#this is a lifted truck hate blog

[anywayhereswonderwhale]

if you speed/tailgate in a school zone i should be legally allowed to smash in one of your car windows with a baseball bat

[thecameronchronicles]

Heat of The Moment

TW: unhinged Rafe. Dominant sex. Dirty talk. Language. Oral sex. Hair pulling. Cum swallowing.

REQUESTED:

@gianadrichardson-blog

So the idea I have in my mind is that y/n and Rafe are dating and Rafe KNOWS that every guy wants y/n from tourons, college guys and even his best friends want her. So while y/n was out of town with her parents, Topper accidentally revealed that he had feelings for y/n and tried to date her while her and Rafe was in the talking stage. So Rafe calls y/n and sees where she at. When Rafe gets y/n location he shows up and let out his frustration he had and record them having sex with y/n then send to topper with the message “keep away from my girl”

Maybe y/n older brother have y/n phone and decided to play a prank on rafe acting like a guy had y/n phone

Heat of the Moment

"What the fuck, Top?!" Rafe accuses, holding Topper's phone high enough out of reach. But your pictures remain on the screen. More specifically, pictures the friend of your boyfriend shouldn't have.

"I- just stop it, man-"

"My girlfriend's tits are on your screen! What am I supposed to think?"

"She's in a bikini but it it doesn't matter okay? Just-just let me have it back." But Rafe smashes it before Topper can even brush his fingers against it. His finger is pointed in his former friend's face before he can right Rafe's actions that he believes wholeheartedly are justified.

"Rafe. When you and her were just talking, I...I thought I had a shot. I get that now, okay? I just, sometimes I wonder what if-"

"If I even see you looking at her after this, you won't be able to ever look again."

Rafe was already fuming. He was jealous and curious, both existing to a dangerous degree that meant his knuckles were bloodied more than healed and his voice hoarse from having defended you.

There wasn't a soul within a dramatic radius within the Outer Banks that didn't see your beauty. Whether it was the stunning way your eyes could focus and become instantly lustful with one look at your boyfriend or the way your voice warmed even the coldest of hearts, Rafe Cameron knew exactly what he had.

Perfection.

He just didn't expect to have to have to defend you to someone so close to him- someone who has apparently had feelings for you since before you were officially anything with Rafe. It makes his hands wrap tightly around the steering wheel and his foot practically punch a hole into the floor of his truck as he races across the Carolina road.

He never thought he left it to question. You were his. He was yours. It was as official as it could be without a ring or contract of marriage and yet he knew he needed to make it unquestionably true to the one person it mattered to.

So without a call or text in warning, he is pounding at your front door.

"Rafe? Are you okay baby, you-" He is over your threshold, face between your hands, your body pulled into his as he kisses you between words.

"You know I love you, yeah?" You nod with your hands coming up around his wrists. If you didn't trust him so gravely then you'd worry for the strength behind his hands as he brought you against him.

"You know I'd do anything for you?" He kisses with a grunt, more animal than the man you talked to earlier this morning.

"And that you say our word and it stops, no questions asked? That you know I put you first?" His forehead rests against yours as he waits for your agreement. It takes less than the time of a blink before he gets it.

"Good, remember that because I'm about to fuck you like I hate you." He lifts you around him and up your steps, suddenly too far away from your room.

You were the complete opposite of touch starved and yet you felt as if you had been drowning without his touch, the first moment of contact being an exhale for relief. Only in the juxtaposition that was being his girlfriend it also made you lightheaded.

"Rafe-" His hand comes up over your mouth as he only manages to get to the steps and turns you to cover them. Your knees dig into the uncomfortable wood and yet all you can focus on is the heat of the moment.

"Need to use that word, baby?"

You shake your head as he guides your hands around the open spaces between the bars making up your bannister.

"Then hold on." His belt sounds first and then the rough fabric of his pants being shoved.

"Jesus Christ, baby, I don't even need to spit on my cock, so I?" He leans over you, kicking your legs just wide enough to leave some comfort in the angle. "Always so wet for me isn't that right?"

"Always!" You moan into his hand as he grins against your shoulder before reaching into his pocket.

You hear the wrapper of the confom being torn and make the mistake to turn and see him do it with his teeth. Something about the savagery of it and the heat behind his eyes, still possessing your care above all else, and it sends you drenching the valley awaiting him.

"Safe and-" He moans, a deep honey tone, that makes your toes curl knowing you wrap around him snuggly enough to cause such a reaction.

"Tight, baby! Fuck!" He hits the stairs beside your cheek and yet it does nothing to limit anything. If anything, it spurs you both on as his other hand releases your mouth and you're able to kiss the skin of his fist as if to soften his rigidity.

"How are you so sweet AND sexy-hmm? Always know just what I need don't you baby?" Your body wills itself to endure all that is Rafe Cameron. Every tension soiling his happiness now pumping through every snap of his hips until all that remains is the frustration you know he veils from you. Still, you trust that every shove of him into you is only a method of showing you he cares.

However, it has never been quite this possessive before. Quite this needy. Quite this deep or hard.

And you fucking love it.

His hands can't move fast enough and yet they are graceful and not amateur. He rolls your nipples as he kisses your neck, thrusting without break, and whispering every dirty thought you have constructed in your time apart.

And then he becomes completely and utterly unhinged. Taking you in his lap, he pulls you facing away from him, still seated to the root. He bounces you, one hand around your neck, as the other rubs your clit. It can't be comfortable for him with the wood beneath you and still he is too driven by the cries you're making in the sound of his name to care about anything but this next thrust-or the dozens that follow.

"Nobody knows just how dirty you get for me, isn't that right baby? How deep you take my dick in this perfect little pussy? Yeah?" He slaps your clit with just enough pressure to make you jolt until he lifts his hips and makes you forget of the sting it leaves behind.

"How loud you get? It's a miracle nobody has called the cops yet. You sound like you're in pain, shit-" He turns you to him with the grip around your neck moving to your jaw and turning you to him.

"You good baby?"

"Harder-"

"That's my fucking girl?" You're lifted with a gasp following you as he takes you into your room. You are only allowed the reprieve of wood beneath your soles for a second before he's rutting you into the bed. Hand pushing your face into the sheets to somewhat muffle your screaming, all you hear is the repetitive "yeah"s in the mix of your name as he wallows in you.

"Do I have to worry about anyone else ever knowing about how good you feel?" You are torn away from your blissful daze at the question.

"What?" You turn and face him, seeing the phone pointed towards you. The heat from your skin accelerated until it is now the marrow in your bones and you can't cool it, not that you want to.

"Who fucks you deep enough to make you soak his cock like this?"

"Rafe!" You manage as he pulls your hair and makes your back arch for him.

"Who makes you dizzy and shit when he knows just where to hit?"

He pulls you to him, against his chest until you can look up at him.

"Who loves you enough to prove to everyone on this goddamn island you're his?! Huh?"

"RAFE! GOD! YOU, RAFE?" You sob, the pleasure almost painful as he grips your hip with one hand and keeps the phone recording in the other. The video is shaky and then disposed of as his cum begins to shoot from his heavy balls and up his shaft.

"On your knees, baby-" He takes the phone back, pointing it to your face. As always, he kisses you sweetly and runs a thumb over your lips, before you take him behind your smirk.

"Ohhh baby-" You accept him slowly before opening your throat to him. Eyes locked and cheeks prepped to be hollow, you wait as he cocks his head before powering through. He thrusts.

Twice.

Once.

And then becomes a blur.

Only grunts and 'fucks' leave between moans.

"Shit baby, you're gonna make me come- you want it?" He asks, managing to open his eyes long enough to see you nod. Digging your nails into his thighs, you drive him to pulse into your throat, over your tongue, and along with your swallow.

"Open-" he points the camera to show just the good girl you are.

"I fucking love you, baby, and now nobody will question who you belong to again."

"I don't think they do, Rafe..." You laugh it off as he helps you to your feet and into his arms within your bed.

As you fall asleep, you hear him tapping away on his phone before finally focusing completely on you. You rest well within his arms, satisfied in the countless orgasms you had as he reached his own, sweet dreams awaiting you that pale in comparison to what it means to be loved by Rafe.

Across town, Topper's phone buzzes. A video file from Rafe. The new phone, bought not even ten minutes after his last one was smashed sits in wait for the message.

MP4 file.

It is opened. The sound of slurping around the impressive shaft, angry and near completion is spliced with the sight of you spread for him on the stairs as well as the hip of the bed. Your cries are only of pleasure and they echo as the video plays.

"Stay away from my girl." Comes a warning meant for Topper.

Only it isn't Topper's eyes that come to the scene.

And it isn't Topper's life that gets the threat.

It is your brother's and he has just been waiting for an excuse to let out his own rage out against Rafe.

MASTERLIST

[spectres-n-soap]

Yet the Rain Comes Anyway - Soap x Reader x Ghost

Content warnings - Death, dead body, grief, pregnancy, afab body, afab reader, angst, medical stuff, panic attack, MW3 is canon, I remind you again that SOAP IS DEAD

Series Masterlist

Blog Masterlist

A/N - My childhood cat is being put down this week so brace yourselves for the angst that will be unleashed from my heart when he passes.

You're tapping your foot against the tile floor rapidly. The unnatural smell of a sterilized hospital made the hairs on your arm stand up. Safe to say, you hate the hospital.

You stood in the morgue. It's strange, you had never been in one before. The lights were all turned on but there was no natural lighting to clear up the uneasy feeling you felt. You had asked for this, to see him before they turned him into ash. You could back out, the workers wouldn't judge you. Death wasn't an easy thing to stare down even if you work in a field where death is always right around the corner.

You steeled your resolve. You wanted to see him, you wanted to see your John just one more time. You nodded to the morgue worker and they opened the little cabinet. Was John ever afraid of tight spaces? They slide out the tray he was laid on and your entire body goes cold. He was pale, his wound patched up to the best of the morgue's ability and his eyes closed.

You remembered the way on TV the eyes would go glassy and gray. You're glad his eyes aren't open, you wanted his electric blue eyes filled to the brim with life and mischief to be the only version you know. "Oh John." You muttered as you traced the features of his face with your eyes. "I'm so sorry."

A nurse walks into the waiting room and calls out your last time. You try to stand, it's getting more and more difficult, you think bitterly to yourself. Still you swat away Simon's hand out of habit and stand up by yourself and toddle towards the nurse, hand on your stomach. The nurse glances at Simon, the look she has on her face obscured by the mask.

"He's with me, don't worry." You assure her and she begins to walk, leading the two of you to the hospital room where you'll likely spend the next hour or so. Bless her heart, your nurse, as she goes through the checklist of symptoms to make sure the pregnancy isn't going sideways. She keeps glancing at Simon in what you now understand is apprehension. You smack him and whisper, "Did you have to wear your balaclava?" You hiss.

"I was out of face masks." He replies swiftly. You lift up your shirt on instinct when the nurse moves to the ultrasound machine. This song and dance has been done more times then you would like but, you glance at your stomach and place a hand on it again, feeling the baby kick against you in response. It was for them.

The nurse spreads the gel across your stomach and uses her tool to show you them. The baby, Johnny's baby. "Their looking healthy Mum." The nurse says with what you assume is a smile. "Would you like to know their gender?"

"No." You swiftly respond and Simon glances at you. You didn't want to know if it would be a boy or a girl, it just felt like another weight on your shoulders.

"Alrighty." The nurse says, "Would you like a print out of the ultrasounds?"

"Yes." Simon replies for you and the nurse nods. She tells the both of you that the doctor will be in soon to discuss your labor plan. That comment gets another look from Simon, this time you return the look. The moment the nurse leaves the room, Simon is asking questions. "Why don't you have a birth plan yet?" At least he isn't asking why I don't want to know the gender, you think thankfully.

"I just, I lost track of time." You mutter. Between everything going on within the months of your pregnancy, trying to get out of bed each day. Trying to live with the fact that he isn't here and you're doing this alone.

Simon sighs your name and shakes his head, "Well, then we'll just start planning now."

You're sitting in his truck and looking at the contact for John's mum. She had given it to you, telling you to contact her if you need her. You've been staring at it for minutes, thumb hovering over the message option.

"Would you really come with me?"

Simon looks over at you for a second, "Of course, I promised I would." He says with no hesitation.

You look at the message option and press down on it and begin to type out of the message.

"I'm sorry I didn't get into contact with you sooner and I'm sorry this is the reason why I am. Your son and I slept together a few weeks before he was MIA. I'm pregnant by your son, I didn't sleep with anyone else so I promise this child is your grandchild. I'm 30 weeks pregnant and on leave if you want to meet up."

You turn your phone off, place it face down after sending the message and try to ignore the fast beating of your heart.

Your phone dings while you are sitting at the dining table picking at your dinner. Simon looks at you, raising his eyebrows when you don't pick it up to see the message. You ignore his looks and try to focus even harder on stabbing your mashed potatoes.

"You gonna see what she said?" He asks and you close your eyes.You place down your fork and hide your hands under the table before you lose control of your tremors. Silence hangs in the air until he speaks again, "Would you like me to see what she said?"

You think about his offer for a moment before you slowly let out a breath, "No. I'll do it." You look at your phone, almost wishing it would disappear, then you pick it up.

"Do you still have my address? Let me know if you don't, I'd like you to come here."

You say nothing and show Simon the text. "Do you still have her address?" You nod. "When do you want to go?" You shrug and keep your head down. You wish she hadn't been so vague? Is she going to yell at you? Tell you she doesn't believe you?

Simon rushes over to you when he sees your breathing start to pick up. He kneels next to you, "Can I hold you?" He whispers and you nodded frantically. He takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb over your knuckles as tears begin to drip down your cheeks.

"What if she hates me?" You asked and Simon shakes her head.

"She gave you her phone number, I'm sure she knew something about the relationship between you and Johnny."

You pick up your phone with shaky hands and send a single text.

"Tomorrow?"

She responds with a thumbs up emoji and you set the phone down, looking down at Simon who nods his head at you.

"Don't worry. I'll be with you the whole way." He reassures you and slowly lets go of your hand.

You laid in bed, limbs too heavy to move as you stared at the ceiling. It was odd to no longer have Soap visiting you at night just to share a bed for a few hours. You know he's in the morgue, cold and lifeless, yet you still wait to hear that knock on your door.

You blinked. "He's not going to knock." You said to yourself in the dark, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Yet you waited and waited until your closed your eyes too long. The grief counselor was unimpressed by your late showing and seemingly even less impressed by your clear lies that you were fine and handling the passing well.

Didn't help that you couldn't even look him in the eyes.

That night you stood in front of his barracks doors just staring at the door. I could go in. No one is here, it hasn't been reassigned yet. I could go in. For a moment, you thought you wouldn't. You took a step back but quickly moved forward and opened the door.

His shirts still hung in the closet, his bed still made to military standard. His desk was covered in a mixture of paperwork and doodles on stray pieces of paper. His second pair of boots sat next to the door. You slowly walked over to his closet and pressed a shirt to your nose.

It still smelt like him. Gunpowder and fresh rain with just a hint of his musk that told you he hadn't washed this shirt quiet yet. He is so weird. You thought to yourself. Why is his dirty shirt hung up?

You walked over to his bed and slowly laid down on it before you turned your head to inhale whatever smell was still on his pillow. It smelt like a generic mans brand you would buy at a dollar store but it was his smell nonetheless.

Your chest began to ache the longer you stayed in his room. The relief you sought here was nowhere to be found, it just felt like each second you stayed hollowed out your chest further. Still, you laid in his bed for hours.

[outsidersheadcanons]

Do you have any headcanons for the gang as older brothers? (besides Darry, Soda, and Two-Bit)

Love your blog btw!

I'm so glad u asked! Because now I can share a little bit of my Steve lore >:D

So Steve is a big brother but it's complicated. He has one sister and a half brother; both are younger than him (the girl's thirteen at canon and the boy's 10).

So Steve's mother and father got divorced when him and his sister were very little. Steve doesn't remember much before the divorce (mostly because he was like. 4) and his sister doesn't remember anything (due to being a baby). But when it was all over his mother took his younger sister and moved out to Kansas to be with her side of the family and left Steve with his father.

And don't worry Steve's mother still loves him 😭 it was just the way the courts worked out (and Steve's father fought very hard to keep him, mostly to spite his ex-wife). So yeah it's safe to say this is one of the many reason Steve really hates his dad.

Over the summer Steve usually goes to Kansas to stay with his mother and see his siblings (his half brother was born later, and his mother got remarried to his father). He likes them both a lot.

When he's there he always makes a point to hang out w his siblings; it's hard though because since he doesn't see them all that much they're not as close as he'd like.

I think he likes teaching his half brother things; once he dedicated the whole summer to teaching the kid how to fish in the lake. Another time he taught him to drive (illegally) and they almost crashed his mom's bf's truck 😭. Steve even taught him how to lift hubcaps and everything he knows about cars.

As for his sister... he's a menace 💀 he teases her all the time (and God help any poor boy she brings over to the house) but he usually gets sick of it after the first few weeks (and especially after he's been punched by her a few times). Sometimes they sit on the back patio on the metal chairs and just. talk for hours at night.

[pop-a-cornn]

hi!!!

you’re one of my most frequent interactions on my blog and I love seeing your comments and asks!! youre just abbreviated to ‘popcorn’ in my brain so whenever I see your interactions I’m like “omfg popcorns here!!” sooo to flip the tables,

I would LOVE to hear some of your South Park headcanons!!

thank you!!

The way I literally SCREAMED upon seeing this and stop your actually so sweet and I’m giggling, I love everyone’s different abbreviations of my username it’s actually so fun

BUT FORMALITYS OUT THE WAY, LITERALLY NEVER POSTED HERE BEFORE AND WAS NEVER PLANNING TO BUT FOR YOU, I SHALL

I literally ran to my notes app and wrote down all the things I could come up with/remember off the top of my head, so I hope you enjoy 🫶🫶

- Kyle is the designated driver of the main 4, Stan gets absolutely wasted, Kenny is high out of his mind, and no one trusts cartman to drive

- Tolkien + Wendy + Kyle are the honor student trio. Literally doesn’t matter what class they’ve always got a casual friendly rivalry for the top spot

- Kyle + Clyde are sport buddies. Kyle mains in basketball (obvi) and Clyde pretty much dabbles in everything (idgaf Clyde is the most awkward jock ever in my mind)

- TWEEK AS A BOXER. I REFUSE TO ACCEPT HIM IN ANOTHER OTHER SPORT. And he’s literally one of the strongest in his grade despite his relatively small size and build, fight with the wall

- Kinda following up on that, despite Craig literally being the tallest in his school (by the time he’s 16 hes like, 6’0), Tweek can lift him up with ease. Craig on the other hand has the strength of a twig, man could not carry tweek to save his life

- Stan is bi, and literally everyone else knew before he did and treated it as common knowledge. People would literally come up to him like “dude that guy over there totally looks like your type” and he’s just like “wtf ???” cause this dude has never said ANYTHING about being into guys

- Lowkey stealing this from my friend (thanks memberment 🫶🫶) but Kenny is fluent in literally EVERY LANGUAGE, cause hell most definitely isn’t a English-exclusive place

- Stan, Kenny and cartman all started growing muchhhh sooner than Kyle, making him the shortest for a few years. Then one day, puberty hit him like a truck and literally towered over all of them. They’re still in shock over it

- Red and Craig as cousins, they literally talk shit about everyone

- Dipping into my own-unwritten-band au here, Tweek and kenny play drums

- Wendy had the longest hair for everrrrrr and then one night had a breakdown over school-stress and chopped it all off. The public was stunned

- Another one stolen from memberment, Tweek is literally incapable of remembering to locks doors/windows. Kenny breaks in often

- Kenny breaks into lots of peoples houses fullstop, no one really understands what he has against doors

- Stan is a night owl. He will stay up all night and be absolutely insufferable to wake up the next morning

- Bebe is literally the most diva to ever diva, and absolutely no one can hate her for it

- Kenny will see any feral animal (eg. A raccoon) and will announce it as his pet. If you argue against it he will argue “anything can be a pet if your man enough”

- Cartman will doxx anyone on the internet who disagrees with anything he says

- This ones sot related, but Stan was originally part of Kupa keep. He met Kyle while patrolling at some point and shortly after, decided to switch his allegiance

- Bebes the type of girl to have Polaroids hanging in her locker of all her friends, she probably figured out a way to get fairy lights going too

- When tweeks stressed out, Craig puts his chullo on his head so he can pull on the strings instead of his hair

- Another of my band au- Kyle plays electric guitar, Stan plays bass

- This is a thing that happened at my Highschool in my cohorts younger years, but I just KNOW that the girls decorate each others lockers for their birthdays with streamers, balloons, cards, you name it both inside and outside

Okay yikes I can’t tell if that’s a lot or not, but ah well

REGARDLESS HOPE THIS WAS ENJOYABLE, MUCH LOVE 🫶

[raisin-shell]

Hey. Just wanted to say I love your blog. I’ll keep it short. What’s your take on the guys mental health?

Here we go nonnie. The good the bad and the ugly…

Leo

OCD- he keeps his things neat and tidy…. A little too tidy. He lives his life in complete order. He’s always on schedule and always on time. He has strict rules he’s set for himself and he abides by them.

PTSD- due to how close he is with his dad, seeing him die (or what would have been death from the first movie) really fucked him up. He suffers from nightmares and insomnia even though his father is still very much alive and this would also explain why he mistrusts others. EMOTIONAL DETACHMENT ABOUND.

NARCISSISTIC TENDENCIES- he thinks very highly of himself. Needs to be adored by his father. NEEDS TO BE. Lacks empathy for others and as we’ve seen in OOTS will lie and never even acknowledge it or even apologize.

Raph

BIPOLAR- he builds up walls to keep others out and to keep from being hurt. He goes from being enthusiastic and gung-ho to being uninterested and reclusive. (Manic-depressive). MOOD SWINGS good lord. He obsesses over things like lifting weights or working out. Also hates to shower.

SEXUAL ADDICTION- in my AU, I write Raph with a sexual addiction. Mainly because he’s got a lot of testosterone pumping through those veins but also because of his manic episodes. A lot of bipolar people also struggle with sexual addiction and I believe Raph with all his rage issues definitely needs a way to cool off steam and sex is his go to.

Donnie

ANXIETY- poor Donnie boy is riddled with it. Having to be the brains of every operation is extremely nerve racking and his coffee consumption does not help.

ADHD- he is a people pleaser, a perfectionist and a jack of all trades. As we see when he is attempting to drive the garbage truck for the first time, he has difficulty focusing and concentrating on the task at hand. However we also see how Donnie can handle himself under extreme amounts of pressure. “It’s all you Donnie… no pressure no pressure.” As we see when he’s locating the beacon on Krang’s ship.

Mikey

ADHD the other side of the spectrum- he’s unable to sit still in calm or quiet surroundings. Constantly fidgeting. Unable to concentrate on tasks as we’ve seen in the plane scene in Brazil. Excessive physical movement. Excessive talking. Unable to wait his turn while talking. He has little to no sense of danger at all, constantly cracking jokes at the most inappropriate of times.

Im sure there’s more that can be added to these so you guys feel free to open a discussion! Special thanks to @rebel-hamato and @turtle-babe83 for helping me out with research! Love you guys to the moon and back!

[small-sinclair]

Hayyyy I just found your blog and love your work 💕

I was hoping to request bo with a future s/o that also doesn’t like being touched and is sad they might not get to experience love because there to scared to be touched

Ps: I hope your having a good day and your feeling well 🥺👉👈

-❤️‍🔥

Hello, Fire Heart Anon! Thank y'all for this request.

This is based off true events from when I was a kid. Younger, I didn't like holding hands, so my grandma made a short silk rope for me to hold when my family went out. If I wanted to hold hands or need to hold hands, they would slip the silk over my wrist and they tied the other end to their wrist. It was never too tight or loose, and it felt like I was holding their hand because I felt their strength at the end. They did this until I got comfortable with hand holding on my own time.

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

End of the Rope

Growing up, you hated touching or hand holding, and it made it hard to show how much you loved your family and friends. Saying 'I love you' was a good thing, yes, but you felt like it wasn't enough. So, when you went on this road trip to take photos, ending up living with the Sinclairs, somehow catching feelings with Bo, you didn't know what to do with yourself. Every wildflower you placed in his shop, little rocks in his truck, and small smiles you shot at him... it never felt like enough. Every time your felt read to hold his hand or just touch his sleeve, you felt the static at the end of your fingers and pushed away from it.

Bo is a hand-held man, he made that clear from the moment you met him. His hands were strong and scarred, but there were soft when his hand would brush your skin by accident. They were worn and roughed from work and growing up. His hand demand blood, demand work and oil, demand to be near yours but never once dared to touch you. He never understood why you didn't like to be touch, but he was more than happy to let you take your time. Yes, he was pride and held himself higher, but he wasn't a monster to you.

Bo yearned for the day to feel your touch, imaging how soft your hand would feel in his. Yet, he would look down at his hands and recoil at the sight. The scars from fights and scars that littered his wrist wasn't a pretty sight, and he did his best to hide them from you. Sometimes, you saw them, and it hurt Bo know you saw them. He would snap and tell you not to look, but he secretly wanted to feel your fingers over them to touch them as if he was glass.

But he'll wait for the say you're ready.

An idea came to him when he watched you picking flowers in the fields near the station, picking each daisy and forget-me-not with meaning and care. But, as he looked at you, something brought a smile to his lips, curling up slightly enough to make the Louisiana rivers jealous. He pushing himself off the door frame and went inside the shop, digging around in the old boxes. If it's not here, he'll go bother Vincent about it, but he had a new goal.

Outside, you picked flowers, taking each flower in your hands and fingers, rubbing the steams and smiling. You found your own happy place among the wax and spare parts. You stood and dusted off the dirt and grim. These flowers for Bo would look cute in his curls, and, maybe, he'll let you placed them. As you walked back to the station, you saw Bo standing over a box on the counter, his hands digging through fabric, tossing the once that felt nice out and leaving the bad ones in. You said nothing as you watched him confused, biting your lower lip and lifting a brow.

When he looked up at you, he glanced down at the box then the fabric. His face heats up in a soft red as he kept digging in the box.

"You okay, Bo?" You asked hesitantly.

"I have an idea," he murmurs, but he doesn't look up at you as he pushed the box towards you. "But 's a dumb one."

"Yeah?" You asked, walking in. You put the wildflowers on the seat next to the door as you looked over the box of fabrics. "Try me, though."

He wipes his mouth after licking his lips. "I remember ya don' like it when people touch ya." He wiped his hands over his pants. "So, I figured, well," he seemed to failing to find words to tell you but the words came back. "I got a box wit' fabric. So, pick somethin' ya like."

"Bo?"

"Please, trust me, darlin'?" When his eyes met yours, they looked desperate and pleading. He's been trying so hard to find something, and this was his finding: a box of fabric. "Pick somethin' ya like. Any will do in t'box."

You looked down and started feeling the fabrics. There was soft cotton ones, but you didn't like how they felt against your arms. There was felt, but your fingertips didn't like how they wiggled under your grasp. Then a light green silk fabric caught your eye. There were little red roses over the green on vines and little bushes. It felt perfect against your wrist, cool then warm, and your hands enjoyed how soft and smooth it felt. You held it up for Bo to see and he smiled at it.

"Okay," he whispered. He takes the fabric and step around the counter to be standing in front of you as he started to speak. "Vincent hated holdin' hands when we were youngin's. And I hated long shirts fer a bit, but Mama had us hold hands whenever we left home." He made a slip knot at one end and started on the other end. "So, Vin and I figured somethin' out. We used a short rope," he slipped his hand through the other end of the silk and held the other towards you, "somethin' soft lik' 'is an' we held hands lik' 's until Vincent and I got used to touching skin."

He was gentle when he took your wrist and placed it in the slip knot. The silk wasn't too tight or too loose; if felt like you were wearing a bracelet. You could feel his strength in the other end, your hand a respectful two feet away from his. You felt his hand wrap around his end, tugging lightly at your skin. Breathless, you looked up at him and felt butterflies circling around your body. It's like he's holding your hand without you touching or feeling his skin.

He gave a trying grin. "See? Doesn't feel too tight?"

You shook your head as you looked at the fabric again.

"Bo," you said as you pushed back tears. "Why... why are you doing this?"

He blushed again, looking down at the rope. "I-I know ya don' like touching, so... maybe this is good? For hand holdin'?"

"Are," you placed your words carefully as your fingers rubbed over the silk, your fingers inches away from his, "are you saying you... you want to hold my hand?"

"Don't you?" He asked, his head snapping at you. He felt dumb. Of course you didn't want to hold his hand! Stupid, Bo! This was so dumb!

You looked down at the rope as a soft smile formed. "This is the nicest thing anyone's done for me."

His eyes grew wide. "No, it ain't."

"I know, but..." you couldn't stop smiling. "I've always waned to hold your hand, too, but I hate skin touching me. I hate the way it feels. It's like static and needles poking at the skin. It feels like it burns." You met his eyes and smile widely, "But this? This is nice! I can feel your strength and warm through the silk and... and it's nice." You look down at his tied hand, large and strong. "This... this is nice. Thank you, Bo."

He caught your smile and something inside him swelled. Something screamed him to kiss you and call you his. Call you by his name at the end of his days and nights. It mixed over his eyes like a lore around fish and its scales. There something beautiful hidden behind your voice, behind your smile that made him want more. When you're ready, the day he feels your hand his his, arms around him as he holds your tightly, kissing your hair and your soft lips, he'll be there.

Was this love? It's something he wonders, and he'll hold that closely to his chest.

"Whenever ya want t' hold my hand," he said, clearing his throat, "just show me 'is an' I'll hold th' otha end." He he brought his end up, which brought your hand up with it, and kissed the center of the silk rope as if he was kissing your hand. "Deal?"

You smiled as he watched your fingers linger over his ghost kiss on the silk. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Outside, butterflies fluttered and landed on the bright flowers, fluttering around the petals as they watched you two. Seeing you two bloom in love would be the sweetest flower ever to cross the flowers of Ambrose.

[epic-potato-crisp]

The Monday Incident

A very belated Secret Santa Gift for @kaseytransboi-blog (hope this is your Tumblr!)- so belated it is from 2022. So incredibly sorry about that! 🙈 I wanted you to still receive this gift, even if it means arriving in time for Ajin Secret Santa 2023. You wanted "Generally Wholesome" so It's a little One Shot featuring the Ajin Cast in the Brooklyn 99 universe - I hope you will (still) enjoy! <3

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LINK:

The Monday Incident - epic_potato_crisp - 亜人 - 三浦追儺 & 桜井画門 | Ajin - Miura Tsuina & Sakurai Gamon (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

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Detective Nagai had a terrible day. A day that had started with a diffuse ache in his abdomen and his heart palpitating at a mile an hour when he woke up an hour before his alarm from a nightmare he could not remember.

Seeing as it was pointless to go back to sleep, he cursed himself and the entire squad out, a plethora of creative insults he would, most likely, never voice out loud.  Then he went to brew a cup of coffee. He would have loved to say it immediately jolted him out of his stupor and into an active, motivated, pre-case solving state, but of course it didn’t. Rest assured, he was mercifully saved the one benefit of caffeine that he was betting on. The only change he experienced was a familiar burn in his throat, his reflux’s friendly way of reminding him that it was planning on becoming a permanent resident.

What a bother. Kei had always hated the concept of roommates.

He didn’t own a car, neither did he drive- not, as some might assume, because of not passing the ridiculously simple theoretical exam (He had, with a stellar score of 110% , the bonus resulting from giving himself extra credit for a formatting and spelling error he noticed). No, he simply chose not to, because frankly, the idea of riding into oncoming traffic on four shaky wheels with nothing but steel-aluminium walls that dented at the lightest scratch and a sorry excuse for an airbag keeping him from certain death, did not seem very appealing.

(And perhaps also, because the look his driving instructor had given him after his most recent attempt at the practical exam had etched himself in his soul forever. Sure, Kei might have avoided the head-on collision with the HAYAKAWA CIGARETTES truck, but the terror in the man’s eyes and the scathing indictment that followed made him wonder if actually getting mowed over by 4 tons of vehicle would have been the better alternative.) Ah well, now he would never know.

Thankfully, there were other people in his squad. Some compensated for their mediocre cognitive ability with a surprisingly solid physical skill set. One example was Nakano Kou, the overly-energetic detective who had declared himself Kei’s best friend two weeks after the latter had joined. It had been an unanimous decision Kei had interestingly never been consulted on. But he could live with that, he supposed.  Nakano could be incredibly annoying, but he did give Kei rides to work, which was appreciated.Especially , on a day as frosty as this one, where Kei would have rather stabbed himself than get up an hour earlier to spend his precious pre-work time scratching ice off car windows. Nakano, thankfully, seemed to have no such problem.

He was even punctual when he pulled up to Kei’s apartment that morning, dressed in his signature yellow parka.

“Good morning!“ he cheered loudly, turning down the Black Eyed Peas‘ “I GOT A FEELIN“ that was blaring in the background at Kei’s raised eyebrow. Orange strands as unkempt as ever, one hand on the steering wheel, he held out a cup emblazoned with yet another caffeine franchise that people with lack of a spine might pledge addiction to.

 “Kei”, the cup read.

He grinned as Kei got into the car, strapping on his seatbelt: “You gotta call shotgun, Nagai.”

“I’m not saying that every single time.” Kei sighed, “And I don’t want coffee.”

“That’s hot chocolate.”

Kei narrowed his eyes: “Without caffeine?”

“Yes, yes! Without!” Nakano said, lifting his left hand in an idiotic gesture of sincerity.

“Careful.” Kei snapped, not wanting his idiotic attempts at being genuine to endanger them in the morning traffic.

“Dude, chill, I’m still parking.” Nakano said, conveniently ignoring how Kei had told him to never call him dude  under any circumstances in their first week working together. He revved the engine to life and then, placing a hand on the back firmly of Kei’s headrest and turning to look behind himself, maneuvered them backwards and then out of their parking spot. The close proximity of his teammate’s fingers to his neck and the self-assured, almost cocky way with which his colleague steered them back into traffic did nothing for him, Kei reminded himself, gripping tightly around the cardboard wrapper. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and chased away a flicker of regret when Nakano’s hand dropped from its place on the headrest, fingers curling back around the steering wheel.

“You know, a “thank you, how was your weekend” wouldn’t kill you.” his colleague said, side-eying the stiff way he stiffly occupied the passenger seat.

“Just drive.” Kei grumbled, managing to avoid the eye-contact he was afraid would sell him out.

“Screw yourself, seriously.” Nakano said, fondness tinged with annoyance, as he shifted into third gear. Thus started their morning bickering- the only way, Kei realized, to properly wake him up.

They managed to get to work a good fifteen minutes before their morning meeting at 8 am. Which was good, because arriving any later than the designated time would be a surefire way to draw the wrath of their captain.

“Good morning, Sarge!” Nakano cheerfully greeted Sergeant Hirasawa, who was already sat at his desk, two yoghurt cups stacked in front of him.

“Good morning, detective Nakano.” Hirasawa replied. Age was not lost on the seargant, who combed back his hair in an effort to mask the balding patch, tucking his glasses behind his ears.  Calloused hands spoke of many years in the service, but in the seargeant’s case, he had followed an unconventional career path, having spent his years before training in the Academy as a bodyguard of sorts. “Well, hired gun is more like it.” the Sarge had shared during one evening during a post-working gathering a pub. Manabe, one of the four guys that had been employed about the same time as the Seargeant and who seemed to have known him for even longer, chuckled dryly at that.  Kei hadn’t bothered asking what the vague job description meant, he could put two and two together. Unlike Nakano, who had stared at Hirasawa with a quizzical look. Before the words “What’s a hired gun” could leave his mouth, Kei had grabbed him by the back of his parka and dragged him to the bar.

“The next rounds of drinks are on you.” he said sullenly, as his colleague complained loudly about the rough treatment. There must have been something in Kei’s eyes however, as Nakano dropped the topic pretty much immediately. When he came back carrying an armful of beers, their table cheered,  detective Suzumura and detective Kuroki slapping him on the back appreciatively. Nakano preened under the attention and was engrossed in a lively conversation within minutes.

Kei nipped at his rum-filled beverage, grimacing at the bitter taste and cursing out the bartender for clearly misjudging his soda to alcohol ratio preference. But just as he was about to call it an early night, Sergeant Hirasawa slid on the stool next to him. “So, I’ve heard some impressive things about you, Detective Nagai.”

“Which would be?” Kei asked, skeptically. The Sergeant laughed at his open mistrust. Well, someone tells me you are planning to become a captain of a squad yourself someday. Your stellar scores graduating from the Academy and your track record of solved cases also speak for themselves.”

Kei did his best to not feel too flattered under the praise. “That is, if I make it that far. I’ll have to pass the Sergeant’s exam first.. It would be a fool’s error to rest simply because of previous success I had.” He took a sip, and forced himself not to avoid the Sergeant’s gaze, which seemed downright friendly and empathic. Sometimes, he had to remind himself not everyone he ever worked with had ill-intent.  But then again, he had to keep an eye open for the possibility.

“I still have a long road ahead of me.” He concluded a conversation that he felt was becoming too personal for a work acquaintance.

“Spoken as a true contender for the position of Captain would.” Seargeant Hirasawa said, and Kei attempted not to startle too much when he amicably slapped his back, and in a tone, that sounded too genuine to be false said,  “I’m rooting for you, Detective Nagai.”

Well, at least, someone was rooting for him. Kei felt as though he was not having the same luck with the new Captain that had been assigned to their district.

Captain Tosaki Yuu  was not one for humor, or slacking, or any other form entertainment that would have made the arduous work days in the precinct more bearable. Kei would have been fine with that. Instead, it was Detective Nakano’s morale that took a major hit when their new commanding officer introduced himself and how he planned to run the precinct. However, it took him only a few weeks to win even the sour-faced captain over in that strangely charming way of his. This didn’t necessarily mean that Detective Nakano didn’t still make a fool of himself- he did- or that the Captain had never yelled at him for his tardiness or unserious attitude – he had – but it did meant that even tall,  pale, consistently stressed Captain Tosaki begrudgingly accepted the cheerful detective as vital member of his squad.

Which caused Kei even more of a headache because he himself wasn’t having any of that luck.

He had tried every strategy from mute respect to blank sincerity to disinterest to word-by-word conduct of corporate advancement guidelines but he kept clashing with the Captain more often than he had probably should. Conflict with superiors was not a favorable strategy, that was what he’d learned in the Academy. Sometimes, he laid awake at night, ruminating on the possibility that it could be a death sentence for his career that had not even properly begun. It was simply that he, Detective Nagai, had his own way of doing things which had served him well over years in service, and was only the slightest bit aggrieved at the fact of being presented with a new Captain that seemed to micromanage his every move.

If he was available to speak with at all.

As Nakano settled into his desk, finishing his coffee and chatting with the Seargeant, Kei flicked his eyes over to the Captain’s office. At the desk right in front sat Naomi, his personal secretary, who spent 1/3 of her time relegating calls, another third being mean and the final third playing Flappy Bird on her phone.

“Sorry, Captain’s not available right now.” she warbled into the speaker, examining her sapphire acrylics with genuine interest, just as Captain Tosaki came into view behind her.

“Who’s that?” the Captain asked sharply, flanked as usual by his right-hand Sergeant Shimomura, who stood stoically next to him.

To Naomi’s credit, she was used to his unannounced entrances and didn’t as much as startle, left alone appear guilty being caught blatantly avoiding her job.

She swiveled around in her desk chair, blowing maroon strands out of her eyes, perfectly manicured fingers held over the mouthpiece.

“Oh, just Ogura from Forensics.” she said, batting her eyelashes and dragging out the “a” with an annoyed sigh, “I told him I don’t get paid to deal with this before 9 am. Do you want him to call you back later?”

“That is exactly what you are getting paid to do.” Tosaki said monotonously, “But yes.” He grimaced, “Let him call back later.”

The fact that there was no love lost between the Captain and the leading physician of the Forensics Department, who liked hassle him at every turn, was not a secret for the crew. Naomi smirked, delighted at having her expectations met and withdrew her fingers from the mouthpiece, “He’s busy right now.” she faux-sweetly announced, “Try again during our office hours.” She slammed the phone down before Ogura’s distant voice on the other hand could as much as bring forward another jab.

Now that the matter was dealt with, Captain Tosaki moved onto the next target to air his morning frustration out on.

“Detective Nakano, Detective Nagai.” he barked.

“Sir, Yes Sir!” Nakano immediately jumped to attention, almost spilling his drink in the process.

Kei rolled his eyes.

“What is it, Captain?” he asked, feigning politeness.

“What are you standing there for?” Tosaki said, irritatedly, “Get settled in the meeting room. I’d like to start on time for once.”

Nakano cheerily shouted his affirmation, as the Captain strode off. Sergeant Shimomura remained behind, noting something on her clipboard.

“Good morning, Detective Nagai. Detective Nakano.” she greeted them properly, obsidian eyes calmly meeting their gaze.

“Good morning, Seargeant!” Nakano exclaimed, grinning back at her, not even attempting to hide his delight as having received her full attention, “How was your weekend? Did you do something fun?”

This was a one-sided love affair at best, Kei was certain, but that didn’t stop Nakano from being hopelessly infatuated with the Sergeant the moment he had stepped foot into the precinct. It’s good that he himself never had to deal with this type of ridiculous experiences, he thought, quenching the faintest annoyance that bubbled within him whenever he realized Nakano did have a habit of being very flirt-friendly with a lot of his female colleagues. Shimomura faintly returned his smile.

“It was fairly uneventful.” she said, in that reserved, cryptical way of hers, “I hope yours was enjoyable, as well.” The open-ended question was a rookie mistake.

As Nakano launched into an overly-detailed recitation of his weekend which included a paintball tournament and a barbecue (where on earth did he take the energy, Kei could not imagine), he observed the Seargeant more closely.

Fairly uneventful could mean anything when it came to Sergeant Shimomura. The last time she had used that description, she had single-handedly led a drug bust that had carried on into the early hours of Sunday morning. She was only few years older than Kei. He was also fairly certain they’d both trained at the same academy, although he had no proof of that. Upon joining their precinct, Tosaki had immediately recruited her as his second-in-command, which came to no surprise. Shimomura was not only loyal to the core, but also greatly skilled both in detective work and martial combat. She also did not seem fazed by the fact that she often got mistaken as Tosaki’s secretary. Whenever that happened, the Captain made sure to correct the mistake immediately, referring to her as his “highly talented Sergeant” and, and redirecting whoever misspoke to see Naomi if they wanted to speak with his “highly talented secretary.” (It was a blessing that he always made a show of loudly announcing these corrections, so Naomi at least had a few seconds to save her level on Wintry Workshop and pull up an Excel Table on her computer so as not to undermine his statement.)

Apart from this, he had not a single clue about the Seargeant’s backstory, interests or even exact whereabouts. Which was fairly unusual for a  department as…sociable as theirs. This was the most polite way Kei had of putting it.

“I know exactly three things about you.” Kei had pointed out one evening, as stacks of paperwork were dragging them long past the end of their shift, “And one of them is that you don’t let anyone know where you live.”

“That is already one thing more than you were supposed to know, Detective Nagai.” the Seargeant had said, the corners of her lips tilting up ever so slightly, “Not even my relatives have the information.”

He had left it at that. He had once seen her body-slam the leader of human trafficking ring that towered two heads above her after the man had attempted to pull a gun on her. It really wasn’t worth the risk.

“So in conclusion.”  Detective Nakano said, gesturing towards the projector, “I’m really certain this is the man we’re looking for. Here he is, on his way of committing crime.”

With a dramatical flourish, he moved onto the next slide of his presentation.

The grainy photo, taken from a security camera inside the Forge headquarters, showed an elderly gentleman wearing a baseball cap and a knit cardigan. His eyes were unfocused, almost closed, giving the impression of him having just woken up from a nap.

Kuroki and Manabe erupted in laughter.

“No way.” Kuroki said.

“He’s on his way alright, but to the next retirement home.” Manabe scoffed.

Kuroki cackled at that and held out his hand for a fist bump, which Manabe returned.

“Alright, let’s give Detective Nakano a chance to present his case.” Seargeant Hirasawa spoke up patiently, ever the mediator, “Detective, what proof do you have?”

“Oh, uh- proof.” Detective Nakano said, scratching his head, “Well…”

Kei looked over at the Captain, who was observing Nakano from his seat at the front of the  meeting room with a stony expression. Never a good sign.

“Well, the evidence speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” Nakano said, shrugging helplessly, “He’s in this footage, he was on the previous footage…I’m sure if I contact the Cyber Crimes division they could retrace the IT address that the perps used to hack into the Forge database, and that would probably lead back to—”

“We do not operate on the basis of probably, Detective.”  The icy tone in the Captain’s voice made even Nakano cringe.

Tosaki got to his feet. He swiftly moved towards Nakano, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Zoom in, Detective.” He ordered. And Nakano did.

Kuroki whistled at the sight. ““Man, let’s hope he meakes it to the retirement home at all.”  he said.

As much as it pained Kei to admit it, he was right. Upon closer inspection, the suspect appeared even older, properly geriatric. Fragile. If Nakano had meet him outside of work, he would have likely asked if he needed assistance crossing the streets. And then helped him cross said street. Nakano was friendly like that.

“Are you telling me.” Tosaki said, each word laced with scathing disbelief, “That this is the man you believe to be behind the string of seven flawlessly executed robberies, most recently at the Forge headquarters, a company that prides itself on their bulletproof security system?”

“I’m not sure he even knows what Windows is.” someone muttered in the background. Probably Kuroki. Kei shot an unnerved look in his direction. If someone was to harangue Nakano for his mediocre presentation abilities, it was to be him.

“He could- could have allies!” Nakano defended himself, now gesturing wildly, “Like, most of them big time dudes do.”

The big times dudes, right. Whenever Kei doubted his own capabilities as a detective – which happened more frequently than he would like to admit – it was moments as this one that reassured him that perhaps a future command wasn’t this far out of reach, if this was the competition he was to contend with.

“He has a caretaker, at most, that- “

“Enough.” the Captain snapped. He massaged his temples.

He turned towards his right-hand, the only other detective’s – except, in some instances, Hirasawa’s- opinion he regularly took into consideration. “Sergeant Shimomura, what do you think?”

The room grew quiet, as everyone’s attention focused on the Seargeant sitting in the second row. Nakano seemed to be holding his breath. Shimomura was silent for several moments. When she then spoke, there was the faintest trace of sympathy in her otherwise emotionless tone.

“As much as I appreciate your case work so far, Detective, I believe you at this point that you are lacking the necessary evidence to make an accusation, let alone an arrest.”

She concluded by clicking her pen shut. Upon this judgement, Nakano visibly deflated. Shimomura had likely been his last and most important pillar of hope.

Tosaki nodded. “I agree.”

“Listen, guys.” Nakano called out, a tinge of desperation creeping into his voice, “You know I have a really good intuition.”

That he had, Kei had to admit. Despite his own record of solved cases, Nakano wasn’t lagging too far behind. Or at all. There had been one too many times where they had made a competition, with a humiliating punishment for that month’s loser in terms of numbers. Though even those didn’t seem to faze him. He had worn the pink, glitter-adorned “Boss Babe ” shirt with pride to the precinct the day after Nagai had bested him one glorious August evening. Kei would have called sick before he sat one foot through the doors in this get-up. He imagined his little sister calling him a misogynist and scowled at the idea.

“And it is because of said intuition”- wow, what a big word for you, Detective, Kei thought drlyly, “That I am so very certain.”  Nakano continued, his voice becoming more steadfast and louder in his determination, “This is the culprit!” He pointed back towards the screen, the image woefully undermining the earthshattering point he was trying to make, “this is the guy we have been chasing for months, who has been making our lives hell since he robbed that gaming store a year ago.”

“That’s a hell of a nice deal on those retro consoles.” Ogura had whistled through his teeth when Kei had shown him the recipes of the robbery after the doctor’s persistent badgering, “Wish I had a Pacman game at home.”

“So, if you believe me, I can say that it’s him with like” Nakano frowned, running the numbers in his head: “85% certainty! That’s how certain I am!”

Kei was about to throw in his own comment on the situation when the Captain shut down the projector, much to Nakano’s gasping dismay and feeble protests.

“85% are not enough, Detective.” he said coldly and turned towards the room

, “Meeting dismissed.”

Kei tried to spend the rest of the day in a productive state, in an effort to be able to go home at the designated time that was almost never kept. Nakano, who had not quite bounced back from their morning meeting, unintentionally made every effort to thwart this plan.

“I just don’t get why my case work wasn’t enough.” he whined, for the second time that afternoon, head placed on Kei’s desk, where the later was filing, or rather, attempting to file a report.

“And I don’t get why you continue to ignore my work space, but here we are.” Kei said monotonously.

“Come on, dude, we’re basically desk mates.” Nakano argued, which was a very convenient stretching of the truth.

The fact that he had to roll past four other desks on his way to Kei’s – courtesy of Tosaki, who had placed them apart in his first week in order to improve work flow - was no deterrent for Detective Nakano. He enjoyed making the way into a race of sorts, often timing how long it took him to get from one desk to the other. His record of five seconds was still unbeaten.

“I pulled so much overtime for this, it’s like the Captain didn’t even properly read my report-“

Kei saved his document, and sighed, deciding to spare a few seconds of his valuable time for his colleague.

“I’m certain he did. It’s just not that simple.” He said, “Seargeant Shimomura has been on the same track for months. If she’s finding it to be a challenge, why did you think it would be an easy solve for you?”

This seemed to resonate with Nakano. “Well.” he said, appearing thoughtful of suddenly, “Guess you have a point. Still sucks, though.”

Kei hummed affirmatively, leaving his colleague alone with his own thoughts, which was thankfully a peaceful situation. He chanced a glance at the large office clock. If he kept working at his previous speed, and if Seargeant Hirasawa didn’t magically appear with another apartment break-in for him to process, then perhaps- today he would actually be able to leave-

“Detective Nakano, Detective Nagai.” Captain Tosaki barked from his office door, “A word. Now.”

Kei did not even attempt to suppress his groan.

“Well, suppose we should go, right?” Nakano said, squaring his shoulders and throwing him a questioning sort of look to which Kei could only respond in kind. No, he too had no idea what could possibly be going on.

“Oopsie.” Naomi said, a grimacing-type of smile clear with Schadenfreude, as they walked past her desk, “The Captain is still in kind of a bad mood. The fact that Doc Ogura just called back a few seconds ago didn’t help with that at all.”

Kei saw that she at least had the decency to pause her Candy Crush game for that short, albeit pointless conversation.

“Great.” he replied sarcastically, “Thank you for the info.”

“No worries.” Naomi chirped, “Let me know if there’s anything going on, yeah? The office has been so quiet these past few days.” She leant forward and lowered the register of her voice: “I could use some juicy info.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Miss Naomi!” Kou called out enthusiastically, as Kei, unnerved, dragged him to Captain’s office.

Captain Tosaki wasn’t alone. Sergeant Shimomura stood on his right side, giving them the hint of a smile as they entered.

“Close the door properly and pull down the blinds.” Captain Tosaki instructed promptly “I have a matter of great importance to discuss with both of you.”

Kei had not expected this turn of events. He took a moment to recollect himself, while Nakano already jumped into action with an enthusiastic “Yes, Sir!” and carried out the tasks.

“Sit down.” the Sergeant said, gesturing to the seats in front of the desk.

They both did. Anticipation had Kei sliding to the edge of his chair, toes poised on the carpeted floor. Nakano seemed equally as nervous, but in stark contrast, as far as Kei could tell, carried himself with less with dread, even with a hint of excitement.

“So.” Tosaki said, after a few beats of uncomfortable silence, “I have called you here to inform you that I – or, rather, we both-“ he glanced at the Sergeant, “Would like to revise our statement on Detective Nakano’s casework.”

Something lurched in Kei’s chest.

“Revise?” Kou said, in a puzzled tone, because of course he did.

“Retract.” Sergeant Shimomura interjected, “We have reviewed your work and believe that you are on the right path, Detective.”

“All evidence considered, we believe you have identified the correct culprit. Responsible for the burglaries of several stores, the Forge headquarters and beyond.”  Tosaki continued with a sigh, “Your intuition, unfortunately, was correct.”

Kei could see the wheels turning in Nakano’s head.

“Heck yeah!” his colleague shouted, pumping his fist in elation, which earned him an insistent Shush from his unamused superiors.

“Sorry.” Nakano .said sheepishly, scratching his head. “I’m just glad I got it right. It’s good when your work pays off.”

The Captain sighed again.

“Why unfortunately?” Kei spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the odd turn of phrasing, “How is a progress in a case not beneficial?”

The Captain and the Sergeant exchanged another one of their trademark looks.

“Well.” Sergeant Shimomura said, hesitating, “The matter appears to be larger than we originally anticipated.”

“That being a rather euphemistic understatement.” Tosaki said, producing a file from his drawers and slapping it down in front of them, “Our culprit, Samuel T. Owen, is not only responsible for the string of robberies.”  

CLASSIFIED, red letters read.

“We also believe him to be the leader of an anarchist uprising with ties to the black market, specifically organ trafficking.”

Fuck, was the first thought to enter Kei’s mind, More overtime. He was exhausted as it was. He ignored the sliver of interest he felt at the promise of a case far more thrilling than he had ever worked one, even dreamed of working when he chose his career path. Nakano, on the other hand,  made an odd, high-pitched noise next to him, which Kei correctly identified as a suppressed whimper of excitement.

“Heck yeah.” his colleague whispered in awe, fist clenched,  beaming like Christmas had come early.

“So we have asked you here to promote you to primary investigators on this case that must be carried out with utmost-“ Tosaki paused, eyeing Nakano scrutinizingly, “disrection. No- one is to be informed the nature of this investigation, or any new developments, apart from Sergeant Shimomura and myself. At least, for the foreseeable future. Understood?”

“Yes Sir!” the Detective replied, an excited almost-yell that made the Sergeant shush him again.

The Captain massaged his forehead. “You both, including you, Detective Nagai.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kei responded, dully.

“I hope you do not disappoint us with your work on the SATO case.” The Captain concluded.

“Sato?” Nakano asked, frowning.

“It’s the acronym we have chosen.” Sergeant Shimomura explained, “Samuel T. Owen is the name of our suspected culprit. Or in other words-“ she paused for effect,  “SATO.”

Even if Kei had had more time to prepare, he would not have been able to quell Nakano’s shout of excitement this time. It would have been hard too, with excitement and anticipation thrumming in his own veins.

“Heck yeah!”

------

Rest in Peace Andre Braugher (01.07.1962- 11.12.2023) - your incredible portrayal of Captain Raymond Holt will be missed. You will always be the Captain of our Hearts!

[girlboss-enthusiast]

🌄&🧔‍♂️

🌄 What was the first thing that peaked you, and when did you peak?

(This is soooooo fucking long I'm sorry)

Peak trans and peak patriarchy were intertwined for me. It was mid-2021. I’d been identifying as nonbinary for about two years, but even while trying my best to believe in it, the whole concept of nonbinary just felt fake. At the same time, I had started questioning what I knew about porn and the sex industry in general. I hadn't watched porn in a few years because I’d read stories from ex-performers about the evils of mainstream porn, and I knew there was probably rape footage on porn sites, but I was still on the “sex work is work” bus. (I know—I was an idiot.) I saw a post on Tumblr about the pros of the Nordic Model vs legalization, realized I didn't know much about it, and did some research. I found a couple blogs here that were incredibly informative, and found radfem bloggers in the links. They were scary TERFs but they were right about porn, so I wanted to see if they were right about anything else. And that was that. I was connecting with radfems here by January 2022.

For gender specifically: I struggled with what I thought was severe gender dysphoria. Like, the hatred I felt for my body and particularly my reproductive organs made me want to carve them out of me. I was that TIF who truly thought her innate identity and rightful state of being was a sparkly mist. (In retrospect, this was profound dissociation stemming from my fear and hate of my disabled body. I can't believe that people thought I was fine when I was incredibly mentally ill.) But nonbinary as a concept never quite made sense to me, even when I wanted to believe it. I went by they/them, changed my style, but it was like a costume. Nothing had changed but the words I used.

Like I said above, I started reading radfem blogs because of their anti-porn posts. They poked holes in gender identity as an ideology, not just being nonbinary, and that + curing my PMDD made me discard gender ideology completely.

🧔‍♂️ If you could kill one man (excluding politicians, billionaires, and those responsible for world tragedies), who would it be?

The 22-year-old male who started dating my friend when she was 16, right after she got out of an abusive relationship, and who we all thought was great bc he was soooooo nice to Jane* and so polite to everyone else, and he bought us alcohol, and she seemed so happy, and of course he was just as abusive as her ex, just better at hiding it. I would like to travel back in time and run him over with his stupid lifted truck

[loiswolf]

Day 21 June 19 Fort St John - Dawson Creek 75kms

Some of you have probably been thinking I’ve had wifi problems again….nah, I just haven’t really been cycling enough to blog about it.

On Saturday morning I left the Warmshowers family ( I put their photo in the previous blog in case you missed that edit), pedalled into town then back along the Highway to the RV park.

At Toad River I had also made friends with Debbie and Tim who were driving the long stretch (388kms) between Fort Nelson and Fort St John on Saturday .They had agreed to take Shirley and I on board. My other option was to take the bus but it didn’t run until Monday ( today).

We found a place to fit Shirley in the RV and I was in the back seat of the truck with Rhino….the dog. It seemed like such a long way. We went through rain, spotted 3 bears and a moose, saw a helicopter taking water to a fire somewhere and climbed lots of big hills. I didn’t mind being in the truck one little bit and I also had the benefit of being able to talk to Debbie and Tim.

They were really lovely. I’ve met some great people hitching rides! It turns out there actually were places I could possibly have stayed in after around 230kms but they hadn’t shown up on the map. It’s also hard to know which ones are actually open and offering rooms.

About 13kms from Fort St John my lift was turning right to head back west to another town. We took a farewell selfie and unloaded Shirley.

I rolled over to the other side of the road to the servo for a coffee and some chicken wings. Then it was pretty much a downhill run all the way into town.

My motel appeared very quickly. I should have cancelled my booking and headed off to the nice Motel 8 up the road because this place was just awful.

My room stunk of cigarette smoke and the other tenants looked absolutely undesirable. I’m pretty sure there was a prostitute operating out of the room two doors up because every hour , on the hour , a car would drive up and someone would go in. Just before the hour was up they would leave and someone would arrive on the next hour. 😕 A little suspicious. You would have thought with all those customers the occupant would have been able to afford a better car than this rust bucket.

It actually moved a couple of spaces overnight. I can’t believe it was drivable!

My biggest regret was that I had booked two nights at this hideous place!

After a while I became used to the smell and worked out how to reconnect the wifi when it dropped out every hour or so. I woke up at about 4am the first night convinced there were bed bugs ( there wasn’t).

I spent my rest day actually resting. I did walk around the shops on the other side of the road covering quite some distance. The shops are all about 400m apart with huge car parks between. I watched bad movies and a had a snooze in the afternoon.

I woke at 4am this morning to get some water to find that the fridge had frozen everything in it. ( it was on the lowest setting). I pulled everything out so it could thaw by the morning and went back to bed.

So……today it was back on the bike!

I wasn’t in a hurry because today was only 75kms. Ok, I took ages getting ready because I couldn’t figure out the Wordle. Finally I solved it, packed up Shirley and headed off for my last day on the Alaskan Highway.

The first 10kms were unremarkable except for quite a lot of traffic. The next 10kms were a long downhill run all the way into the next town, Taylor. It looked like a much nicer town to stay in but it was too late now. The road continued down the hill and over a bridge. I was going too fast to realise I should have gone on the pedestrian pathway. The bridge was a metal grid ( I hate those) and nothing could get by me. I just hung on and tried to keep Shirley in a straight line, rather hard with the wind, and told myself not to look down.

After the bridge was a very long hill, about 6kms. I took this photo a little way up so you can see the scary bridge if you look hard.( it’s blue)

The hill wasn’t too hard even though it was long. This photo is from near the top.

All day it was a long slow hill followed by another lengthy downhill run. At about 50kms there was a town called Farmington which boasted one service station.

I foolishly bought a flavoured coffee to go with my cinnamon scroll. Sitting back outside in the wind ( the only place to sit) I realised it was milky and sweet so I tossed it over the railing and snuck back inside to fill the cup with real coffee.

Only 25kms to go. There were a lot of trucks and fuel tankers but the shoulder was good so I was able to stay out of their way. One last long hill was followed by a 10km run down into Dawson Creek and the end of the Alaskan Highway.

I’m not sure where it started but I’ve been on it for well over 1000kms.

I’d had some serious doubts about the motel I’d booked here. I was going to sneak in and check it out before paying but the lovely owner knew who I was as soon as I walked in. Rats! Turns out I didn’t need to worry. It’s a nice little place

And smells great!

[algebraicpizza]

If the Straw Hat Pirates were on social media:

this has probably been done before but idc

Luffy doesn't have an account (he doesn't know how to use a phone) but Nami and Usopp run a tiktok where they take videos of him getting into street fights, climbing on top of statues in public, or running all-you-can-eat buffets out of business. He has no idea he's become popular online. There's a subreddit that compiles every sighting.

Zoro streams his workouts on insta but often forgets to turn off the stream, leading to everyone seeing his completely empty apartment. His chat is full of simps but he doesn't actually know how to open it and never connected it to his bank account to receive donations. He's been invited onto various podcasts but has never responded to any of their emails. Most of his workout advice is just to lift heavier weights.

Nami is actually not a hot tub streamer, but she constantly jokes in her just chatting streams that the next stream will be one. Clips of her raging in Valorant have gone viral several times in spite of how she preaches kindness and respect, but she's always managed to get away with an apology video. She secretly posts on 4chan to argue with her haters.

Usopp is a variety streamer who's an absolute god in every shooter he plays. He trash talks like crazy in voice chat and several of his questionably true rants about how he's the best player ever or going to show up at his opponent's house have become memes. Sound clips of his terrified screams while playing horror games have become memes as well, and he hates it. He's actually active in his community discord, and frequently reacts to its meme channel.

Sanji posts recipe videos, clips and screenshots of which regularly do numbers on twitter for how amazing they look. The restaurant he works at requires reservations six months in advance because of how much he's boosted it's profile. A reality show once did an episode on him that revealed not just the way he belittles chefs who fuck up, but the biased treatment he gives to women. He can't shake that reputation, but is trying to be better. He's recently moved to tiktok and gotten a brand new boost of fans.

Chopper first appeared as an expert guest on various podcasts, and then started youtube videos explaining basic medical concepts. But somehow, fan comments convinced him to start making videos like "Doctor Plays MINECRAFT for the first time?" He believes every single fake rumor about Herobrine.

Robin posts her history lectures online and is beloved by students around the world for how understandable she makes complex topics. Her videos are very popular as unintentional ASMR. Otherwise, she mostly avoids social media, but you'll occasionally see her networking on academic twitter and vagueposting about how hard she works and how much she wishes things were easier. Secretly, she's active on AO3 and is known for her hundreds of angsty hurt/comfort fics in just about every fandom you can imagine.

Franky runs a DIY engineering youtube channel where he posts the most insane inventions. His titles are all along the lines of "POLICE SHOWED UP AT MY HOUSE? SUUUUPER TRUCK WITH MOUNTED CANNON BUILD!!!" He does AMAs on reddit every year and ends every single comment with SUUUUUUPER.

Brook is a popular musician online, but doesn't have a youtube channel of his own. He's known for rock covers of classical pieces and his concerts sell out completely, but the only videos of him are posted by fans. The only way he actually communicates with fans is on facebook, where he's active to this day, mostly to post puns.

Jimbei hosts a political podcast where he talks primarily about minority rights, but he takes on guests with a variety of views for the sake of open debate. He's ratioed political figures on twitter many times. He travels frequently and posts about it on his blog.

[sightoru]

—𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭)

✩pairing: Farmer!Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

✩genre: hurt/comfort, smut

✩word count: 8.3k

✩warnings: slight angst, praise kink, facefucking, fingering, unprotected sex, decaf coffee.

✩authors note: this is a repost from my old blog @/izuushi! Farmer bakugou my beloved. I wanna dedicate this to the lovely @hawnks​ because it’s the fic that brought us together <3

✩excerpt: 

“Has it ever broken down like this before?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “It’s been reliable until today. Ironic isn’t it? Finally got a vacation from work and now is the time it decides to break down.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Funny how life works.”

You look out the window, watching rolling hills pass by. You were so focused on getting to the vacation house you didn’t realize how beautiful it is here. How bright the green grass reflects against the sun; the trees that stretch towards the sky and sway against the wind. It’s different from the sights you’re used to; skyscrapers that make everything next to them look small, heels that clack on sidewalks and the loud sounds of traffic.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “Funny.”

It’s blistering hot today.

It’s a dry heat. The kind that makes the roads look like they’re full of water in the distance. Makes the asphalt stick to the bottom of your shoes and sucks the moisture out of your body. It makes your tongue stick to your cheek; makes the sweat that drips down from your forehead sting your eyes. The sun is high in the sky today, bright and blinding and burning. It makes your skin feel like it’s on fire, its rays searing into your skin like it’s branding it.

The heat however, is the least of your problems when your car breaks down and leaves you stranded on some country backroad. Hours away from the vacation house you were supposed to be at. If the sun hadn’t taken away all the moisture your body had to give, you think you’d cry at the sight of smoke coming from underneath the hood of your car.

A man with the rustiest pick up truck you’ve ever seen pulls up next to you, staring at you through black sunglasses before pushing them to the top of his head.

“Need some help there, miss?” The man says. His eyes are a bright shade of red, like two pools of lava. His blonde hair sticks up in wild tufts, some of it sticking to his sweat slicked forehead. He looks thoroughly unamused, a tanned arm hanging out of the window of his truck and his hand lazily thrown onto the steering wheel.

“Uh….” you fidget for a moment, your mothers voice in your head reminding you not to trust strangers. “I’m fine!” you squeak, trying to flash him a convincing smile.

He doesn’t buy it. You watch his mouth fall open, then close. His eyes roll back so far you think they’ll get stuck and he exhales slowly through his nose. He looks at you like he’s trying to decide if you’re worth the headache you’ll inevitably give him. “You don’t look fine, miss.” he says after some time, his eyebrow quirks as if he dares you to argue. “Do you want me to look at your car for ya?”Before you know it you’re nodding your head, watching a cocky smirk ghost his lips. You frown, hating giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing you so stuck. He gets out of his truck, parking it in the middle of the road without a care before he’s walking to your car to lift your hood and inspect it. You have no idea what he’s doing, content to watch him twist and pull on parts that look absolutely foreign to you. You watch his brows furrow in concentration, the way his lips twist as he tugs on a particularly stubborn valve.

“Sorry miss,” he says after some time, wiping the grease off his hands with a rag. “Your engine overheated, and you definitely shouldn’t drive it. Lemme give you a tow back to my place. M’not sure if you’re gonna be able to get any service there with the storm that came through the other day but it won’t hurt to try.”

“Are you a serial killer?” You blurt out. Suspicion finally rising to the surface, your mother’s voice ringing in your head and once again chastising you for your blunt nature. You feel dumb as soon as you say it. What kind of serial killer admits to being one anyways?

“Hah?” He looks genuinely confused for a moment, then irritated. He rolls his eyes at you again, before he sighs exasperatedly. “Don’cha think I’d be a bit more charming if I wanted to lure you into my house and kill you?”

You don’t know why this makes you laugh but it does. Your hands clutching your sides as your body shakes with laughter. You realize you probably look insane to him, but you’re so exhausted by today you can’t manage the energy to care. “What’s your name?”

“Katsuki Bakugou.” he says, eyeing you with caution. You think he’s probably regretting his offer by the curious way he looks at you. The way his eyebrows scrunch at you. You tell him your name after and he just nods, moving to his truck to grab tow straps and hooking them to your car. You stand there, watching his strong arms tug on the strap and make sure it can hold the weight of your car. He nods over to his truck. “Get in.”

You’re cautious when you step in, intending on keeping your guard up but with the way his air conditioning caresses your skin you practically melt into his passenger seat with a sigh. Katsuki gets in moments after you do, and you try to collect yourself. Try not to look so comfortable. His eyes shift over to you, and you watch his hand turn up the A/C.

“No air conditioning in your car?” he asks after some time. His way of attempting small talk, you think to yourself. You look over at him out of the corner of your eye, your vision landing on the tanned muscle of his forearm and the careless grip he has on the steering wheel.

You shake your head at him. “No,” you say. “I’ve had the car forever to be honest. After this trip I was gonna get a new one.”

“Has it ever broken down like this before?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “It’s been reliable until today. Ironic isn’t it? Finally got a vacation from work and now is the time it decides to break down.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Funny how life works.”

You look out the window, watching rolling hills pass by. You were so focused on getting to the vacation house you didn’t realize how beautiful it is here. How bright the green grass reflects against the sun; the trees that stretch towards the sky and sway against the wind. It’s different from the sights you’re used to; skyscrapers that make everything next to them look small, heels that clack on sidewalks and the loud sounds of traffic. 

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “Funny.”

Katsuki pulls into a dirt driveway after a few more moments of silence. The house is charming. A white two story building with blue shutters and a wrap around porch. It’s much too big for someone that lives alone. You wonder if someone else lives here too for a moment, but something inside you tells you he’s not the type to let anyone in.You wonder what makes you so special.

“The phone lines have been down for a few days now.” Katsuki informs you as he opens the door. You step inside, and you’re faced with a large kitchen. You can see the living room just past that. Everything is neat and minimalist. Katsuki doesn’t have more than what he needs. “Storm came through and took out the service. You might have some here though, not sure. I just use the landline. Don’t have a cellphone.”

“I don’t have service.” you whine. You feel like crying. You finally get a vacation and now you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, I know what part you need. I’ll go to the auto shop tomorrow and see if they have it. Otherwise they’ll have to order it in. In that case, you can stay here until the parts come in.”

“Oh I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

He rolls his eyes. “What are ya gonna do? Sleep on the side of the road in your car?” You stare at him, not willing to admit that you actually had planned that.

 “You dumbass,” he snaps. “You know it gets cold here at night you’d freeze out there.”

You cross your arms and huff. “Well it was worth a shot.”

“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No,” you shake your head. “I definitely couldn’t do that.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. It’s fine. Just take the damn bed.” he snaps.

“Well…” you sigh. “If you insist.�� —————————————————————— You’re sitting at the kitchen table. You’re not sure where Katsuki went, not seeing him on the couch when you came downstairs in the morning. A crossword puzzle sits on the table, the rest of the newspaper clearly read. You sit down, grabbing a pencil and starting the puzzle.

“I usually fill those out y’know.” you hear a gruff voice call out, followed by the sound of the screen door slamming.

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t know.” You watch Katsuki nervously, feeling bad for overstepping. You’re still not sure what to make of him.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it.” he says, starting to brew a pot of coffee. “You’re almost done anyways.” he stares out the window above the sink before adding quietly, “I get tomorrow’s though.”

You smile at him, thin lipped and polite. “Of course.”

He doesn’t say anything, just grunts and pours you a mug full of coffee. You take a sip before recoiling at the taste. “What the hell kinda coffee is this?” you ask, looking over at him incredulously.

He rolls his eyes at you. “It’s decaf. Caffeine makes m’nervous. I drink it for the taste.” He watches you pour cream and sugar into the mug, no doubt trying to cover the taste. “You’re giving me shit for drinking decaf? Yours doesn’t even taste like fuckin coffee at this point.”

“You can’t give me shit,” you snort. “You’re the one willingly drinking decaf.”

“Shaddup.” he looks over at you, then flicks his eyes down to the crossword puzzle before muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Guile.” he repeats, louder this time. You tilt your head at him. He learns forward, his body hovering over yours as he points a finger at the crossword. “26 down. Another word for cunning. Guile.”

You purse your lips at him, then fill in the space. “Do you have anything to do? Anything you need help with?”

“Yeah, collecting eggs and feeding the chickens. Also, I went into town today. The shop didn’t have the part you needed, so they ordered it. Should be here at the end of the week.”

“A week?!” you shriek, hopelessness flooding your veins. That’s your entire vacation. What if it takes longer? How will you let your boss know?

“Yeah, a week.” He repeats to you. Then points again at the puzzle. “4 across is lotto.”

You falter for a moment, not sure what he’s saying until you look down.

“Bakugou,” you huff, wagging your pencil at him. “This is my puzzle. You get tomorrows.”

“Whatever.” he snorts. “We’re late.”

You tilt your head at him “Late for what?”

“Late to enjoy the little things. C’mon.” He says like it’s obvious, like you should just know. He walks out of the house, and you see him sit down on the porch through the window in the kitchen. You follow him, abandoning the puzzle on the table and joining him.

You sit next to Katsuki on the porch swing, his elbows propped up on the back of the swing as his legs slowly move it back and forth. He’s silent, a contented sigh escaping his lips as you both watch the sunrise together. It’s nice here, you think. Everything is soft and fuzzy around the edges as you watch rolling fog wash over the tree-covered hills in the distance. You feel like you’re in a different world here, a world that’s quieter and safer and it holds you like a weighted blanket. It’s a patch of paradise, finding beauty in the rays of the sun as it slowly creeps up and drowns the world around you in a marmalade shade of orange.He breaks the silence with a sigh.

“You wanna feed the chickens or collect the eggs?” He looks over at you, garnet eyes burning into you.

“I’ll feed the chickens.” you say. You don’t want to tell him you’re clumsy, and that you’ll probably end up dropping an egg or two. Something tells you he wouldn’t handle that well.

“I’ll cook breakfast when we’re done.” he says, standing up from the swing and stretching.

You didn’t realize how many chickens Katsuki actually had until they’re surrounding you as you throw handfuls of grain at them. You watch him come out of the henhouse, a basket full of eggs that are different shades of brown. He stands there for a moment and watches you and you smile at him. It’s beautiful out, the sun hits his eyes and makes them look like two pools of fire and you feel your breath catch in your throat at the sight. He beckons you inside with a whistle between his teeth and you follow him.You watch Katsuki sift flour and mix like a pro; like he’s done this hundreds of times. He generously butters a skillet and lays batter down in meticulous circles, looking slightly proud of his handiwork as bubbles rise to the surface of the batter.

“Do you want help?” you ask after sometime, standing next to him and watching him work, not wanting to feel useless.

“No.” he says with finality. “Stay the hell out of my kitchen.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender, clicking your tongue as you back away from him. He just scowls at you, face scrunched up in irritation but it just makes you laugh at him. You wonder if he’s always been this irritable; if other people find it almost endearing like you do. You sit back down at the table, picking up your pencil and continuing your puzzle. You hope for a moment Katsuki will see the look of concentration on your face. 38 across is stumping you, but you decide you’ll never willingly ask for his help. Not yet, atleast. He sets a plate down in front of you. “Academy.”

“Thank you.” you smile, before adding. “For the food. Not for the answer. I would’ve figured it out.”

He just looks at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. “You cut your pancakes in slices?”

“Yeah?” you guffaw. “You’re weird for cutting them in squares.”

He rolls his eyes for you, muttering something under his breath and pushing his eggs around his plate.

Later that night, after a day full of books read and following Katsuki around like a lost puppy, he tells you he’s ready to go to bed. It’s only 8pm, and you’d usually be up later but waking up so early in the morning has you agreeing with him.

“Goodnight, Bakugou.” you say softly before walking up his stairs.

“Goodnight.” He turnsaway from you, pulling the lamp string and submerging the room in darkness. “And call me Katsuki.” he adds before your foot hits the stairs.

“Goodnight, Katsuki.”

—————————————————————— There isn’t any time for a cup of coffee this morning when Katsuki tells you that you’re helping him pick corn today. He says it’s best to pick in the morning. You’re not sure why this is, but you don’t ask. Just trust what he says as you follow him into the cornfield.

Katsuki is moving so fast, and the sun is blinding you, despite how early it is. “Katsuki!” you call out. “Slow down, I’m gonna get lost.”

He turns to you, huffing. “Y’know you said you’d earn your keep around here but I gotta keep teaching you and waiting on you. Y’might as well stay inside.”

“Katsuki, I’m trying.” you whine. 

“C’mon.”He holds his hand out to you. “Here.” you stare at it dumbly. Looking from his calloused hand to his bright vermilion eyes. “Hold my hand, so you don’t get lost.” You can’t tell if his face is red from the heat or embarrassment. You decide you don’t care, and snugly fit your hand into his. He looks away, turning and tugging you in the direction he was going. “It’s not quite time for harvest yet. That won’t be for a few more weeks. But one of the neighbors dropped off some chicken and corn sounds good to go with dinner.”

You don’t say anything, just nod as he leads you towards the center of the field. He takes an ear of the stalk, pulling down and twisting before he nods at you. “Did ya see what I did?” You nod at him. “Then do the same. We’ll get 20 of them. We won’t need that much, but it’s always good to have extras.”

You’re both silent as you pick corn, holding the bundles to your body as you stay close behind him. Both of your arms are too full to be able to hold Katsuki’s hand, and you worry about getting lost again before you notice he’s walking much slower; occasionally turning his head to make sure you’re still behind him.

“We got some time before dinner,” he says as he places the bundles on the kitchen table. “I’m gonna finish this puzzle.” He grabs a pen from the drawer and sits down, his chin resting in his hand.

“You do your crosswords in pen?” you scoff at him incredulously. “Why?”

“Because I’m fuckin good,” he barks at you, vermillion eyes flashing for a moment with pride. “I don’t need to erase mistakes because I don’t make them.”

You laugh at him, throwing your head back as you snort. He glares at you, but there’s no venom in his gaze. You watch him for a while. The scrunched face of concentration he makes looking at the puzzle reminds you of the first time you ever saw him carefully inspecting your car.

“47 down is nitroglycerin.” you tell him, pointing at the puzzle.

“Hey!” he barks. “This is my damn puzzle today.” He looks back down at the puzzle, then points his pen at you. “You better not be wrong.”

“You did the same thing to me!”

He grumbles under his breath and looks away from you, continuing to work on the puzzle. “Oi, check the cabinet. I bought regular coffee.”

Your eyes light up at his words, standing from the table and rushing to make a pot. “You did? Thank you so much.” It’s probably the best thing you’ve been told this week, almost jumping with excitement as you place coffee grounds into the filter. You debate on kissing his cheek, deciding not to when you think of the way he might lash out if you do.

You hear him exhale slowly and almost hear the roll of his eyes. “S’not a big deal.”

The rest of the day is spent in silence; you sprawled on Katsuki’s couch with a book in hand and him doing the same except resting in his armchair. It shocks you at first how many books he has, before realizing books are probably all he has, since he lives by himself in the middle of nowhere. When you bring this up to him, he just shrugs and tells you something about how books contain an entire world. What shocks you even more however, is the variety of them all. History, poetry, classical books. The most he has is romance, the bindings of those are well worn. You almost bring this up to him, before deciding this may be the one thing to not tease him about.

“What are you reading?” you ask as the sun starts to shine through the window and casts the room in a sherbert colored glow. The book he has in his hands looks old, the spine of it is barely holding it together.

He looks up at you, then back at his book as if he’s debating on sharing his secrets with you. He speaks after a moment. “Shakespeare. One of his sonnets.”

You sit up on the couch, clutching your knees to your chest and looking over at him with a smile. “Can you read it to me?”

He looks over to you, red dusting his cheeks and this time you know it’s not the heat because the inside of his house is air conditioned and comfortable. He looks back down at his book, shifting in the chair nervously as he clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is soft; like he’s trying to portray the softness of the sonnet and have its words embrace you. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?/Thou art more lovely and more temperate:/Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,/And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;/Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, /And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;” he looks up at you before continuing, and you nod. With every word his voice grows thicker and with every word you feel as if you’re being wrapped up tighter and tighter by a soft blanket. “/And every fair from fair sometime declines,/By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;/But thy eternal summer shall not fade,/Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;/Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,/When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:/ So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,/ So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

You’re silent for a few moments, staring at Katsuki and the way his jaw tightens and the tips of his fingers turn white as he grips the hardcover of the novel, you wonder if you did something wrong. You’d never want to upset him. Only ever want to make his days as bright as he’s made yours. You’re about to say something -to ask him if you’ve overstepped and how you can make everything go back to how it was just moments ago- but he stands, setting down his book and mumbling something about starting dinner and how late it’s getting. You stand as well, following him into the kitchen and sitting at the table.

“Here, you wanna help?” you shake your head from the kitchen table, and he nods his chin towards a cupboard. “grab the potatoes from there and cut them.” You nod, grabbing the potatoes and setting a few onto the cutting board Katsuki supplies you. You grab the knife and cut them in half, and then longways. “No.” he sighs, standing behind you and placing his hand over the one holding the potato in place. You can’t help but notice how warm he his. How his big his presence is behind you; it’s like sitting in front of a campfire. He adjusts your fingers. “Curl your fingers in when you cut. Keeps you from cutting your finger tips.”You flush at his touch, your hands feeling warm where his fingers grazed you.

 “I-I knew that.”

“Well if ya did, you’re real shitty at it.” He scoffs but you just laugh -a choked and forced sound- going back to cutting potatoes like he showed you.

You can’t help but think how nice this is; how strangely domestic it is here with Katsuki. That he's had his own little patch of paradise and he’s been kind enough to let you have a bite of this little slice of heaven he’s carved out for himself. You realize that you’ll never forget him, and that you really don’t want to leave. You wonder what it would be like to stay; to live here forever with Katsuki. To spend days sitting across from him with a plate of food; to have your hand held as you step through a corn field; to read poetry and to have poetry read to you after a day full of work.

He’s silent as he preps the chicken, his hands moving on their own accord with a skill you’ve never dreamed he’d have. He tells you he’s grilling it, that it’s better that way. Too much cooking inside will heat the house up and the air conditioner is too old to keep up with it.

You cook the potatoes. He roasts the corn. It’s simple. It’s easy.

It’s better than what you’ve had back home. You used to say you’ve been spoiled by take out but sitting down for a home cooked meal with Katsuki has changed your mind.You both eat in a companionable silence after you utter Katsuki a quick thanks. He just grunts in response across from you.

“Can we sit outside?” you ask, setting your fork down onto your plate with a clink.

“You don’t have to ask for my permission.” Katsuki scoffs, looking at you briefly before his eyes flick back to his plate. He didn’t finish his potatoes. You wonder if he didn’t like them. He’s been pushing them around for the last 5 minutes.

“I know.” you respond simply, playing with your fingers on your lap. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to come with me.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring at you as if you’re setting some trap for him, before he’s standing from the table and gesturing with his head to follow you to the porch.

It’s quiet for sometime, save for the creak of the swing and the sounds of crickets. You watch the lightning bugs fly around in the distance, thinking to yourself that they’re better than the city lights. There’s so many stars out and it makes you nostalgic for summer nights you spent camping as a child. You point to the moon, and look over at Katsuki. It’s stunning, massive in the night sky and casting everything in a pale blue glow. “Look at the moon, Katsuki! It’s massive.”

“Yeah,” he croaks, looking over at you before looking down at his feet that rock the swing back and forth. “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You don’t know why he sounds almost choked when he says this; why he sounds quiet and vulnerable but you just smile at him, casting your eyes back up to the sky.

You speak after some time, your voice as soft as the chirps of the crickets.“Yeah, it is.” ————————————————————— “Your car’s fixed by the way.” Katsuki tells you over coffee this morning.

You falter for a moment, a strange sadness building in your chest as you stare at your mug. “I guess today's my last day here then.” you say to him after some time.

He looks up at you, a puzzled expression on his face before the corners of his lips turn up slightly. It makes you feel warm when you look at him, realizing this is the closest to a real smile you’ve ever seen grace his face. “You’re staying another day?” he asks, bringing his mug to his lips.

“Yeah.” you breathe, nodding your head. “Just one more day. I gotta pay you back for your kindness somehow.” You look at the sunrise, mesmerized by the orange sherbet color and thin, wispy strands of clouds strewn across it. “I-if that’s okay with you.” you add on quickly. Katsuki doesn’t answer. Just shrugs his shoulders and grunts. You take that as a yes and find yourself grateful he’s not ushering you out of his home. Strangely enough, you also find yourself a bit upset at this information. You like his company. You like how easy it is to be with him; sunrise spent in silence drinking coffee, whispered answers to crossword puzzles before the world is awake, poetry read over food Katsuki grew himself or bought down the road. You shift your focus back to the puzzle.

 “Hey Katsuki?” you ask after sometime. He flicks his eyes over to you. “15 letters. Hint is ‘exemplar of bad puns’.”

He pauses for a moment, resting his chin in his hand as the gears in his mind turn. He smiles after a while, looking at you triumphantly. “Knock knock jokes.”

You smile at him, nodding your head and filling in the puzzle. “Do you think we can go into town today?”

“For what?”

“I notice you have a bit of space on the other side of the house, facing the sun. I’d like to plant some flowers there…” you look down, suddenly feeling shy and quickly add “Not unless you don’t want them of course. I just...wanted to do something as thanks.”

He eyes you suspiciously, like the first time he saw you on the side of the road. Like he’s trying to figure you out as if you’re a puzzle yourself. “Don’t need to go into town. There’s a guy down the road with a greenhouse who sells flowers.” His eyes shift back to the puzzle. “37 across is eerie.”

“It’s my turn with the puzzle, Katsuki.” you pout.

“Well stop takin’ forever.” He bites back but the retort has no teeth to it. You just laugh at him. You know him well enough to know he doesn’t mean his harshness. Not with you, anyway. He speaks up after a few breaths. “My car or yours?”

“Yours.” you say quickly. “I don’t want dirt inside of mine and we can shove the flowers in the truck bed.”

“Prissy.” he snorts.

“Shut up.” you retort. He laughs this time, loud and bubbling and boisterous. It fills the whole room and makes everything feel light and soft. He watches you finish the crossword, before gathering the keys to his truck. “C’mon, I got shit to do today lets get your decorative weeds.”

You meet his eyes and try to keep the hurt out of your voice. “You don’t mean that.” He doesn’t answer, just jingles his keys pointedly and nods towards the door. You follow him, close enough to him that you can feel his body heat. You’re never too far from him anymore. It’s your last day, and you don’t intend on changing.

The ride is silent. Katsuki just stares at the road ahead, while you play with your fingers in your lap. You wonder if he’s upset. If you’re the one that’s made him upset. You contemplate this for a while, trying to come up with ways to make him feel better. Ways to make it up to him. Maybe he doesn’t like flowers. You turn to him and start to say something, to offer to do something else for him but he pulls into a driveway. You see a house, small and quaint. The greenhouse next to it is bigger than the house with walls made of glass that reflect against the sun.

“Kacchan!” you hear a voice call out. A man walks out of the greenhouse. A mop of green mussed curls is the first thing you notice, followed by a smile brighter than the sun itself and a smattering of freckles across tanned skin. He looks over to a thin framed woman standing outside his front door. She’s pretty, short brown hair and a kind smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart! It’s just Kacchan!” He smiles at her before she ducks back into the house. Flicking a set of emerald eyes back to you, he takes a glove off and extends his hand to you, “I’m Izuku Midoriya! What brings you and Kacchan by?” he chirps. You find the smile he wears to be infectious as you shake his hand and tell him your name.

“We’re getting flowers, dumbass.” Katsuki barks at him. “Why else would we be here?”

“Right!” Izuku laughs. It’s strange to you. Izuku’s laughing despite Katsuki’s harshness. You wonder how long they’ve known each other. “Come this way then, miss!”

You look back at Katsuki, wondering if he’s going to follow. He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll wait out here.”

You follow Izuku into the greenhouse. There’s plants everywhere; viney ones hanging from the ceiling, walls lined with tables full of potted flowers and vegetables. A long table full of flowers running down the middle of the space. You understand why Katsuki decided to stay outside. It’s hot in here; moisture clings to the glass walls and everywhere you turn is covered in green.“How long have you and Kacchan been together?” He asks as you look at the flowers.

“What? Oh no!” you laugh. “We’re not together!” You explain what happened to him: breaking down on the side of the road to staying at his house and he listens intently. He looks like his mind is turning, like he’s storing the information you give him into a notebook that only exists in his mind. “How long have you known Katsuki?”

“Oh, since we were kids!” He says, reaching towards the back of a table full of flowers and grabs the pot you were trying to reach. “I’m surprised Kacchan lets you stay with him. He seems fond of you, which is impressive.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Izuku sighs, long and slow as he runs a calloused hand through his hair. “I’ve known him my whole life and I can confidently say this: Kacchan doesn’t let anyone in. Not in his house, his life, or his heart. As long as I can remember, he’s always liked to be alone. Hell, come to think of it… it’s been years since I’ve seen the inside of his house. It says a lotthat he’s let you stay for as long as you have.”

You blink owlishly at him. “Well a week isn’t long.”

“For Kacchan?” he chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s like a year.”

You don’t say anything after that, just trace your fingers over the petals of a petunia. You grab it after some debate, adding it to the basket Izuku’s been carrying behind you. You look up at him, “How much?”

He shrugs. “No charge.”

“N-no I couldn’t do that.” you shake your head at him.

“You can,” he smiles. “I’m actually insisting. No one’s opened up Kacchan like you have, and for that you deserve some flowers.” He cocks his head in thought for a moment. “Personally I think you deserve more, but we can start with flowers.”

“Are you sure?” you tilt your head at him, confused on how someone could be so kind.

“Absolutely.” he nods. “I’m sure you’ll be back.”

You don’t know why his sentence makes you falter for a moment; maybe it’s the confident and assured way he says it. Like he has a crystal ball that’s already told him the future. You’re grateful he’s the one holding the flowers; you’re sure you would’ve dropped them if you were. They way Izuku looks at you -his smile soft but his eyes determined- you realize there’s no point in arguing with him. You just return his smile and thank him.

You walk out of the greenhouse to see Katsuki leaning up against the truck, his lips twisted in annoyance. “Took ya long enough. Ya ready to go?”

You look at Izuku, then back to Katsuki. “Yeah, I have what I need.”

Izuku claps your shoulder, looking at you with forest colored eyes. The sun reflects on them, spreading warmth in the way he looks at you. “I’ll see you again, yeah?”

“I think so.” ————————————————————— Katsuki isn’t sure why he feels like his heart is breaking in his chest. Can’t fathom why he feels as fragile as glass and can’t bear to look at your figure maneuvering its way to your car and carrying you farther and farther away from him. You’ve made his house feel more like a shelter these last few days. Made everything feel soft around the edges and warm.

Your car door is open, one foot on the driver's side floor as you stare at him through black colored lenses. You wonder if he’s going to stop you. You wonder if he’ll ask you to stay. You wonder if you’ve made any sort of impact on him like he’s made on you.

You don’t know why you’re not trying to find reasons to stay but it’s just too hard to sit down and say how you really feel. You don’t know how to tell him that he’s the last thing on your mind when you would fall asleep in a bed engulfed by his scent; that the flowers you planted are just a garden of I love you’s hidden in between dirt and petals. That the world has never come together so beautifully as when you were sitting on the porch with him watching the sunrise. You feel as if you’ve been reduced to nothing but yearning as you stare at him through dark colored lenses but you know deep in your chest that it’s time to go.

You can’t see his clenched fist under his crossed arms. You’re too far away to see his jaw tighten; the way his breathing sounds hitched and uneven. He nods his head in acknowledgement from his spot on the porch, as if he needs to give approval for you to leave.

You give him a small wave with your hand, a subtle nod of your chin as you duck into your car and close the door.

There’s something strange and awful building in his chest as he watches you drive away. Thick and dark and suffocating. His throat feels dry and parched and much too small. Like there isn’t enough air in the world to fill his lungs. He’s not sure why the sight of your tiny yellow car getting smaller and smaller makes his chest feel like it’s collapsing in on itself; why it makes his knees weak and his world feel like it’s collapsing around him.

He can’t decide if he wants to run after you or if he never wants to see you again.

—————————————————————

The sunrise isn’t as bright without you to watch it with him. Porch mornings are spent with Katsuki staring at the space you used to occupy, trying to ignore the emptiness growing in his chest. The tin of caffeinated coffee he bought you stares at him from his cupboard. Part of him wants to throw it away. The other part of him wants to keep it in case you come back.

If you ever come back.

He’s managed for years on his own, convincing himself that he likes his simple and quiet routine. He spends a couple of hours a day even mad at you, hating the way you came in and changed everything for him and leaving him so easily. Everything feels strange and quiet. Not the quiet that’s easy and companionable- like the quiet he had with you. 

This quiet feels hollow and dark and omniscient. Like it knows when to come in and remind him that he’s alone. Your absence lingers here. It looms everywhere like a dark cloud, filling up the spaces in his house and suffocating him with each moment he spends away from you.

He’s washed his sheets three times since you left, trying to erase the lavender scent that sticks to the fabric. A painful reminder that you were here and now you’re not. That you’ve been carried away by a tiny yellow carriage and you’ve probably already forgotten him.

Oftentimes he finds himself sitting next to the flowers you planted for him. In the morning he’s grateful for them; they remind him that you’re real, and that you appreciate him. In the evening, when he passes them after a long day's work, he hates them. Hates that they remind him that he fills out crossword puzzles alone; hates remembering that he only cooks dinner for one person and hates remembering that he whispers goodnight to an empty room. Everything about you is rotting in his mind along with his thoughts; along with the leftovers from a dinner he can’t manage to stomach and the petunias you planted that are starting to wilt.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, mulling these thoughts over as bitterness slips over his throat and strangles him, when he hears a knock on the door.

He’s wondering if he’s hallucinating when he opens the door to see your sun drenched frame. You look breathless, as if just moments ago you weren’t sure why you were here until your eyes met Katsuki’s.

His hands move to cup your face, calloused thumbs caressing your cheeks before he slides them over your ears and holds your head. “You came back..” he whispers under his breath.

You smile at him, placing your hands over his. “Never really wanted to leave.” Warmth spills out of him. He’s warmer than the sun; the way his eyes look at you with a mixture of adoration and disbelief; the genuine smile he can’t manage to stifle and the comfortable burn of his hands on your head. You wonder how many people see this side of him, a Katsuki full of smiles and warmth. He feels like summer. He feels like healing.

He rests his forehead against yours, smiling against your lips. There’s something in the air between you, something more than summer heat; something that feels like yearning. Something that feels like hope. It’s warm and crackling and suffocating. Filling the space between you two as you both suck the breath from each other’s lungs. He even smells the same, like campfires and clean clothes and summer. When he brings his lips to yours it’s nothing like you imagined it would be. It’s rough, teeth clashing on teeth as his hands tug your hair. His kiss is hungry and needy. It’s a poem of all the things he’s been too scared to tell you. It’s an angry plea and a quiet scream all wrapped up in one dizzying moment.As quickly as it starts it’s over.

He pulls away, his eyes threatening to fill with unshed tears and anger clouding them as quickly as yearning filled them. “You….fucking left me.”

You don’t know why this makes you upset; why this makes the air between the both of you stale and hot. You look down at your feet, a sour and bitter and shameful feeling building in your core. “You didn’t stop me.”

“I thought you would’ve wanted to stay.” His voice sounds thick with emotion; pain rolling off his tongue and cutting you; razor sharp and accusatory as it sits on your skin. “I thought you wouldn’t have wanted to leave.”

“I’m here now,” you whisper, finally looking up at him. He looks broken. Looks like a cornered animal. It hurts you, the way he looks at you with walls you swore were broken down. You raise your hands to his cheeks, running your thumb over his cheekbones. “That counts for something, right?”

He’s silent for a moment, like he’s trying to find the words to explain what your absence did to him. Like he’s trying to find the words to ask you to stay. You can almost see the gears in his mind turning; can almost hear the words resting just on the tip of his tongue. You wish you stayed. You wish you’d never left. You can’t help but feel the hand of guilt slipping its fingers around your neck strangling you. He rests his forehead against yours and whispers. “It’s everything. You came back. S’all that matters.”

You don’t know why this makes you cry; why this makes the dam resting around your heart burst apart but it does. It’s not like any cry you’ve experienced before, the ones that are caused by heartbreak and anguish and pain. This is a cry that is full of relief; like you can finally breathe again; like coming up from water; like feeling the sun after a long winter. His hand finds yours and he tugs you inside. It’s comforting being here again; to have his hand tucked into yours as you follow him somewhere.

He’s still tugging you, leading you up the stairs and looking back at you every so often like you’ll disappear. Like he still can’t believe you’re here. He takes you to his bedroom, a room you’ve never been in with him. It makes you feel strange, your other hand swipes nervously at your skirt.

“You’re going to stay, right?” he asks you, his lips hovering over yours as his hand plays with the hem of your skirt.

“Please,” you beg, nudging his body onto the bed. “Please, I promise I’m not going anywhere. Let me make this up to you. Let me show you.”

You feel clumsy when your hands unbutton his jeans. He helps you, lifting his body to shimmy his pants down as you sink down to your knees, his cock springing out freely. It’s impressive, thick with veins running down the sides; his tip red and pretty as a bead of pre rolls off the top. He whines when you tease him with a gentle kitten lick across the tip, before taking his cock in your mouth, fitting as much of his impressive girth as you can; your hand wrapping around what you can’t fit. You hollow your cheeks, and bop your head up and down as he throws his head back with a sigh, his hands holding your head with a low grunt as he bucks gently into your mouth. You look up at him, his half lidded eyes and the clench of his jaw. You love this. Love how he looks at you, and love being the reason his eyes are glassy with lust and need.

“Just like that yeah?” he coos at you as you move up and down his length.

 “Right there, right there, fuck. Good fucking girl.”He grips your hair, sinking you farther down his length until your nose touches his patch of blonde hair; gasping and gagging on him until tears cloud your eyes. He moves you up and down his length and bucks his hips into you. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Such a good little girl. So perfect, taking my cock so well, yeah?” His praise goes straight to your core and you feel yourself clench around nothing. “Doing so fucking good princess, fuck yes.” he breathes. He pulls you off of him, grabbing your face and kissing you. His tongue finds its way into the cavern of your mouth, needy and tentative and exploring. He lifts you gently, placing you onto the bed and tearing your panties off.

You whine when he tentatively inserts two fingers in you, scissoring back and forth as he hits a spot inside you that makes you feel like you’re full of hot fire and makes you see stars. His thumb makes small circles around your clit as he leaves trails of lavender colored kisses along your neck and collarbone. His other hand is everywhere as he touches you; the small and insignificant and forgotten places on your body; the places on your body only the sun cares to touch. The curve of your shoulder blade. The ditch of your elbow. The space where your spine meets your pelvis. Every time his warm hand touches your bare skin he feels like he’s leaving behind a trail of stardust; tiny galaxies of all the things he wishes he could say forming in the crevices of your body. He handles you like glass, like if he’s too rough you’ll break. Like if he’s too rough you’ll leave again. He knows this isn’t true, he believes you when you tell him you’re not going anywhere. You tell him this over and over again beneath him with every sigh and gasp you make. It’s amazing to him as he gazes into your lust blown eyes that you breathe the same air as him, that you watch the same sky he does. It’s amazing to him that something so close to perfection exists in the same world he does. It doesn’t take long for you to come undone around him, your body twitching and spamming as to mewl pathetically for him.

You clutch the sheets underneath you until your knuckles turn white as he rides your high out perfectly. “Good girl,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “Such a good girl, yeah.” You whine again, grabbing onto his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. “Want my cock now, baby?” you nod at him, tears of pleasure clouding your vision. “Use your words.” he tuts.

“P-please Katsuki…” you whine. “Wan’ you.” He says nothing, just smiles at you kindly and brushes your cheek with his thumb.

He lines his cock up with your entrance, pumping it with one hand as his eyes meet yours; silently asking if you’re sure. As if you’ll reject him again. You nod, and he smiles softly, plunging into you with a shudder. You both collide in that moment and his hand finds yours like a magnet, settling there like it’s where it was always meant to be. Every thrust in you he makes your hips eagerly raise to meet his in an effort to communicate every unspoken feeling held between you. It’s like there’s stars being born between you, entire solar systems colliding with every thrust of his hips. He’s gentle, as soft as the flowers you planted for him and a million times more beautiful. Laying beneath him, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be held. To be loved. What it feels like to find what you’ve always been missing. His pace quickens after a few moments, becoming sloppy as his other hand entangles in your hair, pounding into you as he whimpers into your ear. When he cums, you cum with him, never wanting to be too far apart. He collapses on top of you, still inside you like he doesn’t want the closeness to end.

“You’ll be here in the morning, yeah?” he asks after some time. Uncertainty coats his words, massive and thick and breathtaking. His grip around you tightens as if you’ll disappear at any moment. 

You look down at him, bringing your hand to his cheek and stroking his blonde locks out of his face. He looks scared, and it’s the last time you ever want to see him look this way. You want to protect him. You want to keep him safe. You never want his heart to feel a single drop of doubt again. “Of course.”

[ghost-like-pale]

a flinch is enough

info: the past never forgets, and techno never forgives. 》 they/them 》 in canon + platonic 》 1.4k words

warnings: sexual assault, explicit descriptions of murder/blood, hurt/comfort, swearing

a/n: this was a request from my beautiful 🌹 anon, thank you for sending this in. i made the implications of sexual assault a a little more subtle but i still hope you like it.

this blog it meant as a way of coping with trauma/mental issues, please don't report it. if you don't want to see what i write, please just block me.

——♤——

the moonlit sky was a beautiful dark blue as you stared at the light. you had been doing housework the entire day due to your counterpart being too busy with whatever he was brewing upstairs. the piglin hybrid usually helped you when he was home, it's his house after all. but today was different, you supposed.

you were so caught up in the moon's doings that you didn't notice the tall figure creeping down the stairs and right behind you. he assumed you were aware of him and went to tap on your shoulder.

as soon as he does you whip your head around, backing away from him as you hold one arm in front of your face and the other in front of your lower body. the shaking of your body became more prominent as time went on.

"(y/n)?"

you couldn't look at him. you weren't strong enough.

"(y/n), please. look at me."

you lowered your arms hesitantly and looked him in the eyes still filled with fear.

"(y/n), i'm not going to hurt you. i promise."

you averted your gaze and drop both your arms. tears leaked out of your eyes and cupped your face with your hands, all the memories coming back and hitting you like a truck.

"i'm so sorry, techno."

you dropped to the floor, your knees buckling under you and techno barely being able to catch you. you felt a heavy, warm cape drape over your figure while a worried piglin grunt escaped techno's throat. he got on one knee and rested one of his hands on your shoulder.

"don't apologize."

two simple words managed to tug at your heartstrings so harshly you couldn't hold it in anymore. you sobbed loudly into your hands, completely losing any posture you tried to maintain. techno was startled, thinking he did something wrong. he quickly snapped out of it, however, and pulled your body by the shoulders into his chest. his firm grasp made you feel secure, stifling your cries a little.

"...are you alright?"

you knew he had no idea how to handle it from here, but you appreciated the concern and kindness he showed. you pulled back from his embrace and wiped your eyes gingerly.

"i'm.. a little better."

"good."

the voices wanted to know who did this - who made you this way. who the fuck hurt you? he tried to keep them quiet, but he wanted them dead as much as his mind.

"can you tell me what happened?"

everything was silent for a few seconds. the voices were quiet, nothing came out of techno's mouth. you sighed and shakily started explaining yourself. techno listened silently, trying to catch every detail and description of the man who scarred you. he had a basic image of him in his mind by the time you were done.

"thank you for telling me."

techno glanced outside the window, the soft glow of the moon telling him it's late. how long had he been brewing? he shuffled a bit and eventually stuck an arm under your legs and upper body. with a small yelp you were lifted a few feet in the air, the cape that you were siting under fell off your back and onto the floor in the proces.

"you need some rest."

you didn't bother trying to stop him. your mind was foggy and your body felt heavy.

"thank you, techno."

"shh, there's no need to thank me."

in comfortable silence you were carried up the stairs and into techno's room. you were confused, you had your own room after all. you didn't mind, though. he placed you on the mattress he slept on rarely. his bed was bigger, the blanket was heavier, the pillow was softer, everything felt better. you wrapped yourself in the plush blanket and felt your eyelids getting heavier already.

"sleep well, (y/n)."

just as he was about to stand up you grabbed a hold of his wrist. he looked at you quizzically, knitting his eyebrows together.

"where are you going?"

"don't worry, i won't be away for long. now sleep."

"fine. good night, techno."

"good night."

—

looking through his bag once more technoblade checked if he forgot to grab anything; he had food, arrows, ender pearls, potions and a small knife. on his hips hung his axe, crossbow and sword, yearning to be used. his bag was full and everything he needed was in his possession. before he opened the door techno noticed the red velvet fabric resting on the ground. with a few paces he arrived in the kitchen and picked up the cape. he swung it over his shoulders and adjusted it carefully. with a loud exhale he stepped out of his house and into the cold weather of the tundra. he whisteled a command and one of the wolves in the pack jumped out of the enclosure it sat in and rushed over to techno's side. he was going to find them.

you've shown him your previous residence multiple times, which is where he was going to look first. it was his best guess. while making his way over to your former abode the wolf that traveled with him was scouting out ahead, hoping it would find it faster than techno.

techno's eyes shoot in the animal's direction when it starts barking aggressively at a moving figure across the woods. the voices screamed at him to assist his pet, to shoot him, kill him immediately, to which he happily obliged. he sped over to his companion, hoping to catch a better glimpse of the person.

"stop him, now!"

techno ordered the animal. after a few seconds he heard a loud thud followed by a yell belonging to a man in immense pain. he made his way over to the barking wolf, it having a slightly stained mouth from its jaws going through the man's flesh and muscles. he found them.

"what's the rush?"

he towered over the other male pathetically writhing on the floor. his calf had a nasty teeth mark, bleeding profusely and covered in dirt and saliva.

"p-please... don't... hurt me!"

"why shouldn't i?"

technoblade hated these kind of men; not even willing to fight or run. just begging and whimpering for mercy. it made him sick. the wolf that followed him all the way here was still barking, ready to tear the man to shreds.

he takes his netherite axe off his hip and hoists it over his shoulder. techno looks the other man right in the eyes, fully aware it fills him with fear. he wanted to feel everything you were put through. he was going to feel your pain.

"i...i've never done anything to you..!"

technoblade froze at the sentence. nothing? he thinks he's done nothing? he's not completely wrong; he's never physically hurt him - he's never even met him before. his train of thought was interrupted by the voices yelling in his head. they were screaming at him to cut him, to strangle him, to burn him, anything. he needed to feel pain.

"does the name (y/n) mean anything to you?"

the horror on the man's face got worse by the second, him figuring out why techno is here. the piglin drops to one knee and gets about an inch away from his victim's face.

"am i going to get an answer?"

"y-yes! we were friends a few years ago."

techno let his axe fall off his shoulder and into the dirt, the blade only falling a few inches away from the other male's injured leg.

"do friends traumatize each other?"

the question filled the victim with dread, his monotone voice only adding to the fear.

"y-you don't know what we did!"

the sudden surge in confidence surprised techno, to be sure. there was nothing more pathetic than a man yelling at the brink of death in such a tone. he scoffed with an amused expression and retracted his axe back into the holder that rested on his hip.

"yeah! they were lying to you, i promise. that's the reason i stopped being friends in the first- GAH!"

his sentence was cut of by a dagger being plunged into his stomach and dragged up to his ribs, cutting open his body. he mewled and moaned in agonizing pain, unable to form any coherent words.

"you disgust me."

technoblade stood up, his ears twitching and voices pleased. the blood on his hand dripped on the dried leaves as he called the wolf he brought with him. as the animal sped over to technoblades' side the screams of the impaled man were completely gone. looking over his shoulder he sees the lifeless body of the man who has haunted you for a long time.

he'll never hurt you again.

——♤——

thank you for reading, hope you liked it.

masterlist

taglist;

@esylwen

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CCCXVII

you know, it only took me like two years, but I've finally learned how to let reblogs sit on my main blog - this one - without needing to delete them after a day. I'm still more comfortable reblogging longer stuff with copious tags to sleepylovesyou, but I used to hate having writing adjacent posts reblogged here. my brain just did not like it. but that made things pretty sparse and boring, so it's nice to have mostly gotten over that dislike. @spacetimewraithwrites

forever (dirt in the doing)

There’s a hand on each of his cheeks. Jet puts his own up to grab at them, but with tremendous self-control, just keeps them there instead of pushing them away. Copper relents and just holds his hands instead, a grounding contact.

“I don’t actually love seeing people so clearly, you know.” Copper sounds resigned, but still very firm. “I’ve always loved knowing you, and I’ll never stop loving it, or loving you, regardless of how far into the negative spaces you are. I’ll come down for you. I’ll be with you. But I can’t decide how you’re going to get out, or how you’re going to react to anyone who joins you were you are.”

“You should’ve seen me when I first met Hawk. Yarrow called me volatile, said I was dangerous to look at. He was right.” Jet looks at their hands because it’s easier. “I don’t always know how I’m going to react. I-, I shouldn’t love the anger, but I kind of do. It’s simpler, logical. I don’t want that to be what I react with forever, though.”

“You seem to be making steps in that direction,” Copper notes.

Jet huffs a little. “Yeah. Sure. I make steps and I take them back. I am volatile, Copper.”

“You were angry just now and you held yourself back.” Of course Copper would notice that.

“You’re my brother. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

level (unfortunately, we are living on the ground, 2020)

try boiling words in acid and perhaps you can summarize

the disgust with which we experience delight

on a surreal level

combining the unpleasant taste of

joy well earned

and bitterness that someone else

left behind

game (youth story supplemental)

“They don’t hurt anymore. I just was concentrating on the texture.”

“They wouldn’t have hurt at all if you had phased.” Daniel still held one of Nyks’ hands and used it to pull him over to the card game. “And you can sense texture without causing yourself pain.”

“I wasn’t!” But Nyks had gone even quieter, holding tightly to Daniel as he followed him. “I didn’t have anybody around. I’ll phase next time, okay? I’m just trying really hard to stay solid.”

Cal pat the carpet next to him and Nyks plopped down, promptly attaching himself to Cal’s side. “I know you’re trying to stay solid, but you can let go a little and then re-corporealize when you find one of us. We’ll always lend you energy.”

Daniel looked at Nyks expectantly and he hid his face in Cal’s sweater, mumbling something into the fabric.

inside (previous lives and premonitions)

The scene was so noisy now and Arin had to be careful where he stepped with the mess everywhere. He skirted the debris where he could, Toby’s hand in his, which had happened, at some point. Devin pointed and shouted in a direction and they moved that way, finding Rose knocking on the window of the car that had met with the truck, clearly trying to help the person inside.

“Wait for paramedics,” Devin said to her, but Rose was already leaning through the passenger’s side window saying, “Get out of there, the car is going to burn!”

Other people arrived and took over worrying about the person in the car, so Arin grabbed Rose’s arm. “Let’s get away, come on!”

Rose wasn’t moving and Toby was, was crying? Arin didn’t know when the car was supposed to start burning, but he wanted all of them away from this horrible scene so he shoved his bag at Toby and lifted Rose into his arms. Devin made a way for them through the crowd and safely back across the street.

front (dirt in the doing)

Shadow flings an arm around Jet’s shoulders in that careful way of his. “Ready to go?”

Jet flicks Shadow’s arm but doesn’t shove it off, instead letting it sit there while they leave the garage. It’s a comforting weight, not that Jet would tell that to Shadow.

“We’re picking up alcohol, too, right?”

Yarrow does a little spin in front of them and nearly falls on his face. Unfazed, he starts walking backward. “Of course! You’ll be grumpy otherwise. Well, grumpier.”

Jet kicks a stone in Yarrow’s direction. It doesn’t hit him, and the bright sounds of Yarrow’s laughter make Jet want to join in. Shadow is laughing too, his hand gripping Jet’s shoulder to keep his balance.

it occurs to me that as long as Timespace and I are doing tagbacks, we'll never run out of tags. TAGBACK. @papercutsunset @enchanted-lightning-aes @lanawritesalittle @e-lisard @mr-writes @vellichor-virgo OR ANYBODY for sigh, swallow, smooth, sound. BONUS: shiny, shield.

[jadelynlace]

how did Flokis kiddos react after Ivars accident? They are so close, I can imagine that it hit them hard.

Alright, so, I actually wrote this out in one of the very first drafts for this series when I started it as a reader insert. I pictured Floki telling Phoenix about it, as much as he could to a five-year-old, using sentences like:

"Mr. Ivar is hurt. Do you remember when you fell and scraped your knee? Mr. Ivar hurt his legs too, so we're going to go see him, to make him feel better. Do feel up to that? Maybe we can color him a picture together?"

Obviously, it's hard to tell this to a baby, so I don't imagine Floki brought the infant to the hospital (much to Ivar's dismay).

But, because I can't leave well enough alone, here is that orignial snippet:

Your drive to the trauma recovery center is long, seemingly worse after a full night of work under your skin, and you know Ivar’s going to say something of its nature. How he’s not worth the car accident you’ll end up in once you fall asleep behind the wheel. Floki is turning down the hallway when you round it, and in the quick motions of almost running into him, he skirts away from the awkwardness and embraces you in a hug that is much more tender.

“How’s he doing?” Are the first words against his shirt.

“Tell me how you are doing, instead,” Floki replies, and you sigh. It’s an uphill battle that you do not want to discuss, you’re upwind and out of breath and the last thing you care about right now is yourself.

“Tired, mad, scared, and I’m about one more minuscule event from having a complete breakdown. I dropped my pen after I signed the visitor’s log and almost lost it.” You finally admit. “I just want him to come home.”

“He cried this morning, Y/N,” Floki starts. “I haven’t seen Ivar cry like that since he was young. We all need to remember our strength because this is our journey too. Ivar isn’t alone.”

“Even when he thinks he is.” You say for him.

“I have been doing a bit of research, and I feel once he is cleared here, the best course of action may be a rehabilitation center. To help him on all accounts of his recovery.”

“He’s going to hate that, Floki.” You say, wiping your eyes. “He’s going to fucking hate that.”

“He’s not going to have much of a choice. Phoenix is in there with him, just to lift his spirits.” Floki says and you smile, rounding the next corner, and even from outside of his room, you can hear the child’s voice, you can hear him tell Ivar one thing after another from his week in grade school, and you can hear Ivar laugh. The first, cohesive laugh that warms your heart and that may just be the tipping point that breaks the waterfalls to start.

“And then, after recess—Miss Y/N!” Phoenix cheers from his spot, impossibly close to Ivar in the bed, all but placing small hands to squish the man’s cheeks. “The ice cream truck parked outside the school, and we all got ice cream for the last day of the week. And—and I got to show my new Legos for show and tell! And! Mr. Ivar said when he’s all better we can go to the new playground by the shop. Right, Mr. Ivar?”

“That’s right little man,” Ivar replies weakly, a tease of a smile on his mouth.

“Come here, Little Flame,” Floki starts, quieting the whine that his son lets forth when he’s told to separate from Ivar. “We can go down to the cafeteria, we’ll bring Ivar back something.” He adds and the child scrambles, scurrying off the bed and grabbing his father’s hand.

You watch Ivar rise some, biceps pushing himself up, and the curl, bulge larger than you remember on account of his unnecessary crawling. Behind the glasses, his eyes tip towards you, patting the white linens and you’re there before he has a chance to repeat the motion. Palms grip your cheeks and pull your mouth against his and then his lips tangle with yours. The barest slip of a moan from his chest that escapes as his tongue starts against yours, pulling the anxiety, the fear, the stew of untimely feelings to slip as he kisses you. Kissing you the way he’s longed to do for two months, in the drug-induced dreams, while he wonders how he’ll ever repay you.

“I can feel your hand on my leg,” Ivar whispers when his lips move mere centimeters from yours. “And I can roll my ankles, and the nurse that Hvitserk likes says that I can try to stand soon. He really hasn’t shut up about her.” And you crack the smallest smile against his mouth.

“Can I hug you, when you’re standing?” Is all you can manage to ask Ivar before your mouth goes back against his, not waiting for his answer as you taste him once more. He hums in response, finally separating enough and you sink against him, as his arms curl around you before the door opens again.

“Mr. Ivar—I got you the drink that has the bull on it!” Phoenix says as he climbs along the bed, no concept for any sense of misinterpreted physical boundaries as he hands Ivar the can of Red Bull. All Ivar can do is smile, snort in a quick noise, and ruffle the curls on the kid's head. “How come the bull has to be red?”

Always feel free to ask about Ink Drinker!

Tagging these lovely people because I love them:

@smileysam13579  @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee  @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley  @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing  @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint @kataphine @prepare4trouble @abbiii72 @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @pixluru @93xdiagonxalley @ivarisms @nordicshieldmadien @ironynoticony @peakywitch

[crowfootwrites]

Los Guardianes | Part IV [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Buckle up for another action-packed chapter!

Warnings: mentions of gun use and shooting; kidnapping; hostage situations; hooding (minor sensory deprivation); language; use of knives; graphic depictions of murder and blood | Words: 1,800+

Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie @est1887 @mveggieburger

Part III of Los Guardianes

Not long after the man left the warehouse, your three jailers hooded both you and Cristóbal again and guided you quickly back to the SUV. You could tell you had gotten back on the highway and you drove for what you thought was an incredibly long time. Maybe through the night, although you had no way of telling. At some point, you felt Cristóbal’s breathing change and realized he was sleeping fitfully in your arms. The adrenaline had left you long ago and your sore body was reeling with exhaustion, but your mind was moving too fast for you to consider sleep. Instead, you alternated between plotting and praying.

You had been right about driving through the night. When the vehicle stopped next, you were hustled into another building. You thought this one might be a house, as you navigated the front walkway and three stairs onto a porch before going through a door. Once inside, you were shoved into a room with Cristóbal, the bags over your head removed just before one of the men closed the door behind him. You heard a deadbolt click into place from outside the door and you allowed yourself a moment to just breathe.

The room had one small window, cut high in the wall, with thick black bars over it on the outside. It was carpeted, dark stains making you grimace as you crept over to the window, drawing yourself up to full height. You could still barely see over the lip of the window frame. You could make out the pale sky of early morning, and the tops of some palm trees, and nothing else.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, leaning against the wall and sliding slowly to the floor. Cristóbal was curled in on himself near the door, his eyes vacant and face a filthy mess where he had used dirty hands to wipe away tears and snot.

Exhaustion sat heavy on your chest, making breathing difficult and deadening your limbs. Your hands shook, so you jammed them between your thighs, trying to focus on slowing your thoughts. You didn’t want to sleep, but you knew you’d be even more useless if you were too tired. You beckoned Cristóbal towards you and he dragged himself over, tucking himself under your arm. Leaning your head back against the wall, you closed your eyes and let a restless sleep fall over you.

The sound of the deadbolt on the door being flipped jolted you out of sleep, the motion also waking Cristóbal. You glanced up, the light outside telling you it was probably about noon. Your body still felt exhausted, but adrenaline pumped through your limbs once again as a man came through the door, a pistol hanging loosely in his grip and a cell phone in his other hand. He brandished his weapon as he barked, “Speak!”

“Hello?” you said, trying not to let your voice tremble.

“(Y/N)?” came a voice on the other end, one that sounded familiar, but you couldn’t exactly place. “What are–”

“Papá!” Cristóbal cried, and scrambled towards the phone. You pulled him back into the safety of your arms as he wailed, and the voice you realized was Miguel’s returned.

“No tengas miedo, mijo, you’ll be back with me soon,” he said, a touch of fear edging into his otherwise irate tone, before the man clicked the speaker off and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Cristóbal was a mess, and you rocked him steadily, trying to calm him.

Something nagged at the back of your brain. Something different, something…

You never heard the flip of the deadbolt.

You leapt to your feet, hushing Cristóbal more firmly and moved to the door as he clung to you. You knelt down to face him, your heart pounding erratically in your chest, as your brain tried to formulate a plan. You gripped his shoulders firmly and gazed at him with clear eyes.

“I’m going to try to get us out of here, ok, kiddo? But I need you to work with me. So I need you to be really brave and really quiet, ok?” He sniffled and nodded, looking at you with big sad eyes that made the risk worth it. “I promise, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You stood and tucked him behind you, putting a hand gently on the doorknob. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, you turned it, holding your breath instinctively. The knob turned all the way and when you added a little pressure, you felt the door push outward without catching on a lock. You pushed the door open just slightly, peering out to the right, down an empty hallway. You could hear the muffled sound of voices in that direction, your captors, maybe a television. Cigarette smoke wafted down the hallway, promising guards in that direction. Leaving a hand on the knob, you shifted yourself so you could peer through the crack between the door and the jamb. Your vision limited, you were just able to make out a screen door at the end of the hallway in the other direction, afternoon light filtering through it like a beacon. Your heart lifted, allowing yourself a moment of hope.

You were going to have to try and make a run for it. You glanced down at Cristóbal again, letting his terror embolden you.

Shifting further to the side, you could make out the shape of a man seated by the door, his back towards you. You saw a flash of color and realized he was watching a television, his feet propped up leisurely. You carefully considered your escape route through the small gap in the door. The floor underneath the man was checkered vinyl. Figuring he was in a kitchen, you tried to spot a knife block or anything you could use as a weapon, but your vantage point offered no such detail. Returning your gaze to the exit, you spotted what you were looking for: a set of keys hanging on a hook beside the door. You sighed heavily. If you couldn’t get past the guard, the keys would be pointless.

As much as you hated the idea of leaving things up to chance, it was the only option you saw. Perhaps if you were quiet enough while sneaking up behind the man, you could locate a weapon before he saw you. You would need to dispatch him quickly and quietly. If you got caught, the men might spare Cristóbal as their bargaining chip, but you doubted you’d be offered the same courtesy.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed Cristóbal’s hand. He gazed up at you with red-rimmed eyes, his hand trembling in your grasp. You gave it a firm squeeze and tilted your head towards the door. You slowly pushed it open, just enough to slip out, your breath trapped in your chest as you prayed for its silence. You felt tears pressing against your vision in terror, suddenly excruciatingly aware of the danger you were putting yourself and Cristóbal in. You had already accepted what your fate could be, but he had so much life ahead of him. You took in a deep, silent breath, stilling your racing heart.

You slipped through the opening in the door, pulling Cristóbal behind you, then carefully closed it again. Sounds were amplified in your ears, the laugh track on the television from the front room, the rumbling of a passing truck on the street. You pressed yourself against the wall and Cristóbal followed your lead, slowly sliding towards the back door. Time seemed simultaneously too slow and too fast as you crept towards an obvious threat, your pulse soaring, the sound of your breath deafening in your ears. In too short a time, you had reached the end of the hallway, close enough for you to peek your head around. Closer now, you could hear the quiet chatter on that TV, paired with the man’s heavy breathing. You hesitantly peered around the corner, just enough to set one of your eyes on your surroundings.

You caught your gasp just before it passed your lips and swallowed it back down as you eyed the kitchen counter, fully equipped with a knife block, just around the corner from where you stood. You silently hoped that whoever was looking out for you continued to do so, just for a little while longer.

Your arm slithered stealthily around the corner as you kept your eye trained on your captor, ready for any reaction. When your fingers grazed the cool handles on the knife block, you grabbed for one at the top, hoping for a carving knife or something else long and sharp. With an agonizing amount of care, you silently withdrew the knife. The moment it was clear of the block, you grabbed Cristóbal’s hand and stepped unobserved into the kitchen. A few more quiet steps and you’d be behind your target.

Hastily you tugged Cristóbal behind you, shielding his vision as you made the last step. In one swift movement, you pressed the chef’s knife you had ended up with to the man’s throat and dragged it across, clamping your hand over his mouth at the same time. His arms flew up and his hands wrapped vice-like around your forearms while his legs pushed hard against the ground, throwing his weight back. Maybe he hoped to throw you off-balance, but you were expecting it, and pulled his head firmly back against your torso, digging the knife deep across his neck. You squeezed your eyes shut as the man flailed in his seat for a moment before stilling.

The gurgling sound that hissed from the bloody gash in the man’s throat sounded too loud in your ears. Dread constricted your throat as hot blood poured from his severed carotids over your forearms, your stomach churning at the sharp copper tang that filled your nostrils. You stood rooted in your spot for a moment before you came to your senses and urged yourself onward. You yanked the keys off the hook beside the door and tried to quietly open the screen door. It creaked on the hinges and you sucked in a gasping breath, tugging Cristóbal through the door behind you. Letting the door click quietly back into place as you anxiously held your breath, you pulled Cristóbal onto your hip and bolted down the few steps onto the concrete. You raced to the driver’s side door of the old Mazda RX-7 and wrenched the door open, shoving Cristóbal inside and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The screen door creaked loudly just as the engine rumbled to life. Suddenly there was a series of raucous shouts behind you, and you panicked, slamming your foot on the accelerator and peeling out towards the alleyway behind the house. You barely registered the gunshot before the back window blew out, the shattering of glass ringing in your ears alongside Cristóbal’s panicked screaming. Your heart pounded in your chest, your bloody knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

Part V of Los Guardianes