#the rumblies are bad for my mental conditions

[dirk-like-from-homestuck]

theres this guy in my class who nobody sits next to because hes just such a douchebag, and personally i like to joke its because being a total jerkass gives you a magic anti-people protection radius.

like this.

[shootingstarpilot]

In Which Helix Loses His Godsdamned Temper

A gift for my dear friend @themonopolyhat, who wanted to know how the swivel chair race briefly mentioned in Chapter 11 of like lightning changing hands went down <3

Helix and sleep are passing acquaintances at best.

Not enemies, no- he's not a fool. He's a good medic. He knows sleep is important. Even for the clones, who were conditioned to function on half as much sleep as a human nat-born- toxic byproducts need to be processed. New neural pathways need to be formed. Memories need to be filed away. So of course he makes time for it. He most certainly doesn't need Needle coaxing him away from his desk or switching out his stims or shoving him down onto a cot and sitting on him until he passes out- no matter how much the younger medic might protest otherwise-

But. His point.

He makes room for it. Their moments of true downtime are few and far between, but Helix always makes sure to squeeze in a treasured nap or two when he gets the chance.

Which is why, when he's rudely awoken by shouting outside the medbay door that is not immediately followed by the reveal of some horrific injury, Helix decides he's well overdue to rain hellfire down on whatever hapless idiots decided to work out their post-campaign jitters right outside his fucking medbay.

He pulls the pillow off his head, rolls to his feet, and stalks towards the door, carefully selecting his most threatening expression and arranging it appropriately.

When the door slides open, he inhales-

And then lets the air out again in a slightly anticlimactic whoosh when he comes face to face with an empty hallway.

Feeling immensely irritated, he steps out of the doorway and glances to the left and right.

Where-?

The noise is barely a ripple at the back of his mind, at first. Almost indistinguishable from the ever-present rumbling of the engines.

Then it very quickly overtakes it.

Helix, operating solely on well-honed instinct, flattens himself against the wall just in time for a blur of motion to careen around the corner. They slow as they hit the curve, just enough for him to make out-

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Auks, on the swivel chair, gripping both edges with white-knuckled hands- Wooley, hands on the back of the chair, moving at a dead sprint-

Auks' gaze flickers up just enough to catch Helix's eyes, wild glee melting into a pants-pissing terror. They disappear around the next corner, and Helix indulges in a mental pat on the back when he hears Auks' distant shriek of-

"Go faster!"

Right.

He lets them go. He'll catch up with them later.

After a moment's consideration, he steps into the middle of the hallway, studying the water stain on the ceiling with all the appearance of sincere diligence.

The distant rumbling grows louder.

Hm. He should think about filing a work order with Maintenance.

Underneath, now, the sound of footsteps-

They don't want to let that pipe burst, after all.

"OhshitohfuckCOVER-"

He doesn't move.

A screeching noise, an even louder scream-

A tangle of limbs tumbles past his left, slamming into the corner with a force that Helix deliberately doesn't wince at.

Longshot is the first to sit up, carefully disentangling himself from the pathetic remains of the chair. He doesn't look at all frightened when he looks up at Helix.

Just resigned.

"In my defense," he says, rolling his shoulder assessingly, "I told them this location was a bad idea."

"It was," Helix agrees, poisonously sweet.

Gearshift is the next to emerge, clutching at his face. Longshot pats him on the back. "All good?"

Faintly muffled, slightly more stuffy-

"You broke my nose!"

"I broke your nose?"

"You!" Gearshift amends, pointing at Helix, the effect of his glare somewhat lessened by the blood pouring between his fingers. "What were you thinking?"

"Standing in the hallway?"

"Y-"

Gearshift falters.

Helix smiles at him.

"Do you know how big this ship is, Gearshift?" he says mildly.

"Pretty big, sir," Gearshift mutters.

"Do you know how often I have time to nap?"

"Probably not very often, sir."

"Do you know how loud you idiots were?"

"No, sir."

"This was the third round, though," Longshot adds blithely. "Can't have been too bad if you slept through the other two-"

"Shut your mouth," Helix says pleasantly. "Where are the others?"

Longshot points.

"Right," Helix says, already running through his death-be-upon-you-if-you-try-this-banthashit-again speech in the back of his mind. He jabs a finger at Gearshift. "Stay here. I want to take a look at your nose when I get- stop tilting your head back, do you want to asphyxiate on your own blood? I'll be right back."

He stalks off without waiting for an answer.

The others aren't far off. Two hallways down and Helix can already make out the cheerful chatter, rising alongside his blood pressure.

"-and Auks clocked in at three minutes on the dot, fastest lap yet," Waxer says cheerfully. Helix picks up his pace. "Right, Trapper, you're up- who's your partner?"

Trapper is, however, doomed to a life of loneliness, because it's at that precise moment that Helix rounds the corner and launches into a lecture that will be whispered about among the shinies for years to come.

"-swivel chairs! Fucking swivel chairs, I thought you were all supposed to be soldiers, not tubies running along the godsdamned catwalks-"

Trapper shrinks backwards, ducks his head, and his patient resignation drives Helix's ire to new heights-

"-had the entire ship to be suicidal in, but no, you had to plot out your fucking racecourse directly outside my fucking medbay when I was getting the first sleep I'd had in three days-"

Waxer scuffs his foot against the floor, looking like he's considering taking a step backward, and then thinks better of it-

"-slammed his head into the wall and broke his fucking nose, if he'd hit half an inch higher his brains would've spilled out like soup because you couldn't even think to use your fucking helmets-"

Boil seizes the opportunity when Helix is forced to stop for breath.

"We did have supervision," he points out. "Medical. So, you know- we got cleared-"

"Who," Helix grits out, "the fuck-"

The crowd pulls back like the tide, and Helix stares.

Stitch stares up at him from where he's perched on the edge of yet another swivel chair, white-faced.

Needle, holding onto the back, offers him a wave.

"Integrated supervision," he says cheerfully. "New management principle I heard about, thought we could give it a try-"

A muscle in Helix's jaw jumps.

"You two," he grits out, "with me. And the rest of you-" he snaps, at the rustle of a collective relieved sigh- "pull this banthashit again, and I'll deliver you to Grievous hog-tied on a platter- now, am I understood?"

At the affirmative murmurs, he turns on his heel and strides off, followed hurriedly by his two renegade medics.

The strained silence is broken only by two sets of footsteps for some time.

"Stitch," Helix says, after a moment, "get off the chair."

A pause. Then three sets of footsteps.

Then, so quiet Helix has to strain to hear it-

"Is Gearshift okay?"

Helix closes his eyes and forces a slow exhale out through his nose.

(His head is pounding.)

"Yeah," he says, making a conscious effort to gentle his voice. "Just a broken nose. No other trauma that I could tell. You deal with that when we get back, okay? Run him through the gauntlet. Use your best judgement."

"Okay, Helix."

The silence gains a certain obnoxious quality to it.

"And you," Helix says, considering-

Then it hits him.

"You can put that nutritional learning module to use," he decides. "Kitchens. Run through the new requisition forms with Terror. Help him rebuild a sustainable menu; the routine shipments got changed last week."

Needle does not appear half as peeved as Helix would like him to.

He catches Helix's glare and grins, irrepressibly sunny. "Will do, boss. Terror and I are friends, I like his company."

"Terror doesn't do friends."

"Mm, fair. We're nemeses, then. I think that's the closest thing he has."

Helix's glower darkens.

The rest of the walk back is silent.

They split when they reach the medbay. Stitch heads for Gearshift immediately- and Longshot, who, Helix notes with mild surprise, had stayed with him. Needle peels off for the kitchens, humming under his breath with a nonchalance that makes Helix want to deck him.

And Helix-

Helix heads for his office.

All inclination towards sleep has vanished. He grits his teeth, settles into his chair, rubs at his forehead-

He's sure there's some flimsiwork he can get ahead on.

Later:

After he realizes exactly why Stitch is skittering away from him at every turn-

After he sits him down and patiently explains that the absolute worst punishment he will ever receive- the punishment for the Fuck-Up Of All Fuck-Ups, the punishment if he is found to be unfit for medical work- will be being reassigned to a different unit-

After he sees their youngest primary off to bed, guilt still pulling his shoulders low and dragging at his steps-

Needle comes back.

The first Helix knows of this is when a knock at his office door rouses him from staring at the same page on his datapad that he has been for the past forty minutes.

"Come in," he mutters, and Needle pokes his head through the door.

"Hey, boss," he says, and steps in fully, carefully shutting the door behind him. "New menu's been filed. Double- and triple-checked."

"Mhm."

Needle settles into the chair and sets a cup Helix hadn't noticed him carrying onto his desk.

"Tea," he says quietly, in answer to Helix's questioning look. "Thought you might need it."

Helix grumbles something incoherent, but picks up the drink anyway.

The warmth seeps all the way up his arms, into his shoulders, and he relaxes quite against his will.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

"Things were getting tense in the training rooms," Needle says at last. "They were at each other's throats. Kamei had already dislocated Trigger's shoulder, and he didn't even seem sorry- you know how those two are."

Helix blinks. He does- and- that's right, they hadn't been there, had they?

"This was the first thing I could come up with. I should've thought of the helmets, you were right about that- I'm sorry I didn't. I just wanted to get them moving."

"And of course this was the first thing you thought of," Helix mutters. He sees Needle's expression twist briefly, and guiltily musters up a quirk of his lips. "Sounds like you."

Needle returns the smile, and then his gaze drops to his knees.

"I didn't know you were sleeping, either," he says eventually. "You- you don't usually. I should've checked, I know, I just figured- keeping the medbay on the route would make for easier access if someone did get injured."

Helix takes a sip of the tea.

It's not caf.

But it's-

Good.

"Sorry about that," Needle finishes lamely. His fingers twitch and flicker and jump before he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.

Helix takes another sip- longer than he'd meant to, this time, and when he looks down he realizes he's nearly drained the cup.

His headache is easing.

"Longshot said that was the third round," he says at last. "How'd you two do on the others?"

Needle stares at him, uncomprehending, for one long moment-

Then a smile like the sun splits his face.

"Oh, knocked them out of orbit, boss."

"Good," Helix mutters. He stands, places the empty mug on the table, and stretches until he feels his back crack. "Right. I'm going to get some sleep, then. You got the shift?"

"Course I do," Needle says easily, and Helix squeezes his shoulder on his way out.

Stitch is sitting up when he emerges, ruffled hair and sleep-fogged eyes sending a pang through Helix's chest.

"Hey, kiddo," he says quietly. "Mind if I join you?"

Stitch squints at him. "Helix?" he says at last. "Needle said you needed to lie down."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Helix mutters, glancing back at the office door. He doesn't even bother to try mustering a glare.

"Uh-huh," Stitch hums, already slipping back into sleep. He curls onto his side and pats the empty space next to him. "Come on."

Helix kicks off his boots and obligingly settles under the blanket, and Stitch shuffles a bit closer and wraps an arm around his chest.

"Needle told me you two won," Helix murmurs.

"Yeah," Stitch says sleepily. A slow smile blooms across his face. "He can go pretty fast."

"Well," Helix sighs. "I guess that's okay, then."

As it turns out, sleep can come easily after all.

[ghostykapi]

[m + t] i.

it’s easy to pretend for mina that everything is alright

it’s also easy to predict how she’ll end up on the couch tonight

“myoui mina” tzuyu calls out from the hallway, hands on her hips and eyes drilling holes into the japanese woman’s head as she enters their home “you’re late again”

mina nods but doesn’t reply, simply looking away from her wife, eyes guilty as she takes in the time she has returned home

12:52 am

“you are sleeping anywhere but on our bed” tzuyu simply states, turning around to go and finally sleep, leaving her dejected penguin wife in the living room

mina knows that tzuyu is never mad per say, but when your wife is cranky from the lack of sleep from work and from homesickness, maybe it’s best not to be late on your date.

mina and tzuyu.

married.

where do we start?

well, we start at the university, where mina meets tzuyu in the same elective, same after class organization and same dormitory building. they only see each other in passing for two years, right before mina graduates first

then we move on to first jobs, where mina meets tzuyu again everytime she takes the morning shifts at work. the smell of bread and coffee from tzuyu’s cafe swimming in her head as she always orders an iced americano and some form of bread

then through a mutual friend do their lives actually intertwine, where they finally talk in a party where mina and tzuyu escape from. the memory of eating and talking together in tzuyu’s car in a part forever engraved in their hearts

it only takes a two years for them to tie the knot and get married. it also takes another two years for tzuyu to wish that maybe mina should finally start finding other jobs that don’t ruin their already busy schedules

tzuyu knows this by heart, the same reasons why mina is stuck at work and why seemingly the distance keeps on growing

tzuyu just wishes she has a reason to be mad so it doesn’t feel so bad that when her heart is being crushed every time mina is late

so when she feels mina slip underneath the covers in the early morning, she doesn’t have the actual energy or heart to shover her away. mina wrapping her arms from behind and nuzzling herself into her wife’s neck, seemingly at peace even though she’s walking on a thin line of forgiveness

it’s quiet, no words needed to ask what’s on each other’s mind. only the sounds of the air conditioning system and the rumble of thunder filling the space between them

well except what ever mina says definitely woke tzuyu up from her half sleep state

“i uh gave in my 2 weeks notice”

mina’s job, while has amazing perks, is basically hell. the amount of paperwork needed to be done within each day takes a massive toll physically, mentally and emotionally. the only reason why mina hasn’t find time to find other jobs is because the time it took to find other jobs was simply too much on her schedule

tzuyu doesn’t say anything to this, knowing there’s more to the story than what it seems, but she let’s this go for tonight. there’s always breakfast to grill the actual whole story out of the tired penguin

so she turns around, holds a tired mina into her arms and whispers sweet nothings into her ear, fighting away any anxiety that seeps into her heart

“i’m sorry” mina’s tears have already dried up, but she can still feel her heart ache “i’m sorry i’m late again”

“it’s ok” tzuyu holds her tighter and closer, wishing to always protect her “i’m just happy you’re free now”

“i’ll bring you to that restaurant you wanted to always go” mina is stubborn and persistent to make it up, and more, to her beloved “i-i’ll even take you out on a date every night for the rest of our lives to make it up to you”

it’s only when mina feels tzuyu start to shake when she pulls back to look at her. her hands automatically wiping away any tears

“i love you” mina kisses away the tears, even if she’s starting to cry herself “i love you so much, i’m sorry i’m never on time on our dates”

“it took you two years to figure that out” tzuyu can’t be mad like this, she want to but it’s so hard to be mad at mina “you’re so mean”

“i know i know” mina cradles tzuyu’s face before kissing her “i’m here now, i’ll be here more, i’ll be with you forever”

[nrdmssgs]

A heart full of pity (part 2)

Masterlist Part 1

Part 3 Part 4 (final)

Angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: Nik x unnamed afab OC

Summary: He wishes there was another way to make her not give up and fight on. He wishes, he could make it better. But there are habits, that proved being effective. Habits and patterns that make him harm even those, he deeply cares about

TW: Mention of physical injury (burns). Inaccurate description of military operations. Swearing. Mental abuse (manipulation. none of characters is left happy with it.)

Authors note: I still don't try to praise Russian culture. This time I tried to show, how FSB background can make someone cold, unsettling even cruel in a way. FSB in real life is still bad. Nikolai is a unique character, he does not represent any realities of life in Russia or work in the FSB. I don't romanticize Russia or FSB in real life. This is just fiction. I don't intend to harm anyone with it.

Thanks: @homicidal-slvt is still an absolutely incredible person, who helped me start this all. But there is also @sofasoap who created Lastochka series. If you have time for only ONE work to read today - please go and read Lastochka.

She woke up in another life, distant and long forgotten. The light shone even through her closed eyelids, turning the darkness into a bright red. Some familiar scent tingled her nose, muffled but also strangely familiar sounds echoed somewhere deep in the flat. It was as if she was again just twelve, caught up cold and had to stay home. No school for her today, no worries - just a slow lazy morning, loads of tea with honey and lemon, and if she's lucky enough to have a fever - unlimited raspberry jam. Her peaceful slumber was distracted only by a strange pulling sensation, sending waves of pain from her ankles along both sides of the hips to her waist. But she yet couldn't decide if the pain was worth of any worry: it wasn't that bad anyway. 

That was until she heard a soft rumbling voice from somewhere above. “I like it when you smile.” And just like that the illusion is gone: she gradually recalls everything, that happened prior. Now, when her mind traced all the way back to the reason behind the pain - it washes over her body again, making her wince, opening her eyes. “My oh my… and I remember times, when women kept happy expressions, seeing me beside their beds.” Nik tilts his head and raises eyebrows. “How many of them were in my condition?” She watches him rise, move the stool to the bed, and leave the room.

“None that I can recall…” He comes back in a minute with a lightly steaming bowl. “So you say, if it wasn't for your condition, you'd be beaming?” “I say…” She slowly rises on a bed with Niks help. “If it wasn't for my condition - I wouldn't end up in this bed.” “Ouch. Breaking my heart right there.” Nikolai chuckles softly. Of course, he is joking deliberately, and it's a good sign, she reacts. Although her motions are slow and shaky - she manages to eat almost the whole bowl, so he can give her ‘the desert’, which consists of a good pile of analgesics. “How much time do I have?” She doesn't need to explain any further - Nik knows exactly what she's referring to. “I've talked to Price this morning, you have about an hour. And… the whole operation is just your call now. I'm ready whenever you are.” Her face changes as if she's just stumbled upon something, hit against an invisible wall. She closes her eyes, slowly breathes in and answers, ‘don't be ridiculous. I'm done for. I'll admit, I've fucked up, and he'll send someone better to lead the whole thing’. Nikolai gives her a heavy long look. Suddenly, all the jokes and playfulness are drenched from the room. She feels smothered with a guilt building up inside and can't make herself look back him in the eyes. “I'm sorry in advance.” Nik leaves her wondering, what was he actually meaning. After some time, he brings a big mirror from the hallway. It's covered with dust and has a few chips on the edges. She tries to find out, what is he up to, but he exits the room once again and comes back with another mirror - a much smaller one, that he gives her.

“I was wondering, why did they leave us be?” Nikolai gently guides her to rise and sit on the edge of the bed, facing him. It doesn't happen in one swift motion, because her wounds are still fresh, so he proceeds “We were such an easy target, when this all happened, it must have pained them to not hit us…” As Nik speaks, she leans on his shoulder and slowly straightens her back, finally meeting his gaze fixed on something behind her. “And as much as I want to believe, It's because they don't want to become my personal targets, I must admit - their reasoning goes far beyond that.” He tucks under the bandages covering her torso and starts undoing them gently. “Nikolai, don't bother, I can change those by my-” He cuts her out by just glancing down in her eyes. His gaze is cold, distant. “Sit still for me and listen. Those bastards put Molotovs in children hands not to end you.” Nik reveals her bare back from under layers of the bandage and guides a small mirror in her hands so that she can see every detail of what exactly she now looks like. “They wanted to make a point, send Price a clear message. ‘Mess with us and this is what happens. You are powerless here, your people are nothing but meat to be roasted. We'll make them suffer so hard, they'll forget, who they were, they'll return to you broken only for you to blame yourself for that. It will hurt even to glance at them’. Now, as I said, it's your call. But you should ask yourself if their message is to be delivered.” She listens to him, seeming calm, not tearing her eyes from a little mirror. But Nikolai knows very well, what his words are doing to her: her heartbeat rose, her pupils slowly widen. It isn't the first time he has to manipulate someone, but this time it leaves him with such an disgusting aftertaste, that he is genuinely grateful when she asks him to leave her alone for the call.

Out on the street, he desperately searches for anything to distract himself: first, he checks the backyard of the house where they took refuge, then leaves it, blends with the crowd and wanders forward aimlessly. It's strange, he used to manage it much easier, but now he had a heavy heart. It was a really long time, since he felt that bad for hurting someone. Was it in her interest? Probably. Was it worth it? That he would find out later. Would he do such a thing to her ever again? Not even if she begs him to.

Nikolai keeps roaming around, his mind is fogged, but his body seems to find ways across the town automatically. In a couple of hours he finds himself leaning against the door of their flat, looking down on a small bag of tangerines, which he brought for some reason. He questions himself, what was his idea behind that. “Hey, I know, you are down, in pain and you can't leave a bed. And it was cruel to say all the things, I have, but I needed you to not give up on this mission, and I only had this one shot to make things right. Anyway, here are some tangerines, please don't hate me”? Nik winces of a mere thought of such an explanation.

He leaves a bag on the kitchen counter and heads to the bedroom. It is silent there, rare sunbeams are swaying and flickering along the faded wallpaper above the bed. She scribbles something frantically in a little notebook and doesn't even look at him, until he gets down to meet her gaze. “We have two weeks. I've convinced Price, we can pull this through.” She knows what Nikolai was hoping to hear and doesn't make him wait for it, but he doesn't leave right after he got the news. “Prosti*.” He reaches out to her, but his hand freezes as she answers. “You did the right thing, so no hard feelings, Nik.” She smiles, but her gaze is hollow, lacking of any emotion. He wishes, she instead slapped him in the face, shouted at him or at least told him go fuck himself for being like that to her - at this point anything would be better than her empty eyes and fake smile.

For a first couple of days, she is working on a plan constantly, not leaving her bed. Nikolai practically has to drag notebooks, printed charts and maps out of her hands every night just to make her sleep a bit. He still helped her here and there with bandages, cooked for her, and just tried to always be somewhere around in case she needed him. But little by little her strength returns, and the movements cause less and less pain. 

One evening, Nik is sitting in the living room, half asleep to the blaring of the TV, when he hears shuffling footsteps behind. She comes in  holding notes in one hand and a pencil in the other and sits down on the couch next to him. Nikolai immediately reaches for the remote control to turn off the TV, but she stops him. "Let it mumble. I don't understand the language anyway, so it doesn't distract me." She looks over her notes for a while, then sets them down on the coffee table and tries to concentrate on a show instead, constantly shifting her weight, trying to get into a position where her back wouldn't touch the back of the couch. He watches her for a while, and then in one motion he puts her legs over his knees, so she leans sideways on the back of the couch. “Better?” She smiles at his question. ”This way I'm going to break my neck trying to enjoy what ever is going on there.” Nik chuckles, extending one arm and cradling her lightly, so that she could rest her head on his shoulder and watch the show in peace. “Stop acting like a piece of furniture. You are not a cushion to rest on.” Her voice is sleepy. “I was aiming more for acting like a gentleman. And your head doesn't turn me into a pillow.” They keep watching the TV in silence for some time, but then Nik starts explaining her, what is going on and why the audience is laughing. At some point, he looks down and meets her gaze. “Thank you, Nik.” She didn't look away and, noticing his puzzled expression, added. “For saving my useless ass.”

“Still trying to be a gentleman here, little one… So you are not dragging me into commenting on your ass.” 

***

She towers over the table, dragging fingers down a map and cursing under her breath. Line after line, she draws invisible ornaments along the streets. But it seems that every path keeps failing her. Nikolai understands, it's not safe to interrupt her right now, but he can't stand another minute of her desperation. “Show me where are we stuck.” He leans down to the table besides her. “It's not that I practically have to orchestrate a street riot here. It's that there are just the two of us.” She irritably touches the tip of her pencil to several intersections. "I'm barely moving, I won't have time to intercept them in these places. And you can't do it alone." Nick covers his face with hands and hisses. "C`mere." He takes her hand and leads her to a chair. "Sit down. And please listen to me." She limply sinks to the edge of the seat, Nikolai leans closer. “Price sent me to help you, not because of my pretty eyes. He said you needed a fixer, remember? Well, great news: you have a one now. I’ll get you anything you need, arrange any meeting. You need people? I'll gather you a fucking army. Need arms? Name it and I'll have it wrapped in a gift paper for you by the morning. Need to burn this nest of filth? I'll get you matches. Now stop thinking about what we are lacking and use me for gods’ sake!” His deep, rumbling voice sounds menacing: it's high time she found a place for him in this operation. “Tell me then, fixer…” A small, vague smile appears on her lips. “Are you up for a ride?’

***

This is yet one of the strangest scoutings, he has ever taken part in. Their car creeps in silence along the central streets past dark windows. The city has long fallen asleep, and at this late hour the two of them do not meet anyone on the streets. She occasionally taps his shoulder - a sign to stop the car. Then she exits on the street, claps her hands loudly for a few times and stands there still, listening to the echoes. But it didn't bother Nikolai, since every time she returned with a satisfied grin. When they are back at home, curiosity gets the better of him. “What sort of gig are you planning?” “A little song for my fixer to sing along. Don't worry, I'll take you on a soundcheck.”

Days and nights of preparation followed. They hardly saw each other: Nikolai gathered reliable people, prepared locations, and she kept working on her putting together mechanisms, mixing substances and correcting their plan.

***

Nik wakes her up in the middle of the night before the operation. They silently drink coffee in the kitchen, get ready and leave for the improvised intel center, he arranged for her to lead the operation from. 

“Nikolai, this hardly fits the definition of a secluded place, away from prying eyes.” She looks around the spacious, empty room, with a panoramic view of the city center. In other circumstances, she wouldn't be bothered by working in an unfinished skyscraper in the center of the city. But this building is literally in full view of everybody. “Saved the best seat for you. Besides, you know what they say: the best place to hide something is in plain sight.” Nik helps her to arrange remote controls and checks the room once more. Despite still having troubles moving around much and suffering from pains, she looks surprisingly content, walking along a huge window. 

“I'm leaving you my jacket in case it gets too cold.” She didn't answer, so Nikolai comes closer. “You ok?” Something disturbingly jolly flickers deep in her eyes. Something unkind. Something sadly familiar to him after many battles. “I'm fine. Go, we have a nest to burn there.” “Just promise me to sit here and don't get reckless, ok? I want to come here, when it's all over and find you right in this room, safe and sound” He lightly pats her shoulder, trying to get any answer.

“I'll be safe and sound, that's a promise.”

***

From the outside, it might look like a pure chaos: angry shouts, tossed stones flying forward, an irritated crowd growing every minute. But a few people in the crowd know that what is happening on the street isn't the result of a combination of random circumstances. This is a trap set by the hands of an invisible hunter, snares placed in the path of prey. An invitation and a dare.

Nikolai isn't sure that the 'crackers' would have the desired effect, and gradually rounds the perimeter of the crowd like a shepherd. But when the first one goes off behind him with a deafening crack, his first instinct, overtaking common sense, is to duck. A series of loud pops really resemble the echo of shots. His people in the crowd, knowing that this was a signal for them, hurry, dragging the crowd forward with them. Every time the crowd reaches a new intersection, another batch of crackers drives people in the right direction. The first rumors that civilians were being shot at spread almost instantly. Nik couldn't help but grin at the ideal timing and effect her little sound traps had on the crowd. In a way, this really feels like a song. A quite sinister one, but it still reminded him, they are together in this.

When the crowd rounds up the building, that she and Nik called ‘the nest’ - he knows exactly what is she doing right now. Forehead pressed to a cold window, fingers clasping around her elbow in anticipation, eyes glued to an outline of the building, he is standing in front of. He can swear on his life, he almost feels her pulse picking up, her lips forming silent pleads. “Come on, come on…”

Her planing almost didn't leave him any job until now. Angry crowds gathered around the fence, blocked surrounding streets, raised the tension to the point of no return. All Nik and his people are left to do is just to wait patiently, till civilians distract the security. But once it actually happens, he feels his heart rushing. He can finally break in, take place in the game, she tinkered so intricately. Nikolai takes one last look at the skyscraper darkening in the distance and smiles as he passes the fence and disappears into the shadows of the building.

“Eto dlya tebya. Smotri, moya khoroshaya.*”

***

She doesn't celebrate too early, when some footsteps echo in the back of the stairwell. It could be him, could be anyone else as well. While the sound is still far, she sits down on a chair facing the only entrance to the room and cocks the trigger. Her position is open, vulnerable - Price would kill her by himself if he has ever seen her like that. But at the end of this day, that seemed to last forever, she is powerless: her limbs are trembling, her mind is fogged. She was clearly not in the right condition to lead the operation.

Nikolai finds her clutching his jacket to her chest with one hand and holding the entrance to the room at gunpoint with the other. At this point she can't even sit straight and he feels sorry. He stops and lifts both hands.

“Eto ya, ne perezhivai.*” His voice makes her loudly exhale and slowly lower the gun. She bends over and buries her face in the heavy folds of his jacket for a few moments. His hand covers her back, careful enough to not touch the blisters formed on the scorched skin.

Nik gives her time to calm down and doesn't speak till she lifts her face once again to him. “Are we happy?” To have him back in one piece can already be counted as a success, but she needs to make sure, the mission is not failed this time.

“Oh, you don't have an idea…” Nikolai smiles enigmatically and hands her a folder. "You closed that jar of spiders and shook it so well that they began to rip off each other's heads. The main gift for the captain is on the way, and this is a small bonus. We'll give it to him personally."

She quickly looks through the folder and her eyes slowly widen. “Nik… Did you read it? Do you know what it means?..”

“M-hhm, the plot is fun, but overall style… not to my liking.” He says this with a completely deadpan face and sinks to the floor by her chair, quietly relieved that she, albeit silently, is laughing at his joke. “Anyway,” he adds, “What do you think: a red or a golden one?”

“W-what?” She stops reading and looks back at him, as he pulls out two dusty cheap plastic ribbons tied in bows: one red and the other - golden. “Wanna bring Price that fancy gift? Might as well pack it.” She looks from the ribbons, he put in her free hand, to his face. “Considering the specifics of our team… red would be somewhat vulgar, Nikolai.” He closes eyes, leans his forehead against her knee and his shoulders shake with muttered laughter. “You have a point there, little one. God, it reminded me of an old dumb joke, they've told us back when I've worked in Copenhagen.” Nik cuts himself off, understanding, that she probably won't find it as funny, but she encourages him to go on. “Ok, so, a tourist from the USA walks down the street in Moscow. He looks around and doesn't notice a huge hole right on his path. Naturally, he falls down. A policeman pulls him out and the tourist asks why they didn’t surround the pit with a red tape, or at least didn’t mark it with little flags. The policeman answers him: ‘Comrade, when did you cross the border of the Soviet Union - did you see those freaking huge red flags?’”

For some time she just sits there and watches him, but after a few very long moments, she leans down, cups his face smeared with dust and speaks deeply serious. “This is the worst joke, please never tell it to anybody.” And before he finds the right words to answer her - she busts out laughing, hugging him tightly. There is so much in her embrace: highly-strung nerves, hidden pain and sorrow, untold fears - so many things, one shouldn't contain in an embrace. But Nik doesn't mind it at all as long as it makes her burden bearable: in fact, he is happy to be there for her.

*Prosti. (Russian) - Forgive me, please.

*Eto dlya tebya. Smotri, moya khoroshaya. (Russian) - This is for you. Look, my dear.

*Eto ya, ne perezhivai. (Russian) - Don't worry, it's me.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Nothing naughty or romantic here, but how would Killer Croc react to a group of kids thinking he's super cool because they think he's a dinosaur? They're not scared at all or being rude, they're just in awe. "Fuck Barney, this guy could wreck Barney's shit!"

Killer Croc in the Park

So. I ended up writing a short fic.

Tw: ableism, not particularly dark but unfortunately related directly to his appearance, implication of past drug addiction/abuse

When Killer Croc got to the park that day, he was already in a terrible mental space. He got released from Arkham on rehabilitation. Again. And again he found the outside world just as hostile as before to anyone that didn't fit their mold. Another job interview that ended before he could even get a word out.

Maybe he should try going back to sideshow gigs. The wrestling paid alright. It was that or stealing shit- not that he thought himself suddenly above it. But he's not fucking crazy like they say.

He knows the consequences of what will happen if he goes down that road again. The only time he seems to feel any kind of peace anymore is at the park. He can sit and no one bugs him. It's peaceful. He can watch the ducks.

What he didn't realize is that today he sat closer to a playground in the park than he normally would have. The moment this becomes apparent is when he sees a small girl running in front of him and then eating shit into the dirt and rocks. Before he can really stop himself, he's grabbing her up by the scruff of her shirt with his talons and setting her down on her feet.

As he speaks, the hint of a creole accent slips through, "You better watch it. Could get hurt." His voice is graveled and low- the result of teen smoking combined with his condition wreaking havoc on his vocal folds.

When her eyes open wide, he prepares himself for the screaming. That he's a monster. Scary. There's been many times he's made children cry just by his appearance. Got used to it when... that all started.

Instead of a frightened shriek, it's one of delight, "Are you a dinosaur?!"

He pauses. What. There's a moment he wants to tell her to fuck off. To scram.

He hesitates for a moment before clearing his rumbling throat, "Kid, you really think I'm a dinosaur?"

She nods, "Well- not one I've ever seen. And I've seen a LOT- my mom takes me to the museum a lot and- oh! OH! Hold on-! Don't go, okay?" She speaks so quickly he can't even get another word in edgewise. Then she's running off.

He figures she's just hyperactive until he sees a mob of small humans rushing towards him. Oh fuck, there's more of them. In an instant, the children surround him, staring. After the day he's had, he doesn't want to feel like he's on display. He's ready to stomp off when the little girl steps forward and speaks to the others, "I told you! This is my new friend, isn't he cool?"

"Is he a dinosaur?! Like... like Barney...?" A shy little boy asks.

Another boy crows, "Fuck Barney, he could wreck Barney's shit!"

Croc almost growls, "Watch your fff- frickin' mouth! Outta wash your mouth out with soap!" He points a talon and the cursing boy wilts.

"Sorry..." the kid looks nervous and now he feels bad.

"Don't be sorry," he says, "Just watch it. Too many... You're too little." He feels weird scolding children. It's not something he's done since he scolded younger cousins when he still lived nearby.

Another child in the group chirps, "What's your name?"

He almost answers his criminal name. Almost. It's what most know him as now. Yet as all these young faces look him he can't help but mumble, "...Waylon."

The girl is sitting next to him, "I knew that! My friend, Waylon."

He can't help but laugh, "Oh, yeah? Why don't I know your name, then?"

"Ella. I just forgot to tell you." She shrugs, "'Sides it was WAY more important to show you my other friends."

"Oh." He snorts, "What, you guys all like dinosaurs?" His grin is sharp and toothy. It doesn't quite look right with his lack of "lips." He can see one of the other kids looks nervous.

He stops smiling.

"Uhh um..." Ella seems to think, "Not Susie, Ethan or... Bobby. But they're not going to be mean to a new friend."

"Haven't your parents ever told you not to talk to strangers?" He finally asks.

"Yeah but that's like. Creepy people." One of the other kids is almost laughing at him, "You're not creepy people. You'd eat creepy people!"

He looks off to the side. They have no idea that he's actually tasted human flesh. Definitely not something they ever need to know, actually. Not exactly something he's proud of.

But he grins again, "Right I would. Especially if they try to hurt kids." That gets them excited.

"I bet I could fit my whole head in your mouth!" Another kid announces, "That's SO COOL!"

Before he knows it, he has several children hanging off his arms as he carries them around. Being above 7ft tall he can definitely get them high up off the ground. Swinging them lightly and safely. A couple of the more shy ones he lets them touch his ridges and claws. He's not surprised that several of the parents look over and seem frighted. Ushering their own children away. Yet none of these little beasts. It's only after about an hour and they're all laying in the sun talking that they start to get called to leave. One by one, they all laugh and tell him goodbye- that they'll see him soon!

Its just him and Ella now.

"Where's your mom?"

"Oh. She's right over there. Watching." The little girl points to a nearby tree where a woman sits on a bench, reading. She waves as the pair look over.

He hums, "How come she ain't scared? None of your parents..." he shrugs.

The question seems to confuse the girl, "Why would they be scared...? Oh. 'Cause they might be scared of dinosaurs, huh? That's for babies." She squints at the sun. She looks up. Croc looks up. Ella's mother is approaching.

"Hey, squirt." She smiles, "Having fun? I hope you haven't been bugging this nice man."

The little girl immediately goes into a ramble about all the things she did with her new friend and obviously she's not bugging him. Croc gets up off the ground and stares down at them both. Awkward. Why is this woman not acting the way others do?

The moment her daughter stops, the woman turns to him, "Nice to meet you, I'm Lenore." She reaches her hand out for him to shake.

He looks at her hand nervously, "I don't uh... I don't shake hands. I'm Waylon." He shows his claws and she takes back her hand.

"Sorry. Thank you so much for humoring the kids. They're a handful." She laughs and tilts her head.

"Nah, no- it's... it's no problem." He says softly. He looks around. When was the last time he had a pleasant conversation with someone where they just treated him like a normal person?

Too long.

He finally broaches the subject, "You all seem. Pretty okay with... with a freak playing with your kids."

Her brows move to sympathy and she shakes her head, "You're not- oh, please don't think that. Look. The truth is, it's a bunch of us parents that regularly bring our kids to the park. At first, yeah, we were kind of nervous when we first saw you." She shrugs and he winces.

But then she continues, "Derrick, he works in IT, Tim's dad, he did research that you were... rehabilitated. And some people were still weird about it... but then we noticed something."

He waits with baited breath, "What did you notice? Did I do something?"

Finally, Lenore shrugs, "It's not something you did. It's Gotham. And what we noticed is that suddenly- the park was way safer once you started hanging out. I mean. At least one of us would have something stolen, like, once a month. Creeps, super villains. Maybe it wasn't your intention, but hey. None of us are going to complain."

"And uh... the kids?" He motions to Ella who is already running and buzzing around them.

"Oh, she..." the woman is trying to think of a way to say it without offending him.

He gets it, "I look like a dinosaur. They like dinosaurs."

"She's crazy about them right now." She says, apologetic, "Just obsessed. And you know, we took all of them to the natural history museum so right now that's all they want to talk about- I'm... really sorry if they offended you."

It makes him smile, "It's not the worst thing I've been called. They're sweet kids."

Her smile in return is sweet, "Thank you. There's a lot of different people in the world. They need to know that."

"Yeah... yeah, there are." There's a moment he thinks briefly that if more parents were like these ones, maybe growing up wouldn't have been so bad for him. He's not going to say that, but the thought is there.

After a moment of silence, she clears her throat, "So hey. Waylon. Did you know that the uh. Playground here and the daycare are owned by the same guy?"

He shrugs, "Not to state the obvious, I'm not exactly a guy who pays attention to that."

"...Right. Well. Long story short, my uncle does. And..." she looks awkward herself, "I don't want to assume anything. But if you were ever looking for a job, I think I could put in a good word."

He scoffs, "As what? Hiding under the beds at naptime to be the bogeyman?"

That makes her laugh, "God, no! As an attendant. Kind of like security but a lot of it you're just watching them. At the actual daycare, on the playground. Ella hangs out there when I'm working and she's not at school..."

It's a strange idea for him. Working with kids? With his face? Jesus, he can't think of a job he'd be less qualified for.

She's quick to wave her hand, "I'm sure you have better offers. I'm probably coming off like some kind of ass- jerk." She's quick to correct herself. As the woman rubs her arm, he sees what he thinks are faint raised scars in the pit of her elbow.

When she notices him looking, she shrugs, "It can be hard raising yourself back up. Second chances are hard. Or third chances, or fourth..."

His eyes grow softer, "I hear that. How long did it take you?"

"She was three when I finally made my chance stick." Lenore smiles, "I know it's different but..."

He puts his hands up, "I'm not judging you, believe me. I uh... thanks... for sharing that. If you don't mind, I think I'd like an interview."

There's another pause between them. Then she laughs, "Do they even make dress shirts your size, big guy?"

He shrugs, "Sure. My tailor works well when I tell him I'll eat him if he makes it too small again." He's laughing and there's a moment she covers her mouth to laugh. Horrible!

Ella steps next to him and grabs one of his giant fingers in her small hand. When she smiles there's a gap from a missing tooth. Yeah. Maybe working with kids wouldn't be so bad.

[blackjackkent]

Dealt with the minotaur attack. The weird purple stuff seems to cause a condition called "Rapport Spores" which allows affected creatures to communicate telepathically. This is kind of funny bc we can kind of already do that with the parasite, but it does explain how the minotaur (I assume?) was talking in Hector's head.

Further rambly Underdark explorations...

A very unnerving rumbling/shaking starts happening as we move up north from the ambush area. "Gods, what's happening?" Hector asks...but then it stops. >:| Concerning.

Gods these maps are huge. I keep trying to be very thorough with my explorations but there's always more around a corner.

Accidentally blew up a climbing rope by trigger a trap but was able to get up anyway in a v GW2-jumping-puzzle way by hopping up some mushrooms. Entering an area called "Storehouse" which is full of more of the weird telepathic purple gas. More rumbling and shaking with no obvious cause.

Realizing I'm treating this like an expedition journal as we go along. XD

I'm assuming the storehouse is drow in origin, based on the notes from the Selunites. No sign of them yet but I wouldn't be surprised if there's another ambush waiting somewhere.

NVM, almost as soon as I typed the above, Hector's history expertise kicked in:

Smugglers, then. We met a Zhent trader in the goblin camp earlier and learned a bit about their black market dealings when Hector recognized their logo.

Explains all the wine in one of the crates. XD One was named "Baldur's Grape" which is entertaining. Nothing else too exciting in most of the boxes - mostly consumables and camp supplies, which is good bc they facilitate long rests, which I have a feeling we're going to need a lot of down here.

Broken elevator at the top of the Zhent camp. Perhaps it's like a Dark Souls elevator and needs to be unlocked from the top before we can use it? Too bad. Packs getting heavy; would have liked to dip to the surface quickly and sell things. (I know I still can with teleporting but I'm trying for realism damn it. :P )

In inventory organization news, I'm beginning to recognize the value of these storage containers we're able to pick up. They're not bags of holding, weight wise, but they do seem to have infinite slots and things put into them still show up on your hotbar inventory. So I've designated one for equipment nobody wants (carried by Karlach since she's stonksest) and one for each person for consumables and that seems like it will free up some mental load. Eventually if i can get more bags one will also be the random crap bag, bc goddamn there's a lot of that. I think I'm making an executive decision not to worry about any weapons/armor I pick up that isn't at least uncommon, too, bc all the common stuff seems basically equivalent.

[henrioo]

Hiii, since i’ve nothing to do and I love rambling, I’ll ramble abt how much I appreciate your writing.

When i first installed tumblr, i was already attacked by she/hers in fanfics (😥😥). Tbh i was tired of fem blogs, thinking everyone is fem or idk . You’re the first one piece blog i actually like. Whenever i want, i can just re-read your blog’s fics and others. I really like your account !! ^_^ finally a good one piece blog, the others aren’t really safe tbh. Like those who wrotes ‘gn!reader’ but hit you with ‘good girl, wife etc..’ or those who feminized ftm!reader.. like tf… anyway live laugh love your account (its really entertaining !!)

— SOSO’S

YES I LOVE RAMBLING TOO THIS BLOG HAVE MORE ME RUMBLING THAN STORIES PLEASE RUMBLE WITH ME

Yeah ik, honestly i know Tumblr before I even think about myself like a trans person, so having fem content didn't bother me at all at that time

But when I got back here last year I realized how much fem content exists, but I was like "nha it's fine, we still have some gn content I will be fine"

Spoilers, I didn't get fine

It's so rare to have real neutral content in gn content that this makes me so frustrated that when I started my blog, I always got this on writing "if you can't find or it's not good enough for you, then make yourself"

And I did and I went pretty fine I guess, at least my gn are really neutral I hope hahaha

But day by day got me more and more frustrated and my dysphoria was getting worse because I was missing having some real valid male content

I need my favorite look at me and say "I love you like a man, like a boyfriend, I want you to be my husband, the father of my children"

I need to read that they also see me like a man.

And then I went to look for male content and well, things can really be worse the deeper you go

And then I realized that male content here is a totally red flag and basically a big NO

Amab or afab doesn't matter, they all gonna treat you like a super shy delicate boy

You're always gonna be the bottom, and if you are the top then the bottom will be a FTM reader (why can't you top a cis man?)

You're always gonna be feminized and like panties and pink and nicknames to shame you like princess and whatever

The worst for me was seeing that most of that stuff was writing of male writers

Like, you are hating your own identity?

I'm sorry if you like to be some weird femboy that likes to be treated like a woman and a slave

But I'm sure most masc people (cis, trans, NB etc) genuinely don't like that

It's totally fine you wanting someone to validate your gender, regardless of the gender okay? That's why cis women like to be called princess and stuff

But seriously, this just makes my dysphoria really bad because omg can't nobody write just a normal male reader? It's not an alien, we are human like everyone, it's like they write about male like they never interacted with a man in their whole life?

Do you guys know that romantic and platonic relationship between gays are basically the same as a couple of lesbian or straight people? Right? We are not different from anyone

Ofc gays have their own fights but like??? Are you getting? Idk how to explain better

Then again the hit "make yourself" and that's what I'm making lol, I have a lot of hiatus due my mental condition, I'm not gonna lie about that

But I'm always doing my best to have more stories here, maybe I won't give you guys new stories every week, maybe I will take some good months on the ask, maybe I will disappear and get back

But I'm not planning on giving up on this project so soon

Writing male stories is healing not only you guys, but me, really healing me

And that's why I won't stop, I want to write about a lot of things, some stories I will talk about more serious things like dysphoria or homophobia because I think it is fair we have good stories talking about this

I want to write about comfort, about angst, about grief, about transitions, I want to write about children readers and happy families

I want to write for FTM boys, NB boys, cis boys

I want platonic, romantic, nsfw, angst, long, short

I want all

Because I think we deserve that, and if I have the power to do then I will do

And see that not only me is being healed by my blog is always what give more determination to continue

Like I said, maybe not as fast as we all wanted, but I'm promise I'm here and I'm not leaving soon

Okay I talked a lot lol hahahah well thanks for that

I'm always happy to see you guys enjoying here, it really makes me happy, so make yourself welcome and enjoy!

[faeintheointment]

Inktober: Overgrown (Creature Part 3)

Rebecca knocked on the door to Eric’s makeshift room. It was the only room large enough to fit him. He was obviously admitted when he first grew, the effects wore off and now Rebecca waited to see if he was still at this impossibly large size. His condition puzzled her, she wanted to know more about him - and not just about why he grew to giant size when in strong emotional states.

“Come in,” replied a voice from behind the door. It was Eric and the volume and pitch meant that he had returned to his previous stature.

“Hello, Eric, I wanted to call by and see how you were getting on,” she said by means of explanation of her presence.

“Well, I’m back to normal, but I don’t know for how long,” Eric replied. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, looking exhausted. Rebecca walked over and sat beside him.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” she offered. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

Eric sighed and turned to face her.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened. I just never got caught before…” he began trailing off again.

“Do you mean this is the first time you’ve grown in front of other people?” Rebecca wanted to check that she understood what he was trying to say - she was making mental notes, not wanting to write them down in case it agitated him even more.

“Yes, it happened a few times before, but always when I was outside. I usually go walking to let off steam when I’m stressed about something, and it happens then.”

Rebecca nodded, not wanting to stop him from opening up. This was a good sign - he was starting to trust her.

“I never ended up so big either, I think it must have been the situation I was in, when everyone was staring - I got out of there and it just kept on happening. I couldn’t stop it, but…”

“But?” she prompted.

“No, it’s too weird. I just ended up overgrown and terrified. I was the size of a building and I was terrified - how crazy does that sound?”

“Not as crazy as some things I’ve heard, believe me,” laughed Rebecca, wanting to reassure him.

“Well, this time I took myself here to see if they could do something. Get it to stop, but…”

“There’s an awful lot of buts here - did you not want it to stop, Eric? It’s ok if you didn’t…”

“It’s not that, it’s just, I was so fascinated by the world when it’s that small - I wanted to look at things, pick things up…”

“Did you enjoy being that size, Eric? I’m not going to pass judgement on you if you did…”

Eric nodded, and as he did, Rebecca noticed the growth was starting again.

“It’s ok, Eric, just let it happen - I’m here,” she said, sounding more brave than she felt. His feelings were more important than hers though. She got up and stood a small distance away, watching and waiting.

His body kept growing - 30, 40, 50 - now 60 ft. Once it stopped, he looked around the room for Rebecca and he was visibly relieved that she was still there.

“Are you ok?” she asked. He sighed and nodded.

“It doesn’t feel so bad now - I think it’s because you’re not scared,” he explained, his voice rumbling now to match his size.

“I’m not scared, Eric, I know you won’t…”

Her words stopped short as he scooped her up in his hand and drew her closer and studied her. She did the same in turn - although he’d just picked her up, she didn’t feel afraid. Although it was strange being peered at by someone who was just sitting beside you minutes before.

“Everything’s so different - you’re so different,” he said. Rebecca wasn’t sure if he was saying that to himself or to her.

“I shouldn’t have done that, really - I just wanted to know what it was like to hold someone in my hand like this,” he said, apologetically.

“How does it feel?” she asked, curious. She wasn’t sure herself - it should perhaps have been terrifying to be at someone’s mercy like this, but she didn’t feel that way. She felt… safe.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, wanting to reassure her.

“No, I know,” she said. She didn’t want to agitate him in case he grew again or dropped her.

Suddenly, he picked up the conversation that they’d been having earlier in the day without any hesitation, asking her about her choice in books and films. He was visibly relaxed and… almost content, but his size wasn’t shifting back down. Rebecca made a note of this as well and decided to see if Eric was the only person who grew like this. They carried on talking and even Rebecca was finding herself more comfortable in his hand as time went on. His skin was soft, and his hands were warm.

“I’ve just realised how late it’s getting!” cried Eric self-consciously, noticing from the windows that it was starting to get dark outside. Gently, he placed Rebecca back on the ground. She adjusted her clothes and smiled up at him.

“That’s ok - we’ll talk again tomorrow. Goodnight, Eric!” she turned and walked out of the repurposed store room.

After he left, Eric studied his hand where she’d been sitting and ran a finger across his palm. He’d enjoyed her being there and hoped she would again.

[actuallyava]

Villainy Day One:

Some may say I’m irrrational

But I beg to differ

Many may think of me like a rumbling volcano, just waiting for the right conditions in order to explode

But I beg to differ

A few think that I’m crazy.

Completely off my rocker and should be placed in a hospital.

That one… I don’t necessarily disagree with, but I would still beg to differ

I would label myself… as kind

Sweet

Loving

Give you the shirt off my back in order for you to feel warm (physically, emotionally, mentally…)

But I’m at my wits end

It’s funny. I also related to the characters that are out of their mind… the ones who heard multiple voices, blew up hospitals, had every trauma known to man

And there is a single trauma that I don’t have, but I understand them nonetheless

Villains are singular creatures, single party voters who don’t care about anything else that maybe on the ballot, or in this world.

People who only require one thing.

Harley Quinn- Unwavering love and affection

Jinx- Loyalty and compassion

That girl from the MindF*** series- Revenge

Joker- Well… he really was just crazy, but you get my point!

Every single one of them, and most villains that move throughout their stories only wanted one thing.

They craved it.

Yet for some odd reason, people just continued to play with their emotions, mingle with their feelings, making bad on the ONLY thing they wanted.

I’m not saying their actions are justified… but come on.

It’s not a laundry list of items, just…

One.

Singular.

Thing.

I have always wanted someone who wants me. Who would fight tooth and nail for me. Who would go even up against me for my heart. Who wouldn’t leave.

And for many years I thought I had that.

But like most villains… people just continue to not care.

They play with my emotions

Smile in my face

Make blanked promises all while just trying to get something

In many people’s eyes, I’ve always been lucky.

I was the girl that people ran to in order to be fixed, to have support for whatever they’re going through…

And they never stayed once they got it.

They always leave. They always take.

And I have to pick up the pieces. I have to figure out what went wrong. I have to apologize and cry and miss and feel like I’m the burden.

Which leads to now.

The last time.

The final straw that broke the camel’s- or whatever creature you can think of- back

I have placed all my eggs in a singular basket

And overnight, the person I handed that basket to has flipped it upside down. Breaking every option that I had.

And I… am stuck.

The final person who I thought I could trust…

Left yet again.

So now, there is no basket

There are no eggs

There is no heart to capture and beat and feast upon with the very people who they ran from before

It is simply gone.

Now I must be on my own.

And I will move as such

I’m not sorry for my dismissive attitude. I am not sorry for the anger and sadness that rests on my face. I’m not sorry for the rage that maybe displayed on later terms

Maybe that’s wrong. Maybe that’s not right. Maybe that’s the irrational and hazardous thing to do in a life when you need others

But I’m the villian

What do you expect?

[fallseventimesstandupeight]

in another life,

i would be happy, and healthy. i would've grown up cheerful and curious, a playful child who never has to question whether her family loves her. i'd never be called stupid (and thus never live the rest of my life feeling like i'm never enough), never be abused or witness any abuse (and thus wouldn't live in a constant state of uncertainty and fear and anxiety), never have to look at others with envy and sadness as i circle things on a toy catalogue and force myself to give up on things i know i'll never deserve that others are lucky to have. i would never feel like a burden for being alive—my parents would never guilt me about them working and scrimping and saving just so they could raise me. i would never go to sleep with my tummy rumbling because i secretly left more food for my family even though i was really, really hungry. i would never go to sleep with tears on my pillow because i don't know how to talk about my emotions and i don't feel safe around anyone enough to divulge them. i would never feel alone.

in another life,

i would grow up a confident teenager and never doubt my abilities. i would be able to focus at school because i wouldn't be worn out from all the violence at home. i wouldn't be a bad student, a troublemaker, a disappointment. i would study well and do well because deep down i know i can be quite smart, if only i'd been pushed towards my potential. i wouldn't skip school because i wouldn't be exhausted and anxious all the time. i would make lots of friends and i wouldn't feel sad and jealous of them for coming from supportive families and growing up with simple things i never got to have. i would bring home good grades and achieve good things, and i'd go home and tell my family about them, and my parents would let me know that they're proud of me. it would, in turn, make me proud of myself, and make me feel confident—never doubtful—of who i am. this would later make me better able to achieve the things i set out for myself, maybe even work up to attaining that masters in psychology i once dreamt of having. i wouldn't expect a reward because just acknowledgment and to know i made someone proud would be enough. i never really got anything much of that in this life anyway.

in another life,

i would be careful. i wouldn't fall for anything or anyone deceitful, because i would be from a healthy family that teaches me healthy boundaries—that nurtures me to understand that violence is never okay, that no one should force you to do things against your consent, and that, should anyone attempt to do things to me against my will, i could talk to my family and they would know what to do. they wouldn't belittle my feelings. they would take me seriously. i wouldn't fall for any tricks. i wouldn't be sexually assaulted. i wouldn't spend the next few years of my life confused and afraid and feeling dirty without understanding why. i wouldn't talk to my friend about my first sexual encounter thinking i should be proud of it, when i really shouldn't be. i would understand what rape is. i wouldn't be afraid of confronting people who hurt others. i would put people in jail if i really had to. i wouldn't be so scared of being alone. i wouldn't be so scared of not having anyone believe me, because in another life, i am healthy, and my family is healthy, and we support each other. in another life, i am close to my relatives, and i can turn to my cousins for fun, and to talk about serious things. we would be a close-knit family, like many families around me.

in another life,

i would not have a mental health condition, or at least, if i had one because of heredity, then it wouldn't be because of trauma or exacerbated by it. and because i either wouldn't have a condition or it wouldn't be as bad as it is now, i wouldn't be fighting a constant battle against anxiety every single day, and i would be able to manage it better, and it wouldn't be able to pull me undertow as easily as it does now. i wouldn't be flighty, so i would be able to commit to working full-time for years on end, and i wouldn't be financially illiterate. i wouldn't be living on money that depletes faster than they're earned. i would be smart at saving, instead of being poor, or spending my money all at once because i never really get the chance to treat myself to things or have anyone treat me, or because of that annoying symptom of my disorder that makes me rash and impulsive. i would have a savings account, and i would have a ton of savings way before i even have plans to marry or buy a house. i would have a safety-net. i would have a stash of cash saved for a rainy day. i wouldn't feel suicidal because i wouldn't fear not being able to survive. i wouldn't want to kill myself all the time.

in another life,

my mother would never have fallen ill and passed away too soon. she would be healthy and live a long age, with my father, and they would have a loving, healthy relationship till the very end. i would be close to my mother, because i always imagined that if the circumstances had been different, i would be a mummy's girl. i would hug her and hold her hand often because i wouldn't be afraid of her. i would tell her about my life and ask her for advice and talk to her about my boyfriend and best friends and anybody important to me, and she would listen and share what she thinks and there would only be love. my siblings and i would grow up close. i would never feel distant or abandoned by my older siblings. my younger brother and i would never feel isolated and depressed. we would be able to talk to each other if we had problems, and solve them together, never judge, never making anyone feel unloved. my father would never make the rest of us feel bad for being who we are. we would never feel guilty for being alive. i would never grieve a relationship i never got to have with the people in my family. i would never feel guilty and ashamed for looking for family in other people, other places. i would never feel envious of other people, even my own significant other, for having a loving family. i would never compare myself to others. i would never feel undeserving. i would never cry myself to sleep. i would never type a post like this one. there wouldn't be any need to.

in another life,

i would never live with a wounded child that cries, everyday, inside of me.

[thesolferino]

Favor

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ genre: angst, fluff

⤷ word count: 8.4k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: dream asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a day. things only seem to go downhill from there.

It started as a favor.

On a quiet night in your apartment when you stared at your phone for way longer than your eyes could physically take and rolled around on the bed, talking to one of your best internet friends, Dream, he asked you for a favor. His voice was muffled through the mic on his phone, the one connected to his computer way cleaner, but neither of you could bother getting off FaceTime and call on Discord instead - yet you still heard him loud and clear, because you burst out laughing right after.

“What the hell did you just say?” you laughed, turning on your stomach and opening the call, now entirely focused on the timer that counted every second you spent talking to him instead of your Twitter timeline.

“It’s embarrassing, don’t make me repeat it!” And for that sole reason, you wanted him to repeat it, loud and clear.

“Is this why you were so insistent on me coming down to Florida? So I could pretend to be your girlfriend at your cousin’s wedding so your family doesn’t think you’re a loser?” you laughed, finding the situation entirely absurd as he sputtered, words mashing together, trying to defend himself.

“No! No, I wanted you to come here because we’re friends and I-I wanna meet you, this is just a… benefit, of sorts.” he replied, and you couldn’t help but laugh even harder at his poor attempt of trying to save face.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” you chuckle. “What’s in it for me?”

“Whatever you want.” he responded, much too quick. Your eyebrows raised.

“Whatever I want?” you parroted.

“Yes.” he confirmed. “I’ll buy you something, if you want; I’ll even pay you-”

“Pay me?! I’m not a whore, Dream!” 

“That is not AT ALL what I was saying!” he cut in, yelling as you burst into a new fit of laughter. “It’s just… I sort of already told them I have a girlfriend and I was just hoping you’d say yes ‘cause it’s gonna be very awkward if I show up without the girlfriend in question.” 

You put your head in your hands and he sort of dryly laughed at himself when he heard your palm hit your forehead. “What is wrong with you, man?” 

“Listen, it’s not gonna be so bad! Just stay by my side for a bit, look pretty, we’ll get some drinks, and then dip. That’s it, I promise.” he reasoned.

“And here I thought we were gonna make out in front of everyone. What’s a fake relationship if we don’t make a show out of it?” you sarcastically snickered, and could practically see his eyeroll from miles away.

“If that’s what you want, then we’ll do it, by all means.” he replied and you laughed, shaking your head in mild disbelief.

“Alright, well, if you already told them, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” you huffed, pretending to be way more bummed out about it than you really were. “I’ll do it.” 

“Thank you so much, oh my God.” he replied and you chuckled at the sheer relief in his voice.

A few seconds of silence pass. “What’s the catch?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“How do you want me to publicly embarrass myself in exchange for this favor?”

“Personally, I think that forcing you to tweet that tweet about pissing yourself in bed again and also tweeting that everyone should subscribe to me isn’t “publicly embarrassing” at all.” 

“Maybe I should’ve picked a different fake girlfriend.”

“Sucks to suck, pissbaby.”

The weeks leading up to your meetup felt like years, with every treacherous minute of you two talking over muffled mics and shitty webcams feeling longer than it should, your empty apartment feeling emptier and emptier by the day. Was it even possible to miss a person you hadn’t even met yet? 

It turns out that it very much was, because as soon as the painfully long weeks were up and you were finally metres away from him, you jumped in his arms like a woman finally seeing her soldier husband after the war, standing on your tiptoes while he bent down the best he could to hug you back. His chest rumbled with a warm laugh when you turned your head ever so slightly towards his ear.

“Hello, boyfriend.” And just like that, the warm turned into a groan of faux annoyance while you burst into laughter and he pulled away, scanning your face with an equally annoyed look.

“I should’ve never asked you for that. You’re never letting it go, are you?” Yeah, you were kind of annoying with the amount of corny boyfriend jokes you threw his way - you had to give him that. But then again, he crafted his own fate and now he must accept the consequences.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise your majesty wasn’t appreciating the work I’m doing! I just won’t show up at that wedding, how about that?” you bit back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re such an idiot.” he laughed. “Give me those bags.”

A blissful week had passed, and he hadn’t pissed you off in real life nearly as much as you thought he would. It took a bit of getting used to to his family calling him Clay instead of his beloved internet username, and you did get a couple of suggestive looks from his mother the first few times she visited - you had a couple of “eye conversations” in which she never exactly asked if you were his girlfriend, and you never exactly denied it, but you knew both of you felt the weight of the unspoken words yet you had to keep everything secret and ambiguous. Or at least you thought you did, before he revealed to you that he told his mom the two of you were dating already. Seems like the glances were knowing and not questioning. Maybe you weren’t as good at eye conversation as previously thought.

Living with him was fine, mostly because he had godly air conditioning and a house that was probably way too big for him, and also a very cute cat that followed you everywhere and made living with a man for a full two weeks way more bearable. Finding out that he can’t cook was one of the most bizarre revelations about him that you’d had in the years of your friendship, and you demanded he watched as you made chicken wraps. You complained about how he was 21 and couldn’t cook for himself, he complained about how it’s 2021 and he can just order from Chipotle or something, dude.

A week of goofing around and trying to hide the fact the two of you temporarily lived together from the internet had passed quicker than it should’ve, and for the first time in seven days, Netflix was turned off and the two of you were dressing up for the wedding, ready to set off with his parents and younger sister. He spent ages trying to convince you to match with him, which was quite literally impossible because he wore a black suit and you brought a red dress, which resulted in the two of you roaming around a local mall at 10 am, half asleep, looking for a reasonably formal black dress, because of course Dream always got his way.

An hour of arguing and your fashion tastes clashing later, you picked an off shoulder black dress with a high slit, along with a pair of pumps, both of which you forced him to pay for, and went back home, ready to glam both of you up as much as humanly possible because you were not ready to let him show up in some horrendous pair of shoes and claim to be your boyfriend. 

“Is this okay?” you questioned, turning from the mirror to face him and let him be the judge of your shimmery black and white eyelids, spending way too much time on a makeup look for a wedding of someone whose name you didn’t even know. He blinked at you as his judging gaze washed over you like a wave, scanning you up and down while you nervously cocked your head, leg tapping in faux impatient annoyance to cover up the fact that you felt like prey under his eyes. 

“It’s… yeah, it is. You look good.” Dream confirmed, nodding his head at you in a movement that was way too quick and snappy and you turn back to the mirror with a huff, watching him stare right back at you. 

“Too much, right? I should try something else.” You say, grabbing your makeup remover wipes, but he cuts in before you can even wipe a single smudge.

“No, no, it looks good, I promise. Really good. Don’t touch it.” Something way too sincere in his voice makes the air tense, more tense than usual, but you drop it, deciding to just take the compliment with a tight lipped smile.

“Okay. You ready?” you ask, and he nods, nervously straightening out his suit before looking back at you with an anxious grin.

“Yeah, I think so. Do I look fine?” 

He did. He looked more than fine. You’d never seen him actually dress up for something and put proper care into his looks - he was practically forced into doing it by you this time as well - so seeing him in an actual black suit, all formal and expensive looking, messy dirty blond hair properly combed for the first time in ages, made you gulp and look away. You sort of never understood the argument that women and men can’t be friends because you were never attracted to one of your male friends, ever. Dream was born to be an exception to every rule, it seemed. 

Realising that you abruptly looked away, you attempted to awkwardly clear your throat and smile at him.

“Yeah, you do. Let’s go.”

During the ride there, his mother seemed to finally explode and the words that have clearly wanted to pour out of her mouth for ages finally came out. You supposed it was better for the poor woman, and did your best to suppress a laugh when Dream dramatically sighed and leaned against the window when she nosily spoke up. 

“So… since when have you and Clay been together? He’s told us absolutely nothing!” She spoke up from the passenger seat, shifting to look at you, excited smile plastered on her face and you politely smiled back, mentally noting that you’d have to bully the shit out of him for acting like his mom is embarrassing him in front of his 8th grade crush.

“Ah, we’ve been friends for a long while, but we only started dating a month or so ago, because it’s hard doing long distance and all that.” you said, hoping it would sound believable enough because the two of you rehearsed this a few days ago, writing out a whole backstory from how you started dating to what exact words he used when he asked you out. There were a couple of arguments here and there, such as the fact you refused to say you confessed you’ve been in love with him for years and he refused to say he admitted he’s been your “bottom bitch” for 3 years but in the end, you somehow managed to agree on a cohesive timeline of events.

“Oh, does that mean you’re going to move here?” she questioned, and that one didn’t surprise you either, Dream having prepared a full list of answers to questions that people might ask in your notes app. He was a perfectionist to the point it got on your nerves, but that had its own perks.

“No, but I’ll definitely visit more often, and if it goes well, I might as well move here.” you smiled back at her and she nodded, going back to staring through the windshield. You and Dream exchange a relieved glance that you hope his younger sister doesn’t notice.

“Let me tell you, I was waiting for you two to get together! He always talked about you, I was getting tired of him, you know that?” she giggled and you widened your eyes at Dream who, snapping out of somewhat of a daze, immediately jumped to protest, light blush adorning his pale cheeks. 

“No, I didn’t! I did not, mom, don’t lie to her.” he argued while all she did was laugh.

“Oh come on, it’s not embarrassing now that you’re together!” she kept going, and his younger sister joined in, to make it even worse.

“Yeah, you do talk about her a lot, not gonna lie.” she spoke up and his cold glare directed her way told you everything you needed to know, hanging on by a thread not to burst out laughing. He refused to even look your way, turning back to the window as his cheeks started heating up. You couldn’t help but let out at least a bit of a giggle, placing your hand on his arm in fake comfort.

“It’s okay, you can admit it now.” your tone borderlined on mocking and he knew you’d make fun of him for days to come so he stayed silent while the rest of the car burst into laughter.

The wedding was truly beautifully set up, set in a hotel wedding venue, walls painted in pure innocent white with hints of gold here and there, and you nudged Dream as the two of you observed in awe, asking what sort of money the groom had to be able to afford this sort of expensive venue. Nudging him proved to be way easier now, because you linked arms - you originally made fun of him for suggesting to walk like that instead of holding hands like normal people, telling him you’d look like you were at your high school prom, but he persisted, and you didn’t end up looking as goofy as you thought. 

“He’s a doctor or something, pretty sure.” he replied, quick feet trudging down the long hallways, your own struggling to keep up with him, especially in your heels. He seemed to be in a rush to sit and get it over with as soon as possible so he could avoid any nosy family members, but bad luck followed him everywhere, it seems, because as soon as you two entered the place where the bride and groom would unite, at least three different pairs of eyes locked on you, and you immediately saw a fairly elderly woman get up with open arms, staring at Dream with a grin on her face. You saw him immediately tense up, and almost laughed right then and there.

“There’s my boy! Oh, you’ve grown so much, come here!” The woman looked to be in her fifties and Dream let go of your arm to nervously laugh and fall into her hug, the two rocking from side to side as she kept going on about how it seemed that he grew taller and taller every time she saw him. 

When the two pulled away, her eyes fixed on you, judgingly scanning from head to toe and you suddenly realised why Dream tensed up the way he did - old white women sure had a way to make you anxious. Thankfully, he stepped in. 

“Aunt Bessie, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is aunt Bessie, my mom’s older sister.” he generously offered the explanation you were so obviously lacking and you grinned, as if that information helped you in any way, and stuck out your hand in an offer of a handshake. However, she seemed to have different plans, because as soon as she heard the words “my girlfriend” her face lit up as if she won the lottery and her lips stretched into a smile, opening her arms for you the same way she did for him. 

“Oh my God, you finally got a girlfriend? Come here!” she said, shaking her head at your outstretched hand and gesturing you to return the hug which you quite hesitantly did, politely laughing as she hugged you tighter than you’d deem appropriate. Dream came from a family of huggers - that much was apparent from him, you guess, but you weren’t exactly prepared for this.

Aunt Bessie seemed to be way louder and screechier than expected, because the word “girlfriend” boomed through the room and off the snowy walls, and at least five other family members of his turned around to check who the lucky fellow that finally got a girlfriend was. Another one of his aunts seemed to notice the commotion and suddenly, another older woman with shoulder length, dyed blonde hair, along with her two younger kids, was hurling at you as well. 

“I always complained to him that it was about time he got a girlfriend! He’s a fine young man, no wonder you picked him, honey.” Aunt Bessie shot you a knowing look and you closed your mouth in a tight lipped smile in a feverish attempt to keep down the laugh that threatened to escape you. 

“Oh yeah, he definitely is.” you giggled, looking up at Dream again who looked like he wanted the earth below his feet to open and swallow him whole. Before you could nudge him in the ribs and tease him for hours to come, the other aunt suddenly spoke up.

“Clay! Oh my gosh, is that you?” she exclaimed, shocked grin on her face, and you briefly wondered if Dream ever even visited his family. He nervously smiled, obviously not really sure who this woman even is, but he hugged her back anyway, clearly walking the line between ‘happy to see his family’ and ‘insanely uncomfortable’.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, your dad hasn’t visited since we moved to Toronto! Look at how tall you are, you’re taller than my husband now! You used to be so tiny, whatever happened to you?” Upon hearing the word Toronto he seemed to realise who he was talking to as his eyes softened, and you wondered if he really was so expressive or you could just read him that well.

“I grew up, I guess.” He awkwardly laughed and she laughed harder than she should’ve before turning to you.

“Oh, and who is this?” She said, gaze periodically switching between him and you, a knowing smile on her face which told you she definitely knew who you were.

“Ah, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is… my dad’s cousin, Mabel.” He introduced, large hand landing on your back, and you felt like you were experiencing déjà vu at the way her face lit up at the mention of a girlfriend. 

“Wow, it’s so nice to meet you, Y/N!” She said, energetically shaking your hand, before turning back to Dream. “You never told us you got a girlfriend! You’re finally planning on settling down, huh?” 

Your head snapped in his direction at the speed of light when she mentioned settling down, and you could see him tense up as well as he nervously laughed.

“Yeah, we haven’t visited in a while, so nobody from the family really knew. And, uh… we haven’t really thought of that yet, we’re taking it slow and everything.” He said and you were almost in awe at how good he was at bullshitting. The woman did nothing but laugh.

“Ah, don’t lie to me, I see the way you two look at each other! It’s your wedding we’ll be attending next!” She winked, and just as Dream got ready to fake laugh once again, her family called her over and she excused herself, walking off.

The two of you hurried to your seats as well, sitting down next to his younger sister. 

“Your family is insane, man, holy shit.” You laughed in disbelief, staring at him as he shook his head, clearly as distressed as you were.

“Literally nobody in this family gives a single fuck if I’m single or not except the old aunties. And I seem to have a shit ton of those.” He muttered under his breath. “The way you look at each other - I literally didn’t even look at you properly that whole time!” 

You cackled at that one, hitting his arm. “She’s right, Clay. You’re one fine young man, eh?” You nudged him as he groaned in embarrassment, only turning your way to glare at you. 

You didn’t get to tease him for much longer, though, because the organ started playing and the bridesmaids and groomsmen lined up, the groom standing at his designated place. The bride walked in, arms locked with her father, thin white veil covering her face as she walked down the aisle, looking angelic in her puffy wedding gown. Silky brown hair fell down her shoulders, curled towards the ends, and you could see the hint of blood red lipstick beneath the veil. She looked beautiful - the groom seemed to think so as well, because you could see him tapping the corner of his eye lightly, wiping any stray tears.

She finally made it to the end and stepped to face her soon-to-be husband as her father moved away, sitting back in his chair. The wedding officiant stepped up, and held a speech much longer than it should be, which just led you to zone out. 

One day you’d be beneath that veil, wouldn’t you? One day, you’ll face your fiancé the same way she is, and you’ll let your hearts link with a string that nobody but the two of you could snap. Who would that be, though? Who could you even trust with your heart in their hands? And you’re not aware of how and why and when, but your eyes shot up at Dream, whose eyes also glinted in that way where you knew he wasn’t paying attention, and maybe he was thinking about the same thing as you. Maybe one day, you’ll be attending his wedding, forcing one of your friends to play a fake boyfriend as he wipes his tears, waiting for his bride to get to him. 

It was disheartening, the thought of being a bystander while he locks lips with somebody else. You supposed you just liked being the center of attention, so you let yourself pretend you were his bride in your daydreams. Separating daydreams from rational thoughts was mandatory, because you weren’t sure how you’d explain to yourself that you can’t stand seeing Dream marry someone else. 

Dream, the infamous hopeless romantic, still seemed out of it, maybe even a little emotional, despite not being that close with either of the two. He was probably thinking about his own wedding as well, thinking about his future, the face he’d see when he pulled back the veil.

Just then, his eyes darted to yours, and you realised you were caught staring, snapping your head back to the couple that started reading their vows by now. You started going red from the neck up, cheeks on fire as you could feel his gaze burning into you. He turned back after a few seconds, though, probably assuming you stared at him because you were bored, and neither of you spoke, even though you kind of wish you did. What even is there to say, though? 

By the time you snapped back, the “I do”s were already being said, and her veil was getting lifted, showing her beauty to everyone present, and as they kissed the whole room bursted into cheers and applause in support of the newlyweds. The two exit, teary eyed, their parents follow close behind, and that’s when Dream’s family rushes both of you to your feet, following the two into the reception hall where the actual party would take place. 

From then on, the wedding is the same as any other. The two have their first dance, they give a welcoming speech, and Dream lets you stuff your face with cake and repeatedly refills your wine glass as repayment for dragging you into this whole thing. At some point, he stretches his hand out to you and asks for a dance like a rom-com main character, and you’re not sure exactly why he did that because he’s mostly terrible at dancing, but you had fun letting him twirl you until you got dizzy anyway.

You also realised just how much he did actually need a fake girlfriend, because it seemed like every twenty minutes some sort of relative of his would walk up to the two of you and congratulate him on “finally getting a girlfriend”. You ended up bullying him for that as well, wondering just how long he’s been single for if they’re all this surprised that he’s got a girlfriend, to which he just downed the glass of water he’d been sipping for half an hour and asked you about the weather.

His family took a few pictures with the new couple - you even got to speak to the bride at some point, congratulating her and wishing the two of them well, but in the span of a few hours, the wedding was over and the newlyweds made a great exit, signifying the end of the party. The two of you were driven home by his parents, and you waved them goodbye as you stumbled to the front door, your heels insanely uncomfortable and the red wine in your stomach weighing down on you; you just wanted to get out of this dress and into a pair of pajamas and pass out on his couch in the living room. 

That’s sort of exactly what you did - you half-assed taking your makeup off, wiping down your face a couple of times, deciding that was enough before changing into some worn pajamas and plopping down on the couch next to Dream who already claimed his place and sunk into the cushion while a random movie played on the TV. The two of you basked in the comfortable silence that surrounded you, the exhausted, tired type. You both appreciated the quiet and fell asleep sitting next to each other, wedding already forgotten.

That night, he went from Dream to Clay.

The departure was bittersweet. You left two days after that, your hug at the airport tight, warm, filled with a sugary sweet feeling you couldn’t quite place and sour acid that ate away at you because you didn’t want to leave in the slightest. His arms were warm, inviting, whispering for you to stay but you left anyway, waving him goodbye, setting off to home. 

It seemed like all your problems came and went with him, because a week later, at 3 in the morning while you were up editing a video, you got an all caps message on your Discord from Sapnap.

“YOU’RE DATING DREAM?”

You blinked at your computer screen, white letters blinding you in the dark, brain trying to keep up with why he even thought that. Within 10 seconds, another message, this time from Dream.

“so i told george and sapnap that we’re dating”

“don’t kill me pls” 

Yeah, you weren’t going to kill him, per se, but he definitely made your life a lot harder than it should be. You opened Discord, Premiere Pro and the unedited video abandoned, typing back to Clay quickly.

“WHY”

He responded immediately, as one panicked man does.

“they’ve been making fun of me for being single for ages now :(“

“we already did this fake dating thing before and it went perfectly fine”

“just play along for a month or so”

“pls”

You audibly sighed. And as if he could hear you, he started typing again.

“i’ll promote you on my channel more”

“just pls do it”

“you love me, right” 

Another sigh fell from your lips before you could stop it. Of course you did, because if you didn’t, there’s no way you would be playing into this. You typed back.

“fine”

He messaged back immediately.

“THANK YOU”

“LOVE YOU <333”

With a shake of your head, you mumbled “idiot” with the ghost of a smile flashing on your face, switching back to your video, opting to ignore Sapnap for a little bit. He could wait. 

Fake dating seemed pretty damn easy during the first week - you thought you were killing it by sending corny tweets and staged selfies so he could screenshot them and send them to the groupchat, giggling on call about how oblivious they are and how you’re fooling them so good, both of you opting to ignore the parts where they claimed they knew the two of you were gonna get together eventually. It was fun, lighthearted, and an excuse to flirt with someone you had nothing official with.

As much as all your problems came and went with Clay, though, they came and went with his friends as well, especially that hopeless man Clay called his best friend. 

Because yeah, of course Sapnap was the one to accidentally spill to the public that the two of you were “dating”.

George was streaming at what was apparently a normal time in the UK, not so much for Florida, and Clay was sleeping while you were watching his stream while making some food for yourself. It was going fine, a bit of a chill stream, and you leaned against the fridge as your oven preheated, tired eyes following his Minecraft skin. 

“Sophie, thank you for the dono! ‘Hey George, I love your videos, just wanted to ask if you were speedrunning with Dream today?’” he read out, and you could faintly hear Sapnap join the stream through your headphones. 

“No I’m not, Dream’s… I don’t know what Dream’s doing right now, actually. He’s not responding to me, though. Probably talking to his girlfriend still.” he continued, exaggerating the last part mockingly, still playing into the whiny role of being upset that Clay was ditching the two of them for you. That majorly woke you up, though, as you stood straight on your feet immediately, because oh no, nobody was supposed to know.

You exited out of the Twitch app quickly, letting the stream play in the background as you tried to fish for Sapnap’s profile on Discord and text him as quick as possible, trying to warn him to not let anybody know, but before you could do it, you heard his laughter clear in the stream.

“Yeah, Y/N, his sweetie poo.” Sapnap said, causing George to laugh even louder, before moving onto the next topic, and your heartbeat picked up an insane amount, nails loud and probably damaging your phone screen as you typed as quickly as humanly possible to yell at him because this was not planned, at all.

You heard him go quiet after you shot him a couple of messages over Discord (“SAPNAP” “ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID” “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU” “NOBODY KNOWS YET” “IM GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU”), type something to George who then fell quiet as well for a few seconds, pure horror on his face, and then went back to streaming as if nothing happened while Sapnap profusely apologised to you on his and George’s behalf.

No apology could fix what had already been done, though, and you were left alone with the warzone that was Twitter who had already speculated the two of you were dating long before while Clay peacefully slept somewhere in his house at 4 am in Florida. You bombarded him with messages and waited until he woke up ‘cause what were you even supposed to do?! 

You chose to spend your time finishing the pizza you were originally supposed to make and almost burnt your whole apartment down because you forgot the oven was on for a whole hour while yelling at Clay’s idiotic best friends. You yelled at Sapnap, who kept apologising to you, you yelled at George, who yelled back that it’s not that big of a deal because people were bound to find out anyways, and you yelled at Clay, because he was the guilty one somehow for not being awake during your breakdown. 

He did eventually wake up though, to the shitshow that were his notifications with at least thirty messages from each of you, messages from his other YouTube friends who were fairly surprised, and his entire fanbase going ham on Twitter. He was surprisingly calm about it - calmer than you were, anyways, and sheepishly said over the phone that the fake dating thing may have to go on for a little longer since you couldn’t just date for a month and then break up, and you were sort of okay with that.

And of course, the business side of him awoke at that moment, and he giddily told you about the amount of views the two of you could pull if you did the same shit you do with George and Sapnap anyway, but on livestream. 

You rolled your eyes.

And then agreed anyway. 

And so, the charade began.

His Twitter statement was up shortly, telling the people that you’d been dating for a couple of weeks and weren’t planning to tell anybody yet until a certain someone spilled their guts live, and the fact Dream was dating someone, let alone another popular streamer, took the internet by storm. You expected hate, and you got quite a bit of that, but the people that had shipped the two of you before were certainly more than delighted and a lot of Clay’s fans were supportive. 

Now, both of you had excuses to do chill streams together and just hang out and you took the opportunity and ran with it. 

You’d sit and play Geoguessr or just try and speedrun Minecraft a bunch of times for hours on end, doing stupid bits and things you’d be doing offline anyways, with a little more flirting than usual, because that’s what made it interesting.

“Oh this is France, for sure.” you claimed one night, two or three weeks after the secret was officially out, chewing on the fries you bought for this specific occasion, streaming on his alt to a few thousand people. 

“You think so? It could be Belgium, too.” he responded, humming in thought as he looked around.

“I know so.” you responded.

“How?” 

“I just do. Gamer intuition, babe.” you said, and he wheezed at your response, repeating the words gamer intuition under his breath.

“No, seriously. It is France, I know it is, I’ve seen so many pictures of that place I know it like the back of my hand now. That’s Lyon, or something.” you continued, plopping another french fry into your mouth.

“You have? Why do you know so much about France, that’s so random.” he responded, opening the map and pointing to France, although he keeps looking around, unsure of his decision.

“I dunno, I like it there. I wish I could move there.” you replied.

“Why, though?” 

“It’s pretty and heavily romanticised! Just like me!” you joked and he laughed, before letting you continue. “I dunno, it’s the city of love. Be a little romantic.” 

“The… the city of love is whatever city the two of us are in.” he said, and it took a few seconds for you to process the joke before letting out a fake disappointed sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m dating someone as corny as you.” 

At that, he bursts into wheezes, and you follow along, enjoying the sound of his laughter coursing through your headphones more than you used to a few weeks back. It feels nice, feels right, acting like this. You like calling him your boyfriend more than you think you should. 

A few weeks go by, and it feels all too natural. It feels too natural, talking to him first thing in the morning when you’ve barely even had your coffee, calling him pet names, throwing sweet words at each other publicly like they mean nothing. It feels all too natural, and nice, and all too right, and you don’t even notice when the two of you cross the line between public and private, and you’re stuck making stupid jokes about making out when you first see each other when there’s nobody to witness them except the walls of your rooms, but you don’t like thinking about that, because you know it’ll bring nothing but confusion. The current this that the two of you have is perfect to you, perfectly lighthearted and funny and fun, and you intend on keeping it that way, refusing to think about it in any way past jokes.

That is, until you can’t anymore.

It’s late, again, and you’re staring at his contact name on your phone screen, lazily lying on the bed. It reminds you of a night from roughly 3 months ago, when your whole friendship seemed to change in the few seconds it took you to process what he’d asked of you, and it feels weird, but nice.

“My mom really likes you, you know?” Clay breaks the quiet that you’ve learned to appreciate in his presence, and you exhale through your nose, the noise just short of a chuckle.

“Yeah?” You laugh, and he does as well.

“Yeah.” He reaffirms. “She thinks you’re a great girlfriend. Apparently I seem brighter ever since we got together.”

You laugh again. “I am a great girlfriend, to be fair. She’s totally right.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t know that. If you’re as good of a girlfriend as you pretend to be, though, then you’re amazing.” He says, and words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them. 

“Yeah? You wanna find out?” The flirty nature is nothing strange to the two of you, but this time it feels kinda different, it feels like you’re stepping into dangerous territory that there’s no coming back from. You feel like you’ve ruined everything, for some reason.

He laughs, like normal, though. He laughs like nothing happened at all, and you’re so, so grateful for that.

“Sure, let’s do it. You’re about to unpack the full Clay boyfriend experience.” He snickers and you laugh as well. 

“That means I just unlock the dick as well as the personality.” you respond, quick as always, and the wheeze that escapes him is so loud that it makes you laugh too.

“...Unlock the dick…” he repeats through another wheeze and you nod, laughing.

“Yeah! I mean I’m literally experiencing the boyfriend experience without actually having a boyfriend, it’s fuckin’ great.” you say and he hums.

“You could have one, though.” 

The implications are crazy, his words are crazy, he’s crazy and everything that he could mean and couldn’t mean by that is driving you crazy too, brain faltering and heart seeming way too big for your chest to contain it. It’s silent.

“I could, I guess.” 

You choose to say, and he switches the topic naturally, like he never said anything.

Things are never the same again.

It’s not in a bad way. Sure, it is kind of a bad way for the feelings you’re trying to push down inside you, a bad way for hot nights when the unbearable heat forces you to stay up even when you don’t want to and you have no choice but to think about why you feel the way you feel as you melt into the burning sheets below you, a bad way for when he jokes about finding somebody else and you feel your stomach churning. A bad way for realising that this fake dating thing is really getting to you, but not a bad way in general.

Maybe it’s in a good way. Maybe the underlying implications whenever he makes jokes about making the relationship real are good, maybe the way he calls you in the middle of the night when he’s anxious and freaking out and defends himself by saying: “You’re my girlfriend, you’re always there for me, I just figured I could call you.” and you end up wondering if it’s possible to say jokes in such a vulnerable state or if he’s serious is good, maybe the way it’s been a few months and he won’t tell his own best friends that it was a joke the whole time is good, maybe the way you confronted him about it and he said he likes having you as his girlfriend is good. 

Maybe the way the two of you are always walking the line between joking and being serious, between being friends and something more, between lies and pranks and emotional investment and fear of committing, and the way you’re always trying to push the other off, is good. 

The fans love it. The fanart is incredible (serves especially well for those hot nights when you can’t fall asleep and you scroll, watching yourself fall in love with Clay in every universe, tales told by people who observe your story and find it worthy enough to retell in their own words, to take the love you pretend to have and turn it into something real), people love to gush over the compliments he sprinkles in at random times during conversation and the general flirty dynamic is loved by many, pulling in more views and attraction for you. 

And you suppose that’s good too, but at some point, the good warps into bad, bad warps into terrible, and you wonder if this is all even worth the sleepless nights, wondering if he feels the same way.

Those thoughts haunt you more and more often every day. When you wake up, and text him first thing in the morning, your brain acknowledges that the camera is off - nobody’s around, people aren’t listening, so why are you still playing the role of a girlfriend and starting up a conversation with him when you haven’t even brushed your teeth properly? When you’re editing in the middle of the day and he calls to keep you company, making more stupid boyfriend jokes, your stomach flips in a weird way that makes you hate him, hate the way he can joke about these things so freely, like it doesn’t hurt him. Like it doesn’t affect him like it affects you. 

But, as much as you wish you could hate him, you couldn’t bring yourself to, and that was the worst part. Because, in reality, whenever he laughed you’d smile without realising you did, whenever anything exciting happened to you he was the first one you went to, whenever you wanted to laugh or cry or sit in silence for hours or complain you always went to him, the one person who you know would listen. In reality, whenever he made a joke about giving up on the fake dating and making it real, you wished so bad that he was serious this time, that this was what it took and he’d crack and all of your suffering would end.

It eventually happens.

It’s a pretty chilly morning, birds chirp outside and the sun that slowly rises is covering the kitchen floor in a golden hue as you pour milk into your cereal with one hand and hold your phone in the other, letting Clay ramble about whatever it was this time, when he brought it up.

“So, when do you wanna come down to Florida again?” he asks casually, and you almost drop the gallon of milk in your hand. 

“What?” 

“I said, when are you coming down to Florida again? Last time you came was pretty fun.” he says, and an empty silence follows. There’s an unsaid “I miss you” that you don’t hear, and he’s too afraid of saying it. 

“Florida wasn’t exactly on my schedule this month, man.” you say, placing your phone on the counter for a second. Clay sure knew how to surprise a person.

“Well put it down, then.” he jokes, and you hum.

“What, you got another wedding coming up?” you giggle and he groans - you never really stopped making fun of him for that wedding.

“No, I don’t. Can’t a man just miss seeing his beloved girlfriend?” It’s unbelievable how quickly dread can wash over you as soon as he makes one of those jokes. You were convinced the mix of anxiety and butterflies that appears in your stomach was gonna kill you sometime soon.

“He can, he’s just being weirdly insistent.” you argue nonetheless. “But sure, I’ll consider it.”

You do more than consider it - in a few weeks, you’re back at the airport, and falling into his arms has never given you such an adrenaline rush in your whole life. Something about having him wrapped around you, close to you, the warmth of his body radiating into yours sent you spiraling, head clouded with nothing but love and the fact that you wish you could stay there forever. You wished you could press pause and cherish the moment, let yourself bask in that feeling of pure love, pure adoration that you helplessly drowned in. But you couldn’t, and you left his arms feeling oddly empty. 

Hiding the fact that you were unapologetically head over heels for him proved to be a hundred times more difficult when you were right there, next to him, talking to him, when you could just kiss him any second, feel his lips on yours and nobody would stop you - the opportunity was right there, looming over you, the devil on your shoulder taunting you, telling you to do it. 

You got to wake up in the same house as him, watch his hair stick out in different directions and his raspy morning voice as he complained about the smell of your coffee, watch his eyes glint whenever he talked about something he liked and observe as he carried around Patches like a little baby. You got to experience every bit of domestic without the consequences of committing, and you wondered just how far this would go. For how much longer would the two of you blatantly ignore the fact that you were a couple that slapped the title “fake” on it because you were cowards who refused to admit what this truly was. 

Not for long, apparently, because you grew tired, and decided to put an end to everything on one random Thursday night - and if he hated you forever for it, then so be it. 

You were sitting on his couch, watching a random movie together, drowning in one of his Dream hoodies while you chewed the popcorn he made. It was dark outside, just past midnight, and you could see the branches of a tree swaying calmly through one of the nearby windows - the silence while he scrolled through his phone lazily was comforting too, everything was lazy and serene and it would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the constant anxiety that gripped you by the throat whenever you were in his close proximity, the nervousness that killed you, the upset feeling of wanting to cuddle up with him but knowing you can’t because you guys are just friends, and nothing more.

The couple on the screen kiss while a violin plays in the background - how fitting. Maybe that’s what pushes you to the edge, or maybe you were just that sick and tired.

You were exhausted, beyond exhausted. Your eyes were tired, the anxiety was morphing into annoyance and anger and you were ready to give up on it all. If this ended the friendship, at least you two had a good run. Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know, you still owe me a favor in return for pretending to be your girlfriend.” you say, and you sound gone, zoned out, more than you wish you were. You hear his phone turn off with a click.

“Yeah? What do you want?” Clay asks, and you blankly stare at the TV for a few seconds before turning to face him, eyes burning. 

“Kiss me.” 

It’s silent. The characters on screen are arguing. You hear the wind through one of his open windows.

“What?” he asks, voice cracking, and his expression falls. You’ve fucked it. Oh well.

“I want you to kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like someone’s watching and you wanna make it believable.” you say, eyes boring into his, your words having nowhere near as much of an effect on yourself as they do on him. Your eyes sting like they’re being lit on fire, and your throat is sort of closing up, but it’s fine. “Let me have this before I go, because once I leave, I don’t wanna do this anymore, Clay. I can’t pretend like I don’t want you to introduce me as your girlfriend and fully mean it. I can’t lie to your face anymore.” 

Silence. Deafening silence, once again.

“I love you.” he blurts out, and you don’t even register it at first. “I don’t want this shit to be fake either. God, I really don’t. It hasn’t been fake for a while now, at least not on my part. I’m sorry, it’s just- it was easier to keep this bit going than it was to actually admit that I’m… into you.”

And once again, the room falls into silence, much like it always does whenever the two of you share moments like these.

And then, you burst into laughter.

“So… so you mean to tell me, that both of us have liked each other this whooooole fucking time, and just refused to admit it and ‘pretended to date’ instead?” you burst into giggles, and he looks sort of hesitant to laugh, but he does anyway.

“I mean… yeah? I was waiting for you to call me out for doing all that when nobody was watching! Why did you never call me out?! Don’t blame me, I made it so damn obvious that I wanted you!” he protests, and you almost can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Excuse me? You should’ve just fucking told me instead of making a million and one jokes about how I’m your girlfriend! We’re not in middle school, Clay!” you argue.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d catch on and talk to me about it at some point! You never called me out for anything!”

“So what, I’m supposed to just read your mind now? You’re fucking unbelievable.” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest and turning away in annoyance. As soon as a warm hand lands on your shoulder, though, the annoyance melts like wax under fire, leaving nothing behind.

“I still haven’t returned that favor, you know?” he whispers in your ear, breath fanning your neck, closer than he should be. The hairs on your neck stand up as you turn back to Clay, who wore a mischievous grin and a glint in his eyes that suggested no good. 

You suppose bad can be good, sometimes. 

As his lips press onto yours, that theory is proven true, because he sends a flicker of fire burning down your spine, spreading into your limbs, making your fingertips electric as you pulled him in closer, hand snaking up to grip at his hair - the everlasting grin against your own proves, once again, to be no good as his hands slip under your hoodie and grip your sides, but you think you enjoy this sort of bad. 

They sneak up further, and you hear him chuckle into the kiss as your insides melt at his touch. The two of you silently agree that maybe he should ask for favors more often.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Worth Waiting For (Part 2)

Fandom: DC, Peacemaker, Christopher Smith, Vigilante, Adrian Chase

Word Count: 4566

TW: Coma, Hospital, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Cheating, Heavy Making Out, Language

Notes: This chapter introduces Christopher Smith x Reader. Thank you so much to @babblydrabbly for beta reading and all of your incredible support for this series. 💖

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (Coming Soon)

Even in your restless sleep, you feel his fingers trail lightly over the side of your face. A small smile pulls at your lips, but you try shifting away. However, the fingers follow you, tracing across your cheekbone over and over. You would recognize those thick, calloused fingertips anywhere. They have been one of your greatest forms of comfort these past few months.

With your eyes still closed, you mutter, “Chris, I’m trying to sleep.”

“I thought you promised me you wouldn’t sleep in the chair anymore.” His low voice rumbles high above you.

You slowly open your eyes to see him staring down at you, his face twisted in concern. “I got off work and had to see him. Then I just couldn’t make myself leave.” Your eyes shift past Chris to the bed where Adrian lays, silent and still. Almost exactly as he has been since he was admitted four months ago.

He’s lost a lot of weight, not that he ever had extra to lose in the first place. His pale, sunken cheeks are hard to make out behind the feeding and breathing tubes, and you long to see his beautiful green eyes staring back at you, to hear his silly laugh or unending chattering, to feel his hand squeeze yours.

But there had been absolutely no change in his condition and the doctors still couldn’t tell you if he would ever wake up or what he would be like if he did wake up. A bullet to the brain was as unpredictable as it was dangerous. And even if Adrian did wake up, there was a chance he would have brain damage which could affect his mental or physical abilities or his memory. So, even if he did manage to come back to you, he might not be able to remember who you were. And that thought scares you almost as much as him never waking up.

“You should go home and change,” Chris says softly.

Glancing down at your Fennel Fields uniform, you shrug. “My next shift starts in a few hours. There’s not really a point.”

You can tell he wants to argue with you, but he holds his tongue. Instead, he asks, “And when was the last time you ate?”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Chris, I’m fine. I appreciate you looking out for me, but you don’t have to hover so much. I’m an adult and can take care of myself.”

“Then do it! You’re starting to look just as bad as he does! You need to sleep in a real bed and have an actual meal. Not just the junk from the vending machines or gas station!” His tone is starting to become more heated as he places his hands on his hips.

“He needs me-”

“No shit he does! But you slowly killing yourself like this isn’t going to help him at all!” Chris’s angry expression softens as he looks down at the floor and mutters, “I know you miss him, but just sitting here all the time isn’t doing him any good. Right now, there’s nothing you can do for him but take care of yourself so you’ll be in your best shape when he wakes up.”

You nod softly, biting your lip to try and keep the tears welling up in your eyes from falling. You know he’s right, but it’s been so hard focusing on yourself when you knew Adrian is waiting, hurt and alone, back at the hospital. And though there isn’t anything you can do for him, it felt wrong not to be by his side every chance you got.

Plus, you missed him. So much that it hurt. And while it wasn’t much, seeing him like this was still better than not seeing him at all. Especially today.

“I’m sorry. I just…. I did plan on going home but today I just needed to be near him.” You say apologetically.

Chris nods, “Yeah… I figured today might be tough for you. But I got you something.”

“What? Chris, you didn’t have to-”

He cut you off as he thrust a box into your hands. “I know it’s not the same as getting a present from him, but happy birthday.”

You stare down at the gift in shock. “How… how did you…?”

“Adrian mentioned it a long time ago and I had a cousin whose birthday was also today, so I remembered. That’s why I stopped by. I didn’t want you to be alone on your birthday.”

Alone. The word felt like a knife to the heart. Because as much as Chris had meant well with what he said, it only reminds you that even though Adrian is in the room currently, he’s not really here. Truthfully, you are alone.

Chris sees the pain suddenly bloom across your face and he takes a step back, his own face a mix of panic and regret. “No, I’m sorry, I guess I was being stupid. Of course, you would want to be alone with him today. I… I’ll just…”

He quickly lays the package down on the table and hurries out of the room without another word. You stare after him, not quite sure what to do. He hadn’t meant to upset you, hell, he was only trying to make you feel better.

Your relationship with Chris had dramatically shifted since Adrian had been injured. Before, you had barely tolerated each other. Yet, you both knew what the other meant to Adrian and had just dealt with the fact that if you wanted him in your life, he came as a package deal. So, you tried your best to just ignore Chris when he came around. To you, he was just a rude, crude, idiot who put your boyfriend in danger time after time.

However, as you got to know him better as the two of you sat around Adrian’s bedside late into the night, you realized there was so much more to Christopher Smith than you ever imagined. He had told you about his dad, about his brother, how he was raised, how he was arrested, what happened in Corto Maltese and how he almost died, how he reconnected with Adrian and how the 11th Street Kids were formed. You had known some of this from Adrian but hearing Chris’s side of things made it so much more real. As time passed, you started to see beyond his asshole exterior. And you liked what you saw. And maybe… just maybe… you weren’t so alone after all.

Jumping up and grabbing the present, you quickly hurry out of the room. You can see Chris at the very end of the hall, just about to turn towards the elevators.

“Chris.” You run down the hall after him. He stops when he hears you and turns back as you slow to a stop in front of him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin things. It’s just a lot right now and I’m all over the place. But I really do appreciate that you thought to get me a gift. Do you want to stay so I can open it?”

He thinks for a second then nods. “Yeah, okay.” He leads you into one of the small waiting rooms just to the right of where you are standing. Surprisingly for this time of day, it is empty.

Sitting down in one of the chairs, you open the box and peer inside. You aren’t quite sure what you are expecting, but not in a million years would you have ever been able to predict this. With a small, slightly confused chuckle, you remove the small, clear case. Inside you can see a bunch of instruments you recognize from the last time you had your eyes examined and a folded-up eye chart.

You pull out a flashlight-looking thing and hold it up. “Um… Are you trying to tell me something here, Chris?”

He seems just as confused as you are. “I thought you would like it. Adrian mentioned you were going to that medical school where they teach you to work with eyes or whatever so I just thought you might need some tools.”

It finally dawns on you what happened. And for the first time since you got the phone call about Adrian, you let out a real, mirthful laugh. Chris is still staring at you, unsure what is so funny, but you are laughing too hard to explain. Part of you knows it isn’t as funny as you are acting like it is, but it is the best thing to happen in months. Finally, after several minutes, you calm down enough to choke out, “There seems to have been a mix-up. I think you thought I was going to school for Optometry. I’m going to school for Oncology. You know…. a cancer doctor?”

“Oh. Yeah. I can see why you were confused.” He tries to take the present back but you jump up and snatch it from his hands. You can see immediately he is trying to hide his embarrassment and you try to reassure him.

“But I love it! I really do! Just the idea that you remembered is so much more than any gift could be!” Your voice drops, some of the melancholy from before seeping back into your words, “Besides, it doesn’t really matter anyway. I dropped out when Adrian….”

“Why?” Chris asks.

You shrug slightly. “I knew I would never be able to concentrate on my studies. It’s hard enough to continue to work at Fennel Fields when all I want to do is be here. But trying to pass medical school? No, there was no way. Maybe someday I can go back, but for now…. It’s just a dream that was.”

“Why did you want to be a cancer doctor?”

Sighing, you sit back down in the chair and Chris sits down across from you. “My dad died of stomach cancer when I was eight. And ever since then, I wanted to do everything I could to try and make it so other children, other families don’t have to go through that.” You chuckle humorlessly. “But I guess I should have gone into Neurosurgery. Then maybe I could do something for Adrian.”

“You are doing something for Adrian. You being here, day after day, would mean everything to him. So, don’t sell yourself short.” He smiles at you.

Biting your lip, you finally work up the courage to ask what you have been wondering for a while. “Chris, why are you being so nice to me? I get I’m your friend’s girlfriend and all, but when you do things like this-” you gesture to the present in your lap “- it seems like we might be more than that.”

Chris shrugs. “Aren’t we? I mean, at this point at least? I’ll admit before Adrian got hurt, I couldn’t stand you. You were always trying to ruin our fun and stand in the way of us keeping the peace. But I also didn’t give you much of a chance. I get that. So, when I got to know you better here, I realized how cool you really are.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at his words. “I’m cool, am I?”

He smiles. “Yeah, yeah, you’re pretty fucking cool.”

Dipping your head so he can’t see the wide smile that is spread across your face, you say, “I think you’re pretty fucking cool too.”

The two of you sit in the warmth of your words for a moment before Chris exclaims, “I almost forgot! There’s one more part to your present and I promise I didn’t mess this one up.” He reaches into the bag he has with him and pulls out a container with a slice of cake in it. “Everyone needs cake on their birthday.”

You feel tears start to well up in your eyes. “Chris…” you breathe. But then you grimace, “Wait, is that chocolate cake? I’m so sorry, but I’m allergic to chocolate!”

Chris’s face drops like a rock. “No… but I… I’ve seen you…I thought…”

Your sorrowful expression is quickly replaced with a sly grin. “Got you! I love chocolate! You picked the perfect piece!”

Chris stares at you in disbelief before jumping to his feet and storming to the door, the cake still in hand. “Oh, fuck you! Making me think I screwed something else up. Just for that, you don’t get the cake.”

You leap up and chase after him. “No! I’m sorry! Now give me my cake!”

The two of you playfully struggle for the container, you even jump on his back at one point. Finally, Chris hands you the cake and you let go of him. Grabbing two forks off the nearby food cart, you hand one to him. “Well, are you gonna help me eat it?”

He smiles as you settle onto the couch against the far wall, and he sits down next to you. Silently, you both begin to pick at the cake, forks occasionally fighting for a bite. When the last crumb has been consumed, you glance up at Chris and stifle a giggle. “You have a little frosting on the corner of your mouth. Just there.” You point to the left side of his lips.

“What, here?” He rubs his arm over his mouth but when he moves it, the frosting is still there.

“No, right here.” You slide over closer to him and run your finger over his lips without thinking about it.

But the second you touch him, Chris tenses up, instantly making you realize what you are doing. You freeze, your finger still resting on the corner of his mouth. The two of you stare at each other, neither one quite knowing what to do. Softly, you stutter, “I, um- I-”

Searching your face for any sign he should stop, Chris moves even closer to you, your knees now bumping up against one another. When you don't protest, he reaches up and cups your face in one large palm while his other hand rests firmly on your thigh. You inhale softly before whispering his name.

His fingers lightly trace your jawline, and you let out a low moan of desire as your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back. You had gotten so used to Adrian’s constant habit of touching you (whether it was his arm brushing up against yours, his foot bumping into yours, his hand stroking your thigh, his face nuzzling into your neck) that you had begun craving the slightest contact only weeks after he was injured. Even just playing around with Chris over the cake had been more human contact than you had received in months. But this…

Your finger which still rested in the corner of his mouth slowly begins to run along his bottom lip and he nips at it gently. Chris slides his hand behind your neck and begins to pull your face closer to his. And as you open your eyes to see his face getting closer and closer, you realize you want this. You want this so badly. Not just because you longed to feel someone touching you this way again, but because it is Chris. You want Chris.

And then he is all you can see, his face just inches in front of you and still moving closer. Your noses bump lightly as he tilts his head, lips just a hair’s width apart, then-

“Wait…. Wait, I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” You pull yourself from his grasp and hurry off the couch, your back towards him. With a shaky breath, you say, “I love Adrian. I do. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And even if right now that means I’m just waiting for him, then so be it. So, I can’t…”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry if I crossed a line.” You can hear Chris stand and begin to leave but you whirl around and grab his hand.

“No, Chris. You didn’t do anything I didn’t encourage. I should have said something earlier, shouldn’t have let it get that far, and I’m sorry. Maybe…. Maybe if things were different. But at the end of the day, my heart belongs to him.”

“Yeah, I know.” He scoffs sadly as he brushes the hair gently off your forehead. “He’s one lucky guy to have someone like you.”

Then he turns and walks out of the room, quickly disappearing from sight. You continue to stare at the spot where he had just been until you finally crumple to the ground in a heap of tears and regrets.

Five days go by and you haven’t heard a word from Chris. You know you should reach out, but you still don’t know how to feel about what happened. Part of you thinks you did the right thing. That you love Adrian and you promised to wait for him. And you do want to wait for him, to be with him forever. But another part of you can’t stop thinking about Chris’s fingers trailing across your jaw, the look in his eyes as he drew you in closer, his lips just inches from yours and growing closer before-

A knock at the door startles you from your thoughts. Turning around in your chair, you see Emilia standing in the doorway holding bags of fast food and drinks. “Hey, Chris called and mentioned you hadn’t been eating that much. I thought you might want lunch.”

So, he’s still trying to look out for me even now. You smile and offer up the seat next to you. “Thanks.”

You had met Emilia Harcourt shortly after the Butterfly Incident. Adrian had dragged you along with him and Chris to visit her in the hospital while she was recovering. She was sarcastic, blunt, sometimes harsh, and you liked her immediately. You noticed besides the things from the so-called “11th-Street Kids”, she didn’t have any cards or get-well-soon gifts. And from what Adrian said, it seemed as if she didn’t have many friends outside the group. So, you started visiting her on your own, and soon, the two of you had formed a rather close friendship.

She had kept her distance the first few weeks after Adrian had been admitted due to your outburst at her that first night. She said she didn’t want to add to your pain or burden but eventually once you had calmed down, you reached back out to her. Just as you came to accept that Chris wasn’t to blame for what had happened, you also accepted that Emilia wasn’t at fault either. Adrian had made the choices he had and that was on him and him alone. Plus…. You had missed your friend. And you needed every friend you had to help you get through this. So, though it was a little strained at first, the two of you had soon gotten back to normal.

She takes a seat as she hands you a bag of food and a drink. “Any news?”

“No. No change. Nothing at all.” You stare at the bed as you pop a fry in your mouth. “Is it horrible I’m almost hoping for some bad news at this point? Just so there is some sort of change. At least then I would know something. Instead of being in this infinite place of nothingness. Then at least, I would know what to do.”

Emilia unwraps her burger as she asks, “Know what to do about what?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should tell her. But you really need to get it off your chest and she is the only other person you can talk to about this. “Chris tried to kiss me a few days ago.”

Emilia raises an eyebrow but honestly doesn’t seem that surprised. “Did you let him?”

You shake your head. “No. I pulled away right before he could.”

She shrugs as she takes a bite of food. “So, you stopped it. No harm done. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But what if…. What if I wanted it to happen? Isn’t that just as bad?” you ask in a hushed tone. You stare at Adrian’s prone form in the bed in front of you. “I promised him I would wait a thousand lifetimes for him, but now it’s only been a few months and I almost kissed his best friend. I wanted to kiss his best friend. What kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you human. You’re hurting right now and are looking for someone to lean on. It’s perfectly understandable that you and Chris would turn to each other given everything that happened. Both of you are feeling a similar pain and you are taking comfort in each other. That’s all.”

“But what if it’s not all? What if… what if it’s something more?”

“Then you have to think long and hard about what you want and what you can live with.” She sighs as she puts down her burger and leans in closer to you. “Look, Vigilante is a great asset to my team, but he’s also become a friend. So, as much as I don’t like admitting it, realistically there is a chance he might never wake up. Are you really willing to stay sitting in this chair for the rest of your life alone? Or can you accept that he would want you to be happy in his absence and see what happens with Chris?”

You hesitate, thinking over what she just said. “But what if-”

“No buts. No one has any idea what will happen and if you just keep waiting for all the answers, you’ll never have peace. So, wait for Adrian if you want. There’s nothing wrong with that as long as you are okay knowing there is the chance you may end up alone. He might wake up tomorrow or he might never wake up. And even if he does wake up, there is no telling what kind of memory loss or brain damage he might have. He might not remember any of us anyway. Or just try things out with Chris. See what happens. And if Adrian wakes up later, you can deal with it then. But you can’t keep stringing Chris along. So, make a choice and deal with the consequences.”

What she had said was harsh, but you know she is coming from a good place. And besides, it is exactly what you needed to hear. As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, you send a quick text to Chris asking him to stop by tonight. It’s time you make a choice. And he deserves to know.

When you walk out of Fennel Fields that night, you immediately see Chris leaning against the side of Adrian’s Sebring. You stop walking, letting the rest of your coworkers go past and drive off until the two of you are the only ones in the parking lot. He’s staring at you with an expression you can’t place, his arms crossed over his wide chest. Finally, he speaks up. “I’m here. Now, what did you need to talk about?”

“Not talk. Just this.” In a half-dozen steps, you close the space between you and press your lips against his. You can feel his shock at your action, but he is soon hesitantly returning the kiss. You try drawing him out, encouraging him on, but he still holds back.

Eventually, he pulls away and looks at you, face twisted in confusion. “I thought you said-”

“I do. I still love Adrian. But I can’t deny that I want you, too. He might never wake up and I don’t want to lose you waiting for something that might never happen. I need you, Chris. I need you in my life, holding me together like you have been doing these past few months. But I realize now, I also need you.” And with that, you once again crush your lips into his.

This time, there is no hesitation. He grabs your waist and pulls you flush against him. The feeling of your smaller body pressed so tightly up against his massive frame is almost overwhelming. Everything about him is just bigger. Though only a few inches taller than Adrian, Chris seems to loom over you in a way your boyfriend never did. He is broader and much more muscular than Adrian could ever hope to be. And while Chris’s strapping appearance had once intimidated you when you first met, you had recently learned how gently and surprisingly soft he can be when he wants to. Just like he is doing now.

As his lips are devouring yours, one hand remains on your hip while the other begins tracing the curve of your neck, sliding the collar of your shirt off your shoulder. Then, his mouth begins following the same path his hand took seconds before, and you shiver as his lips brush against the tender skin of your throat and collar bone. Now that your mouth is free once more, your moans and whimpers are more audible, and you are glad there is no one else around to hear you. With a breathy gasp, you fall back against the car and he follows, pinning you against the cold metal. And as his lips find yours once again, you realize that for the first time in four months, you feel alive again.

Three days have passed since your first kiss, each day filled with more and more intense make-out sessions. You still aren’t ready to go further, but Chris surprisingly seems to understand. You had been worried he might try to talk you into more, but he was fine taking things slow. He knew how big of a step this was for you and he was willing to wait until you were ready to go further. Yet, you had already started thinking about it. About showing up at Chris’s trailer in the middle of the night. Straddling him on the couch, letting him do whatever he wanted to you while you came undone beneath him.

Biting your lip at the thought, you pull out your phone to text him. Suddenly, alarms fill the air as every machine in the room screeches to life. Frantically, you begin scanning all the screens, trying to make sense of whatever they are trying to convey but the numbers don’t make any sense to you. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see it. Just the smallest of twitches, yet as you stare, Adrian’s finger moves. Gasping in disbelief, your eyes hesitantly slide to his face. Taking a step closer, you whisper, “Baby?”

There is a moment when time itself seems to freeze around you. The screaming alarms and commotion in the hall fade away and there is nothing in the world but Adrian and you. Then, ever so slowly, his eyes drift open. They shift lazily around the room, trying to get his bearings but you can see them light up in recognition the moment they land on you. And behind the tubes covering his mouth, you can see the smallest hint of a smile.

You collapse onto the edge of the bed, scrambling frantically to grab his hand, to make sure this isn’t a dream. And as soon as you squeeze it, he squeezes back. “Adrian! Oh my God! You’re awake!”

Tag List: @babblydrabbly, @loverhymeswith, @lacontroller1991, @11thstreetvigilante, @spooky-ghosts, @green-socks, @skvatnavle, @yespolkadotkitty, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @bewitchedignition, @myguiltypleasures21, @heresathreebee

[synnthamonsugar]

19 w/ Toland and Eris?

19. After the storm had passed

"Why don't you call the storm?" Eris asks, quite abruptly, as she and Toland are holed up inside ruins on the edge of the Cosmodrome, waiting for a downpour to lift.

"I'm well served by sunsinging and voidwalking," Toland responds. "Arc has nothing to offer me."

"That isn't true . . . and even if it is, I saw you staring earlier. You might not need it, but you want to learn, don't you?"

Had he been staring when she decimated the acolytes and knights gathered in the bunker? It's not like he could avoid looking, not when she was bright enough with white-blue energy to sear afterimages in his eyes as she weaved in and out of visibility, dashing and cutting through the horde with precise slashes until all that was left were mounds of smoldering soulfire. The charge in the air had made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He doesn't respond to her cajoling. Suggests they head out now that the rain has let up.

Even if some of the pressure has lifted with the passing storm, petrichor and humidity hang heavy enough in the air to smother. In the distance, lightning flashes between piles of dark clouds in bursts of orange and purple. Thunder rumbles through the ground and his chest.

They've just crested a rain-slicked hill when Eris gestures for his right arm with her right hand. "I have an idea."

He tilts his head.

"I was thinking," Eris says, "Stormcallers draw their power from the sky itself. Well, the atmosphere is rich with charge. Under these conditions, perhaps I can use my arc-light to jumpstart a connection."

"Eriana says the only way to learn is to meditate," he replies dryly.

"Good thing I'm not a warlock," Eris retorts, and he feels flustered by the defiance in her voice. "Are we trying this or not?"

Some part of him thrills at the idea, stupid as it seems, thrills as Eris' total confidence in it. Trying to play it cool, he simply responds "As you wish, Hunter."

Without hesitation she reaches out, curling half-gloved fingers around his banded gauntlet. Her thumb comes to rest at the juncture of his hand and wrist. He feels a wooziness that he mistakes for arc passing through him before realizing she hasn't done anything yet.

"I haven't tried this before," she admits without a hint of doubt. He's less embarrassed by the thought of her frying them both than failing to marshal his Light into something usable. He's distracted by everything: the guardian pressing against him, Solar and Void prickling at the surface, by Guren's incessant tittering from wherever he's flitted off to — goading that he cannot hear, but senses nonetheless. Does the best he can to shut off those thoughts and open a path to her.

He's felt other Guardians' light before and vice-versa. In thanatonautic visions, where it's spilled like blood waiting to be collected by Ghost or Sunsong; in warlock rituals of binding and amplification. The light of his kind is refined into the purest form of its constituent element, ready to summon without further preparation. He finds a hunter's . . . curious. Raw, brimming with potential. He suddenly knows why they can form so many toys and tools with it.

She doesn't have to ask if he's ready, not verbally, not mentally, as an instinct-deep agreement is made light-to-light. He's been on the receiving end of arc before, Guardians in the Crucible, or Eriana on a bad day, or Sai when she's stirring mischief. But this feeling is different. Passing through without damaging, collecting, waiting for him to . . . he isn't sure. Eris is tense beside him, waiting, holding on.

Focusing their energies, he flourishes his hand in the way he's seen warlocks do before, expecting nothing or death. Instead, there is a crack of electricity, worse and better than he'd feared. Eris lets out a staccato laugh — relief, he thinks, from her suddenly relaxed posture, from the softness of her grip around him before she lets go. It rings in his ears like the distant thunder.

His hand tingles and head buzzes, from arc or Eris' touch he isn't sure.

[tssidesfics]

Requests: Analogince where they’re human and also single dads? And they all meet because their kids fought and got called to the principals office

Virgil's POV

Upsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you got to raise a beautiful, special boy with a sharp mind. You got to teach him all the coping mechanisms you'd painstakingly learned over the years to cope with his condition and watch as he lit up over the things that brought him joy. You got to watch as he zipped from topic to topic, brighter than the sun, mind racing at a million miles an hour. You got to be the first person to hear about his beautifully creative ideas. You got to have a reason for living, all yours and wonderful, that you didn't have to share with anyone else.

Downsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you had no one else to pass the buck to when he got in trouble at school.

"It'll be fine," I chanted to myself for the billionth time as I turned off the ignition and unbuckled myself, gripping the steering wheel and forcing deep, measured breaths. "It'll be fine. He probably won't get expelled for this. This is his first fight and you don't even know why he got into a fight. You didn't raise a bully, so he was probably defending himself or another kid." Terror clasped me around the throat and squeezed. "But what if you did raise a bully and you didn't realize it, and now you've sentenced your son to a life of crime trying to make up for the hole in his heart where his father should have loved him oh God I broke my son!"

Immediately, my therapist's voice spoke up in my mind. You're catastrophizing again, he said in that obnoxiously aware, gentle way of his. Calm down. Take it one step at a time.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on the feeling of my stomach and then my chest expanding with air. I let it out through pursed lips, a quiet whistle in the exhale.

I'd played through scenarios like this a million times in my mind. The second Cassie told me, five months pregnant with tears streaming down her cheeks, that she didn't want the baby, I'd prepared myself for any possibility. I'd created contingency plans and contingency plans for my contingency plans, because I knew how much harsher the world would be on him. With a grandparent, his biological mother, and me all with ADHD, there hadn't been any doubt Drew would get it, too, and I'd prepared for that. I'd prepared for the possibility that poor grades and emotional dysregulation would put him on the back foot and even get him expelled. I'd taught him all the coping mechanisms I could. I'd tried to show him as much love and patience as I could muster, and I'd show him the same now. We'd get through this. We would make it through this.

I nodded, resolute, even as doubt and worry niggled at the back of my mind. I'd raised Drew alone, without any support from my parents or Cassie, working a call center job that barely paid enough to live off of. I'd demanded a child psychiatrist the second Drew started displaying symptoms and beat the system for the help he deserved. I'd beat the system for the help I deserved. I was a badass. I was a badass.

I got out of the car.

The two people at the front desk--a woman with strawberry blonde hair and a baby-faced guy--looked over, presumably torn from their conversation, when I walked through the door. The woman swiveled her chair to face me with a friendly smile. "Hello there," she said. "How may I help you?"

I forced myself to look her in the eyes and strained through a smile. If you act like a weirdo, it'll just make things worse for Drew. "Hey," I said. "I'm, uh...Drew Griffith's father. You called me and--"

"Oh!" She gestured to the side, at a door that read: PRINCIPAL MOROZOV. "He's in there."

I looked over and gulped, staring in fear at the door. "Say, uh..." I smiled at the woman as politely as I could. "You wouldn't happen to know the correct social etiquette for talking to the principal after your son gets into a fight at school, would you?"

She gave me a funny look. "Huh?"

"Never mind." I hung my head in defeat and commenced the walk of dread to the front door of the office. The wall facing me was all glass, which meant I could see inside. Two adults, one natural-haired in a polo shirt with his arm around one of the kids in the chair beside him and the other behind a desk, looking stern. I couldn't see the other two kids or any other adults.

And then Principal Morozov spotted me through the glass and shit, I was out of time.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. "Sorry it took me so long," I said, hoping that was the right thing to say. "It was hard getting off work."

"It's all right," Principal Morozov said. "We haven't even reached Mr. Accardo yet."

"Hey, Dad," came the halfhearted voice of Drew, hidden behind a chair too big for him, especially when he slumped in it like that.

I peered over the top and smiled at him softly. "What the heck, kid?" I asked.

"He called Patton a freak." Drew pointed at the kid in the middle, with a busted nose and--oh God.

He had scattered burn marks across the right side of his face, with two differently-colored eyes and a scowl.

"So of course you had to beat me up," the kid sneers. "Because that's a perfectly rational, healthy thing to do."

The third kid--Patton, I presumed--bounced in his seat, humming in distress. His father, a man wearing glasses and a polo shirt with a tie, rubbed his back.

"I don't see why my son has to be here," the other father said, looking at Principal Morozov. "He didn't do anything."

“Patton sits alone at lunch time and doesn’t have any friends,” the principal said. “We think if he tried to get along with his peers better, he’d have a happier time here.”

“Or, you know, you could make an effort to teach your students not to bully kids who are different from them,” I grumbled.

“What was that, Mr. Griffiths?”

I hesitated, glancing up at Principal Morozov, then back at Drew. On one hand, I wanted to lead by example: teach Drew that it was okay to stand up to authority for what he believed. On the other, sometimes, you had to pay lip-service to authority just to stay out of trouble. It was a lesson no child had the mental capacities to understand, but I supposed I’d have to do my best to teach him, because if I gave Principal Morozov cheek, he might expel Drew.

“Nothing, sir,” I said, feeling like a child cowering beneath the glare of my teachers again. I prepared to search for the bullshit in the story I was about to get fed and asked, “What happens now?”

"I'd prefer to wait for Mr. Accardo," the principal said.

"Roman teaches at a high school," the bully grumbled, slouched over with a glare fixated on the desk. "He's probably in the middle of class."

"Then you're going to have to stay after school to address this," Principal Morozov told him sternly.

"Whatever."

I had a very bad feeling about that kid. The scars on his face told a frightening story. He could just as easily be bullied for those as Drew got bullied for his ADHD and Patton for being a loner, which probably meant he turned that abuse outward and attacked others for their perceived differences in a never-ending cycle of abuse.

What? I could be bad at people and have a special interest in human psychology. Those two things were not mutually exclusive.

Suddenly, the door banged open. I jumped out of my skin, clamping a hand over my chest and struggling to breathe levelly, eyes crushed shut and body frozen. Then I heard the babbling.

"I'm sorry!" The principal's door opened. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. The kids were in the middle of rehearsal and--Janus, what happened? I'm so sorry, Mr. Morozov." A frazzled man with warm skin rushed inside and sat down next to the bully--Janus--hastily hugging him and turning his attention to the principal.

I frowned at the scene. I withheld judgment and looked at Principal Morozov as he said, "All right. Now that you're all here, there are going to be some serious consequences to what happened today."

********

"I can't believe you let him give me detention!" Drew whined. "Janus deserved to get punched!"

"And you deserve to die abandoned and unloved in a ditch, steeping in your own feces," Janus snapped.

"Janus," his father, Roman, said firmly, kneeling down and taking him by the shoulders. Janus tried to turn away from him, but Roman lightly shook him and made him meet his eyes. He softened. "I know how much you're hurting, but a hero never redirects his pain onto others. There are other ways."

"What if I don't want to be a hero?" Janus snapped. "What if I want to be the bad guy?"

"I don't believe that," Roman said gently, adjusting his bangs. "I don't think you do, either."

Janus turned from him sharply, crossing his arms and glaring at the asphalt. He sniffled.

Drew glanced up at me in confusion and I rubbed his back. "Sometimes," I said gently, "when people are hurting, they deal with that by hurting other people."

"That's stupid," Drew said with the blunt confidence of a ten-year-old.

"Maybe a little," I agreed, "but humans aren't always logical." Drew wrinkled his nose. "I know. It's so annoying, but it's true. You're not always logical, either. Remember when you burst out crying because your pencil broke?"

"Dad!" Drew turned bright red.

Roman chuckled. "So." He stood up and crossed his arms. "You're the little rascal who dared challenge Janus to a duel for--Patton, right?" He looked at Mr. Davis--or Logan, as he'd introduced himself--who nodded. "You're the rascal who challenged Janus to a duel for Patton's honor," Roman finished.

"He was being an asshole," Drew protested.

"I'd say it's not my fault he uses that language," I said through a wince, "but it's definitely my fault he uses that language."

"I'm the same way with Janus, don't worry." Roman chuckled--a low, rumbly sound. He turned back to Drew. "You're got a paladin's heart and a temper. I was a lot like you when I was a kid."

Drew snorted. "You think you're cute, don't you?"

"He's always like this," Janus said, shoving in front of Roman. "He thinks it's so inspiring to talk about heroes all the time, like fairy tales are the best thing ever."

"That's gotta be annoying," Drew said, wrinkling his nose.

"It is." Janus stopped and scowled. "Don't relate to me!"

"Ew! You're a jerk! Get away from me!"

I exchanged a fond, exasperated look with Roman, who chuckled and squeezed Janus' shoulder. "Hey," he said, "maybe, if you apologized, you could have a friend."

"I don't want to apologize."

"So you'd rather another kid think you're a horrible person!"

Janus hesitated a moment before straightened his back. "Yes."

"I don't believe that."

I glanced over at Logan and saw that he was busy talking to Patton, kneeling on the ground and smoothing his hands over his shoulders in measured strokes. It seemed to soothe Patton. I looked at Drew.

"You know how it sometimes hurts you when you think about your Aunt Cassie?" I said softly, pulling him into my side as the shadow washed over his face.

"He called Patton a freak, Dad," Drew argued. "He's not even really my friend, but he's not a freak. He's just...different. Like me."

"I know, kiddo," I said, squeezing him against my side. "You don't have to give him a chance. He hasn't asked forgiveness, and you wouldn't owe him one even if you did. I just know you don't like to see people struggling alone."

Drew hesitated.

I looked over at Logan. "How's Patton?"

Logan glanced back at me, then looked at Patton. "Do you want to answer?"

Patton hesitated.

"It's okay," I said, not looking at his face. Patton hadn't made eye contact with a single person, including his father, since I'd met him. He clearly had more trouble with it than I did, and I wasn't always a huge fan. "I'm autistic, too."

Patton immediately perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah." I smiled, looking over the top of his head. I looked at Drew. "Can I tell him about you?"

"I'm ADHD," Drew told him, turning to him. "I got diagnosed last year."

"Oh cool!" Patton flapped his hands at his sides and bounced eagerly. "I don't, I don't think, because I'm actually pretty good at focusing most of the time and I have a really good memory, but Dad says autism and ADHD are really close together. It's really nice to meet someone else! I don't have many friends."

"Well, I guess you have me," Drew said. "I didn't get in trouble defending you for nothing."

Patton squealed and continued stimming enthusiastically. Drew offered a hug, which Patton considered for a long moment before accepting.

Logan smiled softly at the exchange and looked over to me. "You've raised a very kind son."

"More than half of it is all him," I said. "I do the best I can, but...I'm just one person. He's probably gonna hate me once he's a teenager."

"Nuh-uh!" Drew objected, charging over to embrace me around the middle. I smiled and hugged him close, squeezing him as tight as was safe. He grunted.

I caught Janus staring at us. I couldn't read his expression. He was glaring, but I had a feeling it wasn't anger. But clearly, Roman did understand it, because he knelt down and hugged him close, even when he tried to push him away. He just held fast. I thought for sure Janus would react badly--he hadn't wanted to be held, what was wrong with Roman?--but then he slowly relaxed and leaned against him. I still couldn't read him very well, but that...didn't look particularly resigned.

"You know," Roman said, pulling back after a long while, "I bet Drew and Patton would be willing to forgive you if you really, really earnestly apologized."

Janus shoved away from him, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground. "I don't want to apologize."

Roman sighed heavily, and Drew whirled on him. "You're such a freaking jerk!" he screamed. "What's wrong with you? Why do you have to be a jerk to everyone? I tried to be your friend and you just spit on me!"

"I don't want your pity!"

"It wasn't pity!"

"It's always pity!" Janus screeched. "You think I don't know what these scars make me? You think I don't know I'm a freak? If the fire didn't teach me that, then my parents sure did! I'm nothing! The only reason anyone would be nice to me is pity and I don't want anyone's pity! I just want to be left alone!"

Janus turned and ran. Roman chased after him frantically, never sparing Logan or I a glance.

Drew and Patton stood stunned. Drew looked at Patton, who stared at his forehead. "Well..." he said. "What the heck am I supposed to do now?"

Patton ran in the direction of Janus.

At that point, about the only thing for Drew and I to do was chase after his new friend, hot on the heels of his father.

We found Patton with his backpack unzipped, standing beside Janus' car door, already buckled in with Roman partway into the driver's seat, holding out a picture of a flower.

"It's ivy," Patton said. "It means friendship."

Janus stared at him through the window, unmoving. Patton, to my shock, held his gaze for one, two moments and then averted his eyes. Logan hurried over to hold him, clearly expecting Janus to reject him again.

Janus opened the car door. "Why would you want to be my friend?"

"He didn't say he wanted to be your friend," Drew sneered. "He just said it meant friendship, dummy."

"Drew," I chided softly, and he recoiled into my side.

"Because it's nice to know I'm not the only one who can't make any friends," Patton said. "I like having other friends who are special."

"I'm not special," Janus snapped.

"Dad says that being different is always special, because different people have discovered some of the coolest, prettiest things ever."

"It's true," Logan said. "Albert Einstein, Hans Christian Anderson, and Michelangelo. were all autistic."

"See?" Patton bounced and beamed at Janus. "So maybe we can all be different and special together and do really cool things one day! Like the three Musketeers."

Janus considered strongly. "I'm Athos."

"You can be whoever you want to be!" Patton said earnestly. "Then we can all have lots of musketcheer."

Drew, Roman and I choked on a laugh. Logan shook his head fondly. "He watches one sitcom that likes puns and he suddenly won't stop," he said.

Even Janus cracked a small smile. He accepted the paper. "Fine," he said. "We can have musketcheer."

Drew pouted. "Does this mean I'm your friend now?"

"Yes," Patton said firmly, looking at him.

Drew jumped, looking fearfully at Patton, who somehow managed to look intimidating while also avoiding eye contact. He looked up at me. "What have I done?" he asked.

"Made friends." I rubbed his back. I looked around. "We should probably get all these guys home. They've had a long day, and school will be letting out soon."

"I guess now that all our kids are friends, I'll be seeing more of you," Roman said to both Logan and me.

Logan hummed. "I presume so. Patton does not own a phone of his own. I can give you my number if your children wish to contact him?"

"I hate to say it, but you should probably get him his own phone," I said. "It's dangerous not to have one. If I ever lost sight of Drew...I'd rather he have a phone."

Logan considered this. "I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, for the moment, you'll have to go through me to reach Patton."

"Don't have to ask me twice. Here." Roman accepted Logan's phone and typed in Janus' number, then passing it to Drew, who stared at it for a moment.

I recited his number to him and he punched it in. "Don't worry, kid," I said. "One day, you're going to have to tell so many doctors your number that it's going to be emblazoned on your brain."

After all numbers had been exchanged, I shook Logan's and Roman's hands goodbye and let Patton and Drew embrace again. Janus stayed stubbornly in his seat, refusing any sort of affection, which kind of concerned me, but then Roman whispered, "This is the most receptive he's been since I started fostering him."

I nodded and smiled, leading Drew back toward the car. He looked at me. "I guess I have friends now."

I glanced back toward Roman's car as it drove away and caught Logan's eye as he loaded into his own. He smiled at me.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I might have, too."

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 18

Hello everyone! Here she is! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me and this chapter. I hope it lives up to the hype and the wait lol. I'd also like to say that I will still be writing and finishing this series as well as my other in progress ones. However, I'm currently feeling like I'm not that interested in Harry right now and I feel like it's mostly all the drama and everything going on with him right now so updates will be slow. Also I've changed my theme to a Marvel x One Direction theme because I've decided to take one of my Bucky Barnes plot and actually publish it. I'll still post Harry because of course I love him but he won't be the main focus of this blog anymore.

Thanks for waiting and reading. Hope you enjoy the chapter! X

Harry's good under pressure. At least looking from the outside in, he is. It's a skills he's picked up from boxing. Always pretend you know what's going on. No surprises, no shocks. If he's in a fight and his opponent is stronger or faster than he originally thought, he doesn't show it. Acting like it was expected, like he planned it rattles others and helps him maintain his grace.

He keeps that same approach when it comes to interviews.

Liam meets him outside the gym, waving with a bright smile that Harry just smiles at, shocked to find his trainer in the parking garage rather than the ring.

"What's going on mate?" Harry greets, trying to step around him to get to the stairs but Liam halts him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Gotta reporter here who wants to chat with you about recovering from your concussion and reaching the finals."

His tone is laced with hesitance, lips pursed in suppressed grimace and Harry doesn't blame him. Liam knows how much Harry hates interviews. They're his least favorite part of the job. He's here to box and get paid, to provide for his family, not to tell the world every detail of his life.

"Oh," Harry mumbles, shrugging and stepping up to the door. "Alright. Only for a few minutes though, wanna get home a little early today."

If Liam is surprised by Harry's ease he doesn't show it. "Got something going on?"

Harry follows Liam inside, nodding to Mark at the front desk. "Y/n has just been exhausted lately and Arlo can't spend a second alone without screaming bloody murder. Just want to be there to make sure she's resting and Arlo's not being a pest."

"He's your son, of course he's being in a pest."

The comment leaves too much pride in Harry's chest for him to even care that Liam just insisted he himself is a pest. Besides, Harry knows he's clingy and a little too attached but that's just how his relationship with y/n is, and they love it.

In his private locker room,Harry finds the reporter, a young girl who can't be too far out of undergrad with dark hair and a bright red lips. She's sat on the bench, a notepad on her thigh and her phone resting next to it.

"Hello Mr. Styles." She greets, shaking his hand when he approaches her. "I'm Rebecca Weese."

Harry takes a seat next to her, nodding. "Nice to meet you. I don't have a lot of time today but I can answer a few of your questions if we can make it quick." He smiles guiltily, hoping to not come off as rude.

She nods, immediately glancing down at her notepad and crossing some things out. Harry assumes they're questions she's decided aren't important enough. "Is it ok if I record this? Just sound of course."

Again, he nods, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie as he waits for her to begin. Tapping at her phone, she places it between them to catch both voices and then scans her notes again.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you've only been boxing for a few years, right?"

Harry shrugs. "I trained a lot when I was teenager, worked under Ted until he decided to bring me up to the pros. Was about 20 I think when that happened." He tries to stay vague, knowing he can't tell the public that his "training" was an illegal boxing ring.

"Five-Six years is a short amount of time to be included in a tournament like this one. Most contenders are well into their careers before being qualified to participate. What do you think has been the main factor in your success?"

Routine question, and he's got a routine answer. "I was fortunate enough to figure out early on that boxing is what I wanted to do and I think that helped out a lot. I also got a very good team behind me. My trainer, manager, my wife, they're all the main factors in my success. I'm very grateful to have them."

Rebecca smiles a bit, jotting down a few words. "Does your wife work in the industry?"

It's her casual tone, as if she were a friend just wanting to hear him brag about his lover that has him answering so honestly.

"No she works in design but I met her early in my career and she's always supported me. Takes care of me after bad matches and whatnot, always comes to my fights even if it means being on her feet for hours. Which isn't exactly her favorite thing at the moment with the baby-"

Harry stops, eyes widening a bit at what he's just revealed. Part of him wishes desperately that Rebecca didn't hear him but he knows that's impossible.

"I didn't know you're a father," she says kindly, sensing his panic. "Do you want to talk about it more or should I scratch that part?"

He doesn't know what makes him say it. A year ago he'd have fled the room if he were questioned about his family. Harry likes to keep them separate, to keep his kids away from his boxing. It's possibly a small part of him that's conditioned to keep his work a secret from his family even if he doesn't have to. But Rebecca's offer to drop the whole topic is what breaks him.

"S'ok," he says "I've got a son that's about a year old and another on the way."

Her eyes light up, beaming at him and he grins shyly but somehow proudly at the same time. "That's awesome. Congrats. I know your son's young but does he have any part in your career? Influence maybe?"

"He doesn't watch any of my fights or anything. Too young to be around violence like that but he does affect my fighting in a way. I used to go into boxing with just the mentality that I'm doing something I love, but now I've got the added success. A win means more support for my family and I want them to always have what they need so I've got sort of an edge there."

"Like having something to fight for?" She confirms, and Harry nods immediately.

"Yeah. I'd do anything for them and I think that makes me a bit dangerous in the ring."

No matter what, he'll always be fighting for them. Everything he does is for y/n and his boys.

~

The house smalls of tomato sauce and pasta when Harry walks in, mouth instantly watering and stomach rumbling. He had a light breakfast this morning before going to the gym and now that's he burnt off all that energy he reckons he could eat a horse. Dropping his keys on the table in the entryway, toeing off his sneakers, and dropping his gym bag to the floor, Harry makes a beeline for the kitchen. He's so caught up in wanting to eat he doesn't notice the TV playing a Disney movie or the two figures sprawled out on the couch until one of them is calling for him.

"Daddy!" Arlo's head pops up over the cushions, dimples sunk into his cheeks and eyes bright. Harry immediately changes course, coming up behind the couch and meeting Arlo's outstretched arms.

"'Ello bug," Harry greets, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Arlo coos happily, curling up against Harry's shoulder. Y/n is watching them with a small smile, a hand resting easily over the stretched fabric of his tee-shirt she's wearing. "And hello darling." He leans over the back of the couch to press a crooked kiss to her lips.

"Hi baby," she sits up, smiling dreamily at him. "How was the gym?"

Harry shrugs, adjusting Arlo on his hip. "Was good. I had an interview today about finals and....stuff." Her eyebrow quirks up at his hesitancy to continue.

"What stuff?"

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Harry drops his gaze to Arlo. "You, Arlo, the baby." She doesn't respond immediately and he knows it’s because she’s trying to analyze him. He's fairly private about his family, especially his children and the only reason he'd informed the world of Arlo was to get people off his back about leaving y/n, so he knows she's probably confused by his ease with talking about the new baby.

"How'd it go?" She asks, pushing herself up from the couch with a hand on her belly. Without hesitation Harry reaches out to place his free hand over hers, moving her with him towards the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

"M'starving darling," he says and his stomach grumbles in agreement, making Arlo gurgling back and nudge his foot into Harry's tummy. "But interview went well. Announced the pregnancy."

"You did?" She questions, perching herself on the counter stool with wide eyes. "Seems a bit early compared to Arlo's announcement."

Managing as best he can with one free hand, Harry retrieves a bowl from the cabinet and serves himself a heaping mountain of spaghetti. "Just came out if m'being honest," he shrugs, settling into the stool next to her with Arlo still glued to his lap. "'sides it's different this time. He was my first baby and I was scared."

He doesn't realize that she's fallen silent until he's slurping back noodles and she doesn't scold him. Curiously, Harry rotates just enough to look at her. Y/n is staring at him, eyes big and moony when he mumbles a suspicious "wha'?"

"You were scared?"

Swallowing down his food, he nods. Her intent gaze brings a blush to his cheeks and he has to drop his eyes to peer down at Arlo. "Y-yeah. Didn't know if he'd like me as his dad, ya know?"

Harry's never said those words out loud, now that he's come to think of it. Whenever something's pertained to Arlo, Harry was always the positive reinforcement, the one reassuring y/n about them stepping into parenthood. He never really told her how much it scared him because he didn't want to scare her.

"I-I didn't know that," she mumbles. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, lifting his gaze from Arlo to y/n. "Because I wanted to be a good dad. Ya know, like the kind that can kill spiders and scare aware bad dreams.....Just wanted to be strong I guess."

He doesn't say it, but he knows she's picked up the fear he won't acknowledge. He doesn't want to be his dad. His father was great but the sad thing is, everything great about him was brought out by alcohol. Des needed that poison to combat his own fears and insecurities, and Harry doesn't want to be like that too. He doesn't want to leave his kids the same way he was left.

"Being scared doesn't make you weak Harry."

She leans over to press a tender kiss to his jaw, belly brushing against his side, and he thinks about those words for the remainder of the day.

~

Crouched down, Harry steers the shopping cart with one hand and guides Arlo along with the other one. By the way he's trudging along, Harry knows Arlo is getting tired of walking. It's good for him to practice though, so Harry leads him along for another few minutes before scooping him up in one arm.

"Did so well bug." Harry compliments, pecking Arlo's cheek. The toddler curls up into his chest, yawning. It's a bit difficult steering the cart with one hand but Harry manages, steadily making his way up and down each aisle. He gets baby cereal for Arlo, a couple bags of puffy hot Cheetos to stash in the cabinets, and he's stocking up on y/n's latest craving (spaghetti-o's and meatballs) when a familiar face rounds the corner.

Zayn is pushing a cart filled groceries, eyes scanning up and down the shelves and Harry curses under his breath. The last person he wants to see right now is Zayn. Last time they had a run in he said something that bothered y/n and Harry never wants anything to bother his girl.

In an attempt to hide, Harry pulls his hood up over his head, shrinking into his pullover and craning his neck to not make eye contact with his old friend. Grabbing a few cans of the fake pasta y/n is living off of, Harry sets them in the cart and quickly walks down the aisle. A man who looks a few years older than Harry moves towards him, stepping around Zayn and in front of Harry's cart.

"Excuse me," the man stops him, gaze dropping to the boy against his chest for half a second before regretfully meeting Harry's eyes. "m'so sorry to bother, didn't notice the little one-"

"It's fine." Harry cuts off, glancing at Zayn to make sure his back is still to them. It is and Harry relaxes a bit at that, but his curiosity grows. "How can I help you sir?"

The man smiles, grateful. "I just wanted to tell you that m'son and I are big fans and we're excited for your fight this weekend."

Harry knows he has fans, he's run into a few around the city but they're usually teens and kids that want an autograph. He's never had a grown man approach him about his career and it's odd. Flattering, but odd.

"Thanks man. I really appreciate your support." Harry says sincerely, smiling. The man nods in response, taking a step away from Harry. He moves to leave but stops last minute, turning back to Harry.

"Congrats on the baby news too." He says quickly, almost shy or embarrassed. Before Harry can even thank him, the man is rushing out a "have a good day" and then he's moving down the aisle.

Confused, Harry stands there for a moment trying to figure out what happened. He knew announcing the new baby would bring more attention to him in the media and he's not surprised that that man, who's clearly a fan, had already heard it. He is surprised that the man seemed almost scared to admit to Harry that he knows.

"Harry?"

Fuck.

He looks up, meeting the golden eyes that could only belong to Zayn. Harry doesn't even bother trying to smile at his old friend as he stands in front of Harry's cart. A lady maneuvers around them, murmuring a soft "excuse me sir." Harry scoots his cart over, smiling apologetically.

"How have you been man?"

Harry's gaze returns to it's impassive expression, glancing over Zayn's too-bright presence. "I've been good." Harry responds, moving Arlo to his other arm when he starts to lose feeling in his fingers. The movement draws Arlo out of his nap-like state, the toddler now noticing Zayn standing in front of them. Immediately his face scrunches into a look of annoyance.

If Zayn notices, he must not care because he smiles at Arlo, teeth dazzling. "That's good to hear. Congratulations on the baby, by the way! Saw the article up front. S'amazing!"

Article? Harry lips are just starting to form his question when his phone rings, the tune specific to y/n. "Sorry, gotta take this." Harry says in Zayn's direction, digging into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He hits answer before Zayn can even respond.

"Hi darling."

Harry wiggles Arlo into the basket. "Hi H. You still at the store?"

He pushes the cart down the aisle, not caring that he's left his old friend hanging. "Yeah I am. What's up"

The sound of a running faucet comes through the speaker. "Forgot to add yogurt bites to the list. Arlo ate the last of 'em last night and ya know how he is if he doesn't have any before bed."

Harry snorts, steering towards the baby food aisle. Arlo has fallen in love with yogurt bites and they've become his snack before bed. Harry thinks he shouldn't be having them every night and he'd tried to tell Arlo that two nights ago, but Arlo is a stubborn thing. He screamed his head off, ignored Harry's attempts at giving him fresh fruit instead, and then only calmed down after y/n nursed him.

"I'll grab 'em darling. No worries." He assures, tossing a couple bags of the bites into the cart. "Anything else?"

"Do we still have the old flower vases from our wedding in the garage?" She asks.

"Umm, I think so. You expecting flowers from a secret lover or something?" Harry jokes, eyes catching on a pack of bibs hanging in the aisle.

"Not unless you've got a trick up your sleeve Styles." She retorts.

He tosses a pack into the basket. "Buy you a whole flower shop if that's what ya want darling." Arlo grumbles from the baby seat of the cart, tiny fingers coming up to play with the rings on Harry's fingers that are locked around the steering bar.

"Don't worry about that, we've got enough flowers." Y/n laughs and he can hear her moving around the house. "Three bouquets just arrived with congratulations cards."

"What?"

"Guess the baby announcement was well accepted." She says. "We're getting lots of flowers for it."

Pushing towards the checkout, Harry frowns in confusion. "Got stopped by a fan today for the same thing. Can't believe it's such a big deal."

"Well you're more known now than when we were having Arlo." She reasons, and Harry hums his agreement. He passes the self checkouts, freezing when he spots numerous copies of his face on the ends of the aisle.

"Holy shit," he breathes, not even thinking about the innocent ears before him. Y/n gasps through the phone, scolding him for his language. "Sorry darling, s'just I'm bloody plastered all over the grocery store."

He reads over the cover of the sports magazine. It's got a big photo of him in the ring, gloves held up to his chin and jaw tight around his mouth guard. Next to it is a photo of him and y/n leaving a big fight awhile back. She's got her head down, hand snug in his as he leads her along. And written in bold yellows is "Harry Styles Expecting Baby #2 As He Prepares for Biggest Fight Yet!"

"They put me on the front page." He tells her, not bothering to flip open the article before he's quickly moving away from the display. "Why would they do that?"

When he did that interview, he thought it'd be a small, breezy section in the magazine. If he had known he'd be getting stopped in the grocery store and flowers sent to his house he wouldn't have said anything. As previously mentioned, he's a private guy, so having this detail projected in a way he wasn't warned about makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's alright Harry," y/n says reassuringly, knowing that he's become anxious at the publicity. "No harm done. It's just flowers bub and as long as we've got those vases in the garage, everyone will survive."

He chuckle weakly at her joke, picking an aisle so he can quickly checkout and go home. "Don't go digging around for them by yourself, don't need ya falling and getting hurt. I'll help ya when I get home."

"Aw my hero." She coos, and he knows she's teasing but it still makes him blush. God he loves her.

~

"Those bloody things are making my nose itch." Harry grumbles, aggressively rubbing the palm of his hand into his burning nostrils. He glares at the bouquet of peonies on the dresser, a gift from y/n's co-workers, and moves towards the bed.

Y/n is propped up against the headboard, a pair of his pajama bottoms on her legs but her shirt has been abandoned on the carpet by the bed. Arlo is attached to her hip, mouth latched to her nipple and she's stroking through his soft hair while he breastfeeds. Harry's heart throbs in his chest, warmed by the sight of his wife coddling their baby, and he's so fucking in love with her he's anxious to get Arlo into bed so he can have his way with her.

"I can't just throw them out, H." She sighs, pulling her gaze from the television to his pouty face. He huffs, running the damp towel in his hand through his hair one last time before haphazardly tossing it towards the closet. Kneeing his way up the bed, he curls into y/n's side and smiles when she tucks her arm around him.

"Stroke my hair too?" He mumbles, peering up with puppy eyes and she giggles before threading her fingers through his hair too. Arlo gurgles around a mouthful, bright green eyes opening to look at Harry. He worries for a moment that Arlo is going to get fussy and kick him away, but the toddler just blinks at him sleepily.

"Tha's ma boy." He coos fondly, squirming a hand over to pat Arlo's full tummy. Y/n giggles and continues to stroke his hair, Harry watching Arlo slowly be soothed to sleep. "Lemme get him to bed darling."

Grunting, he pushes himself up from the mattress and too his feet. Y/n transfers Arlo to his awaiting arms, swiping at the milk that dribbled out of his snoring lips and onto her skin. Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Wanna have a shag when I get back?"

A shocked laugh bursts out of her, Harry's face lighting up at the sound as his heart swells. He was trying to be a bit silly, not enough to have her eyes crinkling like that, but he's happy she finds him funny.

"Sure baby." She breathes, still grinning. His stomach flutters, excitement bubbling in his belly and he nods quickly before moving across the room.

Arlo stays cuddled into Harry's neck as he flicks on the nightlight in the nursery and adjusts the blankets in the crib. Theo watched Harry from his bed in the corner, sleepy puppy eyes following his every move. He lays Arlo down, gently shushing him when he store and tucks Bunny into his side. With a peck to his head and a quiet "good night bug," Harry partially shuts the bedroom door and rushes back into the bedroom.

Y/n has already kicked off her bottoms, leaving her naked on their sheets and Harry groans as he works to catch up with her. His shirt is playfully tossed at y/n's grinning face, Harry laughing as he wiggles out of his sweats. Naked as the day he was born, Harry jumps onto his knees at the bottom of the bed.

A laugh bubbles out of y/n when the whole bed shakes under his weight, clearly amused at how excited he is. She must be just as excited though because she quickly leans forward to cup his face, attaching their lips and bringing him back down to the pillows with her.

"Wanna be on top," he mutters into her mouth, ghosting his hand down her tummy and tickling his thumb over her clit. "f'that's ok?"

"Mmm," she hums, happily "too tired to top anyway."

Harry seals their lips together again, using his knees to spread her thighs a bit further apart for him. Her palms smooth down his sides and around to his back, a breathy moan interrupting their kiss courtesy of his fingers. Harry utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging her hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against her side. She lifts, and he settles it under her lower back and bum to prop her up. Luckily for him, he's had a lot of practice getting around a baby bump for a shag.

Settling between her thighs, Harry giggles when she wraps her legs around his hips and tugs him closer. His body hovers over hers, love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through her folds, groaning at how slick she's become.

"Don't even have to try anymore do I?" He teases with a wolfish smile, capturing her lips just as she rolls her eyes. Giggling, he leaves soft kisses across her cheek, heading towards the base of her jaw.

"S'the baby's fault honestly." She argues, her fingers disappearing into the damp locks sticking to the back of his neck.

He hums, smirking against her skin. "Is it?"

With a small tug she's pulling him back up to her mouth. "Yeah. Gets me revved up all the bloody time. I don't know what you're putting in there mister but it's exhausting."

Harry laughs quietly, nipping at her bottom lip. "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take care of ya. S'my problem after all, isn't it?"

Y/n nods, biting back a grin as Harry grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling her. Chest to chest, Harry smiles at the feeling of their stomachs pressed together as he guides the head of him into her slit.

The sigh that puffs out of her chest sends a zip of pleasure up his spine, as if she'd been partial without him and the pure relief of just having him in her is all she could ever want. Harry hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey she is for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have her this desperate for him and his touch.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He pulls his hips back, breath stuttering when he easily slips forward again.

Y/n moans softly, dropping one hand to the small of his back as if guiding him. "So so good H." She confirms in a whisper, her voice tickling his ear and he squirms with a small laugh at the sensation.

Harry's soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between them and the one sleeping down the hall. Even the kisses he places on her jaw and lips are tender, small brushes between their confirmations that he "feels so good" inside her and she was "made for being wrapped me huh?" And Harry thinks nothing ever been truer. Her arms were made to hold him, her hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and her heart was made to completely consume his.

Y/n reaches her high before him, rolling her hips up to try and quicken his but he maintains his sensual thrusts, stroking her temple as she trembles and gasps, clinging to him in every way possible. There's something about how quick she falls apart for him when she's pregnant and how utterly earth shattering it is for her, that it completely obliterates any sense of stamina Harry's ever had. He couldn't care less when he follows shortly after, grinding down into her heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in her walls. She's the one stroking his temple this time, and he knows she's watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes.

Maybe it's the lingering anxiety that washed over him at the grocery store, but when y/n kisses him and gently nudges him off of her so she can go pee, Harry's desperate as he grips her hand and pouts, practically begging when he asks "can I get back in ya after? Just to fall asleep darling?"

Of course she nods, brushing sweaty curls from his forehead to soothe him and just like that he already feels lighter. He never has to sorry with her, because they were made for loving each other.

~

"Oh fuck!"

"Would you stop being so loud! It's 8 in the morning!"

"Can't help it, darling."

Harry tightens his hold around y/n's thighs, dipping his tongue back into her slit and groaning loudly despite the warning she's already given him this morning. She tugs on his hair scoldingly, drawing a pained hiss out of him. Harry brings his teeth up to her clit, nibbling in retaliation. A pained hiss of her own leaves her lips, cut off by a soft moan as he soothes his tongue over the spot.

Grinding her hips up into his mouth, Harry can't help but push his own into the mattress and a deep groan escapes him as he does so. Huffing, y/n scolds him again for being too loud when they've got a sleeping child one room over.

"Stop yelling at me so I can make you cum." He purrs, lips brushing over her clit. Their eyes meet over the curves and dips of her body, Harry smirking when she raises a prodding eyebrow at him. He kisses her thigh just once, lapping his tongue through her slit and he's just reaching her most sensitive spot when the beginning stirs of Arlo waking up break through the baby monitor.

Simultaneous groans leave both their mouths, this time of frustration. Harry pouts, knocking his forehead on y/n's hip bone and shaking his head.

"I told you Styles." Y/n teases, stroking through his hair for a second. He can't even think of a rebuttal before Arlo is calling out softly for her, and she's pushing up from the bed to get dressed.

"Take care of that while I take care of this." She calls as she disappears through the door, snickering softly and leaving him there desperate for her. But then again, when is he not desperate for her?

~

Hey man, hope I'm not being a bother. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink Friday or something?

-Z

Harry stares at the message, wondering why Zayn would sign it when the Instagram handle is clearly him. He also wonders why the hell Zayn is trying to hang out with him now.

It's a sunny day, the air outside relatively warm for March so Harry slipped a sweater on Arlo and brought him out to the backyard to play. They're sat in the grass, Arlo between his legs as they teach Theo to play fetch. Arlo's gotten good at tossing the chew toy himself, so Harry used the free time to start clearing out the congratulations messages he's received on Instagram.

"What's the matter H?"

Harry locks his phone, tilting his head up and squinting into the sun as y/n stands over them. She's got a bowl of puffy hot Cheetos in her hand, cradling them as if they were a precious gem as she settles into the grass with them.

"Nothing," he mumbles, pecking her temple when she leans into his side. "just got a weird text from Zayn. He wants to hang out."

Crunching through a chip, she hums. "Did you know he lives here?"

She lifts up a Cheeto, offering it to him. Harry gladly takes it between his teeth, pulling it from her fingertips and crunching down on the puffy chip. Swallowing, he shakes his head.

"Ran into him at the store once around Valentine's Day," she says, eyes watching Arlo dig his stubby fingers into the dry grass. "Was trying to talk to me about you I think but your son threw a fit and I was too busy to care honestly."

"Really?" Harry asks, perking up at the idea of Arlo throwing a tantrum to keep people away from y/n. That's the only time he'll agree with such actions. "Taught him well then haven't I?"

Rolling her eyes, she elbows him. "If you're son grows up to be rude I'm going to kick your ass Harry Styles."

Laughing, he steals a chip from her, locking his phone and dropping it to the grass. Arlo, interested in the device, crawls over to pick it up.

"Wouldn't expect anything less darling." He says, reaching over to swipe his phone to the camera so Arlo can snap random pictures.

"What are you going to do about Zayn then?"

"Suppose I should see what he wants, yeah?"

Y/n shrugs but Harry can read the look on her face easily. She's always silently encouraged him to face things that need mending or fixing, and his past with Zayn is one of those things.

"S'done then," he laughs, pinching her side affectionately. "I'll figure out why he's so obsessed with me."

She laughs, throwing her head back and scrunching her nose in the way makes him want to stare at her forever. "Think it's that one he's obsessed with. Look how cute he is."

Harry follows her line of sight, smile growing at the sight of Arlo making faces at himself in Harry's camera.

So bloody cute.

~

"Are we gonna be besties? I think we're gonna be besties." Niall states, swinging an arm around y/n's shoulders. He's on his third beer of the night already and Harry hasn't even made it to the ring yet. Y/n just laughs, continuing to maneuver tape around Harry's fingers but he's not as kind.

Casting a glare at the Irish man, Harry calls out to Gemma. "Get your leprechaun off of my girl before I use him to warm up."

Niall isn't really phased by the words, only pouting softly at Harry's steel gaze but Gemma is quick to rush over and pull Niall up from the couch by his hand.

"Come on babe, let's go find our seats." She coos to him, sending Harry an apologetic smile. He waits for her and Niall to turn their backs before chuckling softly. Y/n pinches at his wrist.

"Be nice to Niall. I really like him."

"Oh you really like him, huh?" Harry huffs, nudging his knee against hers. She rolls her eyes, giggling when he slips his free hand around her waist and pulls her into his lap. "Please tell me how much you really like Niall darling." He requests, shoving his face in her neck and playfully biting at her throat and shoulder. Just as he'd expected, she giggles and squirms, Harry having to wrap her up in a bear hug to keep her from sliding right off his thigh.

"Harry! Stop!"

He laughs with her, moving up to bite at the apples of her cheeks and her nose, growling as if he were a rabid beast. His freshly taped knuckles ache under the tightness of the wrap as he grips her flailing legs but he ignores it in favor of listening to her laugh.

"I like you more! I swear!" She shouts between laughs, wiggling a hand free and gripping the back of his neck. Pleased with her words, Harry pants out a laugh before sealing his mouth to hers.

"Tha's good because I like you more than Niall too." He mumbles into her lips.

"You like me more than you like everyone." She chuckles, stroking her thumb along his jawline. Harry's eyes shine with delight, proud that she knows her place in his heart, but he still teases.

"Mmm almost darling. Quite like my son, ya know that?"

She rolls her eyes but looks at him fondly, pinching the meat of his cheek. "Cute," she murmurs, "now go get ready for your fight baby. Want everyone to see my husband's gonna be the national champion."

Her words bring a rush of blood to his cheeks (and his cock if he's being honest), but he nudges her onto the couch next to him. "Just need two more wins." He whispers in her ear, pecking her temple.

Just two more wins.

~

There's good fights and there's bad fights. Everyone knows that. But not everyone knows that there's good wins and bad wins. Harry's experienced a few of those bad ones. Wins that he probably shouldn't have gotten because he certain his opponent had landed more punches and the judges miscounted. Or it was clear the other fighter wasn't into it and let him win.

Harry thinks tonight is his worst win ever.

The fight had been good. Trinsky, tonight's opponent from New Jersey, was short and stocky but strong. Harry was quicker than him though so they'd gone back and forth for a few rounds. Nothing two rough, just enough punches to have bright red welts on his torso and an ache in his jaw.

He fought through it though, fueled by the sounds of y/n and Niall cheering for him. Win this fight and he's onto the championship match. So he went at it with all he had left, charging Trinsky just as the man knocked his fist into Harry's temple.

It felt like a lightning bolt of pain zapped through his brain, shaking his core and causing his feet to stumble. Trinsky slid to the right as Harry crashed into the ropes, blinking furiously as the room around him spun. He was still in a daze as his body moved on its own, quick enough to uppercut his left fist into Trinsky's chin. The man crumbled to the mat, out cold, and Harry's dizzy head brought him down as well.

There's cheering and an announcement of his name, declaring Harry the winner but he can't seem to focus on it. Trinsky is being moved from the ring by his team, Harry falling to his bum on the mat as he rips at the velcro of his gloves with his teeth.

The room is coming back into focus, someone is calling him from the side of the ring but he doesn't recognize the voice so it goes ignored. He gets his hands free, rubbing his fingers into the tender spot on his head and wincing. He needs to take some Advil and ice it.

Harry climbs to his feet, a bit disoriented as he ducks under the ropes to leave. He knows he's got a team here somewhere but his mind can't seem to recognize what they look like or how to find them.

"Man, what are you doing?"

He turns, confused to find two men watching him like he's grown a second head. Harry feels like he knows the warm brown eyes of the taller man but he's not sure from where. Smiling uncomfortably, he motions behind him.

"I n-need ice or something." He says, excusing himself with a shrug and turning back to the locker room. He doesn't like the way his stomach twists or how his chest is telling him he knows those men when he couldn't even tell you there names right now. His heart thunders in his chest, panic seeping in and he's desperate to find something or someone that'll just help him out.

"Harry baby," she says calmly, a hand rubbing up his bare back comfortingly. "you okay?"

Y/n appears at his side, head tilted so she can meet his nervous gaze. Almost immediately he latches onto her hand, shaking his head. Her eyebrows crease, lips frowning as she reaches to cup his cheek.

"What's going on H? What's the matter?"

"M'head hurts," he answers immediately. "I-I think I forgot my team."

A trembling breath leaves his lips, tears stinging behind his eyes when he sees the concern on his wife's face. She brushes her thumb over his temple, the one she knows got hit the hardest, and then brushes a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead to place a tender kiss there.

"Let's get you to the locker room babe."

He follows like a lost puppy, trailing behind her through the back hallway and into his locker room. Y/n closes the door behind him before anyone else can enter, twisting the lock. Harry sits in the closest chair, fiddling with the tape on his fingers as he tries to calm down.

"Do you want to talk to me bub?" Y/n asks quietly, pulling up a seat directly in front of him. He nods, lifting his gaze from his hands to her face.

"I don't know what happened. It's like I got hit in the head and everything got shook up." He explains, frowning. He hates the way this feels. Hates that his body is screaming at him to just remember but his brain refuses to accept the message. "I know them, I know I do but s'like their names and stuff are just gone."

Y/n inhales sharply, biting nervously at her bottom lip. Harry's not even sure what to say and that makes him feel so much worse. He doesn't even feel like he has a concussion, not really. Everything else is still there, still in the forefront of his mind. His wife, his boys, Anne and Gemma. And he faintly remembers sitting at bars with one of the men from his team, remembers crashing on his couch late at night. But the soul of those memories are gone.

"I'm gonna get you some painkillers and water okay babe? Then we'll figure out what to do."

He nods, smiling wetly when she kisses his forehead. Watching her move around the room to gather water and whatnot, Harry wills himself to just think. He knows these men, he's just gotta focus on it. A memory stands out, one of the three of them in a car on a road trip. His trainer is driving, his manager in the passenger seat and he knows this is a trip for a match. A recent match too because he remembers saying goodbye to Arlo and y/n, kissing her swollen belly before he went.

Y/n returns to him with a bottle of water and a couple pills, watching him cautiously as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to just think. Recalling conversations from the car, remembering the screen in the front of the vehicle that reads Connected to Liam's iPhone. Liam. Almost instantly Nick's name floods his brain again and he feels his whole body tremble with relief.

Harry takes the medicine, gulping it down and slumping into his seat. "Nick and Liam," he finally murmurs, voice thick. "I couldn't remember darling. They were right in front of me and I couldn't remember their fucking names."

A silent tear trails down his cheek, Harry sniffling as y/n wipes it away with a tender touch he's only felt from her. "Its ok Harry. We'll figure out what happened. At least you remember now baby." She tried to comfort, but Harry's heart still aches.

"What if-" he peers up at her through wet eyelashes. "what if it had been you? Or Arlo? Or all three of you? What if I-"

He can't even finish the thought before he's shaking his head, more tears slipping down his cheeks and jaw. What would he have done if he'd looked at y/n and not remembered her name? Not remembered the beautiful son they created? Or the one she's growing now?

"It wasn't Harry," she stays sternly, cutting into his spiralling thoughts. "it wasn't and even if it did happen, it wouldn't change a thing. You're not getting rid of us."

Trying to smile, he nods and takes a deep breath. He trusts her, more than anyone, and he's never known someone that fights as much as she does. He knows, no matter what, that she'll always have his back.

[sp00kworm]

Evo-23

Pairing: Zombie/Infected (Ji-woon) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Gore, Horror, Cannibalism, Graphic Gore and Wound descriptions, Death. 

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“Consider it a harmless improvement of human evolution!”

“It’s a disaster waiting to happen. It is barely tested and not ready for human use. The rewriting of the genetic code was banned for so long for this very reason!”

“And who’s to say it’s a good idea now?”

“It’s truly just a simple splicing technique. Consider the eradication of cancer and genetic diseases!”

“A disaster. An abomination to God.”

“This, my good sir, is God’s great plan.”

They made the Others, then they made the epidemic. 

 You looked at his face. Again, and again, you looked at his face replaying on the small screen, running on what juice was left in the generators you had managed to salvage from the quarantine hospital camps they had set up when it all started. His bald, freckled head, and the glasses you wished you could snap and stamp on. Cold brown eyes. He’d known and done nothing.

“Just a simple rewriting of DNA code.” You uttered as you pushed your spoon into the syrup of the tinned peaches you were eating. It tasted good enough, but it was pushing close to the expiry date on the top of the sawed open metal. Soon you would be struggling you knew. The risk of botulism would be high the longer you carried on eating canned food after the dates. You hoped that wouldn’t happen. You prayed as you checked the date and sighed with relief. Canned peaches just tasted too good. Along side it you had managed to find some very stale looking crackers, but it was a meal almost for a king in the squalor you had been suffering for the past two years. Syrup dripped over your chin before you wiped it away and slapped the recording off.

 The papers had raved about the new viral technique to removing cells, DNA and disease from humans. Rat, dog, rabbit and pig research had all gone well, showing promising signs for the virus vector to be used in all walks of life. Chimps had suffered few effects. One in every hundred had suffered mania effects, easily glazed over and removed from the public eye before the method was patented properly and set to human subjects. It was then that the issues started. Isolated manic episodes, bleeding from the nose and eyes, total loss of motor function before the body was paralysed and the blood vessels collapsed. It killed people. Five participants were killed. It killed their cancerous tumours but then it killed everything else. There was something different after that. Then the bodies started digging their way out of graves. It was covered up. Again, and again, bodies went missing in the night until one of them was gone. The cases carried on after that, bleeding eyed screaming creatures running through hospitals, cold and dead, but moving completely from memory. Then there had been the Others. The Others had evolved. Humans whose DNA had fully incorporated with the virus. They were stronger, immortal and just as dead as the rest, except they were not stupid. They didn’t run after heat and blood; they hid and took what food they wanted. They could think.

 Since the days of the beginning of the end, the Others had taken territory, carving it up for themselves as they saw fit, each with their own group of mindless brain rots. You’d done well to avoid them. They preferred it when it was cooler now as the summer sun rotted their flesh faster than it could heal itself. The heat was, for once, your friend. It didn’t solve the issue of your boiling apartment, but air conditioning was a dream you had in the night now. You’d rather the heat than the memories of the last snow, perfectly preserving hibernating zombies under the ice in the wilderness while the city zombies roamed without the risk of rotting and collapsing in heaps of half broken bones and stringy flesh. The Others roamed wild in the winter, tearing people apart while it was cool before disappearing into the subways in the heat of spring and summer. Hopefully it meant you could search for a few more supplies on the next run. You needed some plant pots and seeds if you wanted to survive, and hopefully some more drinking water.

 As you finished the can of peaches, you looked outside at the bright sunshine and grabbed for your bag by the couch. It was heavy with supplies, and you rummaged around for the small sandwich bags with pens for if you did manage to find seeds. You shoved the supplies together, along with a bottle of water and a few cereal bars before you grabbed the bush axe you had found, wrapped tightly with cord so you could hold it tightly and not send it flying. Failing that you had a bat and a small knife. You shouldered the backpack and mentally wrote a list as you headed to the door, pulling away your carefully made barricade. There was a small trap you had, and you set the bear trap across the threshold, covered by a sheet. The final touch was the swinging chair you set on the latch before you closed the door and locked it. The hallway was clear, you’d made sure to barricade each end, and you sighed softly before heading to the stairs and locking the doors behind you again, setting the boards back up against the door before you quietly headed towards the exit and out into the streets, into the blistering summer heat and rubble.

 The streets were dead. Silent except for the rustling of rotting plastic flying across the abandoned roads. The infected were down below, their shuffling and groans emanating from the sewers below. The rest were dozing in cool shade, swaying back and forth, their eyes gone and the skin of their faces gaunt. The Others didn’t look like that, or so you had been told before the rest of the survivors disappeared. The Others were covered in burst vessels, bruised and pale, cold. Their noses bled and their eyes did too, but they were black eyed and vicious, their voices replaced with snarls and clicks. They were terrifying. You’d been lucky enough to avoid them so far. You took a deep breath of dusty air before tugging at the scarf over your head and peering through the mucky glass window of the hardware store. Inside was dusty and grubby, the shelves mostly empty at the entrance from the looting when it all started. Otherwise, it seemed empty. You hoped you were right as you headed towards the back fire exits and tried the handle bars.

 The two around the side clicked but jingled with the sound of chains. They opened a couple of inches before the chains went taught and kept it from opening any further. You sighed and left them, closing the doors again before you carried on around the back of the building and found the employee entrance and exit. You took a breath and opened the door carefully. It swung open to reveal a dark warehouse. The cages of stock were mostly untouched. You grinned in victory before you turned on your pump power torch. It lit up the interior to reveal the cages of soil, wood and other items like watering cans and pots. Plastic pots, seeds and some planting soil. You needed those things, and a water purifier. If you were lucky, people had bunkered down here and you would be able to find some unopened water bottles. It was a long shot, but it was something you desperately needed besides food resources. You took a step inside and listened before grabbing a few bricks from outside and propping the door open, unaware of a pair of black eyes watching you.

 The warehouse was devoid of infected, and you were thankful as you searched the aisles of cages and bins for what you wanted. Light, deep plastic pots and a small bag of soil. You needed to be able to carry your things home. You found a few plastic planters quickly and then set about finding seeds, coming through several tote boxes of packets before you grabbed vegetables and fruits of various kinds. They were barely in date, but hopefully something would grow. You shoved the seeds away and picked up your planters and a small watering can, smiling at the little elephant nose on it before fastening it to your bag. Shouldering a small bag of soil, you then quickly did a search for water bottles. To your delight there was a pack of 2L bottles. It was too much to carry but you took a couple in your bag and stashed the rest behind a brick pile outside to collect later. Making sure it was well hidden, you kicked the bricks away from the door and shouldered your bag and grabbed the pots once again before moving as quietly as you could back around to the front of the hardware store. It was still quiet, but the sun was hanging low in the sky, indicating that it was close to being dark. The dark brought cold, and that let the infected walk around without their limbs dropping from their bodies.

 You reached your tower block before the night truly set in, dragging the soil up the stairs as you barricaded the doors between you and the exit. You reached your own floor and set the barricades against the door before you sighed quietly and reached for your own door. You unlocked it and carefully inched it open far enough to take the chair snare trap off the handle, lowering it before you leaned down and looped it back on the door. The bear trap was still set, and you inched around it before setting down the day’s findings in the middle of the living area. Your stomach gurgled with hunger, and you grabbed the box of protein and cereal bars you had pilfered, along with the survival food pouches. They were rich in carbohydrates and protein, so they would be good when you were very low on food. You stashed everything away before chewing on a protein fruit bar happily. You looked at the seed packets and smiled as the clouds moved over and thunder rumbled in the distance. It meant rain. You looked through the packets as you chewed and happily started to pick veggies to get growing before the rain rolled over. They needed to be out on the small balcony to get watered by the incoming bad weather.

 The night was filled with the crash of lightning and the rumble of thunder, which covered the groans of the zombies wandering around below, rotting and stinking of the sewers. Still, you got a little sleep between the storms, sleeping lightly in the corner of the room, tucked underneath your little fortified area. The bed you’d used to make barricades and weapons if all else was lost. You woke with a start as the handle to your room jiggled up and down. The infected didn’t have such capacity. You rushed out of the small blanket and pillows to grab for your axe, strapping o your stolen police vest before you headed to the little entry way. Your bear trap and chair trap were still set. With a deep breath, you stood ready by the door as the lock opened with a clunk and the handle went down again. The door opened quickly, and you gasped at the creature stood in the doorway, heaving blood from its mouth before it leaned back, and fresh blood dripped from its black eyes. It was once a human, but it was now one of The Others. It clicked and stepped back to dodge the knife strapped chair, slamming the wood down from its pulley in the ceiling with one great slap of its hand. Black eyes looked forwards, and it clicked again, blood dripping from the corner of its mouth as it dashed forwards. Clumsily, its foot slid over the bear trap, and the trap snapped shut tightly around its ankle.

 The Other howled a great series of violent clicks, tugging its leg before it fell to its knees and pulled at the metal, heaving the two rows of sharp teeth apart with shaking arms. You acted then, yelling as you slammed the axe down towards its head. He caught the handle, letting the bear trap snap back shut around his ankle as he fended you off, clicking and gurgling.

“What the fuck?” You gasped as you tugged your axe away violently and went to strike again, aiming for the temple. Again, the Other caught your swing, clicking in upset as the bear trap tore its flesh open to the bone, exposing the black stained tissue underneath its skin. An all too human face looked up at you as it pushed your axe away again, black eyes bleeding red. The Other was dark haired, the black tangled mess falling to just under his chin, though his eyebrows were sparse. The same seemed to have befallen his eyelashes, and you looked at the pale, almost alien face as you panicked. It was once a man. Slowly, it reached for the bear trap again.

“NO!” You shouted, and to your surprise, the Other looked at you, its bruised fingers releasing the mechanism for a second time as it gurgled more blood and licked its teeth and eyed the bare flesh exposed from your sleep wear.

 The Others still craved flesh and blood. They still needed human cells to survive. Their own bodies were lacking in the vital building blocks of life. Stem cells. The had been seen licking the marrow from bones and pulling open children regularly in search of such treats. Those, it was thought, were the key to their regeneration. The Other looked at your legs and you hopped back a step, as though to hide the long bones full of marrow from his sight.

“Why…” You struggled to find your voice, “Why haven’t you killed me already?”

The Other looked at you, his head tilted far to the left, as though he was listening to you. The creature reached towards you and pointed then curled his fingers back towards himself and gurgled shortly before he reached back to his ankle again and tried to winch open the bear trap. His arms went tight as he heaved the metal teeth apart, slamming either side down onto the laminate. He was free. You took another step back and gripped the axe tighter as the Other got to his feet, his shattered bones clicking back together before the wound closed and his bruised, pale skin recovered the black flesh inside.

 The Other clicked again, his head tilting left and right, fingers twitching and eyes rolling. He was looking at you, watching you breathe and move as he moved left and right on his legs. In moments, he was healed, but he still stood by the bear trap and watched. Blood dripped from his nose, weaving a trail over the cupids bow of his lips before it dripped over his sickly purple lips and into his mouth. His tongue dipped out to lick it away. His lips pealed backwards in a smile as he clicked and gurgled again. In a flash, he had moved towards you, his hands slamming either side of your head, pinning you against the wall. His teeth flashed by your skin, blackened and sharp, his mouth filled with clots of his own blood. Another gurgle came from his throat as he sniffed the left and right side of your neck with blood dripping from his nose. A drop landed on your chest, rolling over the skin and into your shirt as the Other clicked again, reaching for you with a grubby and bruised, blood-stained hand. The cold hand wrapped around your throat in a quiet threat, and the Other continued to look you up and down, fingers dragging against the warmth of your flesh.

 They like warm flesh enough to come out in the sunlight.

 “Are you going to cut me open and peel out my bones?” You asked as you looked at the door, avoiding the snarling face in front of you. Black eyes wiggled back and forth for a moment before the Other opened its mouth, the sharpened teeth flashing over your shoulder before it took an unsteady step backwards, ear tilted towards the windows. It was dark, and thunder clapped in the distance again before the sound of rain filled the apartment once more.

The Other shook his head slowly as his head twisted back, his back bending backwards as he slumped and peered out at the rain. He dragged his ruined foot behind him as he went to the window and looked down at the wet streets below, his black eyes watching the infected below wade through the water and rubbish. Another long, low click sounded from his throat before he turned his dark eyes on you again, blinking slowly before he picked up his leg and looked at the torn fabric of his jeans. The wound had healed, leaving a faint trace of dark red, almost black blood on his bruised skin. His arm moved, but this time it was to wipe the blood from his nose away on his sleeve. His arm came away streaked with fresh blood, but he still peered outside, looking at the meandering bodies outside in the rain.

 “What are you looking at?” You asked from against the wall as the Other twitched by the window and clicked again. His black eyes moved from the glass to your face and then back again before he reached into his pocket. His dead fingers wiggled around for a while before he pulled out a long lanyard and presented the card to you. There was a dark-haired man on the picture, his hair slicked back, the sides shaved with a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

“Ji-woon.” You read carefully from where you were, “Is that who you were?”

The Other looked at you, studying your face before he raised a fist to his shoulder and nodded it with his head. You looked at the lanyard carefully, noticing the faded and stained academy logo. The badge confirmed it. He was a teacher before everything. Once he was human. Once he was a teacher. Now he was one of the Others.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked again, “You want to eat my bone marrow, right?”

The Other looked at you again, blood dripping from his eyes and spit clinging to the side of his mouth. He opened his mouth, gurgled again, clicked his tongue and then moved back towards you. His black eyes caught the light of a lightning bolt and you reached for your axe with a small yelp.

 The axe was thrown from your grasp before you could get a grip on it. The Other clicking as he dragged you by the wrists onto the floor. The axe clattered away, and you flinched as his fingers found the straps of the tactical vest, plucking them away violently before he dragged the material and plating away, leaving you exposed in just your pyjamas. Wiggling, you tried to free yourself from his grasp to no avail. Blood from his eyes dripped down the sides of his nose and onto the material of your shirt, staining it a deep, dark red. You closed your eyes as he let out another series of low clicks and drew closer to your shoulder. If he didn’t eat you, you would turn, just like the rest. A bite from an Other would make you one of his thrall or another like him. Another one of the Others.

“Kill me then. Just don’t let me turn. I want to die.” You whispered as you closed your eyes tight. The Other clicked again, a slow series of articulates noises that disappeared into a whine, not unlike a dog.

 Then the arms caging you to the floor slipped downwards. His nails dragged away curls of wood as the Other let his hands travel, his fingers ghosting over your skin again in a meandering pattern downwards. You flinched as he pinched the flesh around your middle, tugging hard before they continued down your stomach and over your legs. He shifted backwards in order to look at your legs. His black eyes rolled over the flesh as spit, mixed with blood, leaked from the corners of his mouth. The slobber dripped over your calves, but you didn’t dare move as his cold fingertips traced under the arch of your foot and then grabbed hold of your ankle. He held it in a bruising grip, his fingers wrapped tightly around the flesh, strangling the blood flow. It hurt and you let out a cry as he twisted it around, tugging the joint awkwardly.

“Please.” You sniffled on the floor as he dragged you back towards him. You wiggled only to have his hand slam on your middle, winding you before he pressed you back to the floor again.

He opened his mouth, wheezed, coughed and then gurgled, “P-Please.”

 Your eyes shot open as the Other released your ankle with a frown, his hairless eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. His lips quivered again, dipping up and down before he swallowed and shook, blood spraying from his nose. The droplets landed over your floor and streaked up the Other’s cheeks in wild, spider web patterns. Stumbling, he dragged himself upwards and touched his own lips.

“P-Please.” he gurgled again, a deranged smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t mock me.” You wept at him, wiping your face as you struggled for your axe, your fingers slipping around the handle as he leaped on you again. A smiling face covered in blood loomed over you before he gurgled, clicked and growled, holding his throat before angrily thumping at his Adams apple. The Other wheezed and coughed blood over your chest before he reached into his pocket again, teeth clicking, and pulled out the lanyard to show you. You shook your head before he tapped the photo on the plastic then tapped his own blood covered cheek.

 You laid there in confusion, looking up at the drooling monster before you found your voice.

“That’s you before this. Ji-woon. You were a teacher.” You declared quietly, whispering into the thunderstorm.

The Other turned the card back to himself and touched the photo and then his own hair, his cold fingers tangling in the matted mess that hung around his cheeks. It was nothing like the slicked back, side shaven style he once wore, and he seemed to realise that as he tugged at the hair and pulled away a small clump. He wasn’t alive anymore. He was only alive thanks to his constant need to eat the flesh of the living. His victims stem cells and other living tissue was why he was a walking corpse beyond the others. An agonised cry left his lips, and the Other clutched at his own hair as he slumped over you, his teeth clicking dangerously close to your shoulder.

“You’re not him anymore.” You whispered again, reaching up with shaking hands. You sniffled as you reached and carefully took hold of his face, feeling the piercing coldness of his skin. Blood stuck to your palms as the Other raised it head enough to look from side to side, his black eyes quivering back and forth as he looked at your hands cupping his face.

“So, if you’re in there, Ji-woon, I’d rather you end me quickly...r-rather than play with me like a cat.” You sobbed.

 The Other let the card of his lanyard clatter to the floor, the dirty fabric of the lanyard laid over wooden floor. There was another deafening crash of lightning and rumble of thunder as the Other stumbled backwards, his legs wobbling as his teeth clicked and ground together rhythmically. Click. Grind. Click. Grind. It was unsettling. You crawled backwards towards your weapon, only to pause as the room was lit up with lightning again, and you saw tears mingle with the blood leaking from his nose. Pink droplets dripped from his chin. The Other looked at you on the floor, then back to the windows, before he let out an unholy scream. With a cry, you covered your ears as the Other called for his thrall with tears the colour of blood dripping down his cheeks and neck. He shook his head and curled in on himself before howling again, another upsetting, glass shaking as he wailed over the sound of the storm. You reached for the axe again, crying as your ears rang with the noise of the Other’s screams. With a scream of your own, you launched yourself at him with the axe held high. Black eyes flashed before he caught you with open arms, grappling you around the middle in a hug. The axe jolted against his shoulder, falling from your grasp as you fell into his grasp.

 The Other quivered again you, his jaw grinding before he rested his nose against your neck. He was icily cold, and he wheezed cold breaths over your neck, his lips sticky against your skin. He didn’t bite you. His lips parted to let him wheeze again and he dragged his nose over the skin before he sobbed, more tears dripping down his nose. The Other pulled away, his black eyes wide and wet with more unshed tears.

“I’ve…never seen an Other cry…” You confessed as he hugged you tighter. The thunder of footsteps sounded out on the stairs as the hoard smashed themselves against the barricades leading up to your hide away, “Fuck…”

The Other kept a tight grip on you before he too heard the hoard. His eyes roved your face before he pushed you towards the window and fumbled with the clasps. He opened the window and you peered at the rain, and then at his face. He said nothing but you knew what he wanted. The fire escape. You ducked out of the window and perched yourself in the rain, underneath the stairs to try and shield yourself as the thrall of the Other slammed themselves against your defences. The Other closed the window and entered your room again, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes wide as his creatures swarmed inside, moaning and groping at the walls, floors and him. A few paused by the window before bumping into something else and leaving. None of them cared about the Other. They couldn’t smell the warm flesh of the living, so they filtered away, down the corridors and stairs, falling and smashing things as they went.

 As the noises died down, you peered through the metal stairs and looked at the rushing water below. The zombies slowly filtered out of the building, back into the cooler moist air. You sighed as you looked at them, but shivered, sniffling in the rain and cold. A moment later, the window rattled, and the Other peered out into the rain, his black eyes haunting as they shone in the light of the lightning. With a click, he held out his hand, and you watched him reach to scoop his hair from his eyes. It was a human gesture. It made him seem human. Then the lightning flashed and lit up the blood covering his face, neck and arms. His fingernails were dirty with dried blood and mud, but he helped you into the window and clicked again softly, as though it was a noise of comfort. It unsettled you, holding his freezing cold hand as you shivered inside of the apartment. The door was closed, barricade replaced, and the chair pinned back in place at the door. He was still bleeding, and he blinked his eyes, sending two drops of blood down the stained red lines either side of his nose. With a deep breath, you grabbed a tissue from your little den and reached up to wipe the red streaks away from his face. The Other flinched at your warm touch, but let out a wheeze, letting you wipe his face free from blood and gunk.

 You pulled away with a small gasp at the sight of his pale, bruised skin. The blood vessels around his eyes ran in spidery black patterns before they disappeared under the pale, thin bruised skin of his face. He looked dead. Deathly pale and gaunt. His face had lost a lot of the colour and life it once had, though he appeared no more tired than he used to. The large eye bags seemed to be a constant factor. You reached for his ID card on the floor and carefully handed it to him. The Other held open his hand and took it from your grasp, gurgling at the picture of himself, or who he used to be, with interest. You let him hold it and watched at he wiped at his nose with the tissue you had accidentally give him alongside it. In a mockery of what you did, he slid the tissue over his nose and cheeks before he gurgled and smile with blood clot covered teeth. He wasn’t human. You repeated that as he passed you the sticky tissue back. It was covered in blood and clots.

 “Are you still in there Ji-woon?” You asked the Other quietly.

The Other shook his head as he raised the card again. It span in his grasp, giving you flashes of the image of his human face, “P-Please.” he wheezed at you, “...Help.”

“That is you. You can’t become him anymore.” You said carefully, softening the blow with a dab of the tissue under his eyes. He caught your wrist with a scowl, his unnatural eyes wiggling in their sockets, rolling left and right as he opened his mouth to expose his black dyed mouth full of clots.

“P... Please.” he wheezed again.

“I can...make you look like him but you’re not human anymore.” You tried to tug your wrist free to no avail.

 “Look.” The Other held up the ID card and tapped it again before he let you go and looked at the red marks on your arm mournfully, “J-Ji...woon.”

“The fact you can even speak amazes me.” You confessed as you looked at the bruises and blood covering him. His clothes were dirty, matted and torn, exposing his arms which had been unnaturally made larger. He was a predator of muscle and smarts now, who desperately wanted to be human again, “I can help, so long as you can keep those zombies away from me, okay?”

The Other nodded, drooling as he pointed to his ears and mouth.

“Those wails, yes. You can control them and keep them away while I help you. That and you’re big enough to just tear them open...I saw an Other do that once.”

The Other blinked owlishly but nodded once before you rummaged for a bottle of water and pointed to the bathroom, “First let’s clean you up, huh?”

He only nodded and followed at your heels like a drooling, blood covered dog.

 You managed to get a small basin to fill with water and then awkwardly got the Other to strip his clothes off. They were full of holes and disgusting. The neck was covered with blood and stiff with mud and blood. You bagged them and tied it closed as the Other stood, swaying on his dark bruise coloured feet. His mouth was dripping with drool again as he turned and looked at the water bowl in your hands.

“Come on. Sit in the tub.” You asked gently as you guided his cold body into the bath. He sat quietly, gurgling on his own blood as you fetch a towel and a small flannel. You dipped the flannel into the water and lathered it with soap before pressing it to his face. His black eyes quivered before he closed them peacefully and let you wipe the grime from his skin. Each swipe revealed more skin like cracked porcelain underneath the blood. The bruising spread from black coloured veins in his face and you were careful to clean around his nose and mouth before setting to the rest of him. It was even more embarrassing to get a zombie to clean his own privates, but something in him remembered and you left him to it before returning to try and scrub his hair.

 Most of his hair was dead, the ends snapped and fraying in clumps. So, it was with a heavy heart that you washed it and let it soak with conditioner before snipping away most of the ends. It was shorter, in a wild mane over the top of his head and the shaved sides, but he seemed happy as he peered at himself in your small mirror. You tried to tame it backwards, but the shorter pieces of hair pinged out at awkward angles. He didn’t seem to care as he wiped at his own face, clicking happily at himself in the reflection in the grubby water. He was like a child almost. Entertained by bottles, colours and smells, despite the irony blood leaking from his nose again. He wiped it away with a tissue, wet hands dampening the balled-up paper before he peered over the side of the tub and watched you pull free a few sets of clothes.

“Here. You can’t wear those rags…even though I know you don’t get cold.” The Other stood and looked at the clothing before his hands reached for a khaki green fleece. He rubbed the soft material and happily pulled it over his head before he dressed his bottom half as well.

 When he was finished and dressed you let him walk out of the bathroom. He was still bleeding from his eyes and nose but the cleanly appearance gave him an almost human look. The Other clicked and touched the top of his hair, feeling the strands before he looked at you with wide black eyes. In a sudden burst of speed, he was in your face, his teeth clacking together in front of your nose. Snap. Grind. Snap. Grind. Snap. He clicked his teeth rapidly in front of your face, drool stringing between his teeth and lips and dribbling out the corners of his mouth.

“You’re still one of them, huh?” You told him as he gurgled and coughed, fingers dancing by his sides as he twisted his head and twitched violently hard, teeth gnashing in his mouth, “You still want to eat me...”

There wasn’t a fix to his own nature. You watched him retch and fight himself before you moved through to your bedroom and rummaged through the boxes for something to use. You smiled when you found the ball gag. It was a simple thing, made of tough leather and a supple ball attached to simple metal rings. It fastened with a belt loop style fastening. It would be hard for him to chew through at least.

 The Other looked at you curiously as you returned with the gag hanging from your fingers. Something in his face twisted, as though he maybe recognised the item, but you watched his fingers twitch again and knew it was the right choice.

“I know what you might think, but this is purely to stop you eating me, okay?” You told him as you opened the fastening and presented the ball to his lips. The Other cocked his head, blinked, and then opened his mouth to accept the ball. You watched him chew the ball like a horse does a bridle before he then settled and let you fasten the back closed tightly. He sniffed, drops of blood dripping from his nose as he ground his teeth into the gag, his mouth parted and the clicks he made gurgled and muffled. It would also stop him from turning on you and summoning a hoard of infected to tear you open. It was a double protective measure. The Other shifted and touched the cool leather wrapped around the back of his head. He could easily undo it if he wanted to, but he let his hands drop and plonked himself down by your door, peering back at you as he pointed to your little bed and tent.

“Don’t eat me in my sleep.” You joked. The Other rolled his eyes as you climbed into your layers of blankets and cushions. He didn’t look at you, but stared at the door, cross legged and clicking softly to himself around the gag in his mouth.

 The next morning you woke up to the light in your eyes, and a clicking sound from by the window. As you opened your eyes you were greeted with a curious gurgle from the Other. His black eyes blinked bloody tears down his cheeks before he tilted his head and ground his teeth against the gag in his mouth. Blood painted the sides of his mouth and drool had dried in the corners of his mouth where the o-rings sat.

“Good morning to you too.” You groaned as the Other clicked in front of you and wiggled his jaw from side to side, his eyes looking over you. The exposed flesh had his mouth watering again, and you quickly hid the skin under a blanket before crawling past him and heading to the bathroom. The creature’s hungry eyes followed your legs, and the Other prowled across the wood after you, like a small dog, his gaze fixed on the exposed skin of your calves and ankles.

“M-M-Morn…ing-g.” The Other babbled around the gag in his mouth as his fingers inched along the wood, chasing after your feet. You stopped as his hand wrapped around your ankle. The cold fingers pressed into your flesh, testing the give before you dragged yourself free and slammed the door in his face. The Other grunted as his nose was smashed against the wooden door.

 When you came back out later, dressed and clean, the Other was perched by the door again, sat on the balls of his feet, perched in a crouch as he looked at the handle. The knob was twitching. You took a deep breath and carefully reached for your axe, holding the handle tightly in your grasp. The handle twitched again before the door thumped and the latch unhooked. The Other watched the door creak open. A rotten hand curled around the wooden door, and you crept forwards a step before the Other clicked and launched himself at the arm. It took you a moment to realise that his mouth was full of the gag, but it was too late. The Other grappled the infected by the neck, throwing it against the column outside of the door before his arms bulged and he slammed its head backwards, once, twice, thrice, and painted the dirty white concrete with blood, bone and brains. The blood sprayed up the concrete as he continued hammering the creatures head backwards. The initial crack became a wet thud which dissolved into a slick noise of blood and flesh as the Other dug his hands into the cranium and dragged it open, scooping his bruised fingers into the goop. His teeth gnashed on the gag, and you covered your mouth as he pulled at his own cheeks, splitting the skin so he could stick his gore covered fingers into his mouth. He gurgled happily as he scooped the brain into his mouth, followed by the sickening crunch of the zombie’s femur under his foot. He twisted the legs free at the knee and punched his way through to the bone.

 Rotten marrow dripped over his fingers, and he groaned sadly, tossing away the bleeding leg in favour of finishing the obliterated head. He struggled with the eyeballs, and you watched, gipping, as he weaved one behind his gag, through the tear at the corner of his lips, and popped it between his teeth.

“What the fuck…” You gasped behind the Other.

The Other’s eyes snapped to you, and he gurgled happily, covered in blood again, as he chewed his meal contently. As you watched him eat, you made your way back into your apartment, shaking as you uncovered a set of reigns. He was still eating as you came back and weaved them around his head and attached the ends to the O-rings of the gag. With a tilt of his head, he peered back over his shoulder and looked you in the eyes, his bloodied fingers stroking the leather up and down before you gave the back of the reigns a gentle tug.

 The Other gave a grunt and a small cry, his black hair flying out of place as he tugged at the reigns, back towards his meal. His hands stretched towards the flesh, grabbing for the brains just out of reach.

“We made a deal.” You whispered as you hauled him backwards, “You want to be a human, Ji-woon, right?!”

The Other froze, his fingers pressed into the mess on the floor by the zombie’s head. They danced in the blood for a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes manic and his hairless brows furrowed.

“J-Ji…woooon.” He gurgled before he slumped backwards and grabbed at your trouser leg, his cold fingers burying themselves in the fabric. The Other gave a small wail, burying his head in your thigh as he stroked your legs and shuddered against you.

You reached down carefully and petted his hair, “Humans don’t eat…that. But we need you to live and… I know you’re not human, but we need to think about how this is going to work, okay?”

He didn’t acknowledge you, but leaned his head into your petting, pushing his choppy hair into your grasp as he clutched at you like a child.

“We’ll work through this mess, together, I promise…Ji-woon.”