

So there’s a lot to unpack here. Honestly, I’m not surprised that someone threatened me over a YGO series. People have harassed me before over that, mainly about A5. I am surprised that it isn’t because I hate VR or that I’m not that into 7s. Calling me a 5//D’s hater is pretty strange considering that despite my problems with its later arcs, it’s still one of the currently four YGO series that I do like. The jury is still out on 7//s, but I don’t dislike it so far at least. It’s also kind of strange to get this upset when I haven’t talked about 5//D’s in months. I guess he looked through either salt tags or replies I’ve made to other people’s posts and got upset because I said things I didn’t like about the series and called Yo//shida a bad writer. I can’t really fathom going to bat for a writer so hard to send death threats over them, let alone for someone like Yo//shida. Even if I didn’t think he was a bad writer or thought that his writing got progressively worse with each series/manga he wrote for the franchise, I don’t think I could get this upset with anyone disliking him or his writing. The focus on 5//D’s is also kind of strange in regards to Yo//shida . His writing on 5//D’s is noble prize winning material compared to whatever the A5 manga was.

All of that is pretty moot when the real issue is someone was apparently that upset over what I think about a YGO series that they told me to kill myself multiple times in the mist of a pandemic. This would be pathetic regardless, but doing this when so many people are still suffering from the virus makes it even worse. Part of the reason I kept kind of expecting to be harassed over a YGO series even during a pandemic is because my expectations for its online community are that low, if not even lower somehow. A part of me wouldn’t have been shocked if this was over how much I love A5 or the recent Pok//emon games either, especially with the latter fanbase has its own share of toxic people. Whether or not you agree with my opinions, I know that I do not deserve death threats over them. You can disagree all that you want with me and that’s fine, but I do not deserve harassment because I think a show like 5//D’s has problems or that Yo//shida is a terrible sexist writer. I do not deserve harassment in general, but I wanted to emphasize that my opinions, or really anyone’s, do not warrant any kind of threats or harassment.

Telling people to kill themselves is extremely dangerous because people might actually go through with it. I don’t think I’ve had suicidal thoughts per say. There have been times where I’ve gotten really depressed and then some really bad thoughts have come to mind, but I’ve never acted on them. I usually just feel surprised with how that thought came to mind and then I go cry or try to watch something to take my mind off of things. Regardless, I still have bad days. I still have emotional meltdowns that leave me exhausted for at least a day or two, depending on how much I cry or what the meltdown was about. I am a sensitive autistic person who has been bullied for most of my life. I am still dealing with the aftermath of emotional abuse that happened decades ago at this point. Even saying that I look okay or that I don’t deserve harassment are a pretty big deals in terms of my self-image/confidence/esteem issues.

That’s why I don’t allow for anonymous questions since I didn’t want people to abuse it to harass me or send me hate while I’m already extremely low. I have felt worthless because of what people have said and done for me for years, so I didn’t want to leave an opening for people to do it online under the anonymous disguise. Needless to say, bullying can and often does have long lasting effects on people’s emotional and mental health. If I had gotten this message while having a bad day or still in the middle of an emotional meltdown, especially when I had one fairly recently, it could have been even more dangerous. At the very least, it would have hit my emotions extremely hard and I can just imagine feeling so emotionally numb if I was in that kind of head space. Fortunately, despite this message, my day has been relatively good, so this is just more upsetting in a baffling way more than anything else.

The moral of the story here kids it to not send people death threats. It’s not okay to do under any circumstances and it is extremely dangerous for people already dealing with suicidal thoughts or other mental health problems. But don’t send death threats during a pandemic over an anime aimed at kids with the intent of selling trading cards to said kids either. That just makes it even more pathetic.

[tejaswrites]

Pure Poetry

Prompt is Blushing for @14daysdalovers

Pairing: Persephone Hawke x Knight-Captain Rylen Summary: Western Approach, 9:42 After weeks of travel, Persephone finally receives a letter from Rylen. Rating: Teen / Word count: 1134 Also available on AO3

---

The Western Approach was worse than she’d expected. Their first several days had been swallowed by a sandstorm and in the aftermath, she’d already wasted half the morning de-sanding her belongings.

At least Loghain had taken the young Inquisitor out to work on his sword skills so she could de-sand in peace.

She was arranging her tent when a gentle cough came from outside. “Hawke?”

“Yes?” She rose to her feet and ducked out to find Cassandra Pentaghast outside, book in hand and a blanket thrown over her arm.

She held out a letter, at least a couple pages judging by how thick it was folded. “This arrived for you.”

“Thank you.” Her surname was written across the front in Rylen’s strong hand and she ran her fingers over it with a smile. The weeks they’d been apart were already too long. She missed him desperately.

She slid a finger under the flap to break the seal, when Cassandra stopped her. “Before you do that...that tree has the right amount of shade for a reading break.” Cassandra nodded at one of the trees near the small pond of water that sparkled prettily in the morning sun. She lifted her book as she added, “Join me?”

Persephone nodded, and the two women travelled the short distance from camp to the shade of the tree. Her fingers idly played with the letter as they walked, running along its folded edges and picking at the flap. It was the first letter she’d gotten since they’d left Val Firmin and that had been weeks ago now.

The few others she’d received before that had been short: a brief update and a poem scrawled at the bottom of one of Cullen’s letters. She could almost see the exasperation in Cullen’s writing as he noted that Rylen would be adding a postscript of his own.

Of course, she understood why personal notes had to be tucked into what available space he could find. The Inquisition used a lot of paper in its correspondences across Thedas and it wasn’t cheap.

There was little to spare for messages of more personal nature, which is why this one was all the more valuable.

Cassandra spread her blanket over the sand and spread out on it, laying her book on the ground in front of her. She rested her chin on her hand as she opened it, quickly losing herself in the story.

Not having the foresight to bring her own blanket—not that she would have given how recently she’d finally gotten all the sand out—Persephone settled down with her back against the tree and knees pulled up to her chest.

She gazed at the letter, enjoying the brief moment of delight before she once more slipped her finger under the edge and broke the wax seal.

Her heart skipped a beat as she unfolded it to an entire page of text, tightly written across every open space. A quick flip of the page confirmed the back and the front of the next page were equally as packed. Relief washed over her, ridding her of the stress of the past few days. The past few weeks, truly, as traveling with the young Inquisitor was no easy feat in the best of times.

At least this time she had Loghain to distract him. And speaking of Maxton, she wouldn’t have much time until he found his way back to camp.

Persephone flipped back to the beginning of the letter, and began to read.

A leannan,

Whatever trouble I end up in for pilfering so much paper, it was worthwhile. These weeks at Skyhold have been lonelier than I knew they could be. I missed you the last time, terribly as you know. But now I don’t know when I’ll see you next, and that made the longing painful.

I’m not the only one who misses you, as you could have guessed. Cerberus thinks he’s keeping me company, but I know it’s me keeping him. Or at least, he lets me believe that. I told him what you said in your last note and it helped, I think. He’s been calmer since.

Skyhold is as it always is when the Inquisitor is away. I moved from the barracks to the camp, since I spend most of my days down there anyway now. It’s easier now that the weather turned and the snow has mostly melted.

I am glad to know you made it to the Western Approach without a problem. I pray it stays that way. Reports tell me whatever you’ll find out there can’t be good. I know you feel responsible for what’s happened with the Wardens, but you can’t take them on alone. Reinforcements will be dispatched as soon as we get the word. I beg of you, do not do anything reckless.

“I’m never reckless,” she muttered at the page.

Cassandra glanced up. “What?”

“Nothing,” Persephone told her, quickly returning to the letter in her hand.

I have it on good authority that you’ll insist you’re never reckless, but Cullen assures me you are.

Of course Cullen would say that. If doing what needed to be done when no one else would was considered reckless, so be it. She’d certainly been called worse than that.

The letter continued, giving her updates on life at Skyhold without her. With the military preparations in progress, he’d had to cancel the weekly card game. As disappointed as she was for him, she was glad that she might have a chance to get to his level. If Varric wondered why Persephone cared now, after all the years she’d refused in Kirkwall, he never let on. They’d been playing most nights on the road.

She’d happily gamble what remained of her portion of the Amell estate away if it meant she got to see the look on Rylen’s face when she beat him.

There were more notes on the military through the bottom of the page. It shouldn’t surprise her, he was Cullen’s second-in-command after all, but to waste such precious space with that seemed a rather odd choice.

When she flipped the page over, she understood why.

She inhaled sharply before she quickly folded the page in half and looked up to see if anyone had noticed. Cassandra was still focused on her book, idly flipping a page when Persephone glanced at her, and any others still at camp were too far to see the bright pink tinge that was sure to be showing on her heated cheeks.

Her tent might be a better place to finish reading, but then she may draw attention to herself and then Cassandra would know exactly what content the letter held.

She couldn’t have that.

Instead, she carefully unfolded it once more and flipped to the backside. Her heart thudded in her chest as she read. It might not have been a poem, but Rylen’s descriptions were pure poetry on the page. Line after line of everything from descriptions of her body in moonlight to some of the more...specific plans when they were finally together again.

It had heat in more than just cheeks by the time she was finished with the page.

“Hawke?”

She dropped the letter of her lap as she snapped her eyes up to Cassandra. “Yes?” she asked a little too quickly.

“Are you...blushing?”

“Am I?” Persephone patted her cheeks in an attempt at surprise.

“That must be quite the letter.” Persephone’s face burned even hotter knowing she’d been caught out, but Cassandra didn’t dwell on it. She reached down to pull Persephone off the ground, “Come. You should return to your tent and finish reading it before the Inquisitor gets back.”

Persephone gave Cassandra her most grateful look. “Thank you.”

Cassandra nodded at her. “You are happy.”

“I am,” Persephone said as she tucked the letter away. “The happiest.”

And it was true. She was the happiest she’d ever been with him. He loved her, and she loved him, and that was everything.