#when it's not really even about good or evil it's just about the cycle of abuse

[masanstroberi]

Someone tell me why am I seeing praises for Arcane S2 when they basically threw out Piltover and Zaun class struggle plot for an avengers of ultron rewrite with magic?

- Since when did Viktor become all about evolution or some shit. He's someone from the underground who wants to use technology to help his people, why did he suddenly switch into evil jesus after being submerged in slime?

- What happened to treasuring all characters? Why so many careless and unjust deaths? Isha? Loris? Vander? Jinx? No one wants to see a character who has been sufferring all their lives to die for the "greater good." (Thats not even good)

- Who tf would fuck their situationship after losing their dad the 2nd time, witnessing new adoptive little sister's death, and her blood-sister declaring suicide?? All while still inside the prison cell of said sister???

- That you can be the vilest shit and still get the happiest ending? Yes I'm talking about Singed. Also that you can be the most unproblematic character and still have to live a bleak life. Yes i'm talking about Ekko.

- Ambessa being a blood thirsty war monger like she doesn't give a flying fuck about family? Where is the "Is there anything so undoing as a daughter" moment here??? Why is she suddenly just pure evil??

- Wtv the fuck is going on with Mel

- Sevika my girl stopped speaking after act 1

- Why is Cait acting so inconsistently? One moment she's blinded by rage, then she becomes a dictator, then she get cupcaked and switched sides, also she's immune to death after stabs here and there.

- Why does Jinx have to apologize for killing Cait's mom when Cait's mom probably was calling the shots during the Zaunites massacre that killed Felicia and Connel? No one in power is innocent.

- Why would the Noxians and Singed aid evil Viktor into decimating humanity when it means killing themselves?

- Whats all that shit about breaking the cycle and leaving? Clearly they can live happily because "forgiveness goes a long way" as said by AU Silco and Vander.

- Why is Jayce giving speech as if he didn't just fuck over everyone and why would anyone listen to him???

- Zaunites really is destined to eat Piltover's shit. They got dragged into the magic robot war that Piltover started.

I love every character in season 1 but I guess the writers don't. Honestly still reeling from the fact that we go from complex class issues with two traumatized sisters who just want their family back at the center to magic robot fights between an evil jesus, a homeless man, and a third party threat. The show concluded with killing off characters unjustly, putting in shitty eureka moment quotes that don't make sense, and cramming in 10 subplots.

[stardust-falling]

But none of the SJ defenders says that he was a 100% pure soul, we just like to point out facts that SY is unreliable source and him abusing disciplines (other than LBH) is a speculation also Qiu's deserved to be killed

Of course, it's true that Shen Yuan didn't have all the facts and painted Shen Jiu as worse than he was, but the way that YQY reacts to Shen Jiu claiming LBH at the selection is fairly telling as context clues (others feel free to add quotes & refs if they have on hand, i'm writing rn and can't check but may come back later).

He did deserve to kill Qiu Jianluo though, I will not argue with that.

[perenlop]

well i finished renegade. i sure was renegading all over the place

[phantomrose96]

So my mom's birthday was this week and I flew down with Patches to visit her for a few days. Patches, while a verified hater of the airport, really loves my mom's place because there are so many more closets to explore and birds to watch and cobwebs to dust with her stupid little face.

My mom also goes to bed earlier than anyone I know, so for the evenings it was on me to monitor Patches' activity. And she's very good. She's 99% good. She's 1% "could use improvement" good and the 1%, which I'd forgotten about, is tomatoes.

Patches will leave most things alone. (And by "alone" I mean she'll absolutely bitch slap them onto the floor, but they will leave the ordeal with just as many or few surface punctures as they had before the encounter started.) Not tomatoes. Patches has it the fuck out for tomatoes.

So when I noticed her batting something around on the ground I realized that my mom had left a sole, roma tomato in the fruit basket on the counter and it was now experiencing the life cycle of a pingpong ball between Patches' paws.

I take it away from her, like a fucking evil woman, and now I'm like "okay actually, where do I hide this." See at home I have an anti-Patches cabinet, which is for things that have no business living in a cabinet but which WILL have business dying at Patches' hands if left accessible. And this is WEIRD to have such a cabinet but it's my own home.

I'm scanning my mother's cabinets going "is this weird here? can the tomato go in my mother's dish cabinet?" And I briefly consider sticking it in the fridge, as a normal location, but the audacity of altering this tomato's ripening process is an audacity I do not possess. So I go with cabinet. I go with the first eye-level cabinet, which is the coffee mug cabinet, which is perfect because the tomato will not be lost to cabinet purgatory there, since my mom opens it every morning for her coffee. I will simply tell her in the morning that the tomato is there.

Next morning. Seeing as my mother goes to bed at the butt-crack of dusk she ALSO gets up at the ass-crack of dawn. This means I trail down like 2 hours after her with my work laptop and Patches. This is also now her birthday. I'm sharing the sofa with her for a good 15 minutes when I think to myself I'd like some coffee, and I remember I put a tomato in the cabinet. I tell my mom as much. I put the tomato in her coffee mug cabinet.

And the look I get is one I can't really figure out on spot. But she says "Chrissy this is the best birthday present you could have given me" which is a very weird response to the already weird statement "Oh you probably saw, but I hid the tomato in the coffee mug cabinet because Patches has it out for tomatoes."

So I do not at all know how this makes for a good birthday gift. My mom tells me how a week or two ago, she came home unloading groceries. At the end of putting everything away she could not for the life of her find her phone. Absolutely nowhere. She pinged it from her iPad and it started singing. From the fridge. She opened her fridge. Her phone was in the fridge.

A couple days later she lost Ash's collar. Spent three days looking for it. Couldn't remember where she'd taken it off or what she did with it. Showed up in the grass when she remembered she took it off to let him play fetch in the lake.

And then this morning, her birthday morning, she came into the kitchen, made her pot of coffee, opened the cabinet to fetch her coffee mug, and found... tomato. Singular. Tomato in the cabinet. Tomato she had no memory of placing in a cabinet. Tomato she could not possibly fathom having a reason for being in the cabinet.

She was like Chrissy I cried. She was like this is it, time to send her to pasture. She's a harebrained old lady now and there is no coming back from this. She's the lady who accidentally puts tomatoes in the cabinet. Awake before God, standing in the kitchen, signing her life away over this tiny roma tomato. (Roma tomato with little cat vampire teeth marks in it).

I was like oh. No. I put it there. Because Patches was going to commit war crimes against it. I put it there because I did not stop to consider "Will finding a single tomato in the coffee mug cabinet somehow be the very specific thing that undoes my mother this morning?" I put it there out of careful consideration for the life of this tomato, and with no consideration for the extremely esoteric way that a tomato in the cabinet could be received like a horse head in the bed, Godfather style.

We made a salad with the tomato. Happy birthday Mom.

[tofixtheshadows]

You guys really need to stop and consider the ways you're talking about Kabru I am dead fucking serious. Like I know that flattening characters is just what fandom does to a certain extent, but Kabru's actual personality is getting lost to the fandom hivemind insisting that he's aggressive/cruel/sociopathic/hateful, and these are particularly concerning takes to see leveled at the only brown character in the main cast day after day. "My poor sweet golden child Laios needs to be protected from this scary brown man" is not a good look! Like, it's very telling that the bulk of the hate and bad faith readings are reserved for Toshiro and Kabru. Everyone else's flaws get to be discussed and validated and forgiven (or erased), meanwhile people are straight making up things to be mad about with Toshiro and Kabru but patting themselves on the back for being smart.

The worst part is how undeserved it all is. I'm trying to lay off anime-onlys because we're still kind of in the red herring stage of getting to know Kabru, but I would still like to gently suggest that even if you think Kabru is up to something, you don't gave to get in the tags of every fan creator's post and bring up how you hate him or You Can Tell he's totally evil. Sometimes I think Kabru's blue eyes give people license to say things about his appearance that they know would sound completely racist otherwise, but referring to his blue eyes acts as a get-out-of-racism free card. The jokes about the dog with brown contacts are getting old, by the way.

For people who have read the manga, it's disappointing. Kabru is one of the most complex and important characters in the story, and if you base your interpretation of him and all your fandom interactions on shallow first impressions you are completely missing out.

I know part of this is because Dungeon Meshi is a comedy, but the story also wants to be taken seriously. For example, it's admittedly really funny when Chilchuck calls Laios "sick in the head", but that doesn't change the fact that the way Chilchuck casually belittles Laios caused him to hide the fact that he was "hallucinating" from his friends for weeks. Those feelings matter.

Like, this

is funny.

But this?

Is not. This is just a very clear example of a brown boy with PTSD. As someone else with PTSD, just looking at this fucking sucks, man.

The only reason why Kabru thinks about killing Laios is because he is in the middle of a flashback. He's struggling through a panic attack. If he truly wanted to kill Laios because he's violent or because he finds Laios inherently annoying, he wouldn't otherwise talk with Laios normally. Notice how he doesn't act this way at any other point in the story- it's just because he's triggered by monsters. Even when he's thinking about his plans to "deal with" Laios later, he's reluctant to actually kill him and only considers it to prevent another tragedy. Despite his deadly skills, Kabru relies far more on "soft" power- insight, persuasion, diplomacy. He's a rare example of a character who absolutely is, or at least can be, manipulative, but seems to use his abilities for good. He's not a pathological liar, he isn't looking down on everyone behind a smile. He's someone who is extremely emotionally intelligent, and he's willing to put aside all his own basic wants and needs to stop the cycle of dungeons devouring humans.

I'm going to cut a potential thesis on his character short and just give some examples of things that fandom should consider about his personality more:

Racism in fandom isn't just about whitewashing in fan art, or using racial slurs. The insidiousness of bad faith readings, reductions to racist tropes, lack of fan content for characters of color, and dismissal of a character's complexity are far more common. You can believe yourself to be completely neutral or even positive about a character and still churn out low-grade bile about them into fandom's collective unconscious. Fandom reflects real life.

And I have been around fandom long enough to see how these behaviors (mostly from my fellow white fans) affect fans of color, how it makes a fandom feel hostile and unwelcome to them. It's fun to make jokes and memes, I'm absolutely not saying that everything needs to be a deeply nuanced take, but we need to be careful that it doesn't veer into toxicity. Please think about how our contributions to fandom come across, and what sort of vibes they cultivate in this communal space.

[nexysworld]

Summary: Raccoon City, 1998. Leon, a rookie officer, encounters an exceptionally unique girl while on patrol. Captivated by her and concerned for her well-being, he decides to take her under his protection. Slowly, his thoughts increasingly revolve around her, and his concern for her safety turns into an obsession. Pairing: Developing Yandere Leon x Puppy Hybrid Reader Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, Oneshot, Mild Slowburn, Female Masturbation, Sex, Creampies, Dubcon, Controlling behavior, Incredibly Naive Reader, Non Outbreak AU, Fingering, Pillow Humping, baby trapping, mentions of past trauma/medical related trauma, Umbrella corporation being evil, sweet sex, fluff, no use of y/n, heat cycles. WC: 14.6K

A/N: This was a commission for the ever wonderful and lovely @explorevenus. I loved writing this and I hope you love it too. <3 Also thank you @dollfacefantasy for beta reading for me. :)

Read on AO3 || Ask Box || Masterlists

Thick fog permeated the area obstructing Leon’s view through the windshield of his cruiser. He didn’t really see a point in traffic patrols on nights like this; the road wasn’t visible, nor was any potential crime. Though he had to admit it was nice being able to sit and listen to the radio with nothing else to pull his attention. 

The particular strip of highway he was monitoring connected to the dense and dark woods that began the separation from the city to the mountains – it wasn’t uncommon for the shadows of the wildlife to occasionally dance against his headlights before the animal skittered off. It was something that used to unnerve him, but he’d grown used to it by now. 

The night bore on with little eventfulness, it was nearly midnight and time for Leon to phone in that he was ending his shift. Another night, exactly the same as before. 

Carefully, he pulled the vehicle out onto the road, keeping just slightly below speed to make up for the lack of visuals. Not paying much attention to anything besides the dim road ahead, he didn’t process anything in his peripherals – especially not the figure running towards the street.

“Shit!” He exclaimed, slamming the breaks. While the impact wasn’t high speed, it was too fast to stop in time – as he braced himself by squeezing his eyes shut, he heard the thump of something hit the hood. By the time he opened his eyes, he caught the tail end of the body rolling off and onto the road. 

“Are you alright?” He called out, not sure yet if it had been an animal or a person, as he shakily made his way over to the scene. His breath hitched upon the sight. “What the hell?” A girl, naked and ragdolled onto the pavement with a nonhuman set of ears and tail. Leon bent down, pressing his fingers to her neck. “She’s got a pulse, that’s good. Hey, can you hear me?” No sound came from the girl before him.

He knew he should’ve called for backup, had the paramedics on the way – but something about the whole situation was so peculiar it had his mind working at a negative speed. Gently he rolled her onto her back. There was no blood, just some scuffed up bruising on the girl’s left side from the impact, a goose egg forming on her head. 

Gently he tugged on one of the dog-like ears, expecting it to be part of a costume or a headband. Leon was thoroughly perplexed when he realized they were attached to the girl’s head, nearly jumping back when they twitched. A pained groan  left her mouth as she moved a bit, coming back to the conscious world, eyes lazily opening. Another muted mumble left her mouth as she rubbed at her head before sitting upright.

“Miss?” Leon put his hand on her shoulder trying to get her attention again.

She met his gaze and in an instant recoiled from him, growling as she scowled, even baring her teeth.

He noted the way the dog-ears on her head had pointed back all on their own, further evidence of them not being a costume prop. It was absurd, and he wasn’t sure whether to be on guard or laugh at her strange behavior. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been in such a strange situation in his entire life. “Miss, I need you to take a deep breath for me, calm down.”

She didn’t let up, growling at him with more intensity, her stance becoming tighter as if she was winding herself up to spring at him. Despite the hostility, he could see it in her eyes that she was scared.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He reached his arm out again, slowly. “I’m a cop, I help people….do you understand me?”

She gave him an untrusting glance, eyeing at the hand as if it were offensive to be in her presence, but the growling had stopped. He dared his hand even closer again, this time managing to gently touch her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “You’re safe with me.”

Her bottom lip quivered before she relaxed a little.

He smiled at her. “Can you talk?”

“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse.

“My name’s Leon. Do you have a name?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You got roughed up pretty good,” He tore his heavy uniform jacket off, wrapping it around her shoulders before standing. “You too hurt to walk? Need help up?”

She shook her head again, using the hood of the cruiser to wobble back to her feet. He could see the goosebumps on her skin from where the cool air was hitting everything not under the jacket – though he quickly averted his eyes up from where her indecency started. He placed a hand on her back, gently motioning her to follow him to the door of the car, opening it and ushering her into the warmth of the back seat. “What happened to your clothes?”

“Don’t have any.” She stared back at him, tilting her head to the side, dog ear flopping with it. It was cute, probably the cutest thing Leon had ever seen, and he wasn’t even sure what he was seeing still.

“Where are you from?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you doing out here alone?”

She didn’t reply, nor did he get a peep out of her for any other questions. When it became clear that she was shutting down, Leon had to think fast. “These are real, aren’t they?” He asked bringing his hand out to touch the soft ears atop her head again. He felt them perk up beneath his hand, and he gave a little scratch to it, hearing the telltale sign of her tale thump lightly against the leathered backseat. “You like that, huh?” 

She responded by closing her eyes, nodding into his touch.

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“No.”

Leon wasn’t sure what to do with the girl. She hadn’t done anything illegal – unless you counted public indecency, but he could tell that probably wasn’t by her own choice. On the other hand, she clearly wasn’t normal. He didn’t even know what to make of the animal attachments or her quirky mannerisms. With her head tilted to the side, he had a more clear view of her neck now, a tattoo catching his attention, it was a red and white logo he’d seen before. “The umbrella logo?” He asked out loud, more to himself than her.

She responded by jumping back in the seat, growling again, covering the mark with her hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He said, putting his hands up defensively. He was even less sure what a pharmaceutical company had to do with a girl like her – he could only venture to guess. Whatever happened there, she clearly wasn’t happy about it. “I won’t make you go back.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Then we’re in agreement.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, shaking it. She looked confused by the gesture but didn’t stop him. “When you shake on something, it means its a deal, you can’t go back on it.”

“Really?”

“That’s right. Why don’t you come stay with me for the night? You look like you could use some food and I wouldn’t feel comfortable letting you stay out in the cold like this.”

“Ok.” He helped slip her arms through the holes in his jacket, zipping it up before clicking the seat belt into place. She squirmed against it in a panic. “No! No! Get it off!”

“Hey, hey.” He cooed again, cupping her cheeks. “It’s alright. It’s to keep you safe.” She shook her head, fat tears brimming at her lash line. “It is, I promise.” He held his hand out to her again. She took it this time, mimicking his earlier action of shaking it. “See? I have to keep my word now.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

You weren’t sure of the man sitting in the front seat, or why you had to be strapped down again. You hated being strapped down. But there was something about his eyes, they were so kind compared to the scary men in white lab coats. His scent too, sweet and musky, not the sterile chemical smell that was scattered around the labs. Leon was nice. Leon was safe.

The warmth of the moving box you were in was all it took for the soreness and fatigue to catch up with you, eyes growing heavier and heavier until you found yourself sinking into that sweet and comfortable darkness.

“Hey, we’re home.”

The familiar sound of Leon’s voice tore you from slumber, annoyed, you let out a grumble readjusting in the seat. Only the jarring feeling of the cold hitting you as the door opened again was enough to yank you fully back to consciousness with a frown. “Don’t wanna move.” 

He sighed. “Then I won’t make you,” a moment later you were being scooped up into his arms. Being cradled against his chest felt nice, another thing so very unlike the way you were used to being treated. 

The inside of his home wasn’t what you were expecting. Every corner of the small house radiated his scent, and it was warm. Not a concrete wall or blindingly white light anywhere. The couch he’d plopped you down onto was soft, fabric feeling nice against your skin. It couldn’t even hold a flame to the sticky leather of Dr. Birkin’s office seat. Sinking into the plushness, you couldn’t help but bury your nose into one of the pillows, tail wagging heavily as you took in more of Leon’s scent.

“Comfy?” He asked with a soft laugh.

“Yeah! Yeah!”

“You wait right there, I’ll be back. I just need to get out of these clothes, then we can work on getting some food in you.” He ruffled your hair, making you giggle. The heaviness of his jacket and the comfiness of the cushions kept you in place. 

When he returned, he was in gray pants and a white shirt. He held out some fabric towards you. “I get the feeling clothes aren’t something you’re used too, but I think it would be best if you put these on.” There was a light flushing to his face as he said the words, though you couldn’t figure out why.

“Why?” You asked, taking them from his hand. They didn’t smell as deeply of him as you’d liked, instead a synthetic floral scent wafted to your nose making your face scrunch up. “They smell bad. I don’t need them.” “Bad? They’re fresh out of the laundry they should smell like – oh. Your sense of smell is probably a lot stronger than mine, isn’t it? Hold that thought.” He ran back up the stairs again, this time coming down with another shirt. He thrust it out waiting until you took it. “That better?”

Yanking it from his hands, you brought it to your nose, inhaling it. It was much better, wrapped in Leon, you nodded in acknowledgement.

“It’s my undershirt from earlier, thought it might work better. Let’s compromise, you can wear that shirt, but the boxers gotta be fresh since they’re not as close to your nose.” 

You considered his suggestion, rubbing the fabric against your face again. “Alright.”  He helped you unzip the jacket and slide it off before slipping the shirt over your head, then holding out the black bottoms for you to step into. 

You didn’t love it, the way the clothes felt against your skin, it was restrictive in a way you weren’t used to – but when he praised you, petting your head again you decided you could suffer through the torment of clothing for him.

“Good girl.” He praised again, and you were done for, practically crawling into his lap to get closer to the hand that was scritching behind your ears. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore, but ok.”

“I think I have some medicine –”

“No!” You interjected. Medicine was never a good thing, it meant feeling hazy, fuzzy. It meant waking up with headaches, not feeling like yourself. Medicine was bad.

“It’ll make your head and side feel better.”

“I don’t care.”

“Ok, ok.” He gave in, pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around you, gently running his hand down the back of your head in slow repetitions. “But if it gets too bad, let me know. Are you hungry?”

“I am.” 

He nodded, reaching for the phone on the side table. He said something about a large with extra cheese, but you had no clue what that meant. 

In fact, when he eventually answered the door and presented you with the triangular piece of food, you were even more confused. “What’s this?”

“It’s pizza.” He replied as if that was obvious, holding up the dripping thing and taking a bite out of the pointy end. 

You sniffed at the unfamiliar food. It looked nothing like the slop that constituted your meals back at the lab. It smelled strange too – but as Leon wolfed down his own piece, you took that as a sign it was safe to eat, even if a little strange. 

You couldn’t stop the moan leaving your mouth as your tongue met it – a strange mix of flavors but all were delicious as it melted in your mouth. Practically inhaling the piece, you scrambled forward to stuff your face with more.

Leon chuckled, rubbing your back. “I get the feeling you’ve never been given a decent meal before.”

You shook your head, another piece of pizza dangling from your mouth as you did so.

“Well, from now on you won’t have to worry about that.” He assured. “Promise.”

Did he really mean it? You weren’t sure, but so far he’d been nothing but kind. You smiled at him, food still in your mouth as you reached over to shake his free hand, making sure he couldn’t go back on his word.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

The moment the front door flew open, Leon was greeted by the tell tale sign of her presence, feet pattering around against the wooden floors as she bounded towards him. He caught her in his arms like he had every prior day, holding her close and resting his chin on her head. 

Her tail wagged behind her so fast it was hardly visible, but he could feel the light air current it created. Nothing warmed his heart more.

“You have a good day, sweetheart?”

“Mmm yeah, was boring without you though.” She whined. “They played the same movie on TV like 8 times!”

He chuckled brushing some hair away from her forehead before planting a kiss there. “That’s the worst.” He agreed, gently prying the girl off of him so he could make his way further inside the home to begin their evening routine – the same routine they’d gone through each night since he’d taken her home.

Leon didn’t have much going for him, sure he achieved his goal of graduating from the police academy, hell he even got his first pick of the local stations. But it wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d hoped. He had no grand career plans, or even life plans. His only reason for joining the police force was so he could help people, something that he rarely even did.

Traffic patrol, pencil pushing, the odd bar fight break ups – that was his life. 

At least until now. 

He found his thoughts wandering to her every spare chance he got. The image of her stretched out on the couch taking a midday nap, her curious naivety and childlike wonder over new things. The most mundane of things still revolved around her – and he loved it. Having someone to come home to and worry about gave him a genuine purpose. 

“Leon?”

“Yeah?” He responded as he pulled the soft cotton tshirt over his head. 

“Can we go on a walk tonight, please? Please?” She begged as she sat on the edge of their now shared bed.

“I don’t know, you remember what happened last time - “ 

“I know, I know. But I swear this time I’ll stay right by your side. I’ll even wear the hat!”

He let out a sigh, it was hard to say no when she was looking at him like that. “What has you wanting to go out so badly?” The thought of it dredged up some anxiety. While she was free to run about the property as she pleased, taking her into public was a different challenge all together. Not only were her social skills needing some work, but he was worried that wherever she’d come from, whoever had kept her originally was still looking for her.  Despite the time spent together, she hadn’t opened up much about anything still, not that he blamed her.

“The TV said there’s a para aid tonight.”

“A para aid?” He had no clue what she was going on about.

“Yeah! They showed all these fancy lights and food.” 

“Oh, the parade! The one down by the carnival.” He said in realization. “I don’t know… there’s going to be a lot of people there, lots of smells and noises too…”

The way she immediately shrunk down on herself, deflated in defeat, broke his heart. Her tail stopped wagging, fluffy ears flattened against the top of her head. It felt so wrong to be the cause of that upset, gut wrenching really. “You promise to keep the clothes on the whole time, and not run off on me?”

She perked up immediately, so quickly he was under the distinct suspicion she’d only been feigning her upset to get her way. Even that was endearing though. “Promise!”

“Then we can go for a little bit.” 

When she was at home running around in his boxers and shirts, it was adorable. But something about her dressed in his oversized clothes did something to him that he couldn’t explain. The gray beanie keeping her ears in place, the blue jacket covering where her tail was belted to her back, the jeans bunched at the waist and pooling at her ankles – it was like a sign of ownership in a way. 

He wrapped his arm around her, keeping her tucked into his side as they walked. He could see her head darting around every which way as the overwhelming sights came and left their view. “You alright?”

“Yeah. There’s just so much.”

“I told you.” He chuckled, squeezing her into him more. “If it gets to be too much, let me know and we can head home, ok?”

She nodded, but her eyes were already glued on the twinkling set of lights from the moving vehicles ahead of her. Leon moved the two of them forward enough so they could see the floats clearly as they came by.

“They’re beautiful.” She said, eyes wide in amazement. He could feel her tail attempting to move under the confines of the jacket-belt combo. It saddened him a bit that she wasn’t able to express herself the way she deserved for such a happy moment.

“Not as beautiful as you.” He watched as she looked in the opposite direction of him, despite the glowing multicolored lights of the next vehicle making its way past the crowd, he could still see the twinge of a flush on her cheeks from his comment. She looked pretty like that, soft and vulnerable – he couldn’t remember the last time someone gave him that fuzzy feeling, made his heart skip a beat.

“You really think that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then why do I have to cover my ea - “

He shushed her, gently pulling her away from the crowd of people and the ongoing parade, until they were behind one of the teacup carnival rides. “You know you need to keep quiet about that when we’re out here. You promised.”

“But I don’t understand… if you think I’m pretty then why do I have to hide it?”

“Because - “ He was cut off when a group of teenagers bumped into them.

“My bad!” The kid said, waving them off as they walked away. The spot the two of them stood in was becoming more and more crowded as the street parade ended. With more people flooding in, Leon realized this wasn’t the time nor place for this conversation – but he knew he couldn’t leave her so upset either.

“Look, let me take you on one of the rides and we can talk, ok?”

“Rides?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it.” He said pointing to large ferris wheel rotating around. “That one, you get to sit in those carts and once you’re at the very top, you’ll get the view of the whole city.” Not waiting for her response, he took her by the hand leading her over to the line. Being halfway through the night there weren’t as many people lined up for the rides as there were for the games and food stalls. It didn’t take long before the two of them were seated, and the ride began to move.

He could tell by her body language alone the movement had her on edge. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t go any faster than this. We’re safe.”

“And I can look out?”

“Yep, just like I said, look.” He pointed out showing the bustling city below them as the wheel reached its peak.

“Oh wow.”

“That’s where I work.” He said pointing out to the large RPD building. “And that’s where I go to get the groceries.”

“And the pizza?”

“Over there.”

Now that the ride had been filled, it began to rotate again, she watched the city intently as it went around a few more rotations. He didn’t want to interrupt her intense fascination, so he let her be, only reaching out when she went a little too far over the opened window than he would’ve liked.

“Can we go again?”

“I can ask.” With the evening winding down more, and only a few others wanting to join the ride, the attendant nodded, allowing them to go again.

This time, her fascination dwindled slightly as she stayed put in the seat. “Can we talk about it now?”

“Covering up?”

She nodded, fidgeting with the cuffs of the jacket sleeve.

“When you’re home watching TV, do you ever see anyone that looks like you?”

“No.”

“It’s because you’re special, one of a kind.” He said tucking a stray strand of hair back under the beanie. “And I love that about you. My special puppydoll.” He smiled as she nuzzled into his hand. “But, because you’re so special, other people might not feel the same. People can be really mean when someone is different than them. I don’t want anyone to be mean to you, or worse, hurt you.”

A moment of silence washed over them, she scooted closer to rest her head on his shoulder, the cart swaying slightly.

“They were mean to me.”

“Who?”

“Where I came from.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what else to say to that, it was the most information he’d gotten out of her and it hadn’t been a lot, but he was happy that she was confiding something after all this time. “I’m sorry that happened to you . . . Do you want to talk about it?”

“Dr. Birkin was the worst. There were two of them actually, lady Birkin and man Birkin. They yelled at me a lot, asked me tons of questions. Sometimes they would put me on this big table and tied me down, poke at me…” As she spoke her voice became more strained, her body tensing up along with it.

It was clear that her short explanation was merely the cliffnoted version of events, and he wasn’t going to pry further than that – he got the idea. “Hey, its ok.” He cooed, wrapping both arms around her. “You don’t have to worry about them any more. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“What if they hurt you?” She peeked up from where her head had been nestled into the crook of his neck, a small wet patch formed where her eyes had watered.

“Why would they do that?”

“They’re bad people… and I wasn’t supposed to leave.”

“I’m a cop – its our job to keep people safe. And guess what?”

“What?”

“It makes us much harder to hurt.”

“Hey Leon?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I try something I saw on the TV?”

“You’re not going to jump out of here, are you?”

She giggled and shook her head. “No, I think that would be dangerous.”

“Then go for it.”

He was surprised when her lips met his, her arms slinking around his neck. He returned the gesture, holding her tightly to him, closing his eyes. “You learn to kiss like that just from watching the TV? I’m impressed.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Can I do it again?”

“I’d never say no.”

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The wheel came to its last stop, this time the man outside insisting they had to get off.  Leon nodded at the man, helping you step out of the cart.

“You hungry? I think some of the food places are still open if you want to try them. Or we can grab something on the way home.”

“Yeah, I’m starving.” You followed next to him as he was headed over to where the strong cacophony of smells was coming from. Like many experiences with Leon, it was something you couldn’t have imagined. Closing your eyes, you sniffed around, trying to identify and take in each individual scent that you could.

A familiar voice broke your concentration, if it weren’t for the stupid hat, your ear would’ve lifted allowing you better access to the sound. Instead it was muffled slightly, soon another familiar voice layered over that one. 

Swallowing dryly, dared to peek at the offending voices and immediately froze. The Birkins, it was hard to recognize them without their white outfits, but it was them – blonde hair and all, between them a small girl grasping at both of their hands. 

“No.” Voice breathless you tried to take a step and grab at Leon’s arm, only to realize he wasn’t next to you.

“What do you want?” The stranger responded.

“I-I’m sorr - “ The man didn’t let you finish, already walking away. Leon wasn’t anywhere in your sight, and despite your eyes darting around you failed to pick up on him or his scent. The surrounding crowd was beginning to overwhelm you, too much noise, too much to look at and take in.  “L-Leon?” No response, not that your voice could contend with the chatter around. 

A hand on your shoulder made you jump. “There you are.” Man Birkin. “We were wondering where you ran off too.”

Not giving the man a chance to do anything else, you took off. He gripped at the back of Leon’s jacket, almost yanking you backwards, but you caught yourself and slipped out of it, not caring if the surrounding people caught sight of your true form – all you were concerned with was getting away, putting as much distance between yourself and the Birkins as you could.

It wasn’t long before the maelstrom of colors and scents from the carnival died down, morphing into a disgustingly musty and cool toned city view. Legs burning, you stopped only to give yourself long enough to pant, trying to catch your breath.  Peering around the corner and doing a quick 360, there was no one in sight, not Birkin, not Leon, not anyone.

A new sense of fear encompassed you, the realization you were lost and alone again, just like that night in the woods. Even worse, fear that if Leon did find you, he’d be angry. The hat you were wearing long blew off in the wind, the belt having been ripped off to free your tail – it made running easier. You were exposed exactly in the way you’d promised him not to be, and you’d managed to leave his side too.

“He’s going to hate me.” You whined into your hands, slapping at your face as the tears began to spill. “I’m so stupid. So stupid.”  

Once calm enough to think the situation through more, you looked around again to assess your surroundings. The streets were empty, and it was a lot darker than it seemed from the top of the wheel. Eerily quiet too, so unlike the bustling cities you watched on the little box TV at home. 

Gripping your tail with both hands nervously, you started your trek down one of the narrow roads. If you’d learned anything from the TV, it was that you don’t stay in alleyways. Besides that, what knowledge you had was limited, a fact you were now painfully aware of upon realizing that you didn’t even have a clue of where you were walking to. A green sign pasted to the wall looked familiar. There was someone wearing clothes similar to Leon’s, and a big white arrow pointing down the path ‘RPD’, you’d recognized those symbols from Leon’s uniform, and the huge sign he’d pointed at during the ferris wheel. “Cops help people.” You reminded yourself of his words.

You followed the arrow, stumbling about until you were before the gigantic building. A man was leaning against the wall, talking into a small radio. He was huge, the biggest man you’d ever seen, brown hair and muscles everywhere. His clothes weren’t quite the same as Leon’s but seemed different than the other people at the carnival. Nervously, you stepped forward. “A-are you a cop?”

He looked down at you, despite his larger and slightly more gruff exterior, his eyes were soft and kind like Leon’s. “Not exactly, something like it though. Are you alright?”

“I’m looking for Leon.”

“Leon? Leon….oh officer Kennedy. He’s not working tonight.”

“I know, I got separated from him.”

“Ah, I gotcha.” He took a step forward, instinctively you took one back, not trusting of the stranger just yet. “Hey, no need to be scared. I can help you.”

“But you’re not a cop?” You asked, taking another calculated step back.

“Not a cop, but I still work here with Leon. See?” He pulled some type of badge out. It was too far away and too dark to see clearly, but the shape of the badge itself looked like the one Leon usually kept in his uniform pocket. “The name’s Chris, Chris Redfield. Come on, you can come inside and wait while I call him.” 

“Ok.” Where you had been standing it was dark, but once the streetlight fully illuminated your figure, you saw his face change. Sensing no malice, you didn’t make a move to run, but you didn’t walk any closer either. 

Chris opted to come to you, eyes narrowing suspiciously at your form. Your ears were flat to your head as you looked up at him. “Are those...real?” It was so similar to your first meeting with Leon, even the large hand coming down to pat your head, scritching at them. It felt so good, you’d let the grip on your tail go, rubbing back into his hand. You recognized the look of concern that spread over his feature, but it was quickly replaced with a smile as he guided you into the building, and past several doors. 

The man took a seat behind a desk, watching you as he picked up the phone. It rang a few times before he put it back onto the receiver, no answer. “You don’t look so hot. Hungry? Need a drink?”

“Please.”

“Here.” He said, opening a metal tin before handing it to you. “Homemade by my sister, guaranteed to be delicious.” He stood from the rolling chair he had been seated in, looking down at you. “Wait here for me, I think his cell number is somewhere around here. Just don’t leave this room, got it?”

Already halfway through scarfing down the sandwich, you couldn’t respond. You nodded in agreement though.

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Leon had never experienced anxiety on this level before, not once in his entire life. One moment he was ordering food, the next he realized you hadn’t been by his side. His heart sank. 

The next hour he’d spend running around the carnival area, up and down the streets where the parade was, only to come up empty handed. When he’d stumbled upon his jacket, he felt sick to his stomach – only worst case scenarios came to mind; your dead body on one of his police reports, headlines about a mysterious science experiment gone missing, or arguably worse – someone else taking you home for their own pleasure.

The thoughts only worsened when he pulled the antenna up from his phone before flipping it open. “Leon? It’s Redfield. I think I have your uh….friend here. The one with the extra parts.”

“Is she ok? Is she hurt? How’d she get - “ 

“She’s fine. But we need to talk. I’m keeping her in my office for right now, no one else is here besides some pencil pushers, but some of the patrolling squads will return soon. I won’t be able to hide her all night.”

“Shit.” Leon dug his sneaker into the gravel. “I can be there in 15, no more like 25 with all the traffic leaving. Look Chris, I can explain. “

There was some shuffling and Chris greeting someone on the other end of the line before his voice picked up again. “Bad news, some of the teams are already back.” His voice was now a low hushed whisper. “Look, just go home, I’ll meet you there with her. You’re still at the old sheriff's house right?”

“Yeah but wait - “

“Gotta go.” 

Leon bristled as the call cut off, snapping the phone shut. The walk to his jeep, and the drive back home were done in silence. He felt out of his own body, swishing back and forth on waves of anxiety. He paced back and forth waiting for an update. 

It felt like a lifetime had passed before the glow of Chris’ headlights made an appearance through the front windows of the house. Leon couldn’t contain the childlike giddiness he felt, bolting out the front door and over to her; crushing her into a too-tight hug.

“Leon…” She whined, attempting to squirm under his grasp.

“No.” He said firmly, refusing to let go. “I can’t believe you ran like that, you promised me.”

“Leon it wasn’t -”

“I don’t care. Don’t you ever scare me like that again, do you understand?” He finally gave her enough room to look up at him. He felt horrible at the knee-weakening stare she gave back, but he couldn’t bring himself to calm down enough to comfort her just yet. “Go inside and wait for me, I have to talk to Chris.”

“But Le - “

“Go.” He said more firmly, pointing towards the front door. He waited for her to slowly make her way towards it, ears down and tail nearly tucked between her legs.

“Hey, don't be so hard on her.” Chris said, putting his hand on Leon’s shoulder.

“Yeah I know. I’ll apologize later. Thanks for bringing her home.”

“Sure thing.” There was a moment of silence that passed between the two men before Chris finally piped up again. “Leon . . . how do you even have that girl? I saw the umbrella logo on her neck, she’s probably some experiment, or worse, a bioweapon.”

“A what? Her? No. No way.” Leon said, shaking his head. “She’s different...but harmless.”

Chris sighed. “I think so too, but you never know. How did you even get her? How long have you had her?”

“Almost a year now. I kind of stumbled on her one night during the end of my patrol. She was so scared, I couldn’t send her back Chris, not if you saw that look in her eye.” 

“I get it.” The taller man said. “You should be more careful. I’m not sure the ins and outs of it all myself, but I know that higher ups in the S.T.A.R.S. unit sometimes work with Umbrella. I wouldn’t even be surprised if that girl was reported to them already. I’d keep her away from the city from now on.”

“You’re right.” It wasn’t like he’d let her go out often as it was, but after tonight, he was realizing that she wasn’t made to go out at all. She was far better off here, at home. He also knew that she wasn’t going to like that change - but it was for her own good. “You’re not going to uh…say anything are you?”

“Nah.” Chris shrugged. “I don’t see a point, it wouldn’t benefit anyone. She’s better off with you, I think.”

“Well thanks again for bringing her back.”

“No problem. If you two need anything, let me know.” 

Leon nodded, he watched as Chris made his way back to his vehicle and waved him off, not moving until it was out of sight. The anxiety from the evening hadn’t fully left Leon, and now that she was back home and it was just the two of them, he was nervous. Not in the sense that he thought they would have a confrontation, but he knew given everything it would be awkward and he hated the feeling of awkwardness. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” He called out noticing she wasn't splayed across the couch like he expected. The non-immediate response set off alarm bells in his head, but he was relieved when she came trodding downstairs in her usual attire. 

“What?” 

As expected, she didn’t look happy, brows knitted together anger written all over her face. He pulled her into another hug with one arm, his free hand gently smoothing over the top of her head, focusing on her ears in a short rhythmic pattern. “I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. I’m just happy you’re safe, and home.”

“I didn’t mean to run off.” She mumbled against him, clinging to him in a hug of her own. “Really. One moment I couldn’t see you anymore, and I saw the Birkins there. It was so scary, I didn’t know what to do.”

“I should have kept a closer eye on you. I’m sorry.” Leon gave her a quick peck of the lips before pulling back.

“Leon?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I in trouble? I let Chris see me and -”

“No. No, you’re not in trouble.”

“Are you going to be in trouble?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Chris is a cool guy, you can trust him.” 

“Ok.”

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It was about a week after the night at the carnival that you noticed something was different between you and Leon now. You weren’t sure if it had to do with the kiss, or the rest of the evening. A sneaking suspicion told you it was likely both. 

Since that night, he never seemed to leave you alone. It wasn’t a bad thing, at first. New rules in place meant you weren’t allowed outside without him now, even on the property. He taught you how to use the house phone just so he could start calling several times a day to check in. When he was home, he was all over you, scarcely allowing you to even remain in a single room by yourself. 

It was all for your own safety, is how he’d explained it.

He cared about you more than anyone else ever had, and the added attention made your stomach tingle, tail wagging and ears perked. 

But soon it became too much, suffocating as time went on. It left you with torn feelings, on the one hand you knew you should be grateful to Leon, should soak in all the affection he bathed you in. And you wanted to really. Guilt ate away at you every time one too many hugs became irritating. One too many phone calls pulling your concentration from your current task. Going stir crazy in the same 4 walls day in and out. Not even being able to sit alone on the porch for a minute of solace. 

It was so reminiscent of the lab, and you hated yourself for making that connection – because Leon was not like the Birkins or anyone else there. He was kind. He was sweet. You loved him. Moreso, even being locked within the house, you had more freedom than those sterile white walls and blinding lights that you’d grown accustomed to. 

You felt shameful disgusted with yourself for harboring such thoughts. Despite that, the annoyance didn’t go away, it only grew despite yourself.

“Leooonnnnnn.” You whined, angrily tapping your fingers against the kitchen table. “You’ve been gone every day this week.”

“I know, I know. But Marvin’s been out sick, they needed someone to cover his shifts. Next week I’m all yours.” He said, ruffling your ears and kissing the top of your head like he always did. It was a small comfort, enough that you felt your tail do a single little thump against the seat. It wasn’t enough this time to improve your soured mood.

“I haven’t been out of the house in almost two weeks and that was just to sit on the porch. I’m bored. Can’t we go on another walk?”

“I told you to stop asking me that.” 

You recoiled. He didn’t yell, Leon never yelled, but his voice was sharp and cut like a knife. His usually soft features were pointed with irritation, and it seemed so unfitting for him. It was only the second time he’d ever snapped at you like that. He wasn’t wrong either, you’d been shot down every time you’d asked, and when you kept up the onslaught of begging, he had respectfully told you to stop. 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said as he idly grabbed the ingredients for dinner. “I know you’re going a little stir crazy here, I get it. Really.”

“Does that mean you might change your mind?”

“No.” He said, shooting you a weak smile.

“But you just said you understood.”

“I do understand. But sometimes what’s best for us isn’t what makes us happy, we gotta stick it out.”

“How long do I have to stick it out?”

“I don’t have an answer for that. But I promise it won’t be forever.” 

You weren’t sure if you believed him, but nodded anyway. “Ok.” 

This time when he ruffled your hair, you felt a strange warmness waterfall over you. It had you squirming in your seat. “Can I go sit on the porch while you make dinner at least? Please?"

He shot you a warning look, but it softened in an instant. "Fine, but only the porch, not a step past it. "

"Thank you! Thank you!" You cheered, assaulting his cheek with an onslaught of kisses the moment he'd agreed. You heard him say something as you skittered off, but it didn't register, beyond happy to finally have a taste of fresh air - a view of something that wasn't the same set of walls for the first time in weeks.

The air slapped your face immediately. It was chilly outside, so much so you were debating heading back to grab a coat or a blanket, but the fear that you may not be granted permission to go back out if you even stepped an inch back into the house, kept you planted. A little cold was nothing compared to feeling of the wind in your hair, the different scents of nature drawing their way into your nose.

Your ears twitched, picking up the sound of something nearby. Chirping. A bird! It was perched in a tree at the end of the property where the well-groomed lawn spread out into the wilderness that spanned beyond the old fence.

The bright red was unlike anything you'd ever seen before in person. You wanted a closer look, just to observe it, halting the moment your foot lifted off the threshold of the porch. Leon had only permitted you to stay on the porch. He trusted you.

Your legs felt antsy, burning with the need to move, run. Your mind itched with the want to get closer to the small bird before it flew away. Before you were confided to the house again. A pathetic squeal-like whine worked its way from the back of your throat as you gripped the ledge of the porch, bouncing your legs up in down as if you were marching. You just wanted to see it.

Sure Leon would be mad if he knew, but if you were quick enough, only a minute, then he'd never know. Besides, you would still be on the property, technically.

Apprehension settled in your stomach, tethering you to the porch. "Leeeoonnn, I'm hungry. Is dinner almost done?" You called, cracking the back door open just enough to hear his response.

"Five more minutes." He called back, "I promise you won't starve, just wait out there for me, we can eat on the porch tonight."

"Ok!"

Five minutes. The door closed with a creak, the latch of the doorknob clicking into place. The fiery bird was still there, perched happily on the branch. Five minutes. You repeated on more time before taking off.

It felt so good, the bottoms of your feet flattening against the grass with each step. The wind knocking your hair backwards out of your face as you ran, tail and ears pointed. You had to resist the urge to spin, arms out, happy to be in the center of the open yard again. But there was only limited time, and you needed to make sure your little trip meant something.

Five minutes. "Crap." You muttered to yourself. "How long has it even been since he first said 5 minutes?" Realizing you didn't have the time to linger, you continued your journey jogging until you clutched the fence with both hands. "Ow!" The fence was splintered a part from age, but you hadn't expected it to bite you.

Only one hand was injured, little speckles of blood forming against your skin. The most damage done to your index and middle fingers. You shoved them into your mouth to suck and lap at the injury, ignoring the metallic taste in favor of finalizing your mission.

There it was in all its glory, this fat red bird seated in its nest. It turned its head side to side a few times as if looking down at you. "Wow." Murmuring around your injured fingers, your free hand cam up to reach out to it. It chirped and hopped around before fluttering it's wings and landing on your extended finger.

Eyes wide as saucers, your face almost hurt from how outstretched your smile was. Despite being so plump looking, the bird was surprisingly lightweight. It chirped a few more times. "Hello." If not for the stinging in your left hand reminding you of the current situation, you'd have felt like the Disney princesses Leon showed you.

Leon that's right, dinner would be done soon and you had no idea how much of the five minutes had been wasted. The turning off the doorknob in the distance had your ear twitching in that direction. It was too late to head back.

The sound of plates crashing to the wooden flooring made you want to cry, the bird sitting on your finger kept you where you were. Your hope was that maybe Leon would see it, understand why you'd done what you did, but the heavy stride of his steps told you otherwise.

"Leon -"

"Don't."

The last loud step by your side had the bird flying away, making you sad.

"You promised me! The first time I give you an ounce of trust and this is what you do?"

"I'm sorry - "

"You're always sorry! Do you want to be taken away? Do you want to go back to the lab, or worse be stuck with some stranger?"

"No."

"Go back inside."

"Leon the food -"

"Go. Back. Inside."

It was the first time Leon ever looked genuinely angry, his sky blue eyes feeling like lasers boring into the back of your head as you shamefully walked back towards the house. The remnants of dinner scattered over the porch from where he'd dropped them.

"Careful." He commanded, lifting you from behind to help you up and over the mess of glass and food, though the tone was far more annoyed than caring. You stood in the corner of the living room, watching him stomp around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets a little too roughly as he grabbed cleaning supplies.

Even the way he knelt down to begin scraping up the glass and food remnants off the ground just radiated negativity. "I can help clean it up."

"Don't bother." He said, getting as much of the mess into the dustpan. You sunk to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, a defensive pose learned when you were still with the Birkins.

Leon didn't say another word to you as he stormed around the place, and you didn't have the guts to say anything to him either. You were in trouble. Real trouble.

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 He can't remember the last time he was so angry. He didn't usually get angry. Just wasn't that kind of guy. On the rare occasion it did happen, he was pretty good at reigning it in.

Now though? It felt like pure heat radiated from every vein in his body. He couldn't breathe without steam working its way from his lungs. He wasn't sure what he was the most upset about, the breach of trust? The defiance? Or maybe the way she batted those lashes, the stupid bird on her hand.

Manipulative. That's what she was being, he was sure of it. Manipulative because she thought she understood how things worked, thought she could just decide to do whatever she wanted without consequence. Worse, she thought he was a pushover that would just allow it at every turn.

He pinched his nose, leaning against the counter. When he finally felt a little more numb to his emotions, he allowed himself to look over to where she was sitting, curled up in the corner like a child. He wasn't sure if it was genuine submission he was viewing, or another way of trying to get under his skin. The gurgling of her belly coupled with the silence from her mouth was enough to at least draw his focus from the situation to her immediate needs.

Leon pulled the phone off the receiver, speed dialing the Chinese place. He wasn't in the mood to cook again, and while he didn't want to reward your misbehavior, he couldn't help the pull of the crab rangoon, knowing it would make his own mood improve.

"Get up." The words came out harsher than he had intended and when she flinched from him, he felt nauseous. He cleared his throat, trying again, this time much softer. "I need you to get up, you can't stay there all night."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yes." She look like she'd been shot. "But I won't be forever. " He gently tugged her arm, helping her to her feet. He ruffled the hair on her head before smoothing his hands over her ears a few times. "I ordered something to eat. Let's talk before it gets here."

It wasn't a request, but he still appreciated the nod he got in return as he led her over to the couch. He had to admit now that he was mellowing out, he didn't like the invisible separation between the two of them. Now he finally understood what people meant about the tension being thick enough to cut. The way she was sat, stiff as a board hands palm up in her lap, he bristled once he realized one of them was injured. If it weren't for the still lingering simmer of anger in him, he'd have given in already pulling her close and doting on her until that sad look on her face melted to the gleeful smile he was used to.

"You broke my trust." He began, "That really hurts my feelings. The first time I give you a little leeway and this is what you do? I'm so disappointed in you."

"I just wanted to see the bird..."

"Why didn't you come ask?"

"Because you would say no! You always say no!"

"I didn't say no to the porch, did I?"

"No...but - "

"I let you do almost anything you want, damn it! The only time I say anything is when it has to do with your safety. So the few rules I have in place I expect to be followed. It's that simple. You're more human than dog, control yourself next time." He was raising his voice again, and he hated the sound of it. His own words rattling in his head and yet they continued to flow like a venomous waterfall.

"It was just the end of the yard. I thought I'd see it up close, then come right back."

"And you got hurt anyway. Look at your hand. That fence was old, dirty, that could get infected. And then what? It's not like I can take you to a regular hospital...." He put his palm over his face, sensing he needed to calm down all over again.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Really I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He wish he hadn't looked. Her face contorted and scrunched, red, tears and snot running down her cheeks. His chest tightened, mouth suddenly dry. That wasn't manipulation. No one ugly cried like that if they didn't mean it. It didn't change the fact that the trust he had in her was fractured, but any other negative feelings fizzled out with a pop.

"I believe you." He cooed, reaching forward to wipe some tears away from her face. "I forgive you. "

"I...love you....Leon" The words came between wracked sobs.

"I love you too." He wrapped his arms around her tightly, letting her sob into his shoulder. "It's ok. It's ok," he repeated as he pet her hair. "You just gotta listen from now on, sweetheart. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. I don't want to lose you. It would break my heart."

"I will. I promise."

He wasn't so sure of that. He believed that she believed it though, and that sentiment was enough. He let her finish out her crying session until the delivery driver knocked on the door, tearing them out of the moment.

"Just a minute!" He called out, returning his attention to her. "After I grab the food, we'll get your hand cleaned up, eat, and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be better, alright?"

"Promise?"

"Promise." He cooked his pinky finger around hers, pressing a quick peck to her lips. Her ears pointed up in return, tail lifting to slowly move back and forth. That was his girl.

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 That strange warmness from earlier was back. A feeling of longing you couldn't quite place tugged at your core while heat made every part of your skin tingle, the bedding sticking to your clammy body. The wedge of moonlight coming in through the window caught your attention, pouring all your focus into eyeing it, trying desperately to ignore the discomfort, and to not wake Leon up. The last thing you needed right now was to have him upset with you all over again.

But whatever was wrong with you had slowly become too much, worsening by the hour.

The floorboards creaked with each step, feet feeling heavy as you tried to pad your way to the bathroom as quietly as you could. Even your lungs felt like you'd run a mile, panting the only way to get enough air without feeling suffocated.

One time, at the lab, you remembered feeling this way. It didn't last long before lady Birkin was stabbing a needle into your arm, frigid liquid cooling you down from within your veins. From that moment on, the shots became regular. They didn't explain what any of it meant, but you never felt that all consuming inferno again -- at least not until now.

Liquid cold. Instant relief.

That's all you craved. That's all you needed. That's all you could think about.

Liquid cold. Instant relief.

Stumbling into the bathroom, you flicked the light on, gripping the sink with your good hand so tightly a part of you was scared you'd crack the porcelain from sheer force of will. Your breath expanded over the mirror, fogging it up each time a heavy breath escaped. "Ok...I got this.....ok...." You told yourself, scuttling over to the tub.

Shower or bath, you mulled over the options quickly trying to make a decision. Leon took cold showers. He told you so, sometimes in the middle of the night, other times in the morning. You'd vaguely wake up to something poking you, and he'd be shuffling out of the bed. 'Shh. Go back to sleep.' He'd coo. 'Just feeling a little hot, 'gon take a cold shower, and I'll be right back.'

Good enough for you. The overhead shower roared to life as you turned the cold knob to max, water pattering loudly against the tub. You didn't even bother to strip, flopping yourself into the basin, clothes and all.

It felt like ice shards clattering against you, steam sizzling off your skin from the sheer difference in temperature. In any other situation, it would've felt miserable, too cold and uncomfortable. But right now, even the stinging pain of the water felt intoxicating compared to just being hot all over. It wasn't as good as the shot from lady Birkin, but it was enough to sooth.

As your body regulated its temperature, the aching sensations became more noticeable now. A pang of something between your legs had you clamping them together instinctively, skin making a slapping noise from the mix of force and wetness.

Your nipples hurt, hardening beneath the water, too rough against the tank top's fabric you had on. You needed to be freed from the clothes, weighing you to the bottom of the tub and sticking to your skin.

The shirt was the first to go, tugging it up and over your head, frustrated as the wet fabric seemed to stretch and stretch before it finally decided to free you of its grasp. The wet shirt hit the door with a smack and a plop, before sliding down onto the tile floor. You hiss when your nipples were exposed to the air, droplets of water making direct contact with the pruning skin. It wasn't as painful as the fabric, but it was definitely more sensitive.

Flattening your palms against your chest, you kneaded at your breasts, hoping warming them up a bit might help. It served its purpose, but each movement, skin rolling against skin made unfamiliar sensations of longing pulse between your legs.

You groaned, squeezing your legs together again. Every time you fixed one issue, another seemed to pop up somewhere else. You just wanted it all to go away.

The boxers were next, discarded next to the tank top. Now you felt weightless where you laid, nude flesh encompassed by the hug of the tub, water splashing down on you like rain. You were sure this is what heaven felt like, until another round of pulsating from your core made you bristle, ruining your moment of peace.

"No more..." you breathed out loud, startling yourself with the unrecognizable tone of your own voice.

You adjusted, one arm snaking its way under your neck for support, the other finding itself between your legs hoping to massage out the sensation if you could, like dealing with any sore muscle. The cold tips of your fingers brushed past something that made you gasp, toes flexing. A cold jolt, a warm tingle.

Tentatively, you brought your fingers back to that spot again, pressing down. It felt good, not quite as good as the first time, but the firm pressure seemed to quell some of the throbbing. You could feel your pulse in your fingers - were they being warmed by whatever was between your legs? Or was the cold of your fingers icing the spot there. You couldn't tell, both sensations melding together.

Why didn't it feel like the first time? Your brows came together, as you thought, eyes slipping closed. Spreading your fingers outward in a V shape, you felt it again, that jolt that made your lower half jump. The little bump, you discovered, was the key to that feeling.

Experimentally, you ran your index and middle finger over it again in a circular motion. A strangled noise worked itself out of your throat, and a muscle you weren't even aware you had tightened. It felt so good, but not enough. A burning pleasure on the outside, a dull thrum of need somewhere deep inside of you.

You wanted more room, spreading your legs as much as the tub would allow before hooking one over the ledge. You could worry about the water running off your foot and onto the floor later.

The water above served only as background noise now, your skin long numbed from the cold, allowing your brain to focus solely on what was happening below.

It felt like something was building up, like every sensation was working towards something, something you couldn't grasp. Frustrated noises echoed through the tiny bathroom, and your arm muscles burned with overexertion. Despite that, the need for something, anything, kept you going, desperately rubbing your fingers over the bundle of nerves in no rhyme or rhythm.

As fast as your body would allow, you pawed at yourself closer and closer until it felt like you were tossed off the edge of a cliff. Every muscle in your body tensed up. You forgot how to breathe. Splotches of white and black lights danced behind your eyelids. The shower was silent against the heartbeat hammering against your eardrums. Fuzzy ears twitched with your pulse, tail sloshing back and forth in the shallow water.

And as quickly as it came, the feeling was gone. So much rubbing, so much effort, so little warmth and too much exhaustion.

You went lax like a rag doll, leg sliding back into the tub, sore arm left where it was, hand still resting flat against your pubic area. When was the last time you felt this relaxed? Tired? Never, probably. Not even having the capacity to reach up to shut the water off, you were fully unconscious within seconds, facial muscles relaxing as the water rained down on you.

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 Light burned through his eyelids, the familiar feeling of consciousness tugged at his mind. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes. It was rare he didn't have to wake up to an alarm, it felt nice, just getting to lay there for a bit. The lack of warmth and dip in the mattress next to him made him grumble. "Sweetheart?" He reached over, patting around for her and coming up with nothing but the cool sheets beneath his palm.

Panic made him shoot up, eyes barely adjusting to the light as he looked around. The sound of the shower caught his attention. It meant she was home, at least, easing part of his concern. However, she never showered in the morning. Was something wrong?

Leon wiped the crust and sleep from his eyes as he made his way down the upstairs hall to the bathroom. The door wasn't closed all the way, stopped from swinging open by wet fabric bunching beneath it when he tried. "What the?" He knelt so he could move the cloth from the door before swinging it open. He was more confused at first, not seeing her silhouette. In fact, the shower curtain was mostly open, water having misted around the floor. Where the hell was she?

His took a step forward, knees buckling at the sight. He caught the edge of the tub with his hands, pajama pants soaking into the water on the floor. She was in there, unconscious. Her skin blueish in tint, unmoving was the water splashed over her form. He scrambled to shut the water off, almost turning the wrong knob in his panic.

"Come on, wake up." He said, shaking her by the shoulder. Her body wiggled, but she didn't move on her own. "Sweetheart... what did you do?" He looked her over again. Did she fall? But there was no bruising or blood. He lifted her arm, dropping it back on top of her. Nothing. He tried to feel for a pulse, but her skin was too cold to feel anything. Luckily, with the water off, it took only a moment before he heard the telltale sound of her teeth chattering together, even her tail seemed to vibrate as her body shivered involuntarily trying to gain some warmth. He'd have turned the warm water on if not for how pruny and textured her skin already was. She was practically water logged, but alive.

He yanked the towel off the bathroom rack, tossing it over her, helping to get a grip on her torso before pulling her out of the tub, cradling her against himself. He cartoon slid out of the bathroom, water making his feet hydroplane on the finished wood as he rushed you back to the bedroom. He didn't care about the mess, he just needed you to be ok, stuffing your cold body under the comforter, wrapping himself under with you, cocooning you in his body heat.

"Leon?" She blinked, knocking a few beads of water off her plush eyelashes. She was shivering violently. "I'm so cold."

"What the hell happened!?" His words held no malice, he was terrified more than he had the capacity to be angry, rubbing his palm against her back desperate to get some friction going between them.

"Was so hot... just wanted to cool off. Fell asleep...."

"You fell asleep in the shower?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you manage that?"

"So hot, then so sleepy."

He hadn't a clue what the hell she was talking about, but he was glad she was alive. He made a mental note to add a rule now that she wasn't allowed to use the shower without him from now on. In fact, he was already brainstorming a whole new set of rules and restrictions.

Every day, it seemed like she was tempting to pull herself away from him in one way or another. If it wasn't the way he could see her face tense when he was being overly affectionate. The way she complained and pushed boundaries. But this? God, he couldn't trust her to do anything anymore, could he?

His precious puppydoll, what was the matter with her? He peppered her forehead with kisses, ignoring his own shivering as the cold passed between them. She curled herself into him, his only focus was getting her comfortable and warmed up. He just couldn't understand her.

He wasn't sure how long the two of them had been laying there when she finally stopped shivering, falling back into sleep. Her breathing even, the sun through the window warm against the now soiled blankets. Leon couldn't find it within himself to do the same. He was wide awake, thinking about what to do. Watching her puppy ears twitch every now again, idly running his fingers through her now drying hair.

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You couldn't remember sleeping like that before, so exhausted, the world was gone. Dreamless. Vaguely, there was the memory of feeling so cold that your bones ached. Even when your eyes cracked open, part of your face felt numb - still you were nude, half wrapped in a towel and curled under the blanket.

'When did I come back to bed?' You thought to yourself, pawing at your eyes to get the crust and goopy feeling to go away. Despite the memory of freezing, the only thing you felt again was hot. Pure heat all over again.

"Good morning." Leon's voice caught your attention, his hands gently stroking your ears.

"Morning." You said, still groggy, a squeaky yawn leaving you as your eyes adjusted to the world. As if the warmth wasn't bad enough, everything felt off, the man laying in front of you just seemed so much more than he normally was. Leon's face was smooth, skin vibrant with life. You were hyper aware of the warmth on his cheeks, the cool undertones that cast the shadows of his features. His blue eyes were so opaque they could've been painted on stained-glass.

"Are you ok?" He asked, his large hand cupping your cheek. "Your pupils are dilated."

You had no clue what that meant, but you had this overwhelming instinct to press yourself to him, and you did. Nose nestled firmly into the crook of his neck, taking in a deep inhale. Had he always smelled this good? You whined, fisting his shirt to anchor yourself to him, tail drumming behind you in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from the stimuli. His scent was so intense, it was hypnotizing, and you craved more of him. Your tongue reached out to lap at the junction between his neck and collar bone, tasting his skin. That new but familiar aching between your legs was back with a vengeance. You wormed your hand down between your legs attempting to stave off the feeling, when Leon's hands met your shoulders to push you away from him slightly.

"What are you doing?" His face was tinged with a bright blush you hadn't seen before on him. Was he embarrassed by something? You weren't sure why, he looked so perfect right now. "H-hey now." He said, pressing you away from him, a firm grip on both your shoulders.

"Leoonnnn..." You whined his name, squirming to get back to him. When he wasn't budging, face still etched in confusion, a low growl began to bubble from the back of your throat, fangs bearing at him from frustration.

"What the hell's gotten into you? Are you seriously growling at me?" He kept his hold on you firm, giving a light squeeze to your shoulders. His face morphed into something you couldn't fully read, a cross between what you presumed to be anger and something else. Unable to articulate your need for him, the heat you were feeling - the growling didn't ease up. You struggled in his grasp, snapping and snarling, pawing at his arms as best you could with the awkward angle.

"Bad girl!" He snapped, voice loud and sharp. He rolled you over, pinning you down against the mattress, using his body weight to keep you there, his face level above yours. The surprise movement coupled with chiding made you halt for a moment. With his face so close to yours, there was no reason for you to remain so upset, instead you happily peppered his face with kissing, running your nose against his jaw again to take in his scent. A contented mewl dug it's way out of you.

"Leon, please." Tail wagging between your legs, you tried so hard to get him to understand. "Too hot. Everything's s'hot. Make it better?" You ground your hips upwards against him a few times. Something hard poked against your thigh as you did it, but Leon didn't move immediately.

When he finally did move, he was peeling himself away from you. "What the fuck?" He asked aloud to no one in particular.

"Leon!" You demanded, reaching your hands out to grab at him. He dodged them easily, slipping off the mattress, staring down at you. "It hurts, it's too hot. Leon, please." The room felt like it was teetering, you were so wound up, you wanted to cry, scream, throw yourself onto the floor. Anything to help cope with the overstimulation of everything going on. Even the silence was too much, aiding in your ability to hear both your heartbeats pounding in your head. The heat, smell, the visuals.

Flopping forwards onto the bed, you buried your face in the blanket, inhaling his scent again. The corner of his pillow had caught against the spot between your legs from the movement. It was dull, but you felt it. That same pleasurable feeling from the night before. With a soft groan, you bore down again, grinding your hips onto the bed to try and get more of that pressure, anything to quell that ache.

Leon still hadn't said anything, but you were too driven by instinct to even care. The blanket blocking your vision, his scent mixed with laundry detergent sating your olfactory, all you could focus on was rocking your hips against the pillow letting that pressure build up again.

"I get it now..." He finally piped up, kneeling down and patting your shoulder.

Panting, you lifted your head to look at him. "H-help me?"

"I can't, at least not how you need." He brushed some of the hair that had clung to your face from sweat away. Again his expression was unreadable, and you hated it. You didn't understand, all you wanted was to feel normal again. For the heat and ache to go away.

Tears clung to your lash line, unable to cope any more as your hips picked up speeding, rutting desperately against the pillow. Leon drew his hand back as he stood again. He did a strange shuffle messing with his pants, before quickly exiting the room. You reached out for him, wanting to call him back to you, beg him not to go, but the door slammed closed behind him. Unable to do anything else, you squeezed your eyes shut, flopping there until a few more movements of your hips had that same pleasurable feeling washing over you again.

Sighing in relief, you just laid there, bringing the blanket back to your nose to inhale it.

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The moment the door slammed behind him, Leon bound down the stairs, skipping half the steps. He needed to distance himself, clear his head. Her erratic behavior had thrown him a loop that he could hardly process. The way she was begging for him, clinging to him, fucking herself against his pillow - all within a few minutes of waking up. It was enough to make his pajama pants tent painfully.

What he wouldn't give to let you pepper his face in more of those kisses while he railed you into the mattress. She shivered at the thought, pushing it to the outskirts of his consciousness to try and calm down. His palms felt sweaty, and his heart was hammering a mile a minute.

He couldn't do that to you. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair. You were in heat...at least he thought so. Not in your right mind. But even if you were in your right mind, he still hadn't concluded what exactly your relationship was. Were you even aware enough to consent to anything more than kisses?

He didn't know. And he wished he didn't care enough to know, wanting to give in to his baser instincts.

For now, he was stuck sitting on the floor in front of the couch, catching his breath. He leaned back, letting his head fall onto the cushion. "Fuck." He palmed himself through the cottony fabric of his pajama pants to ease his own tension. He couldn't get the image of her out of his head, every time he blinked he saw her dilated pupils, that lovesick longing. Leon's had girlfriends before, not many, but he's had them, and he's sure not one of them ever looked at him like that. There was never a connection he'd felt with someone so intense before, like she would die without him. Maybe she would.

She would.

She would.

He was sure of that fact, especially after last night.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 'She does need me, I know that.' He confirmed to himself. 'God.' He let out a few deep breaths, removing his hand from his crotch, allowing his erection to deflate. It was just one more thing to add to the list of everything else he was dealing with.

Her behavior. Her desire to keep pushing his boundaries. Her erratic behavior the night before. Now this.

He listened to see if he could hear her. Luckily, there was nothing but silence from the upstairs bedroom. She'd likely fallen back asleep, giving him even more time to process things. In all his 21 years of life, he was sure he had never faced a challenge like this one before, but he was never one to give up or back down. His puppydoll needed him, and he was going to figure things out, even if it was the death of him. He owed her that, he owed himself that.

"I could call Chris, maybe..." He mumbled to himself, looking to the landline. Something about the idea of Chris knowing she was in heat, even imagining what she was looking like right now didn't set right with him. Leon wasn't a jealous person by nature, but somehow a phantom jealousy shut that idea down. No, she needed him not anyone else right now.

"Think, think." He chided himself, cupping his temples with his hands. Did he go back upstairs to her? Comfort her in the short term? Did he leave her there? Longterm?

He slicked his hair out of his face, emptying his head of all thoughts for a moment. "If she's in heat then she must have other instincts right? She's fertile, and she'll want to nest and...mating makes animals closer right?" He mused out loud, then it occurred to him. This situation was the solution, not another problem.

"No, that's messed up... I shouldn't even be thinking about..." But he was, the image of her swollen and gravid with a baby, his baby flashed before his eyes. She'd be so needy, tired. So focused on what her body was meant to do, she wouldn't need to try and get into any more trouble.

It was tempting. So very tempting.

It would solve her problem of being bored too, with a baby to focus on, take care of. She wouldn't have to be lonely while he was away.

The more he thought of it, the more appealing it was becoming. His cock was filling out again, twitching each time he pictured it. He had a solid job, a house, two things most people his age didn't. He could do it. Really.

By the time the wet spot formed on his pajamas, any moral argument against the plan had disappeared by the need to get his rocks off, to fuck a baby into her. He was convinced that this was the perfect solution in totality.

His legs were a little shaky as he stumbled to his feet, every step of the stairs felt like running through sand. Electricity skipped through his nerves, leaving him tweaking like a livewire. The door creaked open slowly, and he poked his head back in.

She hadn't moved from her spot, face down on top of the covers. One of her ears twitched, before pointing up in his direction. "H-hey."

Her head lifted just enough to look at him, her eyes glossy and dilated still. The sheen of sweat that made her skin glisten was enough of an indicator that she was still hot all over. "Are you mad at me?"

That shattered him, truly. "No, no sweetheart, I'm not mad. I was just...surprised." He coaxed her to sit up, taking his own spot next to her. "I'm sorry for responding that way. Are you still feeling uncomfortable?"

She nodded, "Yeah. Not like because, but everything is still so hot."

"Is that...is that why you took a cold shower last night?"

"Just wanted it to stop."

He nodded, "I understand. You had me so worried though, you can get really sick if you stay cold too long."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He said, pecking her on the cheek. "I'm sorry you're feeling so unwell. I think I can help you now though. Would you like that?"

"But I thought you said - "

"Nevermind what I said before. I was being stupid." The look she was giving him now nearly sent him into cardiac arrest, that sweet pleading face begging for him to devour her. "I promise, I'll make it all better, ok?"

"Really?"

He smiled, reaching down to lock his pinky around hers. "I promise. I'll make it all better, just trust me."

She nodded, and he took the opportunity to lean forward and capture her lips with his own, unlike the ferris wheel or any other time, he tried his best to convey his own need. He groaned into her mouth, tongue sweeping against her bottom lip before slipping it into her mouth the moment her lips parted. He slid it along hers, nearly whining himself as he pressed her back down onto the bed, grinding his tented and leaking cock down against her a few times, his pants soaking with her own juices.

"You're so pretty. So perfect. My pretty perfect puppydoll. " He cooed, pulling away just enough to kiss her jaw, then her neck. "I've never met anyone like you before. I've never wanted anyone as much as you before." He admitted, swirling his tongue over one of her nipples.

"Leon!" She gasped, squirming beneath him. He pressed himself down onto her more to keep her still before popping off to latch on to her other breast. He ran his thumb over the perked up one, smearing his own saliva across it as he worked the current one with his mouth. He could feel her thighs twitching from the stimulation, he could only imagine how her poor pussy was feeling. Her skin was feverish, sticky. He loved it, it felt so primal.

"Don't worry sweetheart." He leaned back to give her a moment to catch her breath, seizing the chance to spread her legs. He groaned at the sight of her slick folds, her hole twitching and closing over nothing. Prettiest pussy he'd ever seen, he ever would see, he was sure of it. Leon made a mental note to devour her next time, make her squirm and scream on his tongue until she was pulling his hair out - see how many noises he could get her to make. The thought alone almost made him cum, and he had to take a deep breath to refocus.

There was a task at hand, and his own need was starting to become painful. He tugged his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock and balls, letting his shaft slap against his abdomen. He hissed at the feeling of the air, relief washing over him from the lack of restriction.

With one hand he squeezed the base of his shaft, holding the pressure there before stroking himself slowly, as slow as he could without torturing himself. With his free hand he slipped two fingers into her folds, running them up and down, coating them in her slick.

"This might feel a little weird, just trust me, ok?" He warned.

"I trust you." She whispered, barely louder than a mouse.

"Good girl." He heard her tail hit the bed, wagging from the praise. 'Fuck, she's too cute.' He pressed his fingers into her slowly, she was so tight, so wet. He could only imagine the way she'd feel finally wrapped around him. He pressed his thumb against her clit circling it gently, leaving the inserted fingers still. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. Feels good."

"Good." He nodded, beginning to move his fingers in and out of her slowly. "If it hurts, tell me, alright?" He picked up speed, switching from thrusting to spreading his fingers within her, feeling the resistance of her walls contracting from the movements. Her slick covered the palm of his hand, and he refocused his thumb back to her clit.

She made a noise, he wasn't entirely sure if it was agreement or not, but the look on her face was enough to tell him she was enjoying herself. He continued to finger her, entranced by the small squeaks she made, the way her facial muscles twitched with each new sensation. The sun hit her face at just the right angle, illuminating her features like an angel.

She was an angel.

God he loved her so much, it hurt.

He pulled his hand out, chuckling at the needy whine she let out. "Don't worry, just give me a sec." He wiped the slick from his hand all over his tip and shaft, making sure it was good and wet before leaning over her again. Pressing the mushroomy head against her entrance, he kissed her one more time. "I love you." He mumbled against her lips.

"Love you t-"

She was cut off when he sunk himself inside of her. He was careful, slow, whimpering at how constricting she was. It was euphoric nearly, how her walls squeezed against every inch of him, sucking him into her. Her eyes were wide, mouth parted the moment he gave a shallow thrust.

"So good. So good for me baby." He cooed, resting both elbows beside her head, lazily grinding into her. "Never had someone so perfect before."

"L-leon... so full...what's happening....?"

"I'm making you allllllll better." He said, sloppily kissing her jaw a few times. "Just like I promised." He enjoyed the closeness, the intimacy of laying atop her like this, slow, soft. "Gotta take care of my puppydoll."

She squeezed her eyes shut, relaxing against the pillow, soft whines escaping her with every movement he made. Now that she was more placid, and he was able to sink himself fully into her. The feeling was indescribable. He was on cloud nine balls deep inside of her.

"Such a good girl. Good, good girl." He chanted, pulling back just enough to pull her legs up to her chest, so he had a better angle to bear down into her. She wrapped her arms around him, latching her nails into his back, red crescent shaped marks left over every time she dragged them against his skin. Her nose buried in his neck as she clung to him, whimpering and whining.

The sound of his name falling from her lips, mumbled into his skin like a prayer, coupled with the squeezing of her walls around him, was enough to make him lose it. He felt his balls tighten the moment she came, nearly crying as he gripped her hips bruisingly, slamming the head of his cock as deep as he could. He held himself like that as he shot his load. "F-fuck." He groaned, squeezing his own eyes shut before shallowly thrusting again, riding out the hot waves of pleasure that overcame him.

He caught his breath, kissing her forehead a few times. He wasn't ready to pull out, even when he felt himself going soft. Instead, he propped himself above her a little longer before daring to crack his eyes open. She looked half asleep, peaceful beneath him. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired....good."

"I'm glad, baby. Still hot?"

"Not like before... Am I fixed now?"

"I think so, we might have to do this a few more times. But you'll feel better and better each time." He assured.

She nodded, yawning. He could see her eyelids growing heavy again, fighting off the impending sleep. "Poor thing, you should get some sleep."

"Slept a lot, don't wanna."

"You need it." He slowly pulled out of her, rolling off to the side so he could hold her close. He flattened his palm against her belly, imagining the future again, what it would feel like a few months from now. "Take a nap, I'll lay with you. I'll even take you on a walk later. "

"Really?"

"Really." He pulled the blanket back over the two of them. "I promise." She nestled herself into his side, hooking her pinky around his. She didn't say anything further, closing her eyes and sinking into unconsciousness next to him.

[hotpotatopotat]

Why I don't think Shigaraki or his legacy is over.

I don't normally do canon delves but I am compelled as a Tomura fan to dissect the final battle. This isn't a post on whether it's good or bad, but observations on what's been told.

Shigaraki's crux has always been that he feels like no one can possibly understand what he is trying to accomplish, that his message and suffering is pushed under the rug, and that society is so rotten there's nothing to be done. Deku's goal is to try and understand this.

When Deku breaks through in mha417, Tomura challenges him on this. What would even change if you saw what happened to me? What would you even DO about it? Deku declares to the one person that needs it most: To reach out and give you peace, and "that is why...I am here"

But... When given the chance to go back to a time when he was happy, Tenko chooses not to. "Nah." he says. I think this is often overlooked, but Tomura didn't WANT to leave behind everything he's done.

Tomura says, even if you got rid of my hatred, even if you succeed in "saving me", it doesn't change the fact that I still believe in the future I'm fighting for, to destroy. The villains need a hero, the suffering needs to end, and things need to change.

Hang on to that for a moment. All for One shows up. He mocks him, his dream, his goals, claiming that they weren't real, that they weren't his, that his heart doesn't matter, that none of it does. He's evil.

All for One does kill Tomura here... or at least he would have....

With Deku's final blow, he ignites any remaining embers, Shigaraki, included. They land the final blow to All for One. Without that spark, and without Nana having saved Tomura from fading away, he wouldn't have been able to do this. Tomura would have died before.

Tomura's vestige is still decaying away, and he laments the fact that maybe...he wasn't more than the crying kid Deku said he was. He couldn't do anything. He didn't even destroy Deku's hands. His dreams are over.

Izuku says that he wanted to stop the cycle of grief and suffering. Tomura gives him a soft "hah..." This is such a cathartic moment for them, because I believe that Tomura finally feels understood. He's actually quite relieved.

Strangely, Tomura is soft here. He's not decaying away anymore, he's solid, he's wearing his old shirt. He's NOT the same. He declares how he wants to be remembered, as the one who never stopped fighting to change the world. Izuku says, it's already been...but...

In mha424, Tomura instantly challenges this. With a giant smirk, he tells Deku that he better do his damn best to make sure that things change. It depends on the choices that he continues to make, not the conclusion of one battle.

424 feels like a giant wink wink nudge nudge for the reader. Deku is dissatisfied with not getting that instant gratification of "saving" Tenko, just like after a final battle, he won't get the instant gratification of changing the world. We don't get the gratification either.

But honestly, I really do believe that Deku will carry on Shigaraki's legacy and internalize it just like All Might's.

One final thing... You see his hair change textures. Left to right, It's decaying like in the final form, it's defined and stringy like in his early days, and it's airy and blocked like in his liberation days. This is such guardian angel energy, I swear.

I don't think this is the last we will see of him. And if it is, at least physically the last we see of him, I'm happy Deku will carry on what was truly in Tomura's heart.

[meanbossart]

LORE ASK COMPILATION: "Still not banging Halsin, Squid Games, Sun King, Failing at love quizzes, Bottoms, Tops, and Cats" Edition

He didn't, Halsin wasnt around for act 3, too busy healing land and saving ghost children or something!

THANK YOU/I'M SORRY, I'm surprised there isn't more Bhaalist Dark Urge/Spawn Astarion stuff out there. Don't get me wrong, I love a good evil power couple, but who can resist the good ol'heartbreak of a vicious unending cycle brought on by your own senselessness!

That wasn't something I was interested in previously just because acquiring the slayer form isn't part of his canon, but I've been looking at enough fromsoft games' monster designs that I might be a little inspired to try LOL

Also I am just a fan of the canon design and never before thought it needed altering. But I'll let it cook ;)

God damn it.

DU drow was VERY antagonizing towards the emperor since the moment he dropped the facade, which made the attempt ESPECIALLY hilarious - that poor guy is so, so lonely.

I don't recall the exact wording in-game, but once the emperor took his shiny squid pecs out and shot his shot, DU drow recoiled and called him disgusting. After having the visions of Stelmane forced upon him to make whatever baffling point the emperor was trying to make, DU drow smugly asserted that he had finally let the mask slip and their very terrible date ended with the Emperor enforcing their reluctant need for one another, for the time being.

In-prose, that would honestly be pretty much it. DU drow would have reacted with absolute revulsion at the prospect of being hit on by a mindflayer, and taken the Emperor's (miscalculated) moment of lashed-out vulnerability as a win - as proof that he was exactly as duplicitous as he always assumed the Emperor to be.

I can assure everyone that I am as entertained by the thought as the rest of you and it is in the cards for future art, I just have... So many prompts... I have at least 5 different mini-comics I want to make, BESIDES singular pieces, BESIDES the fanfic... I wish I had more time and more hands.

But DU drow's unlikely semi-success as a parental figure is hilarious to me. I think about it constantly.

I haven't entertained that thought much because its antithetical to DU drow's character. Whether "good" or evil, he wouldn't allow Astarion to ascend because of his fear of no longer being needed and his reluctance to watch his partner be consumed by out-sourced power and changed into something he despises. Realistically, in a world where Astarion is allowed to ascend they could only break up and inevitably kill each other soon after.

That said, I am fascinated by the Sun King and the implications that path has for his character. So far that is an arc that I can only really see Astarion taking on alone, though - that might change in the future, might not. We'll see!

IF I CAN MAKE IT NOT ENTIRELY MISERABLE, I JUST MIGHT.

He got 2 out of 3 questions wrong - which is to say he was way too honest and Astarion didn't like that.

Except for the "when is he the happiest" question, which he correctly answered with "when he's neck deep in gore".

This is not even a lore-embelishment, this is actually how that scene went for me and I cackled about it for ages.

He would love to get tied up for old-times' sake. I doubt he knows much about fancy knots but Astarion might (though I might be in a minority that doubts his enforced "sex life" was actually that interesting at all.)

Thank you so much!

You are mostly correct. Bhaalist drow, both pre and post tadpole would be much more keen on the idea of having people around who fulfill their every desire - EXCEPT for killing. That is a joy they take on for themselves.

"Canon" DU drow values his independence a lot, on the other hand. He's neutral on the idea of slavery (what a sentence) and wouldn't be opposed to temporary servicing, but the idea of having someone around waiting for orders doesn't attract him at all, or at least would get on his nerves quick. He much preffers to do things himself and makes sure that other people see how much he does not need assistance.

The answer is yes, basically LOL.

DU drow both adores and despises Sceleritas presence and he doesn't know why. It very much reflects the type of relationship they used to have prior to DU drow's memory loss, and it's one of those things that he has conflicting feelings about but not any context for them.

I sadly doubt that the boys would become parents during Shadowheart's lifetime (it's for the best, they have a lot of work to do before I would trust them not to drop a baby), but honestly she strikes me as really liking kids as long as she doesn't have to, well, have them LOL.

And thank you so much for enjoying them and humoring me!

I think it is less about bottoming-topping and more about enjoying a more submissive role during sex, as well as in other scenarios. He believes that giving control away is, in a way, a show of devotion that goes both ways - his own for the willingness to do so, and his partner's for not taking advantage of it despite his wanting them to do so.

With one-night-stands (which he occasionally had pre-tadpole) he would still bottom without any of the submissiveness. This is because he didn't have the capacity to understand what it was about bottoming that attracted him, and led him to feeling constantly unfulfilled and frustrated (he just isn't build for no-strings-attatched type of arrangements, lol.)

This means that he really could operate either way depending on the partner as long as he got that fix of docility, whether it be from the bottom or top.

I think of Astarion as being similarly versatile but leaning more in the opposite direction when it comes to power-dynamics - though it being less about dominance itself and more about being pampered and catered to - and, of course, getting to do what he wants. Though he's willing to try most things a partner is particularly enthusiastic for just to see how he feels about it.

That said with DU drow he does prefer to top for a plethora of reasons.

I didn't have this piece of lore thought-up at the time, but I should have made them look like the lady he lost his virginity to.

Him and Astarion were gobbling those things up until the emperor reveal, then they both quit it cold-turkey after DU drow stomped the astral-tadpole dead (and back then you didn't have to roll any dice to do it, because otherwise we would have weird veiny DU drow to deal with for sure because he would NOT have suceeded that save.)

DU drow's feelings towards animals is a constant in every iteration of his character. They are organic little pieces of art wandering about the world that act upon their own laws and regulations, ones which humanoids aren't privy to - except for when they intrude into that world through magic and try to understand it through their overly-complicated systems and concepts. If a cat made the temple it's home, it can stay.

[directdogman]

random DSaF thing I'm not sure if people picked up on.

Something significant about the DSaF 3 phones that popped into my head while I was writing the last post comparing Peter's DSaF 2 and DT incarnations that I didn't bother mentioning bc it was long enough

Harry and Jake are actually parallels to Steven + Peter respectively with a few major differences applied. (warning a LOT of text:)

Both Harry + Steven are generation 1 phones. They're both shown to be fairly by the book and are able to completely turn off their empathy when situations call for it. Both are completely disconnected from their former identities in a way that the other phones aren't. To further cement this connection, Harry is even shown to be the one that sent Steven to the factory. If an employee dies in your restaurant, Harry's response to it is pretty much what Steven's would've been.

Ultimately, he is a company man, like Steven. Just like Steven trying to save himself by any means necessary in DSaF 1, his confrontation in DSaF 3's evil route specifically talks about how much you've cost him and while he clearly feels disgust with you, he more so drills the futility and sheer callousness of what you're doing in rather than really tries to make you feel bad for the bad things you do. He speaks to you like you're more of a failure than anything else. You're not HIS employee, but as the former head of the franchise, speaking to the person who just killed it for the final time. He focuses on what you specifically took away from him, turning the conversation back to himself. His final words are a cold goodbye. His response to your actions is close to what Steven's could've been in this situation.

Ultimately, he's even more of an insider than Steven and someone with more of a direct connection to the cycle of misery that occurred at Freddy's. Basically, several of Steven's defining qualities are amped up in different ways.

Peter on the other hand, is not a company man. He's a gen 2 phoney, more in touch with his personal identity and in the good ending of 2, even escapes in order to reunite with his old lost family. He's generally a chiller boss than Steven, clearly caring more about the well-being of staff/customers than making the company happy.

Jake, similarly, also is in touch with his personal identity. Like Peter, he escaped in order to find his family, but as his backstory scene in 3 points out, this didn't go to plan. Jake, on the surface, seems like a polar opposite to Peter in how overtly cynical he is, a word he deliberately uses to describe himself in his DSaF 3 callout. However, this actually masks something that's more evident if you listen to him in certain key scenes.

Jake cares about others. A LOT. I based his characterization on a George Carlin quote: 'Scratch [the surface of] a cynic and you'll find a disappointed idealist'. It shows what Peter could've been if he'd never reconnected with his family or been able to correct any of the ills he came across. Someone who was worn down by life and put up walls as a result. But, the underlying care is still there and affects his decisions/words at key moments.

If you read his equivalent callout in 3 very carefully, there's some pretty strong parallels to Peter's callout in 2. He notably drills home the fact that you abused the trust of customers so you could feed like a monster. He mentions having higher hopes for you, hoping you were going to be someone better. Even after all Jack's done, he still expresses shock that he feels no remorse at all. His scene ends with a much harsher line, commanding Jack to never contact him again, akin to Peter's closing line in the equivalent 2 scene.

Also, notably, he breaks the no cursing Phone Guy rule in the scene. His reaction if an employee gets springlocked at your location is also noticeably more Peter-esque, remembering what he went through and not wanting another person to turn out the same, in contrast to Harry deciding to just go by the book, a decision that directly led to the creation of Steven pre-DSaF 1.

Okay, that's about it. I bet there's people out there who caught this (knowing me, I've said all of this before and forgot about it) but I figured a few people might find it interesting regardless. thanks, everyone!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OMG RAVEN YOU’RE INTO EVER AFTER HIGH? I love it but can’t talk about it bc none of my friends have seen it 😭 I wish it was talked about more, especially with how deep their lore runs. I love EAH’s dynamics with the complexities of destiny. If twst followed the same logic as eah’s world it would be so interesting. How would you feel if the worlds were to mesh together and how it would work? You can interpret that in any way you want; the characters meeting or twst being bound to the same rules and societal expectations of eah, or whatnot.

Also who’s your favorite eah character compared to your favorite twst character (Leona)?Jade, right?

And have you read the eah books? I haven’t, but I’m going to try to sometime!

Eah alt account when?

I'm still salty that the Monster High x Ever After High crossover movie never saw the light of day-- Part of the reason why I don't like Disney (I mean the faceless corpo, not all Disney products) is because they have such a strong association with fairy tales that it pushes other interpretations out of the market or it leads to people assuming Disney "owns" those fairy tales. Ever After High's lore and themes run so much deeper than most other fairy tale reimaginings I've seen (and I've seen a lot). It's such a shame it doesn't get the respect and recognition it deserves even though EAH is the one out here challenging the status quo whereas modern Disney is content with mediocrity that appeals to the masses.

I think EAH and TWST, at their cores, share similar ideas so combining them would work well. Friendship, self-identity, defining your own future, questioning what "good" and "evil" truly are... It's all there. I'd imagine that if Twisted Wonderland (or at least NRC) followed the same rules as EAH, then everyone would be descendants of their Disney counterparts. (This is actually a common misperception of what TWST was to new fans; people mistakenly believe the TWST characters are children of the classic Disney villains. This has never been canon.) Unfortunately, I'd have to take away the Disney villains being twisted to be "good" guys in Twisted Wonderland's world in order for this to work by EAH rules, so... There's that to consider. This, in turn, can result in the student body splitting into Royals (pro-following one's destiny) and Rebels (anti-following one's destiny). Perhaps RSA and NRC could be one school in this AU...? Just so we have a mix of "good" and "evil" descended children in the same vicinity as one another. A must-have are the constantly bickering Narrators!! It's only really when Yuu shows up that the majority opinion starts to shift. Maybe then Crowley becomes concerned with students rising up and fighting back against the system that relies on them being complacent to keep the cycle of stories going. I've seen some readings of EAH which theorize that Royals guaranteed a happy ending is a stand-in for privilege, and that interpretation leads into very interesting conflicts when we also consider that magic in Twisted Wonderland is a privilege afforded to few.

To cover just the dorm leaders (because covering all the TWST characters would make this post way longer), I definitely see Riddle, Kalim, Idia, and Malleus as Royals and Leona, Azul, and Vil as Rebels. Here's my thought process:

Riddle is pretty self-explanatory. He comes from a background where he's used to being told what to do by his mother and so he also heavily relies on her strict, unyielding teachings to play by the book when he goes out there in the real world. Riddle is inflexible and hesitant to go against the grain--and, more importantly, he fully believes that following the rules will lead to his happiness... that doing as his fairy tale ordains will lead to a happy ending. What happens to the Queen of Hearts is dubious in the end since it's framed as Alice's dream, so I think that vagueness gives Riddle hope that by behaving himself, he'll earn the happiness he desires.

Leona is a Rebel, and not just because that's the aesthetic of his dorm. Being that he is highly intelligent and demonstrates a lot of foresight, he'd be aware of what future is in store for him and aggressively fighting against that. It would make him more desperate than ever to prove his worth, because not only does everyone see his powers as terrifying, but they also see him as a future brother murderer and dictator that will bleed the land dry of resources. It'd make the situation with his family even more strained than it already is, not to mention the extra jealousy he must feel toward Cheka, who is still too young to understand what's going to happen later.

Azul is someone who acts like a Royal but is actually a Rebel. He acts polite and like he plays by the rules, but clearly he doesn't behind the scenes. I see Azul as the kind of Rebel akin to Duchess Swan... as in, he believes he can steal away someone else's destiny for himself. Azul would constantly be looking for loopholes to save himself. He's put way too much stock into becoming a better, stronger person and he'd want to defend this new life he has made for himself. His obsession with protecting his contracts could translate well here.

Kalim is a Royal because he's mega rich and has been sheltered from the concept of bad things that happen to normal people; he has nothing to worry about. It also helps that Kalim is twisted from a character that doesn't meet a bad ending. I think he'd be aware of Jami's doomed destiny, but Kalim is so ignorant that he thinks it'll just be fine and it'll work itself out. Part of his growth could be being forced to reckon with the reality that Jamil is suffering under the legacy assigned to him and accepting the role that he plays in that by not acting.

Idia is a Royal--or at least pre-book 6 Idia is. He's a very pessimistic guy and repeatedly expresses hopelessness about the future, bemoaning the curse he and his family have to bear. Idia doesn't want to try to fight his fate, he's already accepted that it will happen and so closes himself off from others to save himself that heartbreak. Post-book 6 Idia will have swapped over to the Rebel side thanks to Ortho reviving the hope in him.

Vil is a Rebel simply for the fact that he fights social conventions. He's already out here shattering gender roles, but finds it much harder to breach that expectation that villains are just villains and nothing more. Vil keeps getting rejected at every turn, told that it's impossible to rewrite his story, that his frustrations are the natural result of jealousy and an ugly heart that festers in side of him. He steels himself to prove that notion wrong, working himself to the bone to get up on that stage and stay on it, waiting to be lavished with praise that he truly is the fairest one of all. I feel this would be so fascinating for Vil's own arc about self acceptance; maybe he wears himself down emotionally because he HAS to basically be perfect due to his job but also denies himself normal feelings like anger and jealousy because confessing that you have such "ugly" feelings only validates that you're shallow just like the stories say you will be.

Malleus is a tough one, but I settled for Royal in the end. Maleficent is doomed to be slain by a sword, right? So am I saying that THE Malleus Draconia, who is infamously arrogant about his magical abilities, would lie down and take a stab like that? Of course not! However, I do think that Malleus is initially someone who values tradition and living up to noblesse oblige. As the future ruler of a nation, people's stories are relying on him to play his expected role out, which he'd be fully cognizant of. I also think Malleus would be afforded the luxury of not having to face his destiny as soon as his peers are due to his long life span. This is in part because the person destined to slay him doesn't come into his life for literally hundreds of years. Then when book 7 arrives, Malleus has to deal with his loved ones leaving and/or betraying him as well as the realization that this is his destiny: dying alone and unloved. That'd just break him.

ahdbiqwdbqwli I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS AU FOR FOREVER BUT I'LL CUT IT SHORT OR ELSE I'LL NEVER SHUT UP 😭

EAH has so many good characters and interesting storylines, it's hard for me to pick a favorite! I of course love Apple and Raven's dilemmas, but I feel like it's cheating to pick one of them as my favorite. The whole Wonderland gang is also fantastic... I'm a sucker for their aesthetic, but they're so fun and silly in general. Kitty, Lizzie, and especially Madeline are 👌

Mmm, when I think long and hard about it, I think my favorite EAH character has to be Briar Beauty, daughter of Sleeping Beauty. Firstly, I love all the pink, roses, and bramble in her design. Secondly, I love the layers to why she is the way she is. Briar's a party girl not because "lmao, wouldn't that be a funny haha subversion of Sleeping Beauty" but because she wants to live life up before she falls asleep for 100 years and literally loses all her friends and family to the natural passage of time. That's seriously so smart and such an inventive way to think about the trauma a descendant of Sleeping Beauty might have. Seeing Briar transition from one of Apple's besties and biggest supporters to an outright rebel is satisfying as heck. (Gotta take a moment to shout out this classic moment :3)

I don't know if I would compare Briar to Jade since they're entirely different characters. However, looking at the source material, I'm actually surprised I like Briar as much as I do since I have never cared for the story of Sleeping Beauty. A part of me finds this ironic since Malleus harbors a similar fear as Briar (losing loved ones) yet I see Malleus's desire as way more selfish and self-serving than Briar's. I believe that's because Briar doesn't have the same arrogance as Malleus, so I'm more forgiving with her. EAH's actual equivalent to Malleus is Faybelle, daughter of the Dark Fairy, but I don't like her as much as I do Briar (hence why I'm comparing Malleus and Briar, not Malleus and Faybelle).

I haven't read the EAH books but I want to one day! I'd prefer to borrow them since I don't have enough space in my room for more physical books, so as soon as I find copies at a library or something...

This blog has kind of become a place where I occasionally talk about my other interests, generally as it relates to TWST, my main interest. I'd like to keep it like this since managing multiple blogs can be so draining. It already takes quite a bit of time to regularly write responses to asks just on one blog!

[lets-try-some-writing]

I woke up and chose angsty violence on everyone.

What if Optimus survived the events of Predacon Rising? Sometime after everyone left, he crawled up from the Well but was no longer the same person he was. Housing the Allspark inside himself had destroyed his mind than just the Matrix of Leadership and what's left is a very feral bot that looks like Optimus.

No one finds out until reports from refugees come in about a strange Cybertronian running amuck in the wastes that attacks anyone who gets too close. Optimus' former team would absolutely be split on what to do about him. Leave him alone in nature under protection, try to snap him out of it or put their once leader down?

They can't ignore the problem as someone will recognize Optimus at some point.

You. You my good individual are evil. I adore your twisted little mind (affectionate).

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

There were... reports. Quite a few of them in fact.

Each and every one of them claimed that there was a feral mech living out in the wastes, the land that was formerly Iacon's great forest before the war razed it to the ground. No one knew what to think of it, but then they saw the pictures. And those pictures changed everything.

"Ratchet, he can't seriously still be alive? Can he?" Bumblebee's voice was filled with disbelief as Ratchet looked over the image projected on the holodisk. The rest of the table seemed to share Bumblebee's thoughts as they watched. It was a quick series of pictures put on a slideshow. They were grainy, but the blue and red was unmistakable. The exposed Matrix even more so.

"It seems that we were wrong to label Prime as out for the count." Bulkhead added his two shanix, earning him a murmur of agreement from an equally uncertain Wheeljack.

"If he's feral, do you think we can bring back?" Arcee spoke up as well, earning a series of comments from the team. Bumblebee seemed hopeful, as did Smokescreen. Even Ultra Magnus seemed marginally interested in a potential plan to help Optimus if he really was out there.

Ratchet was not so optimistic.

"I will go and assess the situation personally. For all we know, it might not be him. We can't get our hopes up." Standing up, Ratchet collected the holodisk with a purposefully blank expression. The team regarded him with various expression of surprise, but they didn't stop him.

Good. They didn't need to see what was going to come next.

"Ratchet, if it is him, you'll let us know." Ultra Magnus put a servo on his shoulder, a knowing expression plastered all over the Commander's face. Ratchet gave no confirmation, instead tightening his grip on the holodisk as he made his way out.

Ratchet couldn't explain it, but when he saw the photo, he couldn't help the feeling of wrongness that filled his very spark. The team wouldn't understand. They hadn't known Orion. All they saw was their Prime's face. They didn't see the vacancy in his optics or the way he hunched in the picture like he was struggling just to stand. The mech they once knew was not himself. He was hardly alive.

Ratchet refused to let his friend's legacy be destroyed by a cruel twist of fate.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into the early morning light as he gathered his things quietly, taking great care with his most important tool as he began the trip out into the wastes. It was not a long trip, not terribly so at any rate. A few joors into his journey, he found himself wandering the wastes in silence, his optics set on any crevice where the husk of his friend could have possibly been hiding. He didn't bother calling out. It was a useless endeavor.

One joor. Two joors. And then, he found what he was looking for.

"Hello, Orion. Its been a while, hasn't it?" A lanky figure pulled itself out of a small cave. Cycled down optics met his, curiosity registering somewhere in their empty stare. Ratchet didn't dare move as the husk pulled itself out of its hiding place, its helm tilted ever so slightly in confusion, or perhaps interest.

"I had hoped that you'd made it out alright. But I don't think that's the case." His words were faint as the husk finally stood. It was thin, gangly from what was likely months of less than sufficient energon. Its armor was cracked and broken, the jetpack that Optimus had once enjoyed now all but ripped off. The husk's face was covered in gashes and marks, the rest of its frame not much better. It looked... pitiful. But above all else, the shining Matrix in its chassis made Ratchet frown.

"No normal mech should be able to survive these wounds." He practically whispered as he took a step forward, holding out a servo in a friendly manner. The husk froze, almost looking ready to scuttle back into its hiding place. But Ratchet remained firm, standing still and speaking quietly.

"That thing... it won't let you die, will it?" He received no verbal answer, but the glowing white of the husk's optics told him everything he needed to know.

White was the color of divinity, but also of sickness. A mech with white optics was said to be doomed to die. Ratchet was not normally a mech to care about superstitions. But that one... he could get behind.

"It must hurt." He couldn't disguise the faint shakiness of his voice as the husk finally inched closer, looming over Ratchet with height that had once been comforting. The husk's optics cycled down and then went wide. A wide and almost sparkling like smile spread across its face as it dropped to all fours, crawling nearer on just about Ratchet's level.

It hesitated a moment, and then pressed its face up against Ratchet's servo like a hound would. Ratchet almost winced, but seeing the husk's genuine affection, he couldn't bring himself to do anything more than sigh and run his free servo along the crest of its helm. So similar to his Prime, and yet so very different.

"The others want to bring you home. They want to fix you." The husk's engine rumbled in delight, pleased as Ratchet caressed broken finials with light touches. The husk looked so very happy as it came closer, seating itself at Ratchet's pedes to lean into every place his digits touched. So unlike Optimus. This thing was a mere echo, a sad and painful echo.

"I don't think you want to be fixed, if that is even possible." His venting hitched as he cupped the husk's face, sensing the animalistic instinct in it. The husk didn't fight back as Ratchet pressed the crest of his helm to the husk's, enjoying the momentary interaction.

"I wanted to hope... I wanted to think that maybe you'd evaded death yet again." He could feel coolant threatening to gather in his optics as he quietly reached to his satchel, pulling out an injector. The yellow liquid within glowed faintly in the dying light of the evening, but Ratchet paid it little mind as he memorized the faint sounds of the husk's engine and the giddy smile upon its face. It hadn't even noticed Ratchet's tool.

"I prayed for your return. But I think that may have been a mistake." Blazing white optics gazed up at him, innocent and yet vacant. It hurt more than it should have.

Why? Why did it have to look so alive and yet so dead?

"Perhaps it would have been kinder if death had finally taken you." Pressing a kiss to the husk's helm crest, Ratchet enjoyed the warmth of a living, venting mech for a moment longer. His spark spun in agony, but now was not the time to stop. This... this was a mercy.

"Rest Orion. Return to Codexa, to Alpha Trion. Go to those who love you... and know that one cycle I will join you there." In one swift motion, Ratchet dug the injector into the husk's neck. Its optics blew wide, its vocalizer spitting static as it stared up at him in sheer terror.

"Shh... it's alright. It will be over soon." The husk went limp, falling into Ratchet's arms. He knelt quietly, letting it rest against his chassis as its frame began to seize. The Matrix flared, sending shocks through the husk to try and keep it active. The husk wailed in response, its shattered vocalizer producing pained cries that could have caused the dead to quake. Ratchet held firm, keeping the husk held against him as the Matrix's shocks ran their course, eventually ceasing.

"I'll tell the others you were dead upon my arrival. Don't worry. They won't see you like this... I promise." The husk spasmed a moment longer, its optics momentarily returning to a bright and healthy blue. For a half klik, Ratchet could have sworn he saw understanding in those optics.

And gratitude.

"I'm sorry, Old Friend." The term of endearment slipped past his derma before he could stop it. In response, Optimus smiled and then fell still, his optics going dark and his frame losing all life.

Ratchet held what remained of his oldest friend for a long while, not speaking or moving.

It was done.

Now Optimus could rest.

[scribblestatic]

So, like, if you've read SVSSS far enough, you know about the Bingmei vs Bingge part. And there's all sorts of stories with Bingge (basically a PIDW Binghe, not SVSSS Binghe) finding his own shizun in various ways.

Well, what about if he manages to summon a Shen Yuan, but his soul is in Shen Jiu's body? Which, like, wouldn't really be a problem, except he's already been torturing Shen Jiu for a good while now and he's down an eye and all of his limbs are mostly stubs at this point. Thankfully he still has his tongue and penis, which, after so often demanding Shen Jiu be castrated, he's pretty jazzed that didn't happen.

Shen Yuan, being the absolute freak he is, probably wouldn't mind too much. After all, he'd read this part of the story and cheered it on. Just cause he's now experiencing it himself, doesn't mean the revenge was any less cathartic.

Though, well, the dreams he has about what Shen Jiu went through does dampen his enjoyment of his suffering (so many lives lost that he can do nothing about, so much torment that just cycled on because no one thought to seek help, because the world was built so firmly on cruelty)...

And perhaps he'd woken up sobbing at times, crying his apologies to Binghe as though he was the one who had done all those terrible things to him, but he didn't, but those dreams were so vivid and felt so real

The girls at the Warm Red Pavilion, were they okay? Shen Jiu never had sex with them, only kept company to avoid the boys when he couldn't sleep and trained them in the four arts and gathered information from them, gods, he'd misunderstood Shen Jiu and thought him a remorseless villain and enemy to women

Liu Qingge, fuck--

At least now he can help Binghe actually enjoy his life and perhaps stop the cycle of abuse from continuing. Besides, cool motive, Shen Jiu, still child torment. And though the results were quite drastic, it was the dog-eat-dog world of xianxia China, and life was generally unfair. No reason to make Binghe's life needlessly unfair on top of everything.

But yeah! Now that he's in Shen Jiu's body, he and Luo Binghe get to talk, and Binghe, for the first time in his life, experiences regret for his actions, because now his lovely new kind shizun can't card his fingers through his hair or twist little braids into it. Moreover, Shen Yuan somewhat mourns over the fact Binghe's hair is straightened--he loved reading about his bouncy curls.

So now, imagining that, after time, Shen Yuan becomes a more prominent figure in the empire, especially post-marriage. He has a lovely eyepatch and wears soft red, black, and gold clothes, heavy on the red and gold. This nearly limbless man helps Luo Binghe do his taxes and works out various tips on using beasts to the benefit of the empire and remembering small notes about other races that allows the Demon Emperor to be both magnanimous and fierce in whomever's eyes he meets.

Others can't decide if Shen Qingqiu's mind was utterly broken, if he was cursed to act against his own will, or if he was possessed by some strange spirit. Regardless, the realms have never been in such peace before now.

Moreover, Luo Binghe has started changing.

While he can never regain the height lost to a childhood full of suffering and a lack of nutrients, he can change in other ways. He actually eats healthier because Shen Yuan insists on having him eat as well. He steadily stops straightening his hair, letting his curls return until they're like clouds. His muscles grow in firmer and his chest broadens.

Also, as he and his kind shizun speak further, even though he explores the worst parts of himself and uncovers those dirty, evil deeds and the ways they truly hurt him, Xin Mo doesn't get the chance to latch onto them anymore. As painful as discussing those things are...releasing them is exceptionally freeing. So, a sense of inner strength and ease he never had before starts to settle in his body, and his qi, usually constantly battling, stabilizes more than before, his heart demons no longer so adamant or strong.

As a side-effect of both parts, he was already handsome, but now, he's even more so. A wise, secure man no longer so strongly gripped by hatred, lust, or greed. Someone unforgivable to many, but becoming okay with forgiving himself.

Indeed, what a man!

Which is kinda a shame for Luo Binghe's many wives, because he's been heavily trimming down on his harem. Political marriages are substituted for other exchanges, fervent troublemakers are sent back to their homes (the ones who dared to attack his A'Yuan are never heard from again, strangely), and wives who simply ask for divorce are granted them, receiving a hefty gift for at least being loyal whilst married.

So, previously, a harem once numbering into the hundreds falls to the tens, and the remaining ones are either ambivalent or antsy.

Then, as though to answer everyone's burgeoning questions, he names Shen Yuan his empress during a meeting and proclaims that they will make preparations for his crowning ceremony.

I feel like that'd really set off what remained of Cian Qiong Mountain Sect.

Hmm... I think I'll talk more about this later.

---

Part 1: here Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11+: links on Part 10

AO3

[north-park]

@mysterionrisez YOU LITERALLY GET IT

Understanding butters is the hardest thing a sp fan can do

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.  

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.  

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.  

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since. 

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.  

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.  

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right? 

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.  

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.  

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.  

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you. 

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.  

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.  

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.  

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.  

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.  

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.  

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.  

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.  

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.  

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.  

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.   

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.  

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.  

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.  

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.  

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.  

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.  

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.  

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.  

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.  

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.  

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.  

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.  

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.  

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.  

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.  

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.  

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?” 

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?” 

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?” 

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?” 

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.  

“About women?” She queries. 

“About ..why women. What it is about them.” 

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.  

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.  

“Stop doing that!” 

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!” 

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.  

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.  

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.  

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.  

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.  

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.  

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.  

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.  

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.  

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.  

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.  

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.  

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.  

“Why? For a man?” 

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.” 

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.  

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.  

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”  

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.   

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.  

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.  

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.  

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.  

“Y/N?”  

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.  

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.  

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?” 

See what I mean? What the hell?  

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.  

Did you?  

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.  

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!  

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.  

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.  

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.  

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?” 

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”  

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.” 

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.  

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!” 

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.” 

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?” 

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.” 

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.” 

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.” 

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.  

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.  

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.  

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.  

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”  

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.” 

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.” 

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.  

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.  

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.  

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.  

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.  

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.  

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.  

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.  

But what if it’s a sign? 

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.  

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.  

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.  

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.” 

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.  

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.” 

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.  

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.  

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh. 

What’s the worst that can happen?  

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.  

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.  

Mm.  

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.  

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”  

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.  

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.” 

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages  

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.” 

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects. 

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.  

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.  

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.  

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.  

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.  

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.  

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.  

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.  

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.  

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.  

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.  

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.  

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.  

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.  

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.  

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.  

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.  

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.  

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.  

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.  

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.  

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.  

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.  

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.  

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.  

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.  

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.  

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.  

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.  

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.  

“….Hi.” 

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.  

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.  

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.  

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.  

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.” 

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?” 

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.” 

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.  

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.  

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face. 

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.  

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.” 

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.  

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare? 

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.  

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.  

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.  

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.  

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?” 

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.” 

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.  

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.  

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.  

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.  

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.  

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.  

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.  

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.  

Alexia. 

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again. 

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.  

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.  

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it. 

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.  

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.  

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.  

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else? 

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.  

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.  

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.  

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.” 

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.  

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.” 

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.  

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.  

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?” 

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”  

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.  

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.” 

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.  

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.  

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”  

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..” 

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.” 

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!” 

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.” 

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!” 

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?” 

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.” 

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.  

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.  

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.” 

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.  

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.  

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?” 

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.  

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.  

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.  

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?” 

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.  

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?” 

“Hm?” 

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—” 

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.  

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”   

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.  

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.  

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“ 

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.  

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.  

“I really missed you too.” 

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other. 

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.  

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit! 

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.  

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.  

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.  

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.  

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head. 

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.” 

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!” 

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.” 

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”  

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.  

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.  

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.  

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.   

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her. 

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.  

“Long day?” You ask. 

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?” 

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm. 

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.  

“I was given it.” 

“By?” 

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.  

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.” 

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.  

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.  

“..What do you mean?” 

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”   

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible. 

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.  

No.  

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you. 

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.  

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.  

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.  

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.  

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.” 

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.  

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.  

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.  

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.  

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.  

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.  

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.  

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.  

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele. 

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.  

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.  

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.  

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.  

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.  

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.  

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all. 

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.  

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.  

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”  

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.  

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.  

She really is absolutely everything.  

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!” 

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.  

“You can’t wear it!” 

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.” 

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?” 

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.” 

[robiinurheart33]

(Flashes my mind beams) Soap having really bad nightmares whenever his mental health is low.

It’d be really bad most of the time, waking up covered in sweat, panting or just outright screaming. The dreams would have felt so real, so lifelike that it would shake johnny down to his core, needing time to fully process the dream and then calm down. It would board on topics such as his loved ones, phobias, worst case scenarios the whole nine yards. Often times when the nightmare cycle starts to happen, Johnny wouldn’t get much sleep at all and when he does he’s thrashing and shaking the entire time.

This would happen since young, but being raised in a catholic household as the middle child did not help at all. Most of the time when Johnny would try and confide in his parents, he would be dismissed with a “God is good.” Or “No evil against you shall prosper.” Which, I mean yeah but how does that help him in any way?! He just wants to be comforted. He had dreams where his sisters died, and he would go straight to them to hug them as tightly as possible, no matter how much they protested. Nothing seemed to work to bring the nightmares down unless Johnny’s mental health actually got better.

It only got worse in the army. The screaming, gunfire and mental strain Soap had to go through was excruciating. He woke up panting and covered in cold sweat, hoping he wasn’t screaming in his sleep and waking others up. Once, early on when 141 was just created, Ghost walked into the shared pantry only to find a sweat-faced, pale, bloodshot eyed soap munching on cereal, staring off into space. He made his tea and walked out of there as fast as he could.

As they got closer together, Ghost eventually asked Soap about that one instance. Soap wasn’t even aware Ghost was in the kitchen in the first place. He tried to explain, as casual as he could, that he gets horrific realistic nightmares when his mental health goes to shit. Soap isn’t sure if he actually manages to play it off seeing as he cant exactly gauge Ghost’s reaction, but that was that.

He eventually forgot about it until about 2 years later, when they both start to float on the same wavelength and sleep in the same bed (wink wink) that it happens for the first time. The first nightmare that he experiences around Ghost is extreme. He dreams of metal and blood, screaming and frustration. Johnny wakes up screaming, a hand over his mouth and back covered in sweat. Ghost is up in a millisecond, gun drawn and up from the bed. They’re both equally disoriented, confused as to what was happening. Ghost looks over to Soap where he’s panting, eyes bloodshot and eyebags evident. He’s seen this somewhere before.

Gun immediately tossed to the side, Ghost rushes to Soap’s side, not sure what to do but wanting to help. He’s still processing what just happened, unable to speak and eyes just trained on his lap. Ghost flickers open the lamp, sitting right beside Johnny, not speaking but just being there, his presence a solid wall he can lean on. After what feels like 4 hours (it was 10 minutes), Johnny finally looks at Simon, eyes full of tears and body trembling. He cant take it anymore. Simon rushes to place their bodies close together, Johnny’s ear against his chest as he murmurs affirmations.

“You’re here with me. I got you. You’re safe.”

They didn’t go back to sleep after that, getting up at the peak hour of 4am to go for an early early morning jog. This wouldn’t be the solution to the nightmares all the time, however. Sometimes it would just be Johnny listening to Simon’s heartbeat, a cup of warm coffee, a comfort show, spacing out, drawing, or a morning run. It just depended on his mood after he woke up. But one constant was that Simon was always right beside him, accompanying him in whatever he did. It didn’t matter if Johnny protested, he would always wake up along with him and stay right by his side. As long as Johnny had Simon, he wouldn’t have to be alone to face on his demons ever again. He made sure of that.

[mintmatcha]

cw: a weird vent piece lol, suicide mention, no quirks au, mentally ill reader

You always fuck with your shirt on. You'd wear more, if you could, but you haven't figured out how to do it with your pants on yet.

You pull the sheets over your sweat chilled legs and hope he didn't notice the spots you missed shaving. If he did, Natsuo doesn't seem to mind. His arm is tucked under your head, muscle fibers occasionally twitching underneath you and turning the soft mass dense.

Sometimes, Natsuo keeps his shirt on too. Neither of you have ever asked the other about it; there's a mutual understanding when a hand is stopped.

"Do you work tonight?" he asks.

You shake your head as his body relaxes deeper into the mattress.

"I'm gonna do laundry if you want to throw your stuff in," he mumbles, "I'll get you junk to sleep in."

The medical textbooks he was studying are still on the floor, flipped to random pages of different cycles and tissues, abandoned in exchange for you. If Natsuo fails his midterms, it'll be your fault. If he passes, he'll be leaving the city next semester for his hospital rotations.

Part of you wants him to fail. It's that dirty, evil part that no one else seems to have, the part you try to starve, but it keeps growing anyway. It nips at you whenever the room gets too quiet.

It's teeth are extra sharp today.

"You're so sweet." You speak into his skin, "I don't know how you're still single."

A sharp inhale is sucked through his teeth, cutting through his smile. Natsuo takes in all of your features and you know he's wondering why you're saying these things-- why you're purposefully bringing this up.

"Well, sweetie-" His tone is light, like he's avoiding stepping on glass, stepping on glass. With every word, he walks his fingers on your arm, spanning from elbow to shoulder, "I'm only single because you keep turning me down."

The overhead fan whizzes. The part you try to starve sinks its teeth into your chest.

"Natsuo, we've talked about this," you say, "I don't date."

You sit up and swing a leg over him, straddling his hips. A trail of white hair runs down his stomach and down under the sheets, disappearing where the two of you meet. He holds you by the hem of your tee, just tight enough to hold you in place.

"Would it be so bad?" he whispers.

"Here's what would happen, alright?" You brush your fingers through his sweat touched hair and it bounces right back into place the second you pull away. It makes you giggle a bit and he mirrors you, an unsure, foolish optimism in his eyes, "Let's just say I met this wonderful, beautiful boy and tricked-"

"Tricked?" he scoffs.

"Tricked him into loving me." You want to kiss him, but it feels cruel for both of you. Instead, you just cup his jaw in your hands and cradle him, letting the weight of him slump into your palms, "He'd treat me right and bring me home to meet his parents, 'cause he was raised right and, even though he's really smart, he'd think he's in love."

Fingers squeeze at your hips.

"But the second I left, his parents would tell him that he deserves someone prettier and smarter and, and, and better," you say, "And they'd be right."

“My mom’s nice," He drops your pretense with a whisper, ruining your not so careful charade. “She wouldn’t say that.”

He doesn’t mention his dad. There’s a silent sentence there. One that says, “But he might.” It’s hard to keep your brain from sticking to that point, from sticking your thumb into this metaphorical soft spot.

“I mean, she wouldn’t say it out loud, but she’d think it," you say, “She’d sit there and think ‘that girl's not good enough for my son' and she'd be right."

He scoff he lets out is uneasy, almost a songed laugh, more pained than annoyed. "My mom is nice."

This conversation is hurting him, but you can't stop yourself.

"And they'd tell you to break up with me, but you wouldn't listen to them, 'cause you're head strong like that. You'd probably date me in spite of them for while," you ramble, "But then you'd go away and you'd meet some pretty, normal girl and you'd realize they were right. They were always right. I was right."

The overhead fan whizzes.

"So, it's better if I just don't date at all,"

Natsuo's grip dissolves and you think you see it then - the moment whatever is between you dies. A hollowness passes over his features, empty eyes and sucked cheeks, as he ducks his head down to rest his face against your chest. Chin against the soft of your tits, he seems farther away than ever.

You could gloat. You could cry. You're a self-fulfilling prophecy once again.

Natsuo sighs and his words slip so easily from him that you almost don't process what he's saying. "You're so sad. I wish you'd get help."

That catches you off guard. The control over this conversation is ripped away, your curtain drops, and you suddenly feel very, horribly seen.

"What?" You try to laugh it off, leaning back to escape the way he watches you.

"Sometimes I wake up and you're not here," he says, "And I worry that's the last time I'll ever see you."

You understand the implication.

"I'm not gonna kill myself." It might be the truth, you think.

"Yeah," His arms wrap around your waist again, snaking the air from your lungs, "Touya promised me that too."

Touya is only ever mentioned over too many beers and tears you're not allowed to remember the next morning. He was only 16, only a couple years older than Natsuo, but the ghosts still linger to this day, always tucked into the back of the room, stalking, haunting.

Natsuo comes from money and fame. His apartment is paid for by his father. He's never had to work to afford food. At first, you resented him for that; you wanted that ease and safety his family afforded him.

But everything comes at a cost. Every unhappy family is unhappy in there own ways.

"I'm sorry that you keep loving things that break." That is the truth. You're just the end of a line of his mistakes, starting all the way at mom and dad and trailing through every girlfriend ever since.

"I do love you. And it's not despite the fact you're 'broken'," Natsuo takes your hand with a resounding firmness. It reminds you of that thing they say about golden retrievers; the smart ones can hold an egg in their jaws without shattering the shell. Natsuo holds you like he understands you in some deep, intrinsic way, "Or because of it or whatever."

He doesn't look away, those bright, wide eyes bluer than ever.

"I just like all your little pieces." He kisses your knuckles one by one, trailing from thumb to pinkie to thumb again.

The room is silent. The bad part of you is no longer begging to eat. Maybe it's full for now, but you know it's just out of focus, stalking in the dark, biding its time.

"You should study." You slip from him and reclaim your own space in the bed. After a long, simple pause, Natsuo gets up himself, collecting his boxers from the floor.

"Yeah," he says, "You're right."

The hurt you've caused is no longer comfortable to live in. Your mouth is dry, thirsty for a change you're not sure how to make. Recovery feels like a big leap-- loving and being loved feels every farther away.

All you can do is shuffle your feet against the sheets and take the tiniest step towards normalcy.

"Do you want to get brunch tomorrow before your classes?" you offer your olive branch, your silent promise, "I'll pay."

He weighs this, measuring it for sincerity, then smiles just wide enough your get a glimpse of teeth.

"Let me get you something to sleep in."

For now, it's enough.