#and yet This Fucking Deadweight my god

[introverted-trashcan]

Splatoon 3 stop making me play with newbies, im tired of being paired with chargers who get no kills or Heavy Splatlings who score Under 500 My Fucking GUY you HAVE A SPRINKLER. Please Use It My God

[dameronology]

can i please request love confessions prompt 1 for poe 🫶🫶

i have not written for poe in so LONG (despite my blog name lol) and i miss him

poe + they're drunk and you're carrying them to their room, when they unexpectedly say how much they love you, causing you to drop them on the floor (x)

Poe Dameron was lively at the best of times.

Poe Dameron drunk was just regular Poe Dameron amplified.

Trying to drag the pilot to his room - with the entirety of his body weight resting on you, legs basically a dead weight - was a challenge. It was made even harder by the fact you were trying to avoid waking the rest of the Resistance. It was just a shame that Poe had other ideas.

"WHY ISN'T EVERYONE ELSE AWAKE?"

"Shut the fuck up, Poe!" you hissed. Despite your best efforts at clamping a hand over his mouth, he'd wriggled free. "It's 2 in the goddamn morning!"

"Exactly," he muttered. "It's so early."

"In the morning?"

"No, I mean, like...early. The party has barely friggin' started, babe!"

Trying to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks, you lead Poe further down the hallway. His room wasn't far now, but he was beginning to become fucking heavy. Again, it didn't help that he insisted on refusing to use his legs, making him all but a deadweight.

"It's gonna be less of a party when you wake up tomorrow hanging out your ass," you shot back.

Fumbling with his keys, you managed to get the doors to his quarters open. They were as they had always been; cluttered, but not messy. A tangle of jackets and shirts and boots, intertwined with pictures of him with you, Finn, Rey and Leia. A model X-Wing was on his desk, beside a notebook with all his missions plans scrawled down.

"Is this where you leave me?" he asked.

"No, not yet," you muttered.

"Good, that's why I love you so damn much."

There was a dull thud as Poe hit the floor. The distance was only about a foot, but he let out a loud groan as you did. His head didn't even hit the floor, so it was a mystery to as to why he was holding it in pain.

"You love me?" you asked, trying to hide the shock.

"Obviously I do," Poe grumbled. He rolled on his back, dark eyes staring at the ceiling. "Not when you dump me on the floor, though."

"Sorry," you grimaced. "But...do you love love me?"

"I think so," he replied. "I love Finn, and I love Rey, but I love you in a different kind of way and - oh my god! That rhymes!"

"That's...that's a lot to think about," you murmured to yourself.

"Yeah, I know. I think about it all the time," he replied.

Bending down, you took the pilot by the hand and managed to pull him back up.

Dumping Poe in his bed, you pulled off his boots and jacket and put them on his desk chair. There was already water on his bedside table - maybe he'd done some thinking ahead. His painkillers weren't too hard to find either, buried deep in the darkness of his bedside drawer.

"Right, this is where I leave you," you declared, tucking the covers over him. "I'll come and see you in the morning and see how you're doing."

You were trying to act normal, given the revelation.

"Okay..." Poe was already half-asleep. "Can we talk in the morning?"

"You're not gonna remember this in the morning, Dameron."

He lazily stuck his pinky finger out towards you. "But pinky promise me that you'll remind me? Because I've been wanting to tell you that for like two years."

"Yeah," you smiled. "I promise."

[gayspock]

again sir?

all of yesterday i was likegod i'll try and piece myself together. tomorrow. now its 7pm lay face down freaking it for 2 hours after work . i cant fucking bring myself to get any of this shit together and its godawful fucking humiliating bursting into tears over nothing in a loop, and help me christ because. i dont want to fucking move and what is even the fucking point when its getting nowhere . stupid fucking cunt (points) spends his energy barely and i dont even get close to an equilibrium as everything just slips further and further away and so what cuz even if i fucking did manage to scrape everything its like tomorrow and thern the next day and its forever and ever and im really fucking sick of everythng i feel like im such a fucking waste of space and i cant ever find anything witrhin me to prove otherwise and theres never anything i can fucking do that works out or means anything and i keep trying and it never goes anywhere and im so so so sick of fucking trying im really fucking sick oftrying it never fucking means anything its so fucking worthless and the only fucking thing people cn ever say to you is to keep fucking doing it and for what ikeep doing it for years and it never matters and i know what that means i know its just people trying to pass the buck i dont think anyones everactually had faith in me realistically to do it only stupid fucking idealised versions until they realise its really that fucking worthless and i dont know i do try i swear i do but it never is worth a fucking thing and no one believes me no one believes its that fucking hopeless and i cant even fucking tell anyone i told you so because nobody fucking sees i exist and im always left behind in the end and i dont know whats wrong with me or why its so hard and everyone says its fucking hard and it just makesme so fucking angry and upset because theyre still surrounded by at leas tfucking someone at least fucking someone i keep just fucking ending up alone and fucking crazy even if i do my best and i htink i keep thinking about how i really will be dying alone and no ones ever going to know i existed and what was it even fucking for i just fucking lived and it was miserable and nobody fucking cared and so fucking what i think about how naive i fucking was as a kid thinking someone might finally give a rats ass and it all just keeps passing me by i can barelyfucking coast by nevermind be a fucking functioning person and im so fucking alone have i bitched about that yet ii cant fucking do it any more im alone 24/7 and i cant fucking do it and all the advixce just feels like people mocking me because i dont have anything i keep trying at things and it just doesnt work and the truth is im just sort of a deadweight fucking person and nobody . likes that . like i cant fucking make more of myself i cant fucking manage anything like "get some hobbies go outside"

i DONT FUCKING KNOW MAN i keep trying and i keep trying but i just . cant find anythingwithin me no matter how fucking much i keep doing i just keep fucking throwingmyself at stuff and feeling hollow and getting insanely upset or something bad keeps happening and im punted back further and further every time cuz szomehow it just keeps getting worse it keeps getting worse all the time maybe if it was just a fucking steady, horrible fucking miserable ache but its like every time i try to fucking better something it jsut feels like i make a fucking fool of myself and i end up intears no matter how many times i keep going at it and its not fucking fair its not fucking fair im being childish i know i am but fucking god it takes so much fucking time an d energy to just subsist and try to fucking meet the baseline for a nothing, empty fucking existence and for what no one fucking sees me icant fucking keep anyones attention im barely fucking stomachable and nobody fucking takes me seriously im a fucking joke and i keep trying everything i try to be myself i try to be something more something less it means fucking nothing i cant even fucking keep my shit together i can tfucking do anything its embarrassing that no one fucking believes i cant fucking do anything i keep trying at so much fucking shit and i just always . seem . to fail. and i dont understand i just wish there wasdone thing that went right or i could be happy about or one fucking thing that meant something but there isnt and . and no oneis ever going to help because theres no one fucking there . i dont have any friends my family dont fucking care i can go months and months just dead silent . i think i can go years and it wont make a difference i havent spent fucking time with anyone in so long im so so fucking sad but even given all the opportunities i jsut cant . do it . i cant i think theresjust something so fucking hollow and people can tell and they'll never fucking want me and i just want toknow what its like to be hugged properly or to have someone fucking check in and make sure i have a fucking pulse and i cant helpmyself i cant even manage anything by myself i wish i wa scapable of soemthing just something god even if i was alone its so fucking . i cant fucking do both i cant be fucking alone and just so . fucking useless cuz i cant fucking manage anything i dont know whats wrong with me why i have to be stupid and just so fucking . useless and i dont even have the words half the time i just . i cant ever fucking even describe it like i jsut keep fucking cocking everything up and i feelso fucking exhausted and i cant . keep fucking swallowing the failure after fucking failure and ithink im just going to end up dead and i keep crying because nobodysever going to even know i just write insane fucking posts like i have for years and it doesnt fuckinghelp anything but keep some fucking . stupid thread on fucking reality that ive long since fucking lost like why man fucking why whatever god

[alstroemeriadissonance]

Close Friends - Pt 2 (NSFW)

Part 1 here

This was an unplanned Pt 2. Rereading the first one made me think that it can be continued, then ideas just came and...well.

Long-ass at 15k words. Grab some popcorn.

There's some (fictitious, consensual) drug use

Kiki is something here.

NSFW, MDNI, etc.

“Rosa.” Vyn put down his tablet onto the glass surface of the conference table, brows creased. “There is something wrong with the numbers in the report you’ve uploaded in our database. Have you checked with Luke for the updates from the NSB laboratory before you put these in the system?”

The doctor—now functioning as the most senior member of the NXX Investigation Team—swung his swivel chair to face the holographic display projected against the wide wall of the NXX Headquarters’ conference room. A few taps on his smartphone switched the display to show the data in question. “There is a discrepancy of more than ten percent when compared to NSB’s report of increase in drug related activity in Area 9H. Luke, can you confirm?”

“Huh.” Luke, seated at the farthest end of the conference table, squinted at the display, running the numbers through his head. “Er. It is off by 19.7 percent, to be precise. But I can’t make out the error in distribution off the top of my head. Sorry.”

“Yes. Which is tantamount to losing whatever lead we had,” Vyn sighed as he took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Since we cannot determine the possible entry points among the harbors in this district." 

Rosa fidgeted in her seat. “I’ll…I’ll fix it…” 

“By the time it gets fixed, Rosa, the trail would have gone cold.” Vyn put his glasses back on. “It would take me several hours checking the numbers and straightening them. And I have several items on my plate already,” he said, a slight trace of misgiving in his voice.

“Richter, if there are any mistakes in the numbers, only your judgment is to be blamed,” Artem said, tersely. “Why did you even assign Rosa to—”

“I assigned it to her because I have faith in her capabilities, Wing,” Vyn cut in. “And yes, I know that this is merely a one-time, elementary lapse, which unfortunately had dire consequences.” Then, to Rosa, “Please stay here for a bit and help me sort out the data. Two heads will make quick work of the inconsistency.”

“No need for you to burden Rosa any further,” Artem said. “As her boss, I will take responsibility—”

“You are currently in NXX, Wing, not Themis Law,” Vyn reminded the senior attorney, an unmistakable jagged edge in his voice. “And do not forget that you have your own task, as equally important as hers, if not even more so.” 

Rosa only looked down at her hands folded on her lap. Then, with a quiet voice, “Yeah. I’ll fix it.”

“Both of us will fix it,” Vyn said. “We cannot afford any delays. We will need to make sure we get an accurate projection by…” He checked his wristwatch. “Seven hours from now, give or take. Can you pull an all-nighter here, Rosa?”

“Y-yes, that’s no problem, Dr. Richter—”

“Richter! That’s too much, she still has work to do tomorrow.”

“Literally lives are at stake, Wing, if that still needs to be emphasized.” Vyn was gradually losing his cool. “I will not tolerate any one of us being deadweight in our team who requires hand holding, we are already lean enough as it is—”

“I am not a deadweight!” Rosa’s voice reverberated loudly across the conference room. “God damn it, I hate being talked about as if I am not here!”

Vyn merely looked at her silently, expression unreadable.

“Rosa, let’s—” Artem’s words were cut off with an elbow jab to his side, courtesy of Marius. 

“Just shut up,” he hissed to the lawyer in a stage whisper. “Read the fucking room. Do you think Miss will leave without fixing this mess?”

===

Luke, Artem, and Marius had already left the conference room.

Vyn and Rosa remained, both of them not speaking to each other. 

Vyn watched the CCTV camera feed intently through his smartphone; Rosa stood near the holographic display, her eyes staring at the numbers yet not really looking at them. Her back was turned towards the doctor; her arms crossed.

A dead, cloying silence hung thickly around them. 

Not one of them uttered a single word; the only sounds between them were the faint sound capture from the CCTV coming from the speakers on Vyn’s phone, and the faint tapping sound of Rosa’s fingers against her arm.

The silent stalemate lasted for only a few minutes, finally ending as Vyn broke the silence. 

“They have left,” was all he said, voice devoid of any emotion or inflection. 

The screen displayed on his phone showed Artem’s car finally pulling out of the NXX Headquarters basement parking lot, the last vehicle to finally leave the premises.

“Really,” murmured Rosa.

Vyn did not get a chance to put his smartphone down when his swivel chair suddenly turned around; his chair spun so quickly that the momentum knocked the phone out of his hand and sent it clattering across the smooth, cold floor.

“Rosa, wha—” The rest of his words did not make it through his lips. 

The junior lawyer bent down to force her tongue into his mouth; wedging one knee between his thighs and both of her arms clinging to the armrests on either side of him, she effectively caged Vyn in her trembling arms, her arms that betrayed the tension she had to endure for those few minutes that she had to restrain herself from having her way with him.

No words were said: Their lips locked with such ferocity that Rosa eventually straddled his lap, arms coiled tightly around his shoulders while their tongues hungrily slid against each other.

Not one to be outdone, Vyn's hands slid down her back until they settled on her ass. Impatient hands kneaded the swell of both cheeks through the fabric of her skirt, pushing her pelvis closer against his to make Rosa feel the growing erection in his pants, as he grinded his hips against hers.

Rosa tugged at his wine-red necktie hard; hard enough to make the man dry humping her from underneath wince in pain. 

“What the hell were you trying to pull?” she demanded, as her other hand grabbed a fistful of Vyn’s silver locks and pulled it down, turning his face upwards towards hers. “This was the only time I made an error!”

“The only time, yes. Still, mistakes were made, which need to be rectified, my darling,” Vyn said, his voice strangled. “But before that, you look like you need a fuck.”

“Indeed I do,” Rosa whispered, her hands letting go of his necktie and now mussed-up moonlight silver hair. “I need some stress relief, Dr. Richter.” Her fingers found the buckle of his belt, fumbling as she nibbled on his lower lip. “Think you can let me blow off steam?”

A low, menacing laugh came from his throat. “Too bad, my precious pet, I also need some relief. It has been a long day and your lapse is not helping. At all.” Vyn said before sucking hard on her tongue, feeling perverse pleasure in hearing the lusty moans coaxed out of her mouth. “But only one of us can be on top. Coin toss?”

"Mmm. Sure," Rosa hummed against his lips now red and slightly swollen with the heavy kissing. "Need a coin?" 

"Yes please," Vyn takes the Stellin coin Rosa produced from the inner pocket of her blazer. "Now, heads or tails for you?" He leaned in for yet another lingering kiss. "I do not mind either outcome, but I do so need to relieve my own pent-up stress." 

"Heads," Rosa whispered as she finally undid the zipper of his trousers. "Mmm…would really feel nice if I can give you head," she remarked as she grasped his swollen cock, freeing it out of his underwear. "I missed this…" 

"Patience, my love," Vyn drawled as he palmed the coin, then tossed it high up above them with a flick of his wrist. As the gold coin fell to the rules of gravity his hand shot up and caught it in midair. "Well then. Will the lady get to ride her favorite doctor, or will I get to…" he licked his lips, slowly, as his lustful gaze held Rosa's eyes misted over with anticipation. "...eat my little beloved all up on top of the conference table?" 

Rosa laughed breathily as she nibbled on his neck, her hand slowly jerking him off. "Your stress relief is to eat me out?" 

"Mmm—why not?" Vyn held out his closed fist holding the coin. "Let the coin decide.”

He slowly opened his fist.

But they never knew what the result was: Rosa had, with as much force that she could muster, batted Vyn’s coin-bearing hand away, sending the coin flying to the floor.

Silence once again draped over them like a thick veil. 

“Would you like to explain yourself, Rosa.” Vyn said, enunciating his words slowly, with very little inflection to his tone. “I have my own stress to consider. Even I have my limits, pet. And I am still upset over the data.”

“Riding my favorite doctor is nice,” Rosa said, repeating Vyn’s words from earlier. “But, not exactly what I really want to do.” She took his throbbing cock in her hand once again, a smile spreading on her face when she felt Vyn’s body shudder—despite his misgivings—with every up-down movement of her wrist as she worked up his shaft. “It’s still the same thing as before, Dr. Richter. I want this in my mouth. You do know what I am getting at?”

“Hahh—haha…” A rare red flush suffused over Vyn’s cheeks. “You…you are proposing that we relieve each other’s stress?” He planted a small kiss on her smug lips, pulling away with a teasing lick. “At the same time?”

“Like what happened in the priest smut novel you borrowed, yes,” She massaged the underside of his tip with her thumb. “I always wanted to do something like that. Since your stress relief is to…well…” Rosa let her voice trail off, staring intently at the man now panting heavily, open mouthed, underneath her touches.

“My little succubus,” Vyn breathed. “I accept your proposal.”

With great urgency they laid themselves out on the conference table, both of them quite eager to receive from and give each other pleasure: Vyn, still fully clothed, lying flat on his back over the glass surface; Rosa, also fully clothed but with her skirt now hiked up and gathered around her waist, clambering over him with her hips straddling his face.

“So, the sixty-nine,” Vyn murmured underneath Rosa as his fingers tore into the crotch of her pantyhose. He was amply rewarded with the sight of Rosa’s moist cunt barely covered by scant lace; she obviously came to the Headquarters prepared for something that did not involve accurate data analysis and projection. “...is something that had piqued my interest, but have not had any chance to—aahh, fuck.”

Rosa’s lips enveloping his cockhead effectively cut off his train of thought.

He hissed through his teeth, struggling to keep his wits together even as her lips tightly wrapped around his cock descended even lower, taking in more of him inside her hot, wet mouth, tongue swirling against his shaft. “Rosa,” he moaned. “Rosa—”

His sweet singing of her name was rewarded by Rosa sucking his cock in her mouth.

His chanting of her name soon transitioned into lust-filled, needy groans and whimpers. "Rosa, hahh—yes, you are doing so good…" His voice cracked, sounding as if he was almost crying in rapture. 

After some time Rosa slipped his cock out of her mouth and said, “Dr. Richter, your voice is really making me horny,” she moved her hips a little. “Please, I need you to…”

“Haahhh—my apologies,” Vyn's fingers finally ripped through the black lace panties, her throbbing flesh now in full display right above his face. “Tell me your preferences in underwear and stockings later,” he whispered, before he grabbed her ass with both hands, pushing her hips down to let him lick her cunt with abandon. “I will—I will—haahh—”

Vyn was going to tell her that he intended to buy her replacements for the underthings that he tore; that he was also going to have a full lingerie set custom-made for her, for her to parade in for his pleasure. 

Yet his words receded back into his throat at Rosa’s every lick, every suck, and little kisses on his dick. Left without words, Vyn’s response to her was to slather loving attention to her clit, sucking on it and relishing the way Rosa’s thighs squirmed at every flick of his tongue, her thighs pressing against either side of his head…

“Ah. Did you need this, Rosa?” Vyn eventually managed to rasp out, lips thickly coated with her juices. One of his hands slid down from her ass, fingertips slightly lodged in the entrance to her pussy. “I’d rather fuck you with my dick, but I am quite comfortable where it is, at the moment.”

“S-stop teasing me and just fuck me…”

“Heh.”

Three fingers plunged into her cunt, and Rosa cried out in utter delight.

“And the lady shall be thoroughly fucked,” Vyn murmured, more to himself. 

Wet, fucking sounds echoed rhythmically in the cold, almost forbidding conference room, as Vyn thrusted his long fingers deep within her flesh in a measured cadence, with force enough to jostle her body forward every time his fingers plunged inside. 

“Mmmph–!!” Rosa—her mouth still full of Vyn—moaned with his cock almost pressing against the back of her throat, letting him feel the full brunt of the vibrations resulting from the guttural sound.

“Shit,” Vyn muttered. He was getting near. “Rosa, I am almost…you should—”

Once again, his thoughts were cut off by her sucking; Rosa had doubled down on her efforts. The once faint sounds of her blowjob have turned loud, wet, and downright obscene. 

“Rosa, please,” Vyn begged. “I cannot hold back, so pull away—hnngh!”

His beloved’s fingers cupped and gently kneaded his balls, while giving his cock a good, strong suck. 

His total undoing. 

Without warning, even to himself, Vyn suddenly blanked out, and most of his hot come shot directly into Rosa’s mouth; when she let his cock slip out of her mouth he was still coming, and her face was streaked with his hot, white fluid.

“Fuck,” he groaned into Rosa’s cunt. 

When he regained full control of his senses Vyn saw it fit to repay her in double: once again he fucked her with three fingers, with even more vigor, enough to move her body with every plunge and pull. His hungry lips and tongue—insatiable, desperate to be imprinted with Rosa's flavor—worked her clit, alternating with licking and sucking her sensitive bud.

The shivering tension that he could feel through Rosa’s thighs betrayed just how near she was.

“Vyn, please, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m…almost…”

He sucked on her clit hard.

“Aaah—VYN!” Rosa’s shrill cry bounced off the walls, her inner walls twitching around his still-fucking fingers.

Vyn. She calls me Vyn in the throes of heavy sexual arousal and climax…

“Yess…you do like this, do you not?” Vyn hissed as he helped her ride out her orgasm with flicks of his tongue onto her clit. “Still stressed out?”

Rosa slumped over his thighs, her lips planting a soft kiss on his cock now almost half-mast. “I just want to sleep, but…work to do.”

“While I do appreciate that you have our work in mind, there is merit to taking a little break for a rest.” Vyn murmured, an arm slung over his eyes, catching his breath. “Think you can…cuddle with me for a bit, my love?”

“Mm.” Rosa shifted her position on top of him, letting her bury her face in his neck. She took a deep breath, and sighed. “This conference table is hard and uncomfortable, but you’re warm and nice and smell so good…” she murmured lazily.

Vyn let out a soft chuckle as he slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. “I am glad. You are also soft. And warm.” He bent a little to the side to nuzzle her hair. “You also smell and taste good.”

With a gentle finger he tipped Rosa’s face towards his, allowing him to fully behold the traces of debauchery on her face: traces of his almost dried come streaked her flushed visage. “Ah…let me clean you up,” he whispered as he shimmied a little and pulled out his handkerchief from his back pocket. Tenderly he wiped her face clean of his come, and when done he gave her a peck on her lips. “There. All clean.”

Rosa’s lips curved into a small smile, then leaned forward to lick his lips and chin.

“Rosa, darling. What are you doing?” Vyn asked, all too amused.

“Cleaning your face, too,” Rosa replied, before slipping her tongue between his lips and they kissed deeply, languorously. Taking their sweet time as their lips and tongue moved against each other’s. 

Vyn had to break away for the kiss. He was getting hard again. “Rosa, we cannot afford to lose more time,” he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. “There is urgent work to be done.”

“I know, I know,” Rosa said. “Dr. Richter…I really like this arrangement that we have.” Once again she buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I’ve never felt better…”

Ah…

Vyn felt a part inside of him die, along with her words.

An arrangement. Was this only an ‘arrangement’ for her?

“Is this merely an arrangement?” he murmured, not entirely addressing it to the woman slumped over him. 

“Mm? What do you mean?” Rosa looked at him with her big, questioning, olive gaze. “By arrangement I mean…well…we can call each other for um.” A blush bloomed from her neck, eventually engulfing her face with a pink heated flush. “When we need relief…”

Vyn could only manage a half-smile as numerous pinpricks of sad disappointment pierced his poor, vulnerable heart. “Ah. Yes. Yes, of course.”

Of course. 

Just an arrangement.

Vyn was not surprised. 

Yet he still felt immense regret and disappointment.  

===

“So, you’re telling me, you’ve been, er, intimate with this girl, and still she thinks you’re only friends?” The bar’s Owner did not bother hiding the pure schadenfreude in his amused tone. 

It was a tone that truly belonged in the atmosphere of his bar, The Abyss: Den of thieves, smugglers, hired killers, and other sundry undesirables who belonged in Stellis City’s shadows. A place that did not take kindly to people who stood on the right side of the law.

The Owner merely smiled at the silver-haired man half-slumped over the bar counter, an empty glass spinning right in front of him.

“...Like I said, yes,” came Vyn’s quiet reply. His hand idly played with the empty whiskey glass, spinning it on the small puddle of moisture it created on the varnished wooden surface. Sullen gold eyes bereft of their usual brightness passively looked on as the glass spun on its axis. 

“Hah! Serves you right, shrink,” The Owner hummed happily from behind the counter, obviously in good spirits. “So even your magic mind tricks have their limits. That’s good to know,” he grinned as he wiped down a freshly washed wine glass before setting it on the wine glass rack. 

His words seemed to have struck a nerve in the doctor; Vyn’s eyebrow twitched imperceptibly, his jaw set. 

The Owner, ever observant, grinned. “Ohoh? I first pegged this as a case of wounded pride, but don’t tell me…you really are in love, aren’t you?” His smile twisted into one of pure gloating. “Even the ice prince of Stellis City is capable of losing his mind over a girl?”

Vyn’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Is that what they are calling me these days?”

“A few birdies did, yes.” The Owner said as he took out a bottle of bourbon off a shelf, and laid out a few other ingredients on his work table. “They are asking me about a…certain silver-haired pretty boy they sometimes see by the counter playing with cards. ‘Such nice hands!’ they said,” the Owner scoffed as he started to prepare a drink. “If they only knew…”

“Birdies…you mean, the sparrows?” 

The Owner raised his eyebrows. “So the shrink knows the parlance,” he said, approvingly. “Yes, the sparrows. Three of them, at least. They want to see you, you know,” the Owner said as his fingers placed a lime wedge garnish on the drink he was preparing. “The sparrows; they are discerning with who they bed outside of missions, you see? Consider yourself honored. And lucky.”

“Not interested,” Vyn murmured. “And men who fall for their charms deserve to either die or find themselves bereft of fortune the next morning.”

The Owner flashed Vyn a knowing smile. “Do have faith when I say they like you…really like you,” he said, taking away the empty whisky glass in front of Vyn, replacing it with another filled with an amber-colored liquid on the rocks. A wedge of lime garnish sat on the rim of the glass. “Here. On the house, for our lovelorn shrink.” He smirked. “You look like you need it.”

“What is this?” Vyn lifted the glass, peering at it as he inspected the glass and its contents as if he would do evidence, on the rare chances he accompanied Rosa during some of their assignments. 

“A trade secret,” the bar Owner said with a cryptic smile on his face. “But you’ll find that you need it. Trust me.”

“Hmm.” Vyn took another good look at the swirling liquid the color of dark caramel. Then, with a swiftness that took even the Owner aback, knocked back the entire contents in three full gulps.

The glass landed back onto the counter with a resounding thud.

Vyn’s lips spread into a wan smile. “Well then,” he said, “Let us see what the drug you slipped in can do,” he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You need to work on your sleight of hand if you want to sneak in something in people’s drinks.”

The Owner let out a guttural laugh. “You knew, and yet you still drank it? Fucking madlad,” He shook his head. “I always knew I’d be entertained whenever you drop by.”

“Glad to be of service.” Vyn felt his limbs slightly go numb. Ah. Not a common sedative. My awareness seems to be intact. Yet the motor functions…I will be back to normal after a couple hours, give or take, once the drug metabolizes…

Realization dawned on him. “This drug affects motor functions only...you were planning to send me off somewhere?” Vyn murmured, licking his lips. My mouth is going dry. “Who? How much did they offer you?” 

The Owner grinned. “I’m sending you off to the sparrows for a bit. And no, no offer, but, I really think you just need the fucking of your life to cure yourself of that stupid lovesickness of yours. It does not become you, shrink.” A pause. “Just say yes, and I’ll have them…retrieve you.”

“Heh. Bold of you to assume what is in my best interests,” Vyn said as he mustered all he had to push himself off the counter seating. “I do not like to fuck strangers,” he said, voice clipped—or what passed to be one, in his drugged state. Even breathing is becoming constricted. But all I need to do is wait it out. “I best take my leave.”

“You sure you don’t want to play with them?” The Owner asked after him. “I am very rarely this generous with my clientele, you know. And there’s at least three of them willing to bed you, at the same time.”

“You mean you do not want to miss a chance to get on their good side,” Vyn now stumbled his way to the door, trying his hardest to wrest control of his limbs. He cared not about how undignified he appeared at the moment. Right foot. Left foot. Grab hold of the door knob. “I shall not be party to your networking. I bid you a good night, my friend.”

The Owner sighed as he left. “Fine. Pity. But, do be careful on your way home. If you can find your way, that is.”

“I will.”

It was an odd sensation, especially when Vyn himself was experiencing it: he still possessed full mental acuity, yet his limbs were not responding accordingly. Vyn struggled to have his hands grab whatever he could hold on to, just to keep himself upright on the way to the exit.

He inwardly laughed at himself. He drank the questionable drug-laced drink. Why? It was not the ideation of suicidal thoughts—that was farthest from his mind, and there were much larger things that needed to be done, on the horizon. And he knew the Owner, and his twisted sense of humor.

The idea of leaving things to chance, to finally let go and let things take their own course, to throw himself into the open elements where there are so many uncertain factors…the idea seemed refreshing. 

Liberating, in a twisted sense. 

The truth was, Vyn was getting tired. 

His was an exhaustion that blotted out all sense of priorities; there were things that needed to be done. Some life-threatening. All of them were cases against public safety. And yet he was willing to tear himself down over the affections of a single woman.

One woman, a single life among many who needed saving.

The only woman who upended his life, all with a single smile and her hands that toppled over his proverbial house of cards, one which he painstakingly built over time…

He managed to force open the heavy wooden door that led out of the Abyss and into the shadowy, light-speckled nightscape of Stellis City.  The night breeze felt cool against his skin, now blazing hot with a drug-induced flush. 

Stumbling out of the bar, he managed to hold onto the pedestrian railing and avoid a perfect face plant onto the sidewalk. 

Easy does it.

His car was parked quite a ways away, a few blocks, yet the path towards it was straightforward from the Abyss’s location. Vyn could easily support himself upright while holding on to the pedestrian railing on his way back to the car…

It felt like he was walking for an eternity. Drugs may muddle sense of time, Vyn recalled. This instance was a perfect example. The fact that he had to be conscious of his every draw and exhale of breath certainly did not help.

“Dr. Richter?” a perky voice cut through the darkness of the surroundings. “Are you okay?”

That voice. Vyn looked up, and his bleary eyes were met by Kiki’s worried gaze. “Miss Bennett.” His voice came out raspy, breathing now becoming labored. “Fancy bumping into you on this fine evening,” he said, as if he was not hunched over the railing, ready to tip over.

“Well, yeah, good evening to you too, but…” Kiki reached out to grab one of his upper arms, pulling him up. He must have looked worse than he thought. “Are you…drunk?”

“You act as if this is not your first time encountering a drunk in the streets,” Vyn murmured as he let Kiki sling his arm over her shoulders. “Nor helping one.”

“Eh, I see a lot of…ugh, you’re heavy…casualties around the gig venues,” Kiki grunted under the weight of the taller man. “The things I do to chase autographs…um, where were you going? Lemme help you.”

“I am on my way to my car.” 

“Lol. You can’t drive in this state.” Kiki held onto his wrist firmly, locking his arm across her shoulder in place as they started to walk, slowly. “But, let me help you on the way there anyway…”

“I was planning to sleep this off in the safety of my car. Do not worry about me.” Vyn said, now acutely aware of the fact that he let a mere acquaintance witness one of the lowest points in his life, and for what? A mere trifle. Certainly one he would probably kick himself over in a later dictaphone rambling. But that was for later. “You do not need to trouble yourself over me, Miss Bennett. And it is quite a late hour.”

“Geez, you and Rosa are alike in some ways,” Kiki muttered as she half dragged, half carried Vyn along the pedestrian path. “Anyway, I do have a driver’s license. Want me to drive your car to your place instead?”

We are alike in some ways? That is surprising, Vyn mused. 

He was going to ask more about it, but his consciousness had started to turn dim. This is dangerous. I may go out any moment now.  “Y-yes. I…appreciate it.” His sight was already dimming. This drug’s effect is worse than I thought. “Miss Bennett, if I ever lose consciousness, do not bring me to the hospital, and…my keys…wallet…back pocket…”

“Huh?!” Kiki heaved at the now deadweight of a doctor slumped over her small shoulders. “Dr. Richter? Dr. Richter?”

===

When he came to, he was already laid out on the sofa in his living room.

How…

Gingerly he tried to move his fingers, and toes. All of his extremities responded, and his sense of touch seemed intact. Good. 

“Oh hey, you’re finally awake! I sorta helped myself to your kitchen. Made some coffee. Hope you’re okay with it.”

A short-haired girl sporting a hair band sat on one of his living room chairs, her feet tucked underneath her haunches. An open book in her hands. 

Sharp, observant eyes, behind big round glasses, looked at him intently. 

She must have been waiting for me to come around.

Vyn, having proper etiquette engraved into his very being, struggled to sit himself into a proper posture befitting for greeting a guest.

Bones creaked as he propped his back against the backrest. Some joints popped. It seemed that he laid down, unmoving, in a rather uncomfortable position on the sofa for an inordinate length of time. 

“Miss Bennett…” Faint memories of what happened last night flowed into his head. “I really do apologize for causing you trouble.” He winced in pain. His temples hurt. “And I do not mind you helping yourself to anything in the kitchen. There are some…baked goods in the fridge, should you be hungry.”

Kiki peered at him from where she sat. “Er…you don’t look too good. Do you need medicine? Where do you stash them?”

“My first aid kit is in the medicine cabinet located in my bathroom, first door to your right along the corridor.”

“Got it!” 

Kiki scrambled for the bathroom, dropping the book she was reading onto the floor. The cover clearly showed. The priest novel has a new volume, he noted despite the haze of migraine. 

She returned in less than a minute. “Here,” Kiki placed a nondescript white pouch onto his lap. She also held a glass of water ready.

“Thank you.” Vyn rummaged through his pouch to locate a blister pack of headache pills specific to his usual type of migraine, and popped a couple into his mouth; washing them down with several gulps of water from the proffered glass.

“Thank you,” he said again, closing his eyes. And now, we wait for the headache to subside…

It only took around half an hour for Vyn to start feeling like himself again. Headache gone, he finally managed to notice the sliver of light trickling in through the French windows. 

Morning had already broken. 

“Are you feeling okay now?” Kiki peeked at him over her book, not even bothering to hide the risque cover. Vyn supposed that she didn’t feel any need to, not when she knew he borrowed the previous volume from Rosa. “You were, er. Calling for Rosa in your sleep.”

“Ah. Did I?” Vyn gave her a taut smile. “That would make this the second time you have seen me at my lowest point. I would appreciate it if you keep this from your friend.” He held her gaze intently. “Please. This is very important.”

Kiki nodded. Vyn appreciated that she could somehow understand. “Yeah. You sounded like you were upset, so I didn’t bother letting her know about what happened to you. I thought you guys were fighting.” 

She did not waste any time and went straight to asking the most important question: “What happened between you and Rosa, anyway? She doesn’t seem to be bothered. But you?” Her brows furrowed in concern. "You sure look like you have a story to tell."

Vyn sighed, more upset at himself than anyone else for being too transparent for his liking. He did not have much energy to put on masks at the moment, certainly not around people with the same level of curiosity as Kiki Bennett. “Does Rosa say anything to you about me at all?” he asked instead. 

Kiki blinked at his question. After some thought, she said, “Yeah. She sometimes tells me about your lessons, and the places you both visited. How good you are at making desserts. Things like that. And, um.” She chewed on her lower lip, and added, “...how you’re a really great friend.”

Vyn winced. Of course. 

“Judging by your face and how you almost cried out her name in your sleep…you’re stuck in the friendzone, aren’t you?”

“That is one way of putting it,” Vyn laughed at the absurdity of such crude terminology used on him, and the laugh was so bitter Kiki did not know how to react to it. “If being intimate with her still has her consider me ‘a really great friend’, I have to admit I am at a loss on how to further proceed.”

Kiki’s eyes widened at the mention of the word ‘intimate’ but quickly recovered.

“So even you can have these kinds of problems,” Kiki said, finally putting down her book. “Didn’t really expect it. You look so put together you make everything seem effortless.”

“So they say,” Vyn said, taking on the tone he usually employed in classes and lectures, talking about himself as if he were his own case study. “Of course, people can only see the outward, curated image. They do not see the hard work and effort required to support the illusion.” 

He felt like having a cigarette, but considering the present company he thought the better of it. 

“The illusion?” Kiki’s head tilted to one side, inquiringly. “What do you mean? Your achievements are legit, right? Even your skills when you played the keytar onstage.”

“By ‘illusion’, I mean how effortless all of it seems to other people,” Vyn said as he stood up to stretch his limbs. “It is not. The hell I have gone through…” he let his voice trail off, then shook his head. 

He padded to the kitchen area. “Do you want something to eat? It may be a little too early for sweets, but…” He opened his fridge for a cursory check of its contents. “...Sweets are all I have. Cakes, cookies…”

Kiki walked over to the kitchen and joined him. “I actually checked your fridge, haha,” she smiled sheepishly. “I was going to ask why you have so many mont blancs stashed in there.”

Vyn pulled out the French apple cake that he baked a few days ago, and placed it on the counter. There still was enough for two slices. “Ah, those…they were failed attempts. Things that I do not deem fit for giving away, but too much of a waste to throw out.” He sighed. “I used to throw away my failures, but I now realize how much of a waste that is. I consume them by myself now. Bit by bit.”

“For a doctor, you sure love your sugar.” Kiki remarked. “You sure you’re still okay?”

“Daily training and physical activity offsets my sugar intake,” Vyn said. “Would you like a bit of caramel sauce on your apple cake?”

Kiki’s eyes widened. “Oh, do I ever!” She then craned her neck to look around where the cutlery and tableware were. “Um, let me help set up the table, at least,” she said as soon as she spotted the dinnerware rack. 

“Much appreciated, thank you.” Vyn reached for a suitable knife from the magnetic rack set in front of him, and sliced the cake into two equal slices. 

===

“...So,” Kiki said, in between bites of cake. “Dr. Vyn Stuck in Friendzone Richter. I know you’re a shrink but do you want to talk about it?”

They sat themselves by the counter seating of his kitchen, each with a slice of apple cake and steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. 

“I will, as long as you do not give me sad nicknames like what you just did.” A sip of tea. A forlorn smile. “My feelings have been kicked around enough as it is.”

“I’m sorry!” Kiki blew onto her steaming cup of tea before sipping on it. “It’s just that I don’t have a lot of guy friends, much less guy friends who open up about these sorts of things.”

“So you find my…distress fascinating, is that it?” Vyn took another sip of tea. “But I do owe you a great favor, for ensuring my safety during my most vulnerable hour. I shall regale you with words I usually keep to myself, then.”

“Um,” Kiki piped up after swallowing a big bite of cake. “Don’t get me wrong. Not like I’m actually enjoying your suffering or anything. Just that I’m curious, is all. Also!” Kiki smiled sincerely this time. “I want to hear about a real love story, you know? And yours with Rosa sounds pretty intense, from the looks of things.”

“Heh.” Vyn uncharacteristically poked around the remaining bits of cake on his plate. “Rosa…is someone special. I shall not bore you with the specifics; the specifics are such that it will take me days to enumerate them all.” He smiled to himself, mind running through various pleasant memories. “What I can say, however, is that…” he chewed on his lip, deep in thought. “I have mostly seen what human nature is capable of. The typical darker tendencies that no longer surprise me, not one bit.”

Kiki ate her cake in silence, listening to Vyn.

“But Rosa…” Again, the soft smile on his lips. “She with her radiance had proven to me the potential for humanity to be good. Those many times when she took me by surprise. Showing me that when all options appear to be bleak, there is always one sliver of light that can lead one out of the darkness…

“But I am talking about high concepts now, am I not? Very well then.” He topped up both of their tea cups with the ceramic teapot set nearby. “Let me talk about things that may tickle a romance reader’s fantasy: I like her bright eyes. Especially when she smiles. I like her presence, and the way she effortlessly brightens up a room. Her scent awakens a sort of hunger I never knew I had…”

“Oooh,” Kiki murmured quietly, trying her hardest to suppress her glee. “Go on.”

“...Her child-like curiosity, and how her willingness to learn new things indulges my own desire to share knowledge. I like her voice, and how her laugh dispels my day-to-day exhaustion. And…” Vyn finally speared the last bit of cake, taking his time chewing it as he inwardly debated with himself whether or not to say the last words he meant to say. 

The need to say it eventually won out. He did owe Kiki a lot, and he knew these types of things were right up her alley. “...I love, desire, obsess over her, physically, intimately. When she confessed that she wanted to share herself with me, in that manner, I was more than ecstatic.”

Kiki’s face turned hot, and she grabbed her cheeks with both hands. “Oh my god, this is so steamyyyyyy…!”

“Heh,” Vyn looked up at Kiki with a roguish smile, which turned wistful at the drop of the hat. “But then, she told me that…intimacy between us is merely an arrangement.”

“Er, what?” Kiki also dropped her smile. “Did she just tell you, uh, forgive my French, you guys are fuckbuddies?”

“If by ‘fuckbuddies’ you mean friends who call each other when they feel like being frisky, then yes,” Vyn murmured sullenly into his teacup. “An arrangement. To fuck.”

“Uhh. Rosa…” Kiki laughed nervously. “She’s not that type, you know? Are you sure there’s no miscommunication between the two of you?”

Vyn shook his head. There was not a lot of room for any misunderstanding, not with how he had danced around her many, many times; his whispers of promises that talk of forever, all of them happily accepted by Rosa yet whose meanings still escape her. “I have tried so hard, so hard…” His smile has twisted into one of unbridled self-scorn. He buried his face in his hands. “Rosaaaaaa,” he keened, voice muffled by his palms. “Rosa…”

“Er…Dr. Richter?” Kiki did not know what to do at that point. 

Vyn then took a deep breath to quickly gather himself, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Ah, my apologies,” he muttered. “I did not mean for you to see that.”

“That’s okay, really, I get it,” Kiki said. “Anyway…yeah.” Kiki cut another piece of cake. “Silly question, but.” She chewed on it thoughtfully. “Did you even tell Rosa? Does she even know?”

“I keep on telling her, but she doesn’t seem to understand.” A bitter smile. “It is almost as if…she is rejecting me. Rejecting the idea that she stay by my side. That all she is interested in is this arrangement.” 

Vyn could feel the despair slowly seep into his heart. 

Yet Kiki’s voice cut through the dark haze of his melancholy. A certain smidgen of clarity. “I mean, okay, just let me know if I misunderstood anything but…” A pause. “Did you even tell her “I love you” outright? Something like that?” 

Her brows furrowed, as if thinking that something wasn’t quite right, something clearly wasn’t adding up, something that was missed in all of the tragic comedy that was Dr. Vyn Richter’s very rare love life.

“Not verbatim. But everything I do for her…”

“Aha,” Kiki said, nodding. “That might be it, actually. Rosa is dumb as bricks at this kind of thing. Trust me, I know. There is one other guy in Themis Law who is also struggling, but thankfully she is dumb as bricks about this and so his efforts just whoosh over.” She ran her fork across the edge of her plate, trying to gather the remaining tasty apple sauce, licking it off the fork tines.

Vyn’s eyes hardened. “Are you talking about her senior partner?” 

“Er. Um. Yeah.” Kiki suddenly averted her eyes, as if she just said something that she shouldn’t have.

“Interesting,” was all Vyn said. This was not something new; he had noticed that the way Artem hovered around her was more than being protective. However the fact that co-workers knew made it even worrisome; it implied that he wasn’t pulling any stops in pursuing her in the workplace. “She is not being badgered into getting into a relationship with him, I trust?”

“Well, if she was aware of what’s been going on probably yes, but she is totally oblivious to his advances it might as well not have happened,” Kiki deadpanned.

A companionable silence followed. The cogs in Vyn’s head turned, churned double time, trying to process what he had just heard. Is Rosa deliberately being obtuse to overtures in general? 

Kiki, for her part, seemed to be also deep in thought.

“So um. I know you’re not asking for advice, or anything, but—”

"That is fine. My ears are open."

"Maybe you should tell her the things that you just told me a while back. What you like about her,” she said as she finally put down her fork onto the plate with a clink. “Like. Word for word. Spell it out for her like you would a grade-schooler, you know? Or…” 

Kiki’s lips stretched into a smile so unnerving even Vyn almost broke out in cold sweat.

“Why not indulge her in a teensy bit of roleplay and act like the demon priest in the novel you borrowed? ‘Tempt’ her into darkness.” Kiki’s smile turned even more twisted. “Teehee.”

===

Kiki had to do some overtime work on the weekend, and Vyn offered to drop her off at Themis Law. He did not have anywhere to go at the moment, but he told her that after what she did for him he certainly did not mind driving out for the express purpose of bringing her to her workplace.

“Thanks for the lift, Dr. Richter!” Kiki waved at him as soon as she stepped out of his car. “And uh don’t drink so much next time!” 

“I will make sure not to, if I can help it, that is.” Vyn gave her a wan smile from the driver’s seat. “Miss Bennett, please remember…not a word to Rosa. Please.”

Kiki gave him a mock salute. “Yessir!” and closed the car’s passenger door. 

She was still grinning as his car finally pulled away, disappearing into the rest of the traffic. 

Humming, she marched through the doors of Themis Law building in higher spirits than she normally would, especially for weekend overtime. 

It had been an interesting night. Rosa’s psychiatrist suitor certainly seemed to be more and more likable the more she interacted with him; Dr. Vyn Richter no longer seemed to be the aloof, unapproachable man with a pretty face that she initially made him out to be. 

He was shamelessly in love with Rosa. He fell apart for Rosa, to the point that it was her name he was crying out for while he was drugged.

Oh my god, what a total goofball.

Needless to say, she approved of him. 

She didn't need to do the sis check on him; she already saw the irrefutable proof, which was why she was even able to get him out off the streets before the others got to him… Kiki would make sure she’d tease them to the point of embarrassment the next time she saw them together.

If they manage to finally get together, that is. 

Welp, too bad Dr. Richter swore me to secrecy. 

She was still humming by the time she stepped into her department’s floor. Time to get to work! There's another mission pegged for tonight! 

“Hey Kiki,” a familiar voice greeted her as she went past. 

“Hey Rosa!” Kiki peered into her friend’s cubicle. “Gathering materials for the review?”

“Yeah,” Rosa nodded. “I’m just here to get some study materials for the next mock exam.”

Kiki found her mannerisms odd. Normally Rosa would be either cheerful, or outright whiny about her workload. Certainly not subdued like how she was acting now. It was as if…

“Um. Kiki?” Rosa fidgeted, twisting her fingers as she chewed on her lip. “Dr. Richter dropped you off…?”

===

Her friend Kiki’s smile froze in place, and Rosa immediately knew that she was hiding something. She had known Kiki since university; there was no mistaking that telltale awkward smile that betrayed the fact that she’s hiding something, or at the very least was being evasive about something. 

“Um, it’s not like there’s nothing wrong,” Rosa let out a laugh that felt a little bit too fake, even for herself. “I mean…”

Dr. Richter chancing upon her on the way to the research center and offering a ride, knowing that she’s my friend shouldn’t be that odd, Rosa surmised. Yet why is Kiki being evasive about it? “...it’s really none of my business if there’s um. If you have business with him.” She could feel her smile crack along the edges. “I’m just curious, is all!”

Kiki merely blinked at her. “Er. T-that. Well…”

Rosa also knew Kiki was a terrible liar. 

It seemed very unlikely that both her close friends, Kiki and Dr. Richter, would have anything to do with each other, but far stranger things have happened already and Rosa wasn’t at all surprised that Dr. Richter, popular that he is, would be seen with another woman. 

Another woman, Rosa thought to herself derisively. It’s not as if we’re exclusive.

What was surprising, however, was that it would be her friend at work. 

Rosa shook her head. Again, it’s not my business—

Yet why am I feeling this way? Strange, isn’t it, Rosa? It was a feeling that was very similar, if not worse, to what she felt when Vyn—as keyboardist Vilhelm—was being pursued by fangirls. Her hand unconsciously slid to her chest, just right above her heart. Pinpricks of a feeling indescribable made itself felt deep inside her guts, settling right into the yawning pit of her stomach. Strange, isn’t it?

“Ah, well, if you don’t want to tell me it’s fine, tell me when you want to spill the juicy details,” Rosa gave Kiki another smile, equal parts bright and forced. She didn’t know how awkward it made people feel, seeing that particular smile.

Especially Kiki, who ducked and threw a quick “Excuse me,” before scrambling to her cubicle.

Rosa sighed. She only needed to clear her head. Yes, that’s it. Maybe she’s too tired, maybe…

She shook her head. I need to get a hold of myself! Having regained a little bit of sanity, she decided to use it to focus towards finishing what she sought out to do in Themis Law on a weekend: gather learning materials.

And so minutes went by quietly, with Rosa scouring Themis Law’s digital library for any relevant reading, saving copies into her flashdrive. 

From a couple of rows away she could hear Kiki’s mechanical keyboard click-clacking away at a feverish pace. It filled the empty floor so much that it was obvious when Kiki suddenly stopped typing.

The floor was also empty, save for the two of them, so when Kiki suddenly wailed out loud Rosa could perfectly hear her when she cried out, a bit too loudly, “Ughhh my phone is missing!” followed by sounds of frantic upending of various containers, and rapid opening, closing of drawers.

Rosa sighed. Oh, Kiki… This wasn’t the first time she’s ‘lost’ her phone. Sometimes she got so scatterbrained whenever something caught her attention, even dropping whatever she was holding at the time, even her phone…

Deciding to help her, Rosa pulled out her smartphone and dialed Kiki’s number.

It rang out several times, and Rosa was about to finally give up when her call was finally picked up.

A very, very familiar low, elegant voice answered her call. “Hello, Rosa,” Vyn said from the other end of the line. “It looks like your friend accidentally left her phone. My apologies for not answering immediately. It took me quite a while to locate where it was, when it started going off.”

Rosa’s blood ran cold, yet the sinking feeling did not reflect on the small, polite smile plastered onto her face. “No worries. I’m just glad Kiki’s phone is safe with you.” A small laugh. “I’m sure she would be devastated if she lost her phone with all the idol videos saved in it…” Her voice trailed off.

Hearing nothing from the other end, Rosa decided to ask, “Dr. Richter…where did Kiki drop her phone?”

She was still answered by radio silence, but Rosa knew Vyn was still on the line, as she could still barely pick out his soft breathing. 

Then Vyn finally answered, “In my home.”

“Oh.” Oh. 

Rosa did not notice her voice trembling as she said, “O-oh, okay. Um. I’ll just tell Kiki to come back there and pick it up.”

“Rosa, wai—”

“Bye, Dr. Richter.”

She pressed on the Decline button on her screen and dropped the call.

Rosa sat in her cubicle quietly, phone still in her hand. She sat still, unmoving, and it was only when a teardrop splashed onto its screen that her quiet onslaught of tears came. 

How strange, Rosa told herself as she quietly sobbed in her seat. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. While Dr. Richter did express a bit of fancy towards her—and they certainly did have a lot of fun—it wasn’t as if she were special enough to hold his attention for long. In fact, only a few nights after their sweet stolen time in the NXX Headquarters he already had a different girl in his home, no less.

I’m being stupid. Rosa reached for her box of tissues and quickly wiped away her tears. I really shouldn’t be bothered by this. She took time to recompose herself, peering at the mirror to make sure there were no traces of her losing herself into crying left.

Though I probably wouldn’t call him up anymore for…that. That much was certain. 

It doesn’t feel right anymore…

She decided to walk over to Kiki’s cubicle. “Hey, um…Kiki?”

“Eh? Rosa?” Kiki looked up at her, on all fours in the carpeted flooring within her cubicle, surrounded by emptied out boxes, drawers pulled out. She was still looking for her phone, and in the unlikeliest of places where it could have ended up, to boot. 

She noticed the plastic potted plant in the corner upended as well. “Kiki…were you looking for your phone in the plant pot…?” Rosa could not help but give in to an amused—desperate—laugh. 

Laughter during these dire moments always felt nice.

“Hey, it could have dropped into that stupid pot, you know!” Kiki huffed. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Rosa laughed a bit too loudly, desperate to deaden the hollow pit in her very being with shallow laughter. “Um. Kiki? I heard you scrambling for your phone, so…I dialed your number.”

“Omigosh! Thank you! Did someone pick it up?” Kiki exclaimed a bit too happily, then quickly stood up and dusted off her pants.

Rosa gave her close friend a small smile. “Yeah. It was Dr. Richter.” She did not notice her lower lip tremble, in the midst of the cracked smile. “You left it in his place, he said. So um. You better drop by there and get it from him, I guess.”

“Oh.”

This time, Rosa sighed and did not bother hiding her thoughts. “Look, whatever’s between you  and Dr. Richter, that’s none of my business, alright?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Great. I’m going to cry again. “Um, I think I need to pee, so—”

Rosa then made her way out of Kiki’s cubicle, but never got to take more than two steps.

“Oh no you don’t!” Kiki muttered as she grabbed Rosa's arm, stopping her in her tracks. “No, you’re not going anywhere away from me. Nope, nuh-uh.”

“I said I need to pee!” Tears already started to flow down her cheeks and onto the collar of her shirt. “Let go of me!”

“Who the hell pees and cries at the same time?!” Kiki—with a strength that even took her friend by surprise—wrested Rosa back into the cubicle, pulling her in by the arm. “Listen to me!”

Rosa sniffled and sobbed as she stood in the middle of the cubicle. 

Looking rightly pissed off, Kiki put her hands on her hips as she addressed her ugly sobbing friend. “If you’re capable of feeling this way, why are you treating Dr. Richter the way you’ve been doing?” She tsk-ed. “If he didn’t swear me to secrecy you would have been hearing a truckload of things from me, but…ugh!” She was almost at the point of tearing her short hair out in frustration. “I swear—!”

“Wait, what?” Rosa looked at her pissed off friend with bleary, tear-stricken eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t talk, because Dr. Richter made me promise not to. So,” Kiki pulled Rosa along with her. “Grab your things, take me to your shrink’s place because I can’t go there by myself. Everything including money is through my phone.”

“...okay.”

===

Half an hour later, Vyn and Rosa found themselves sitting across from each other in Vyn’s living room.

“Um.” Rosa was back to fidgeting, like how she did back when she first approached Vyn with her dilemma. She wrung her hands nonstop; there was never a moment when her fingers were still.

Vyn merely watched her silently, hands folded on his lap.

And from the main entrance of Vyn’s home, Kiki hollered, “Alright, I want you guys to talk things out, and I want it done properly, ayt?” She grabbed at the door, starting to pull it closed behind her. “Make sure you guys do it right this time!”

The door shut with a loud bang.

Vyn looked at the main door. “That was unnecessary.”

“Oh. Well. If this is all unnecessary, then I should see myself out,” Rosa began. “I—”

Vyn let out a ragged sigh. “No, my darling. I meant slamming the door was unnecessary.” He lifted his phone to show her. “I can easily control doors, windows, and other effects in my home with my phone.” A pause. “You know this.”

“Right. Sorry,” Rosa mumbled. “I don’t know what to say, really.”

“Miss Bennett believes that there is a certain level of miscommunication between us, Rosa,” Vyn said, in clipped tones. “And this irks me, because someone of my profession should have picked up on it easily.” One of his hands curled into a fist. 

“Mm.” Rosa wrapped her arms around herself. 

Unconsciously erecting walls, Vyn noted. She considers me someone she has to escape from. The thought ran a serrated knife deep into his heart. Maybe if I did not upset the order of things. If I was not so greedy, if I did not dare dream of getting more than what she was already giving—and she gave me so much already, to fill my dreams with. I—

The hand curled into a fist trembled as he drove fingernails deeper into his palm. A damp, uncomfortable, searing warmth spread in his hand.

“Rosa,” Vyn began. “Tell me, what am I to you?” 

Why am I asking these things now?

Rosa’s eyes focused on her constantly moving fingers, seemingly intent on retreating rather than engaging the man who was desperate to get an answer from her.

“Rosa, please,” Vyn now pleaded. “I am asking you this not as a psychiatrist, but as a—” 

Friend?

No.

“...as someone keen on having a relationship with you.”

Rosa finally looked up at him. “...what do you mean?” Her gaze was understandably wary. 

“A romantic relationship, Rosa.” Vyn said, recalling Kiki’s words that his desired inamorata was, in verbatim, dumb as bricks about the intricacies of romance. “Becoming lovers.” He took a deep breath. “I want to be your lover,” he continued, hoping that his words counted as him spelling things out for her.

He had been saving these words for a proper proposal—uttered in a more elegant phrasing, of course—but as Kiki had mentioned, he probably needed to spell things out for her, to get rid of any gaps where misunderstandings may slip in through.

Yet Rosa still did not look convinced. “I…see.” Her hands now fumbled with the hem of her skirt. “I…I don’t know.” She took a long pause, as if gathering her thoughts. “I’m confused. I’m sorry.”

Again, that plummeting sensation in the pit of his stomach. 

Rosa was incredibly resistant to this specific type of message. 

It was then that Vyn understood: It wasn’t that Rosa was dumb as bricks when it came to romance; it was because Rosa seemed to not accept the fact that she deserved to be loved and cherished, in a romantic sense, for some reason or another. 

This realization spurred in him a burgeoning sense of panic, of desperation, the urgent need to be understood, and so Vyn sprung from his seat to kneel by Rosa’s feet. “Rosa, my beloved, please,” he pleaded. “Listen to me when I say I want you. I need you. I need you so much, it hurts. Deeply.” 

Yet Rosa could only give him a smile so broken the sight of it cut deep in his aching, vulnerable heart. “You’ve always been such a romantic, Dr. Richter. Gifted with words.” A sharp intake of breath. 

“Did you whisper sweet words to Kiki too, last night?”

Vyn froze, and he visibly recoiled.

A long bout of silence stretched out, as both of them quietly ruminated on what just happened.

“Ah.” Slowly, carefully, Vyn stood up and stepped away from Rosa, going back to his seat across from her. “Of course not.” 

He could barely hide the bitterness that now crept into his voice. “When Miss Bennett found me out in the streets, about to lose my unconsciousness, all I ever voiced out to her was my gratitude.” Fingernails once again dug into his already wounded palm. “When Miss Bennett brought me home to safety as I was unconscious, drugged…when I came to, I only told her my gratitude.”

Vyn buried his face in his hands, and sighed loudly.

Rosa watched Vyn about to unravel right in front of her. A brief spell of panic crossed her face as she beheld Vyn edge into a breakdown. “Dr. Richter—”

But then Vyn removed his hands, revealing dull gold eyes now bereft of warmth, nor frenzied despair. 

“This is enough. I apologize, Rosa.” He stood up, and briskly made his way to the kitchen area. “I have been keeping you here, asking you unfair questions that put you on the spot. Again, I apologize.”

He opened his fridge, rummaging through the contents, and pulled out a mont blanc, the flawless one among the bunch: its chestnut puree in a perfect conical swirl, topped with freshly whipped cream sitting exquisitely on its peak. 

Vyn’s hands worked in deathly silence: fingers deftly folded the elegant transparent window box, placed the pretty mont blanc inside, and embellished the entire package with a teal-and-silver ribbon tied into a classy bow.

This he held out to Rosa as he walked back towards her. Yet his was an expression so somber, he might as well have handed her an urn instead of an elegantly packaged, beautiful dessert that he had spent many nights laboring over.

“This is my gift to you, as an apology,” Vyn’s voice was flat, and devoid of any warmth. “I shall not pester you with my foolishness ever again.”

This time, Rosa tried to reach out to him, to touch his hand as she took the mont blanc, but before her fingers could touch his he withdrew and sat himself once again across her. 

He reached for his phone. “I hope you do not mind, Miss Rosa, but I need some time for myself. I shall call a taxi for you. Do you want me to have it drop you off your apartment? Or—”

“Vyn!” Rosa cut in. “I’m—”

“What?” Vyn’s voice was glacial, cutting. It was nothing that Rosa had ever heard before from him. “Is there anything else you need?” The edge mellowed out, but it was still undeniably there, capable of cutting anything or anyone who dared go near.

“I…” Rosa faltered, but eventually managed to say, “I…just wanted to know.” She bit her lip. “What Kiki did here last night.”

“What of it, Miss Rosa?” Vyn asked. To Rosa it felt that Vyn grew even more distant the more words he spoke. “We are merely in an arrangement, are we not? Is that not what you call what we briefly had? And you so quickly assume I would be doing the same with other women, should I feel the inclination to. With your reasoning in mind, what I do outside our arrangement should not concern you at all.”

Rosa said nothing.

“Tell me, Miss Rosa,” Vyn’s now emotionless eyes bore holes right through her. “Since you call me your close friend, even as our relationship turned physical: Do you also fuck your childhood friend when you feel like it?”

A loud slap resounded in the otherwise quiet living room. 

Vyn rubbed his stinging cheek.

“I…I get it, Dr. Richter,” Rosa whispered. “I’ll…show myself out now. Don’t bother with the taxi—I can call one for myself.”

“Very well.”

The mont blanc remained on the seat that Rosa long vacated, and it never served its purpose.

===

“All that hard work…gone to nothing…” Kiki wailed into her cup of coffee.

Rosa had been cagey for the entire Monday morning after that weekend when she struggled to bring her friend and Dr. Richter together—as a result of her meddling, no less.

Thankfully, the two were close enough that the awkwardness that resulted from the events of last weekend had mostly dissipated, and they quickly went back to old habits: this time, they were back to whiling away their work and life sorrows over coffee in the office pantry.

“That’s fine, Kiki,” Rosa sighed. “Look, I’m sorry for…for…” she pursed her lips. “Assuming the worst about you and Dr. Richter.”

“Yeaaaah, but you guys aren’t together. If anything, I made things worse.” Kiki moaned. “Damn it.”

Rosa fell into thoughtful silence.

Kiki decided to gun for it, to say what was immediately in her mind the moment Rosa told her about last weekend’s fiasco: “…Dr. Richter has a point, you know.”

Bleary olive eyes looked at her. “What about?”

Ugh. Here goes. 

“When he asked you, if you would fuck your childhood pal because you guys are ‘close’. I mean,” Kiki propped her chin in the palm of her right hand. “All these time you’ve been calling Dr. Richter your ‘close friend’. Of course he’d ask if you’d fuck your other close friends too, that’s how many mixed signals you’ve been giving the poor guy.”

Rosa looked away. “Look, Kiki…” she closed her eyes, as if willing herself not to lose it. “I’ve been kicking myself over how I acted the last time I saw Dr. Richter, okay? I don’t feel like talking about it.” She bit her lip. “It hurts.”

Kiki looked at her thoughtfully, then said, “You know, I feel like going to the bathroom. Come with?”

“Um. Sure.”

===

“Since things have ended between you and that shrink,” Kiki said, as she removed her glasses, placing them by the sink of the women’s bathroom,  “I guess I can talk about the stuff he wanted me to keep from you.”

The bathroom was empty save for them, and it now served as an ideal space to talk about gossip. They stood by the sink set against the large mirror as Kiki touched up her makeup.

“But before that, lemme tell you about the stuff I heard about him. About what happened before I found him that night.” She untied and slipped the hairband from her head, shaking her hair loose to reveal a nicely curled bob that only needed a minor touch-up of a rounded brush. 

Rosa stood nearby, quiet, watching Kiki with rapt attention as her friend touched up. 

And gradually changed looks.

“Word has it that the famous ice prince of Stellis City was being picked up by no less than three beautiful girls. At the same time,” Kiki continued, as her fingers rummaged through her purse for her lipstick. “Dunno why but he was in this seedy bar, pouring his heart out to the bar owner,” she chuckled a little as she twisted the lipstick tube. “Crying about this girl he’s been trying so hard to win, and even managed to have sex with, but—haha—still thinks he’s her close friend.”

Rosa let out a gasp. 

Kiki merely gave her a cool side glance, then carefully swept the end of her lipstick along her bottom lip. It was a dark, almost forbidding, shade of red—totally uncharacteristic on someone like her. Or at least, what people in Themis Law knew of her.

“The bar Owner took pity on Dr. Richter, dude really looked down in the dumps,” Kiki smirked into her reflection in the mirror. She already looked very un-Kiki-like. “So the Owner had the idea of calling these girls he knew were really into the shrink, so they could play with him and cheer him up, y’know?”

She applied eyeshadow on her eyelids as she went on. “But Dr. Richter…he refused. Said he wasn’t interested. The girls already had the bar owner slip some drugs into his drink so they could take him without much fuss, but the shrink was so NOT interested, he still managed to crawl out of the bar despite the drugs.” 

She dusted a bit of blusher on her cheeks. “Aaand, that’s how I found him. Drugged out of his wits.” She smacked her lips to even out the rouge over her now alluring lips. “Looked up his address in his wallet, took his car keys, drove his car to his house.” Kiki tried out a sexy smile in the mirror. “You know what’s funny? In his sleep, all he ever called out was your name.”

She could see Rosa’s eyes tearing up through their reflection in the mirror, yet paid her no mind. Her fingers brushed through her hair, artfully tousling it. “When he finally woke up, and fed me some cake for breakfast as thanks…” her smile turned wistful. “...I wish you could have heard the things he told me, but…” She shook her head. “It shouldn’t come from me. If you want to know, it’s only right that he tells you himself. If he still would, that is.”

Kiki threw a meaningful look at her friend, through their reflections in the mirror. “You know…I wish someone looked at me that way, the way Dr. Richter looks at you. If only you knew the things he told me about you. It was…” She let out a sigh. “...really sweet. And sexy.”

Rosa was already weeping silently by the time she was done.

Kiki now faced Rosa directly, instead of looking at her through the mirror. “It’s not too late, you know,” she said quietly. “If you really want that shrink, you should grab the chance while you still can…”

Then, with a flip of her hair and a temptress’ half-smile—Kiki looked like a totally different woman now, someone who could easily pick up a man she fancied, instead of the bumbling, nerdy junior Rosa and the rest of her colleagues in Themis Law saw on a daily basis—she continued, “...before those girls who were interested in him try again. And succeed.”

Kiki merely looked on as Rosa spun on her heel and sprinted out of the bathroom, silently wishing her friend the best. 

Whew. Everything almost went to the shitter…

Smiling, she looked at the bathroom mirror once again to check if everything was set; a new mark had just been assigned to her, and he was conveniently located near Themis Law’s office building. A thrill shot up her spine. Apparently today’s mark was a handsome businessman in his late thirties. 

Kiki had seen his photos: he was her type. 

===

It was almost sundown when Rosa stepped off the taxi, right in front of the entrance to Vyn’s Victorian estate. 

If she still remembered his schedule correctly, he would be spending some time in the garden around this hour. She made a beeline off to the side towards his prized, sprawling English garden. 

Rosa jogged through the garden gates, craning her neck to allow her a better view as she looked for him, looking for the man she so wanted to seize back into her life. Carefully she navigated her way through the bushes, the budding rose shrubs and other flora that the doctor tended to with his own hands…

Then she finally spotted him: Vyn hunching over a hydrangea bush, shears in hand. The simple white shirt and jeans he wore for gardening work were smudged with dirt. 

Behind him stood a wheelbarrow almost full with plant trimmings, evidence of just how much time and effort he spent in his garden on that day alone.

Did he even go to his research center today? Or university, for that matter?

Taking a deep breath she started to approach him, careful not to take him by surprise. 

But Vyn already took notice of her presence when she was still a few meters away. “Good evening, Miss Rosa.” He put down his shears and stood up to face her. “How can I help you?”

His expression and stance seemed closed off: his gaze was still bereft of his usual friendly warmth, hands clasped in front of him.

Faced with a cold Vyn Richter—a total 180 to the gentle, warm, soft-spoken man who welcomed her with open arms, anytime—Rosa almost lost all nerve, her instincts screaming at her to turn tail and leave. Not because of self-preservation, but rather due to her innate fear of rejection.

But…

She remembered the things Kiki divulged to her. There were so many things she had yet to know. So many things she could have known, if only her head wasn’t so far up her ass being afraid that she might have misinterpreted his intentions. 

Last weekend proved how her fears wound up destroying the fragile, precious thing that could have been.

She had to work up her courage. “Dr. Richter, I…” She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.” 

Vyn remained silent, and did not move an inch.

“I’m really sorry,” Rosa repeated. “To be honest…I don’t even know why I’m here. I just…I just want to say I’m sorry. That’s all. Um.”

Vyn still did not say anything, but his gaze upon her softened, somehow.

Yet Rosa did not notice something so minute, and all she could see was Vyn merely staring at her in silence, as if waiting for her to finish her piece and leave. This time, she completely lost all nerve. “I—I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll be going now.”

Stifling a sob, Rosa turned around to leave. 

Yet before she could move away, strong arms held her in place.

“Do not go,” Vyn whispered. He hugged her from behind, his warmth seeping through her clothes. “Do not leave me.” His arms pulled her closer to him; hands tightly gripping her sides. He was so close to her that she could feel his body tremble against hers.

Moisture slowly trickled and spread onto the top of her head.

“...Dr. Richter…?”

Rosa looked up at him.

He was crying silently. 

Rosa shifted herself in his tight hug so she faced him. His hold upon her loosened to allow her movement; with a long, drawn out sigh that bore her pent-up longing she reached out to Vyn for a long, deep, heartfelt kiss. 

There was no stress to be relieved this time around; only relief that everything has fallen back into place, just where they should be. 

Her arms coiled around his neck, clinging to Vyn as if for dear life as their lips locked in frantic kisses. Their own breaths, moans, sighs mingled with each other before dissipating into the aether. “Dr. Richter—Vyn,” she whispered softly into his ear. “Vyn,” she repeated as she felt his lips flutter a trail of kisses down her neck.

A soft evening breeze blew around them, sending the surrounding flowers and vines into a dance in the orange glow of the evening sunset. Yet their beauty went unnoticed, as Rosa and Vyn were still too preoccupied with their all-too sweet reunion.

Vyn briefly pulled away for air. “Rosa, I am also deeply sorry,” he husked. “Things went too fast, and I am to blame. I said hurtful words. I…” He almost choked in his words. “...I could only think about you. Even in my dreams, all I ever see is you. And how filled with regret I am.”

His tears landed onto her cheek.

Rosa shook her head. “I drove you mad, in the worst way possible. I realize it now.” She gave him a crooked smile of her own, also edged with tears. Tenderly her fingers wiped away his tears, and she finally said those words that have not yet been uttered between them:

“I love you.”

===

“Vyn…there, yes…” The acoustics in Vyn’s shower made Rosa’s moans and whispers of his name reverberate and echo quite beautifully. 

Her wet body was pressed against the thick sturdy glass partition separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom; breasts flattened against the cold glass now quickly warming with her rising body heat. 

“You could have waited, my Rose,” Vyn murmured, his nose buried deep against her cunt as he sucked on her clit, hot shower water cascading over their bodies. “You will have to forgive me if making love here is not as comfortable as you would like.” There was an amused lilt to his voice, still easily picked out over the din of running water.

Vyn did not notice Rosa following him inside, when he entered his bathroom for a quick wash a few moments earlier. He only meant to clean himself of dirt, sweat, and grime that had accumulated from the day’s heavy gardening work before he made love to her properly, yet Rosa—ever impatient, with her impatience made even worse by her impulsive nature—wanted to jump him already in the shower. 

His tongue slid along the length of her slit at a languid, maddening pace, and Rosa could not help but grind her hips against his mouth. “God, I don’t care. I just want you now. More,” she whimpered above him. “Vyn, please.” 

“As my Lady wishes,” Vyn replied, and in went three fingers inside her hungry cunt, relieving her wet flesh of the acute emptiness that only he, and his worship of her, could fill.

The pads of his fingers pressed against her inner walls as they slid in and out of her, pulling such sweet sounds from his Rosa: small whispered words of love, lust, and utterances of his name came with each and every deep thrust.

“Vyn,” his Rosa moaned aloud, and he could feel her flutter around his fingers. Her body slid lower, knees almost giving out in the face of such immense pleasure. “God, I’m so stupid,” she suddenly said.

“Hm?” Vyn’s fingers kept on fucking her, his thrusting not missing a beat. “Why? What about?” His voice was now breathy and low; he knew how much she loved his voice, especially when he modulated it in such a way that it would feel like he was caressing her nape with his words. 

He also knew that the acoustics in the shower only amplified his voice’s effect on her. “What are you upset about? When…” He thrust his fingers inside even deeper, drawing out a loud, needful whimper from his love. “...I’m doing you like this?”

“I could have lost this,” she said, in between barely repressed cries. “This—aaah!”

Lewd, wet sounds from her pussy combined with Rosa’s singing; it did not take long before Vyn got swept away by the seductive, obscene symphony. “I need you now,” he whispered urgently, his body sliding against hers as he stood up, stiff cock nestling between her ass cheeks. “I need you,” he repeated as he rubbed the tip against her entrance; soft spoken words turned into a guttural groan as he plunged deep inside the object of his deepest, darkest obsession.

Rosa gasped loudly as his entire length drove inside her, her flesh yielding; gasps soon changed into begging as Vyn started to move, his hips bucking against her ass with force enough to slightly shake the glass partition’s metal frame every time he thrust inside. 

“Vyn…the glass,” she moaned out loud, seemingly alarmed that the glass partition’s frame was shaking with their fucking. 

“Tempered,” was the only thing Vyn said in response. 

Yet one of his arms wrapped around her, just underneath her breasts, pulling her fast against his body as he shifted her weight away from the glass to himself; his other arm lifted one of her thighs up to give his cock easy access to her cunt. He continued pummeling inside her as they stood in the middle of the shower stall, hot water still pouring hard all over them, and all Rosa could do was to reach upwards and cling to Vyn’s neck as he rutted into her with abandon.

Loud sounds of wet flesh hitting wet flesh punctuated his every movement, until Vyn’s hips bucked against Rosa’s behind one last time. With a loud groan he emptied himself inside her, his twitching cock flooding her with his hot come. 

Maddening. Euphoric. Blissful: these were the words that came into his mind as his vision blanked out. 

“Love,” Vyn’s voice shuddered as he slumped behind Rosa, cock still hard and swollen inside her, “Let me make it up to you.” 

He knew she had not come yet; he had ideas that he wanted to try out, which required a semblance of clarity that he could only achieve after satisfying his own urge to fuck Rosa and fill her with his seed.

He sat down a grumbling, incredibly impatient Rosa along the edge of the tub right next to the shower stall; once again he knelt down, this time between her spread thighs. “I will make this worth your wait,” Vyn whispered as he bent down to plant small kisses along her inner thigh, from her knee towards her pussy. 

His thumb traced small, concentric circles around her clit; the soft, quivering sighs escaping her lips telling him of the climax just within reach…

“Hahh—what are you…?” The rest of her words get caught in her throat once Vyn’s lips reach the nethermost part between her legs, his eager lips kissing her down there, and her suppressed words are quickly replaced with a yelp of surprise when his tongue dug into her hole.

Vyn started sucking out the very same come—a sublime mix of salty bitterness—he injected her with, thumb not letting up the rubbing on her clit that was about to go off.

“Vyn, what are you doi—” 

When Rosa looked down to see what Vyn was up to, her eyes were met with his misty gold looking up at her from behind his long, silver eyelashes, tipped with water droplets.

…as his tongue lapped up the remaining traces of his own sperm off her sex.

“Oh god.” The utterly shameless spectacle finally pushed her over the edge. The spasming of her inner walls helped him clean her inner flesh of his come, and as her tremors subsided Vyn slowly slid up against her, feeding her mouth with his white fluid; still warm off his tongue and mixed with his own saliva.

The sheer filthiness of the act turned Rosa on so much that she pushed Vyn off her, and had him lie down on the wet tiles of the bathroom floor. 

She licked the traces of his sperm and spit off her lips. “God, why are you so sexy?” she muttered as she straddled his hips, not caring if Vyn was still in his refractory period. “Damn it.”

Vyn laughed helplessly underneath her. “You are defeating the purpose of why I wanted to take a shower, pet,” he said as his hands slid up to her breasts. There was nothing stopping him from having a little bit of fun while he rested. “We will not be able to clean ourselves the more we keep this up…”

“Screw that, you didn’t need a shower anyway,” Rosa said as she bent down to take his tongue in her lips, still tasting of him. 

===

Rosa, her skin freshly towel-dried and hair still damp from the shower, stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a fluffy white towel wrapped around her.

“You know what we will be doing in a few moments, my love,” Vyn whispered from behind her, fingers parting her hair to reveal the back of her neck. Warm lips descended onto her cool skin; a sweet kiss planted on her nape. His hot breath—and the hardness that poked against her lower back—betrayed his excitement. “Why bother with modesty?”

Off the towel went.

Vyn gently nudged her towards the bed, but something caught Rosa’s eye: a full-length mirror in a nondescript yet sturdy varnished heavy wooden frame stood against a nearby wall, reflecting their naked bodies. 

Transfixed for the moment—Rosa rarely ever paraded naked in her own bedroom much less in front of her mirror—she walked towards it, taken in by a strange impulse to look at her own reflection. A naked woman of average build and height, certainly no one special, just average, looked back at her from the mirror.

“Is something the matter?” came Vyn’s question.

Rosa shook her head. “Mm. Nothing, really. I just don’t see myself in the nude all that often, you know?” She turned to her side. Her silhouette could need some work. “Ugh. I guess I need to renew that gym membership…”

“There are benefits to being physically active on a regular basis.” Vyn hugged her from behind, his hands loosely clasped over her belly. “But in your case, it would be only for health reasons.” 

He appreciated the image reflected back at them: Rosa enveloped in his arms, and him standing behind her, his gold eyes tinged with a little hunger. “You look perfect.”

Keeping their position in front of the mirror Vyn bent over slightly to plant a lingering kiss on the side of her neck.

Rosa watched Vyn slowly tongue the sensitive part of her neck through their reflections in the mirror; it felt like she was watching a softcore porn scene. 

The sight, coupled with the actual sensations that came with it, made her wet.

Suddenly Kiki’s words came unbidden: ‘If only you knew the things he told me about you.’

Vyn’s hands were kneading her breasts—no doubt deliberately done to produce a lewd, incredibly arousing image in the mirror—when Rosa finally decided to ask about it. 

“Kiki…said you told her things. Um.” All of a sudden she felt an uncharacteristic shyness that made it difficult for her to voice it out. “Stuff about me.”

Vyn smiled as his lips grazed her shoulder. “Oh, is it about the things I like about you?”

Rosa nodded silently.

“Well then.” Vyn straightened up, once again towering Rosa as he stood behind her. “Keep your eyes on the mirror, pet.”

Holding her breath, Rosa did as she was told; Vyn laughed a little as he felt her tense up. “Relax, my Rosa,” he breathed as his hands gently held her by the shoulders, his palms slowly sliding down her arms until his fingers could intertwine with hers. Then, he began:

“I like your bright eyes.” Vyn pressed a soft kiss onto one of her temples. “Especially when you smile. Smile for me, Rosa,” he said, his voice deliciously low and absolutely erotic.

His gold eyes meet hers in the mirror, and, smiling sensually he licked her cheek with the tip of his tongue.

Rosa let out a ragged gasp as she beheld his teasing.

With the same low voice that sent shivers down her spine Vyn continued: “I like your presence, and the way you effortlessly brighten up my day.” This time he behaved, just a bit, keeping his hands to himself as he placed a friendly kiss on the top of her head.

“I like your scent. It awakens a sort of hunger I never knew I possessed…” Vyn buried his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply, and with a soft moan he bit into that tender junction where her shoulder joined her neck.

Rosa watched him through the mirror, spellbound, as Vyn’s hands slid once again to her breasts, lightly running his palms against her nipples while he licked the bitemarks he left on her shoulder.

She now felt positively drenched between her legs. “Vyn…” she moaned as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Vyn…”

“I am not done yet,” he purred. He continued, “I like your child-like curiosity, and how your willingness to learn new things indulges me and my desire to share knowledge with you…” This time, he did not do anything except to ask, “Do you want to try out new things with me, Rosa?”

His tongue slithered into his ear, hot and wet and absolutely indecent. “Let me hear your voice. I also love hearing it,” he whispered directly into her ear, voice dripping with dark honey. 

Another lick in the shell of her ear.

“Hahh—Vyn,” Rosa moaned, eyes still obediently witnessing her lover’s tender assault. “I don’t know what to…hhngh…say?” Soft moans slipped through her lips as Vyn’s fingers teased her nipples to hardened peaks.

“Mmm. That is fine. Your voice turns me on,” Vyn murmured as he now gently pushed Rosa closer to the mirror. “Bend and grab onto the sides of the mirror, my love.” With gentle nudges he had her bent over, ass slightly raised to better receive him. Her hands clung to the thick, heavy wooden frame encasing the mirror. “Eyes on the mirror,” he reminded her.

Rosa could feel Vyn rubbing the tip of his cock against her wet slit. 

“And lastly,” he breathed, “I love you, desire you, obsess over you…”

In one thrust he bottomed out inside her.

“Aaaahh, Vyn!” Rosa cried out, not in pain—she was already wet enough for her hot inner flesh to easily yield to his strong thrust—but in how deliciously he filled her, how there’s nothing that could be any more perfect in that moment. 

And the face she saw in the mirror, well. 

It told her just how much she wanted him. And of how superbly depraved she was, for him.

“You fill me with ecstasy, in more ways than one,” Vyn whispered as he started pounding into her flesh. He then fell silent, except for his heavy breathing punctuated with moans, and soft grunts as he thrusted inside her, over and over, a succinct demonstration of how much he desired the woman he was making heavy love with at the moment. 

“I love you, Rosa,” His voice trembled as he professed his love in the most debased yet to the point manner possible. “I love you.”

Every deep thrust pressed Rosa harder against the mirror; it took all of her strength to brace herself from toppling over onto the floor. Yet she did not mind, and a smile played on her lips as she shouted Vyn’s name repeatedly out loud, to do her more, harder, yes…

Finally he shouts her name, and once again his hot seed spills inside her; this time they both collapse onto the floor of his room. Vyn effortlessly rolled underneath Rosa to protect her from the brunt of the fall. 

“I wish…I could have told you how I love you in a more…romantic setting,” Vyn murmured as he struggled to catch his breath, holding the woman he so loved and obsessed over close to him.

It was Rosa’s turn to laugh this time. “What are you talking about?” She curled up on top of him, not minding the fact that they were still not on his bed. “I love you, Vyn,” she murmured softly.

Vyn grinned as he tipped her chin with a fingertip, making her face him. “As friends?”

Rosa gave him a twisted grin, then leaned over for a deep kiss.

Both of them knew the answer to that, of course. No words needed to be said, this time around.

===

Kiki could only grin when she happened upon Rosa’s cubicle, still noticeably empty the next work day at four in the afternoon.

Oooh. I wonder who got some nice dicking from a psychiatrist last night. Teehee.

Humming, she marched back to her own cubicle in high spirits, happy to see that all was well in the world, one happily fucked woman at a time. 

A nondescript box tied with a teal and silver bow awaited her by her cubicle, sitting prettily beside her mechanical keyboard. “Oh? What’s this?”

She let out a loud gasp as she finally opened the box. Inside was a small personal-sized black forest cake, along with a pack containing printed photos of the idol group she was gushing over to Rosa about.

All photos were signed.

A note that came with it simply said, “Thank you for everything. I am glad that Rosa and I can count on you as our dearest friend  - VR”

Yes. Yes I approve of you, Kiki cried inwardly as she held the photos close to her little depraved heart.

[smp-live]

The apocalypse happened a few years ago. And- it's vague, the apocalypse. It's not some big earth-shattering moment. It's confused tv reports and impulse decisions and little growing bits of tension until the pot boils over.

The details are fuzzy; it all happened so quickly that many civilians were left unaware of what exactly went down. One day, they were living, and the next, most weren't.

Nukes, EMPs, solar flares - the survivors find it doesn't matter. One way or another, the world ended, millions died, and everything’s different. Hostile. Harsh. Unforgiving. The sun is bright and searing, and radiation burns skin not covered head-to-toe.

People are cruel and will take advantage of anything they can. If you're not a part of an already-existing group, good luck.

Somehow, two men end up on a wooden pallet floating in the middle of the ocean. Maybe it was a plane crash, one of the few still running downed by a stray shot; maybe a boat capsized, embrittled by the radiation. Same as the apocalypse, it doesn't matter. What does is that now they’re surrounded by debris and a shark thirsting for blood and there’s one thing they both know: trust no-one.

So they don’t. Names hold power, as they’ve learnt over the past few years; names imply trust. When it becomes apparent they’re stuck together and the time comes to introduce themselves, the elder of the two stares out to sea and says, “Call me...” And that phrase brings back memories of a book he’d read long ago, in the Before Days, and so he finishes, “Ishmael.”

The younger panics and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m Gunk.”

‘Ishmael’ raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly amused. “Gunk,” he repeats. And ‘Gunk’ nods, crosses his arms.

“Yeah, bitch. It’s...” his mind blanks, “Russian.”

Ishmael’s brow climbs further, and he looks on the verge of laughing, lips twisting ever-so-slightly upward. “Last name?”

“Uh,” Gunk wracks his brain, and something from a history class, years ago, stands out. Nearly forgotten amongst all the useless information - what he calls anything that doesn’t directly contribute to survival, nowadays - and only clinging on through his brain classifying it as ‘important’ for God-knows-why. “Gorbachov.”

“Like... Michael Gorbachov?” There’s a hint of laughter in Ishmael’s tone now, the first in a while. He tries not to let that thought depress him.

Gunk nods, relieved at the reminder of the rest of the name, even if he still can’t place it. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Michael Gorbachov, eighth and final leader of Soviet Russia, was your father,” Ishmael deadpans, and, frustrated at having been outplayed, Gunk scowls.

“What of it?” he challenges, which makes Ishmael laugh, throwing his head back to the blistering sun high above.

“Okay, Gunk,” he says, and yet it doesn’t feel patronizing.

They both know the other is lying, that much is obvious from the constant teasing and jokes about Gunk’s ‘father.’ But it doesn’t matter, because in the slow turning of the days, they grow close. After all, there’s not much to do on a makeshift raft in the middle of the ocean, other than chat.

Ishmael is handy, and the main reason for their survival. He knows how to purify water and fillet a fish, how to add on to their raft without nails and swim against the ocean current. Gunk wonders where he picked all that up, but never asks.

(A survivalist father and paranoid brother, whom Ishmael hasn’t seen in half a decade. The thought that they’re probably still alive brings him comfort.)

Gunk, on the other hand, does most of the grunt work. Fishing in debris that floats by, diving down for rocks when they briefly dock, and the ever-important duty of keeping the shark they named Clive from destroying their miserly raft. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter through it all, and Ishmael thinks that’s what makes the monumental effort to go on worth it. Then, he wonders when he let himself get attached.

(It was a week or so in, when Gunk had fashioned himself a shelf out of the bottom of a storage bin and some planks, and proclaimed it his ‘comfort shelf.’ Gunk felt the same when Ishmael didn’t tell him to dismantle it, only pushed it aside, even though they were supposed to use that wood to repair Clive’s last attack.)

They survive, they grow closer, they hesitantly trust, and yet, they don’t pry. They don’t share their real names. Not until one day.

Ishmael goes swimming out to a nearby island to scavenge for food and chop down a few trees, if he can manage. Gunk stays on the ship - an anchor is next on their to-do list, and so he’s responsible for keeping it from drifting off with his tiny paddle. Except it’s not well-crafted, and grey jaws reach up to snap at the wood he’s standing on so he uses it to stab Clive, and the tip breaks off. The raft starts drifting away.

“Ishmael!” he calls, then again, louder, “Ishmael! Fuck, man!” But he’s nowhere to be seen, and the current is dragging Gunk awfully far out from the island.

He keeps calling, shouting, screaming, increasingly panicked at leaving his friend, the man who’d helped him survive for months, now, behind. Until his voice grows hoarse the way it never did from rambling for hours on end, and a little speck appears on the beach of the island.

Ishmael waves widely at him, and he must be shouting but Gunk can’t hear it over the lapping of the waves. So he assumes what was said, hollers, “I can’t fuckin’ come back, arsehole!” and raises the remains of the paddle over his head to clarify.

The speck stills, then bursts into motion, tossing everything he’s holding aside and shucking his shoes. Gunk can practically hear him mutter about what an “ridiculous child” he is, because although they’ve never shared their ages Ishmael’s decided he’s the elder of the two, which obviously means Gunk is a child.

And then Ishmael dives into the water, and he’s closing the distance between himself and the raft with each stroke. He cuts a straight line through the waves, until he suddenly swerves to the left. Gunk is confused a moment, before he notices - a grey fin jutting out of the water next to him.

Clive goes in for another pass, then another, and Ishmael jukes him out both times. He’s maybe five meters away, now, but the shark is coming back so Gunk screams. But Ishmael’s head is underwater, and he doesn’t hear. Just keeps going, towards safety he won't make it to.

Clive barrels into him. Ishmael vanishes underwater.

He doesn’t come back up.

Gunk is diving in before he can properly think, pushing past the cold shock of the sea, as he uses his self-taught skills to bring him to where he guesses Ishmael last was. Then, he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and goes under.

After a nervewracking few moments, his elbow bumps into something and he latches on, desperately dragging it upwards. They break the surface and he gasps for breath, Ishmael limp against him.

The trip back is agonizing. Ishmael is deadweight, their clothes are waterlogged, and Gunk has never been the best swimmer. But Clive is still lurking, and he refuses to drown after all this time, so he manages to drag them both back to the raft through pure willpower and spite.

Gunk collapses next to where he’d heaved Ishmael onto the planks, taking a second to compose himself. Shivering violently, he curls into a ball - he'll have to go for a spare change of clothes. His eyes drift shut. In a moment.

Then, panic seizes his heart as he becomes aware of how still Ishmael is. He jerks up, staring at him, searching for any sign of life, anything-

But a moment later he relaxes, when Ishmael rolls over and starts heaving out saltwater. Gunk reaches over and pats him on the back until it subsides, and he falls back onto the wood.

“You,” Ishmael says, letting his eyes flutter shut, “are so stupid.”

Gunk feels a burst of indignation. “Hey, what the fuck! I just saved your dumbass, Ish-ma-el.” He scowls at Ishmael’s placid little twist of the lips.

“Wilbur,” he murmurs, hands folded over his chest.

“What?”

“My name is Wilbur.”

Oh.

“I’m Tommy,” he says after a moment of silence where it sinks in, what he’d just been told, the trust laid on him, and then lays down next to Ishmael - Wilbur, now.

Wilbur just hums and wraps an arm under his shoulders, tugging him close - which is new; they’re really going all-in with this trust thing, huh? - then says, “So, so stupid.”

“Oi,” Tommy protests, but leans in closer.

Things aren’t really visibly different, after that. They still bicker, still do the same daily tasks, still slip up and call each other ‘Ishmael’ and ‘Gunk’ - though it becomes less and less common, other than with a teasing tone. They finally get their anchor, which means Tommy has the chance to go on land; though he quickly grows to dislike it after an incident with a particularly pissed-off boar.

To an outsider, everything remains the same. But to the inhabitants of the raft, it feels different. More homely. Warmer.

Once, after Wilbur chides Tommy over something or another, Tommy rolls his eyes and says, “You know, we really are like brothers.” He tries to keep his tone joking, and to not let himself hope for the words to be true.

Wilbur freezes. “Don’t say that; I’ll cry.” He blinks once to keep the tears at bay, and tries to push down the warmth in his chest.

(They both fail.)

About four months in, a light appears in the distance, at night. They angle their sail towards it and the dark shadow on the horizon. A few days later, it becomes apparent what it is: a lighthouse.

Inhabited land. Civilization.

They gather their meagre supplies once they dock, then ditch the raft in favour of climbing the lighthouse. And, from the top, off over a hill, Wilbur spots it first, points it out to his brother, who squints-

A Dome.

[saintshigaraki]

HERE, IN THE MORNING LIGHT, IS WHERE WE’LL BARE OUR SOULS

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader 

words: 3.2k

excerpt: Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him -- on a silver fucking platter no less. 

a/n: this is...a bit too similar to my bakugou drabble i’ll admit. but i could see a relationship with ushijima having some of the same problems. he’s not purposely cruel, but god, doesn’t that just make it so much worse?

tags: angst, mentions of alcohol, implied sex, reader is full of rage, ambiguous/open ending

in case you want to read it on ao3!

You greet Toshi at the door, as you’ve made a habit of doing when he manages to come home before you’ve fallen asleep.

(Like a well-trained dog, you think, with only the most bitter sort of amusement.) 

When you lift your hand up to cup his face, a sweet hello, love, how was your day? on your lips, he sweeps it aside (gently, of course. He's always so sickeningly gentle when he brushes you aside. You think that might just make the hollow sting of his nonchalant rejection that much worse.)

“Have you made anything for dinner?” he asks, already walking away before you have a chance to pull him down for a kiss. Your arm falls unceremoniously at your side. A deadweight, swinging. 

I think I might hate you, you want to say, so,  so badly. The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue as you stand frozen in the darkened entryway, his shadow stretches, eclipsing you, as he walks further and further away.

But these moments of sweet burning-hot rage pass as quickly as they come and soon -- too soon, maybe, or not soon enough -- you find yourself turning on your heels and shining a too-bright smile, the one that shows too many teeth and leaves an ache in your cheeks. 

“Not yet, love, but I can whip up something real quick.” 

The words taste like lead in your mouth.

(Or maybe that's just the blood from biting your tongue.)

Who knows, you muse, bitterly, bitingly. What does it matter anyway? 

You make your way towards the kitchen.

+

Later that night, after he’s finished fucking you into the mattress, he grunts out an I love you, before rolling over and promptly falling asleep. 

His cum is sticky and uncomfortable as it cools on your burning thighs. 

You stare at the lights sweeping across the ceiling from the passing cars and try to remember days when you didn’t feel as though someone had hollowed out everything that made you and filled in the empty space with barely contained rage. 

Rationally, you know you weren’t always so unhappy with Ushijima. You loved him -- you still do -- you have for years. You could barely contain your tears of joy when he asked you to marry him and you didn’t manage to contain them at all the day you officially tied the knot. 

You were so happy then. So, so, happy. 

What happened? 

(You know exactly what happened.)

You’ve made sacrifice after sacrifice for him. Moved from country to country. Left your family and friends behind more times than you can count. Because you love Toshi. Because you love him more than anything. And because he loves you, though you know he doesn’t love you more than anything. It’s a selfish gripe to have. A rather dumb one too. Of course he doesn’t love you more than volleyball. Why should he? He’s dedicated his whole life to the sport. Countless hours, countless injuries, and setbacks, and he’s persevered through it all because that's what he does. Because that sport, that court, that stupid fucking ball, is what he loves above all else. 

It’s not as if you jumped into this marriage wholly and totally blind. You’re not dumb. You knew volleyball was going to be a priority in his life,  the priority. And you thought you could handle that. You did handle it. For 5 years you’ve handled it, the constant moving, the last minute canceled plans, the weeks of him traveling that have left you all alone for near months at a time in a cold home with a cold bed. You’ve handled it all with a too-wide smile plastered painfully across your face. 

But things have -- shifted, recently. Maybe it’s the pressure of what could very well be his last Olympics coming up in these next few years, maybe it’s the fear of someone younger, better, stronger than him taking his place, or maybe, he simply doesn’t give all that much of a  fuck about you anymore. 

(You know that’s not true. Wakatoshi loves you. You know that. Which is what makes this all so much worse.)

I love you, isn’t that enough? he’d said bluntly, and maybe a bit confused, last time you brought up your concerns after the third canceled date in a row. 

His words had made you pause. Was it enough? Why isn’t it enough? Shouldn’t it be enough?

At the time, you’d thought, maybe. Maybe I can make it enough. 

A year later and you’ve come to the realization that it simply -- isn’t enough. Maybe if you were a different person, a slightly better person, it’d be enough. But you’re not. You’re you, a strange, toxic concoction of hollow fury and selfish desires (for comfort, for love, for anything more than whatever this is).

You roll over on your side to face your husband. He’s on his back, like he always is when he sleeps, completely dead to the world. 

He’s statuesque, unmovable, untouchable, even now. 

You gently brush your finger over his brow, sweeping his hair to the side, and tracing his strong jawline. You’ve done this a thousand times. You’ve memorized every curve, every freckle, every scar. You’ve mapped countless constellations across his skin. 

You don’t hate him, you realize, in the dark suffocating silence of the night. Not yet, at least. There’s still too much love for him in your heart. Still too many memories of brighter days. Sweeter days. Gentler days. 

He’s been good to you. As good as a man like him is capable of being. And you love him so, so dearly for it. 

He has tomorrow off, maybe -- maybe you should talk to him. There’s still time to salvage this. There’s still so much love for him in your heart, enough to drive out the hate. You know it. 

He has tomorrow off, you repeat to yourself. The first full day he’s taken off in a month. 

You’ll talk to him then. 

You have to. 

+

The morning light is what wakes you. The gentle rays kiss your cheeks so sweetly. 

Without fully opening your eyes, you reach towards Ushi only to be met with -- cool sheets. 

Your stomach drops painfully and it's as though he’s taken your heart in his hands and just squeezed. 

You open your eyes, wearily, tiredly, and the morning light no longer seems so sweet. It’s mocking. A cruel, bitter reminder of better days and broken promises. 

You crawl out of bed, trying to stay optimistic -- maybe he just went for a morning jog -- even though you know that on days he has off he likes to sleep in. You try desperately to give him the benefit of the doubt, because he promised and you want so badly to still be able to believe him, even after everything. 

He used to have every Saturday and Sunday free, then around three years ago it turned into every Sunday, then a year and a half ago it turned into every other Sunday, and recently -- well, it’s been a while. A long, long while. 

But he promised he’d stay home today. 

He promised, you repeat as you stumble around the apartment only to find it painfully silent, empty, and so, so cold. 

You collapse on the couch, hunched over, your head hanging pitifully into your hands. You take a deep, pathetically shaky breath. 

And then you laugh. 

You laugh so hard you nearly heave. 

Two years ago, you would’ve cried. A year ago, you would’ve screamed. 

But now? Who do you really have to blame, but yourself? How can you not laugh? How can you not laugh at just how stupid and gullible you are? 

Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him -- on a silver fucking platter no less. 

This is your fault. And it has been for a long while now. 

It’s time to move on. 

+

You book a one-way flight home -- you haven’t been back in so long. Too long, you know. You stuff as much as you can into your single suitcase and pitiful carry-on bag. It’s all strangely methodical and robotic. You’re calmer than you’ve been in months. 

This is how it was always going to end. Honestly, you don’t think there was really supposed to be another option, any other way out. You don’t think this mess was ever going to be fixed. It was stupid of you to ever believe otherwise. 

By the time you’ve managed to compose yourself, get your affairs in order, and meticulously pack away as much as you can, the sun has started to dip below the horizon. 

The clock reads 9:18 PM. Your flight is in a few hours. You’ll have to get going soon. 

You pick out the nicest, most expensive bottle of red wine in your home. You were going to save it for when Ushi made the national team again but, as you’ve learned rather painfully, sometimes plans change. 

You pour yourself a glass, but in the end, can’t bring yourself to take a single sip. 

That’s how Ushi finds you, sitting at the kitchen table, toying with a glass of wine. There’s only the lone kitchen light lit in the apartment. The shadows dance around him, dark and monstrous, ready to swallow you both whole. 

Wakatoshi has never been particularly skilled at reading social cues but you can tell from the slight tilt of his head that he knows somethings wrong. You wonder if he knows exactly how wrong. 

(Not that it would really change anything if he did.)

The thud of his gym bag hitting the floor echoes too loudly in the silent apartment. 

He steps into the kitchen like he does all other things -- with purpose, with confidence. It will never not leave you in awe, even now, how sure he always is of himself. He’s a blunt force weapon, he always has been, and you can’t imagine a time where he’ll be anything but. 

He stops at the opposite end of the table. It’s the beginning of the same song and dance you two have done time and time again when he breaks his little promises. 

His big ones too. 

(You think of when he had missed your five-year anniversary dinner for a last-minute practice. He hadn’t forgotten about the reservation, he’d told you after he’d returned home to you sitting alone at the kitchen table, half-drunk and livid, but people were relying on him, is what he’d said, and there’s always next year.)

This routine is comforting, if only in the cruelest way. 

We can put on a show, just this last time, you think. For old time’s sake. 

Your eyes fall back down to your glass as you speak. “You said you’d stay home today.”

You look back up just in time to see him opening his mouth. No doubt getting ready to cycle through the same set of excuses he’s been using for the past four years. 

A teammate called. 

I needed the extra practice. 

There’s a skill I need to perfect. 

The Olympics are 4 years away...3 years away...2 years away....you know that, love.

And, of course, no matter his reason, his excuse, he always makes sure to add, I’ll stay home next Sunday, I promise. 

He doesn’t intend for that last part to be cruel, you’re sure of it, but God, if that doesn’t make it so much worse. 

You cut him off before he can even start. “You promised.”

His brows furrow at your exhausted, weary tone. “There was a team meeting today, I’m sorry I forgot to mention it to you. It went on longer than I expected it would. We can still go out to dinner if you’d like.” 

You give him a sad sort of smile. You’re too tired to give him any other. “I don’t think I’ll have time for that, love.”

Ushijima’s left brow twitches, as it always does when he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on. 

He takes a step forward, around the table. “What do you mean? Are you going out tonight?” 

You shake your head softly. “No, Toshi.”

You can’t help but wish more than anything, that it didn’t have to come to this, because you have loved him so much, so deeply, and you think that for it to end like this is a disservice to you both. 

His jaw clenches, no doubt already trying to contain his frustration. He’s probably tired after his long day. An argument over something like this is probably the last thing he wants. A good wife would care more. A good wife might’ve persevered, smiled through her husband's little lies and shattered promises. A good wife might’ve tried harder. A good wife might’ve dug her heels in, instead of letting go completely. 

But you’re not a good wife. Not now, at least. For all you know, you never were. You’ve always been just a bit too bitter, too selfish, too flawed. Not willing enough to throw yourself on the metaphorical altar for him. 

He’s close enough now that he can see the suitcase at your side. It stops him dead in his tracks. 

“What’s going on?” His tone is hard, demanding, but you know him too well to miss the fear that pulls at the corner of his eyes. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a lot of things. But he’s certainly not dumb. He has to know what’s going on. He has to have known that, eventually, this was what was going to happen. 

You stand up slowly, bracing your palms against the rough wood of the tabletop. 

“I-” you let out a harsh, mean breath. You hate that you’re doing this. But you’d hate yourself more if you didn’t. And you know you’d grow to hate him too, eventually, if you stay. You’re burning up here in this home, each broken promise and cold night add fuel to the already raging fire. You’ll be nothing but ashes soon enough. “I can’t do this anymore, Wakatoshi.” 

His pretty olive eyes narrow. The look he gives you is practically glacial. His fury has always been so, so cold. A stark contrast to your burning rage. 

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t understand.” His words are slow, methodical, and too even.

They crack open something violent inside your chest, something with teeth. Something mean and ugly and so, so sad. 

Too many years of biting your tongue have culminated into this moment. It’s time to strip yourself to the bone, to the ugly marrow. No matter how painful or awful. 

Don’t you two deserve that, at least? Don’t you two deserve to part ways having seen the worst of each other? 

“Of course you don’t understand, Ushijima,” you spit out, caustic and cruel. “How can you?” The laugh you let out is ripped from the very bottom of your heart, mean and poisonous. “Or more accurately, why would you? Why would you even bother understanding? It’s not like my unhappiness has ever really meant anything to you before-”

He cuts in sharply. “You know that’s not true.”

“No,”  you hiss. “I don’t. How can I? I’ve been miserable for years now, left to beg for scraps of your attention like a fucking dog. I’ve reduced myself to this pathetic creature. I-” tears cloud your vision, far faster than you can blink them away. “I don’t even recognize myself anymore, Ushijima. I’m so--I’m so angry all the time and if I stay here that’s going to be all that’s left of me.”

It’s silent after your outburst and in the air is something awful and too great. You’re both teetering on the edge of something terrifying. 

“If you stay with me, you mean,” he says, finally, and far too soft for a man like him. All signs of his previous fury have fled and in his eyes is a painful sort of vulnerability.

Your anger dissipates with his, mostly because you’re so fucking tired of being angry. 

Is it really his fault, anyway? What exactly were you expecting of him, when you took his last name? Were you really wanting him to change something so fundamental, so ingrained in his soul, just for you? How unfair of you, you realize now, how cruel. 

“Toshi.” You’re exhausted. And so sick of being second best. “This is more my fault than it is yours. I thought I could handle what being married to you would entail but I was,” -- you laugh, far less biting than before-- “very wrong.” You close your eyes, unable to look at him. “And now I suppose we’re both paying the price for it.” 

“I love you,” he says, bluntly. “And you love me.”

You’re finally able to meet his eyes again. You take in the planes of his face, the subtle pain etched into every corner, a brutal, beautiful reflection of the years you’ve spent by his side. 

“I do love you, Ushijima. More than anything.” 

“Then why are you doing this?” 

You swallow hard. “Sometimes, that just isn’t enough, Toshi. Relationships require more than love. They require work, and compromise, and some semblance of care and dedication, and you just-- you just don’t have the time for that right now, and I understand that. But I can’t keep doing this to myself. I deserve-” you stop and give yourself a moment to choose your words carefully, lovingly because you’re desperate for him to just understand. “We deserve better, don’t you think?”

He shakes his head, his hair falls in his eyes. You sweep it aside, a force of habit after all these years, something you’ve done a million and one times. Before you can jerk your arm back he grips it in his large hand. His fingers wrap around your wrist, unyielding. 

“I need you,” Toshi says, uncharacteristically desperate. You can feel the heat radiating off his chest. It's a twisted sort of comfort. Knowing this may very well be the last time you’ll be in this position. 

You smile, sweetly and a bit sadly. “No, you don’t, Ushi. You need volleyball. You need the thrill of the game and the taste of victory but you don’t need me. You’ve never needed me. And that’s okay.” You lift your other hand up to brush the stray tear that’s fallen from his eye. He nuzzles into your palm before you can move it, clinging to you like some sort of lifeline. “It’ll be okay, Toshi, we’ve just reached the end of our road. That’s all.”

He raises a shaky hand to trace the dried tracks of tears on your cheek, it’s startling to see him so uncomposed. “Please,” he nearly begs, “don’t do this.”

In your heart, there’s an odd brew of grief and rage and pain and love so mean you know you’ll feel the ache of it for years to come. 

You think of all the shattered promises he’s left at your feet, you think of the gentle way he’s held you through the years, you think of his string of nonchalant rejection, you think of yourself, bright and burning. 

Your mind spins from it and all you can do is rest your head against his chest and close your eyes.

a/n pt 2: there is some untapped potential in the fed up housewife genre and i am determined to unearth it. also i love ushi i promise i think he’d be a great husband under most circumstances

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[kthynes]

baby me

pairing: chris evans x female reader

request: Can you pls write something about Chris sick with some kind of stomach bug and fever and doesn’t want the reader to help him because he’s embarrassed but then he throw up and almost faint so the reader comes to the rescue and help him, and then cuddles? Thank you!!❤️ - anon

warnings: none, this is pretty pg

a/n: I wrote this one shot a little differently, it’s way less wordy and descriptive (imo). I’m trying to be more ‘to the point’ with my writing ahh we shall see how it goes. Otherwise please enjoy this little gem, thanks for the request, anon!

“What do you mean you can’t have it done? Oh, c’mon Tony that’s not what I— Alright okay, you know what, sure, whatever, do that then.”

You’re annoyed. You’re frustrated. You rummage through your oversized purse for the house keys that Chris has graciously lent you yet you somehow manage to misplace in the silk sheath of lining, receipts and a whole slew of miscellany.

Your one track life becomes an undisputed conundrum of work which never fails to follow you home even on a somewhat good day. Tony, the wrought-up site manager, says something the minute you tune out which allows to spiral right back in. Sometimes you bark. And sometimes you bite.

“Right but the unit division budget doesn’t have anything going forward in respect to that notion! You know this!” You boisterously tell your colleague after jiggling the door open and tossing the keys on top of the nearby console. The house is quiet, and your voice is the loudest carrying tremor that pulls Chris out of his lulling state. “No, no you are not fucking negotiating with Kingsley alright. That isn’t apart of the deal, Tone! Jesus.”

Your call consumes you just until you see your deadbeat partner sprawled up on the couch, sallow and sick. His dry lips are agape, breathing is staggered, little to no life is present in his form. His beautiful mutt looks to you from his side, tail slightly wagging and that is enough to have your heart torn out.

“Hey, hey Tony, can I call you back later? O-Oh sure, okay yeah that’s fine. Okay, alright buh-bye.” You frantically end the call, furrowing your brows as you take long, leaping strides towards Chris who is finally relieved to see you in all of your concerned beauty.

“Everything okay baby?” He croaks like a dying horse, eyes closing as his stomach lurches some more.

“You’re asking me? Goodness Chris, you look terrible.” You cradle the side of his balmy face while crouched in front of him. You are frightened with worry as he kisses the inside of your palm in return. The sweet action itself makes you wince as you scan his sunken and unpropitious features.

Chris is at his worst. You knew he was feeling a bit under the weather but didn't think once that it'd be this bad. He's severely impaled, sweating up a storm yet swathed in his favorite velour duvet. The TV is fuzzily broadcasting C-Span while Chris’s laptop is flipped open with a flood of emails that he wasn’t able to get around to. There’s a half eaten loaf bread and an open sleeve of crackers that doesn’t pass his appetite. While looking around, you casually pet Dodger with one free hand who also seems to be happy to see his momma around and readily waiting for you to do something.

“I don’t know what it is that I had last night at the launch party but it’s rocking my insides honey.” Chris groans after feeling another ripple go through his abdominal cavity.

“Aw baby you should’ve called me. I would’ve picked up some Pedialyte and left work early.” You reach over to turn off the TV and close the laptop.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

"Too late for that, hon." You fearfully laugh while getting back to him and running a hand through the top of his head down to the nape of his neck. "Now c'mon lets get you in bed first and then I can make you some light dinner."

"I'm fine." Chris hums, loving the way your hands felt against the shaft of his scalp. "You just came home from work, you're probably really tired — go shower and get changed. I'm good right here."

"Don't be stupid, Evans. I can do all that later, now up." After some reluctant attempts you manage to get Chris up who for the most part can stand on his own two feet. Dodger barks his cautionary welcome as you and Chris trudge across the threshold of the single storey home together. You both enter his unmade room and that’s when Chris freezes in mid-stride. He has an uneasy feeling wash over him and everything becomes a jolting sprint of madness.

"Oh no babe I think I might—“ Upchuck. Chunks of indistinguishable remnants of undigested food and bile all came down on your frame as you stood in the line of fire. It’s fleeting and there wasn’t much you could do as you wore his vomit, letting it weigh down the front of your seersucker blouse and skirt.

"Fuuuuck." He panics and you exhale shakily with your arms spread apart, studying the wet projectile painting that amasses your body.

"It's fine. It’s okay." You say while trying to remain sympathetic and undeterred by throwing up yourself because the smell was impalpable. You imprudently gag while guiding Chris back to the bed. "How about you lie down and I’ll just —Chris? Chris!"

Chris's eyes gradually roll back, his body swings forward the minute he sits on the edge of the mattress and with your fast reflexes you manage to catch him against you. He's practically deadweight, passed out and that scares you.

"Oh god Chris babe? Baby, hey, hey..." You shake him a little as his face is caught in the crook of your neck, body rigidly leaned up against yours. He moans a little, regaining consciousness in a matter of seconds and calming your increased heart-rate that still continues to thunder. He was truly going through the motions.

"You alright?" You breathe, placing a hand on his cheek and forcing him to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. I'm so sorry, baby I...I..." He's a bit frazzled as you hush, pacify and hold him close to your form. He breathes you in as you strip off your soiled blouse and skirt. He’s hunched over when you start to peel off the black tee he has on that is smeared with vomit as well, leaving him bare chested in your embrace. You are crouching in front of him, his forehead against you shoulder while your hands were rubbing his back and soothing him. You could hear the low indigestible rumbles coming from his belly knowing how bad he’s been having it on both ends. “Oh I feel terrible Y/N.”

“I know. How about you get in the shower with me." You whisper in a non-sexual way as his body is burning up and the sour smell of regurgitation still lingered around your bodies. He softly nods and with some consuming seconds later, you walk him into the ensuite.

After you both wash up in the shower, you pass Chris some fresh clothes to change into while you travelled across the room in nothing but a towel for the past 10 minutes or so, making sure Chris was able to get himself sorted out first before you stepped away to get changed.

With dinner on your mind, you start thinking to yourself how you can't leave Chris alone in this state. You have an idea and that’s when you text Scott to bring up some dinner so that way you could spend some time holding Chris and making sure that he was okay.

Scott at 7:45 pm:

'On it baby cakes. Ma knows, she's making his favorite chicken noodle with lots of cayenne, ginger and all the good stuff. So you just stay put alright?’

You smile after reading the immediate response from Chris’s sweet brother. While you continue lathering yourself up in lotion you could hear Chris dozing off on the bed. You turn off the bathroom lights and leave to start up a load of laundry before sneaking back into bed with him. Chris stirs a bit before he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer.

“I promise I won’t throw up on you again.”

“Only if you don’t have to.” You whisper jokingly while pressing your lips against the underside of his chin. He hums at this with his eyes closed, his hands graze your exposed skin as he’s trying to hold you as inhumanely close to him as possible. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Scott’s going to be dropping off food so don’t go to sleep yet.” You state, drifting in apprehensive thought. Soon Dodger whimpers into the room and you pat the spot next to you for him to jump on. Chris has always been weary of having Dodger on the bed but because of extenuating circumstances you felt like his presence was also needed as well.

“That’s fine. Thanks again for everything.” He shuffles over after he sees Dodger crawling up and wedging himself in between the both of you. “Mmm hi bubba.”

“Anything for you mio amore.” You say, rubbing his soft belly and soothing the ache to the best of your ability.

“You know, you’re going to be an amazing mother some day Y/N.” Chris muses.

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Chris rebuts, drawing in a deep breath with his eyes closed. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You say in return, spending the rest of the evening in his wake before the entire Evans clan shows up at the front door, each worried silly about their pride and joy, leaving Chris to be theirs and having you watch from afar while they enforced their own tender love and care.

[caesurah-tblr]

so, the scrapyard scene with dylan and kaitlyn

imagine it's dylan and ryan

+ imagine the wolf attacks dylan at the crane and while he is able to fend it off, he isn't left without injury

severe injury

naturally, ryan goes to him

bestie, do you see where i'm going with this

long story short, dylan dies in ryan's arms

✨radioheads angst✨

Ohh I definitely see where you’re going with this. Get ready to cry.

“Ry-Ryan-“

There’s blood everywhere. It’s hard to tell what’s Dylan’s and what belonged to the werewolf. Ryan wants to vomit.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’ll get you back to the lodge. Kaitlyn can get you all patched up.” He hopes his voice stays steady. The look at Dylan’s face tells him he was unsuccessful.

Ryan tries to grab him but his hands are immediately slick with blood. Dylan’s body is a deadweight in his arms as he finally manages to get enough of a hold to pull him out of the seat of the crane.

He drags Dylan’s body down the steps as gently as possible, careful of his wound. Out here, in the light, he can finally see the full thing- there’s splintered bone and organs that should’ve never seen the light of day. It’s so much more gruesome than removing a hand- and he’d fucking know.

“Is bad, huh?” Dylan looks up at him, eyes unfocused. There’s blood running from his mouth. His body twitches like it’s trying to free itself from his grasp.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Ryan says again. Dylan groans in response, the sound much wetter than it should be. It sounds like his mouth is full of blood.

He lays Dylan’s body on the wet ground and sets his head in his lap. Ryan knows Dylan wont make it back to the lodge before he bleeds out. Kaitlyn isn’t even there to even try to patch him up.

“I’m sorry. I had the gun. I should’ve- I should’ve shot it. I shouldn’t have hesitated.” Ryan whispers. Dylan gives him a goofy grin.

“Gonna be okay.” He’s slurring his words. His head rolls to the side suddenly, chest jumping as he heaves for breath.

“Dylan?! Dylan please, not yet!” Ryan gives his body a gentle shake. He’s not ready to say goodbye- not now, not ever- and definitely not without telling him how he feels.

“Number?” Dylan says, and it takes Ryan a moment to realize he’s asking him for his fucking number. Because why wouldn’t he? Stupid Dylan and his stupid fucking grin. Ryan let’s out a sob as he leans down, touching their foreheads together.

“You can have my number, yeah. Then I’ll take you on all the dates you want.” Dylan’s grin spreads across his face even as his eyes begin to dim.

“Sounds nice. Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Like you. A lot.”

Ryan can’t help but let out another sob, clutching the shaking body of his would-be boyfriend closer. Would-be because he’s never going to get the chance. He’s never going to get to meet Dylan Dylan. He’s never going to get to meet Dylan’s mom or play with his cat. They’re never going to move into an apartment together and do stupid shit like dance in the kitchen at 2 am because they couldn’t sleep. Ryan will never see him laugh or smile or hear him make stupid fucking jokes ever again. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

“I like you too.” Ryan replies through tears. They drip onto Dylan’s face, cutting lines through the blood and dirt.

“M’ sorry.” Dylan murmurs. “Made you cry.”

Ryan cups his cheek, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles along the cooling skin. He musters up a gentle grin. “It’s not your fault. You kept me safe.”

Dylan’s eyes flutter as his chests heaves. Blood splatters across Ryan’s faces as he coughs.

“An’thin for you.”

Ryan kisses him. He doesn’t care if they’re both covered in blood and dirt and gods-know-what. Dylan deserves this. He remembers their kiss at the firepit. He remembers Dylan’s goofy grin afterwards, and how he’d almost skipped to his seat. He’d never see that again. Ryan would never see him happy again.

Dylan’s gone when he leans back. His eyes are still open, lips upturned in a light smile. Ryan would trade places with him if he were given the chance.

“Fuck!” He screams, uncaring about anything but the limp body in his arms. “Fuck it! Fuck everything! Fucking these stupid fucking werewolves!”

Ryan gathers Dylan’s lifeless body in his arms, cradling him to his chest. This isn’t fair. It should’ve been him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you won’t ever get to see your mom or your cat or that you’ll never get to go to college. I’m sorry I’ll never be able to tell you that I love you.”

Rain begins to pour down on them, but Ryan can’t find it in himself to move. So he sits, letting the rain wash away the blood.

[fuck-customers]

2-9-22 👹

This is a fuck one coworker in particular

there are 7 of us at my store though technically it might as well be 6 cuz while we have 2 associates (one of them being me, the other being the cunt that this is about) I am the only one of the two of us who actually fucking shows up and/or does their job. I’m going to give a rundown of the problems that this associate has been causing and will refer to her as S.

S has been working here much longer than half of our crew however most people know that seniority does not equal superiority. S regularly argues with our assistant managers AND our keyholders when they ask her to do something (she hasn’t quite grown the spine to argue with our manager yet) and will argue that she isn’t done folding shirts so she can’t do this other thing, and when she gets mad at one of them she goes into the back for anywhere from 20 min to an HOUR to fucking sulk/cry about it. The only job she’s really given to do is fold shirts anyway because she constantly fucks up our registers and how the rest of the store is set up. We don’t like her being near us while we’re trying to hang and tag clothes because she seems to think she fucking knows it all and will try to tell us what to do even though we know damn well what to do or have already gotten new info from our manager or regional/district on how to do something or what to change out.

There was also a period of time in which her car didn’t work and because she wastes her entire paycheck somehow on excessive fast food regularly (as well as dropping $100+ on a vape pack that doesn’t even have nicotine) and god knows what else, she couldn’t pay to fix her car or get Ubers to work so one of our assistant managers had to regularly pick her up and drive her to work (an extra 30-50 minutes to a normally 15 minute drive) and almost NEVER got gas money from S, which caused that assistant manager to fall behind on two bills and constantly be late because S was never ready on time. S also sold her fucking car so has to exclusively rely on Ubers (assistant manager cut her off from free rides) that she can’t even always pay for.

As of lately, S has just straight up left her shifts early or hasn’t shown up. Because of her, we are basically down to 6 employees (although technically 5 since one of our key holders has a medical condition that prevents her from being able to work as much as the rest of us, absolutely not blaming her for anything of course, she still does her job and shows up when she can), and since there’s so few of us, we really can’t call on anyone to cover a shift if need be or for help on a particularly busy day. S is essentially deadweight in our store and since they haven’t fired her yet, she still gets put on the schedule but we’re basically having to plan around whether she’ll fucking show or not.

She’s also just…..gross. She has fucking crop dusted some of us a couple times, mentioned her DDLG kink multiple times with absolutely ZERO prompting from anyone, and constantly brings up something about a Harry Potter erotica fic?????????? She’s just fucking weird alongside being a shitty and useless worker and I wish they’d fucking drop her already

[blueroseblaze]

Who’s The Deadweight Now?

Word count: 2342

WARNINGS: NSFW

Image credit: @drusoona​

The apartment was dark and quiet, despairingly dark, and quiet. The only sign of inhabitance was the dirty boots strewn about the entry way, and Red Queen, still coated in dried grimy blood, propped uncaringly against the wall. You sighed in relief, looking into the darkened living room; eyes fixed on the sliver of warm light shining through the crack in your closed bedroom door.

You sighed, placing your own gear and weapons haphazardly to the side, before slumping through the dark space. You reached the bedroom door, hesitating, nervously rubbing the back of your neck and taking a deep breath before opening the door. The door creaked as you pressed on the wood, it wasn’t even closed all the way.

You poked your head through, looking around until your gaze landed on the bed, more specifically the figure resting amongst the covers. His back was to you, bare as you watched the lean muscles ripple underneath his skin as he breathed, but other than that he was still. The warm lamp light from his nightstand coated his back in harsh shadows, highlighting the curves and valleys of his body not obscured by the sheets. He made no move to turn to you as the hinges of the door cried out when you fit your body through the rest of the way. Nor did he acknowledge you when you clicked the door shut. You didn’t deserve an acknowledgment anyway.

You didn’t say anything as you walked past the bed towards the connected bathroom. You deliberately left the door open as you started the shower and began stripping your clothes. You stole a couple of glances back at the bed, still nothing.

You wanted to call out to him and apologize for what happened, but you held your tongue. It was a rough argument, almost a full blown fight. Nasty words, and passive aggressive comments were flung back and forth, culminating in you calling him the last thing he would expect you to call him. A deadweight. That was the last straw, and you two separated for the remained of your mission, only spitting an aggressive, “see you at home,” followed by terse “fine,” before parting ways.

You could barely focus the rest of the night. The overwhelming guilt of your words weighed heavily on you, sure, but you couldn’t shake the ever present fear that overtook you when you realized that if anything happened to Nero tonight, your last words to each other would have been nothing but venom. You eyes watered as you dried yourself off, remembering how easily the words left you despite never once meaning them.

You took a few shaky breaths, looking to the bed again when you heard movement, only to see Nero, in the same position, facing away from you. You quickly through on whatever t-shirt was sitting on top of the laundry hamper and exited the bathroom, turning off the light so the only illumination came from the lamp on his side of the bed.

You carefully raised the covers, sliding underneath them and laying yourself against the pillows. You watched him for a few moments, tracing over his back with your eyes and his shoulders continued to rise and fall. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him even from this far away on the bed.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face between his shoulder blades. Your heart dropped when he flinched at your touch. Tears streamed down your face and onto his back and the sheets as you quietly sobbed against him.

“Nero,” you choked quietly, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me. I-I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said with zero hesitation, “I could never hate you.”

“But I-.”

You tired to continue but were silenced as Nero turned to face you, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him

“I was being an asshole,” he said, “It’s not all on you. We both said things that we regret. And I’m sorry.”

“I know but, I know I really hurt you,” you breathed out, “Please let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me. It hurt, yeah but it doesn’t hurt as bad as the idea of not being with you, and I’m not going to let a stupid little fight come between us like that.”

You smiled at him and pulled yourself up to press your lips against his, he reciprocated without a second thought, one arm wrapping around your middle and a hand coming up to run through your hair and pull you in to deepen the kiss. Your lips parted and you moaned as his tongue ran across your bottom lip before fully entering your mouth. His taste sent sparks through your veins, and the heat from his bare skin made you melt.

“I love you so much,” he whispered to you before kissing you again and again and again.

Without breaking the kiss Nero ran his hand down your side, savoring your curves, slowing for just a moment on your ass and then running down to your thigh. He brought his hand under the crook of your knee and lifted it to hook our leg around his waist. You felt the heat pooling in your core as Nero began grinding against you. The hard bulge in his boxers rubbing against your bare flesh.

He pulled away from you, smiling devilishly as he tugged ever so slightly on your hair. You moved your head back and gasped, leaving your neck open for Nero to attack. He hummed as he covered your neck in kisses and would be hickeys, lightly sucking on your pulse as it continued to race.

You moved one of your own hands down his body. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and setting his hard cock free. He hissed against your neck as you held it, pumping your fist up and down, in a steady rhythm. He moaned right in your ear, his hot breath spreading on your skin spurring you on. His burning flesh in your hand became slicker as the pre cum leaked from the tip.

“Hmmm,” he moaned, “You like that, naughty girl?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, “Please.”

“What do you want me to do, baby?” he teased,

“Fuck me, Nero.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

In one swift move Nero maneuvered you on top of him, only to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Now perched on his lap, straddling his legs, and supported by his strong arms, you didn’t hold back from grinding your pussy harder on his aching erection. He grunted and groaned, smiling as he watched you lose yourself on him. His hands traveled up your torso and under your shirt. He groped and pinched every inch of skin he could like it was his life force.

He lifted the hem of the shirt so that it sat on top of your breasts, exposing your front completely, giving the devil hunter more than enough opportunity to take one of your pert nipples into his mouth. Tongue working expertly around the bud, swirling around it like a cherry lollipop. Your own hand moved to pinch and roll your other nipple between your fingers, adding to your body’s near overwhelming sensitivity.

“Nero… Please fuck me already,” you begged still grinding your most sensitive spots on his pulsing rod.

“So impatient,” he chided playfully, detaching his mouth from your skin.

His hands, still roving over every valley and mountain of your body, reached down between your legs. He expertly teased you with his fingers, before bringing them up for you to see. In the low lamp light you could still make out how his fingers glistened with your juices.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he said, “Are you that hungry for my cock?”

You nodded eagerly. You were impatient, you were needy, and you were hungry. He knew this, he just wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Whether this was his pay back for your fight or just him trying to savor the moment as long as possible you didn’t know. But it didn’t matter as his hands fell down your back, finding purchase on your ass. They moved with the gyration of your hips. He gave one of your cheeks a quick yet sharp spank and chuckled at your high pitched yelp.

He moved them underneath you, using only a fraction of that demonic strength to lift you up and place you back down, this time spearing you with his cock. Your warm wet walls clung to him, squeezing him from every direction, bringing him deeper into you. You let your head dangle back as his cock hit every sweet spot inside you, burying itself deep in your body and filling you to the brim in one go. You leaned your head against his shoulder, panting into his neck as you begged him to move, to hit even more of those delicious spots within you.

He obliged, of course, thrusting his hips upward as you rolled your hips and bounced your ass on his lap. A pleasured sinful dance accompanied by the melodic moans and cries of two passionate lovers close to a crescendo.

“God you feel so perfect,” he grunted through clenched teeth, “You’re so fucking tight and wet.”

“It’s cause your so fucking big,” you retorted with a cheeky smile as you clenched around him.

He got a solid ego boost from that comment, picking up the pace of his thrusts, aiming perfectly for your most sensitive spots while his fingers worked your aching clit. It felt so good, each little pass he made with his callused fingertips would make you gasp and lose yourself for a moment, before crashing back down. Your body moved on it’s own only guided by the desire for more pleasure.

You could always tell when Nero was getting close by the sounds he made, they were louder, more erratic and he lost his more composed dirty talk.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Yeah ride that cock, ride that fucking cock,” he moaned,.

You were reaching your limit but you held your pace, bobbing your ass up and down on him, rolling and spelling our words with your hips. The sounds of his slick cock moving in an out of you was the hottest things you had heard, second only to Nero’s lustful calls of your name. You didn’t even remember what happened earlier that day. This moment was too beautiful to be tainted by any such thoughts. All that existed was this room and your Nero.

“Oh god, baby! I’m gonna cum soon,” he grunted his head lolling back.

“Don’t stop,” you demanded, “Please don’t stop.”

“Want me to cum in you?” he asked, his voice getting more and more unstable as he closer reached his edge, “Want me to cum in your tight little pussy?”

“Yes! Yes please cum in me, Nero!”

His fingers left your clit and both of his hands were back on your ass, holding you in place as he bucked his hips fast and hard into you. His cock rubbed up against every inch of your inner walls, impaling you inch after agonizing inch.

Your mouth was back on his, tongues dancing together, eating each other’s sultry moans as you finally went over that anticipated cliffs edge, you walls clenched around him of their own accord, sucking him down once more as every nerve in your body lit up. You gushed around him before your body went limp in his hold. You pulled your lips away from his and laid your head back on his shoulder once again, physically exhausted from your little ride. Always such a gentleman he was, making sure you finished first.

But Nero wasn’t done. He was still rock hard inside you, reminding you with some smaller thrusts and chuckling at your oversensitive mewls. He took sick pleasure in watching you squirm as he brought himself to his own climax. Hands holding you firmly in place as he kept rutting into you, grunting and groaning with each thrust.

“Oh fuck!” he cried, his brow scrunching together and his mouth falling open in a look of ecstasy as he finally hit his limit, spilling thick hot cream deep inside you. With what little energy you had left, you clenched yourself around him, making sure to milk him dry as he rode out his orgasm. He went soft inside you but didn’t want to leave the warmth of your body.

Instead he wrapped both arms around you, holding you as close as he possibly could, like you would disappear if he loosened his hold even a little bit. He buried his face into your neck, inhaling your sent from your hair as it fell around him and tickled his face. He pressed sloppy and affectionate kisses to your neck as you both sat there, basking in the afterglow.

Eventually he pulled out of you, and you shuddered at the feeling of his seed leaking out of you and cooling on your skin. You tried to move but couldn’t find enough strength to remove your body from his. You’d be content to stay like that forever. Nero noticed your pitiful attempts to move and chuckled to himself as he leaned back, moving his legs back onto the bed and laid down, all with you still clinging to him like a cuddly koala.

“Heh, who’s the deadweight now?” he teased as he ran his fingers through your hair, humming contently as you rested against his chest, you heartbeat syncing with his.

He reached over to the bedside table, turning of the lamp with a click and then returning his arms to envelope you again. He kissed the crown of your head, whispering affections until you both drifted off to sleep. Safe, together, and content.

Happy Valentines Day <3 

[capesandshapes]

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/Pre Relationship) (4/4)

Summary:

Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.

Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She took a step towards him.

And then another.

All the words that she knew had failed her, and all of the emotion in her body had left her. What could she say? What would even make sense? There was no fixing the situation, not really, you couldn’t take away three years of waiting and wanting. You couldn’t take away three years of replaying every word in your head and wondering if you said the wrong thing.

“But you’re not him,” that was all she could say, and it hit the air like a deadweight. Because Adrien wasn’t Gabriel Agreste, because he never would be. The love Gabriel had was greedy and selfish, it took and took until it tore away all that he knew, until it ruined Paris and everything inside it. But Adrien? “It wouldn’t have mattered that he’s your dad, because you’re Adrien Agreste, not him, because I would have stood by you no matter what. I wouldn’t have cared what they thought or what they said. I wouldn’t have listened to them or let them stop me. If people wanted to close doors in my face because of who I loved, I’d make new ones. If people didn’t trust me, or see me for who I was, I wouldn’t care because I would know the truth.” Another step, another mountain climbed on her way back to him. “If they hated you because of who your father was, I wouldn’t want to be around them anyway, I wouldn’t want what they had to give me. I know that you’re good. You’re so good that everyone can see it—that they would have to admit it eventually.”

She held his gaze, her hands holding onto her shoulders like that could save her from sinking—like she wasn’t so far gone under the tide of Adrien that everything she had tried to hold back for three years wasn’t already killing her. She couldn’t stop drowning; she couldn’t stop wanting him.

“Adrien, I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old,” she whispered, “all of you.”

He exhaled, the low, throaty sound hitting the air.

“When you left, I…” She stopped, because he didn’t need to know, because she didn’t need to see him hurt like she had. “You broke me, and no one else has been able to put me back together since.” That was enough, that had to be enough for then.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words almost lost to the crashing of the waves outside.

She shook her head. Maybe she needed the apology, maybe someday she’d want it, but then, at that very moment? She was the only person who could give herself what she needed, the only person who could pull her head above water.

She tugged her hands from her shoulders, and walked closer, far too close to him. It was the lack of distance she would have dreamed of when she was in school, the kind that led to moments she cherished such as placing her head on his shoulder or reaching across his lap to hold his hand. It was the proper distance to look him in the eyes, the proper distance to say what she should have said before.

“Adrien, I would wait three more years for you, fifty if I had too—because I’m so stupidly in love with you, I’ve been so stupidly in love with you.” She inhaled, looking up at him, taking in those beautiful green eyes, “all I want to know is, are you still in love with me too?”

And maybe she would have gotten the answer she wanted. Maybe she would have finally kissed him. Maybe that would have been the start of their happily ever after—

Had Lila Rossi not stumbled into the cabin with Kim’s hand on her ass and her fingers laced in his hair.

“God, you are so fucking lucky I’m horny right now,” Kim muttered.

And just like that, all the romance left the air.

And though she wanted to ask, to drag him out on the deck and demand it, she saw that look in Adrien’s eyes and she knew.

He was terrified.

And really, who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t be scared? Who wouldn’t worry about what the future held?

So, she laughed. An empty, loud sound, one enough to break any tension. And, not knowing what else to do, she ran. Because maybe not knowing was better than the truth.

--------------------------------------------

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette,” Alya said, frowning at the reflection of Marinette in her mirror.

Honestly, if it wasn’t Alya, Marinette might have gotten by. Anyone else would have believed her fake smile as she looked in the mirror, applying her makeup.

But Alya? Being her best friend, she was in the business of reading Marinette’s emotions. Marinette couldn’t get anything by her, she was surprised that she somehow managed to hide being Ladybug from her for so long.

“It’s your wedding, Alya, am I not allowed to be sad that I’m losing my best friend?”

“To your other best friend?” Alya asked. She could have at least hidden her skepticism.

“It’s your wedding,” Marinette repeated softly. As in, it’s your wedding, not my problem parade. It’s your day, not mine. Don’t worry about me.

“He’s just over in the next room,” Alya said, reading her mind.

“It’s been a month,” Marinette repeated, shutting down the plan before Alya could even begin to form it. “If he wanted to respond, he would have done it by now.”

“I’m just saying.” She was not just saying. She was suggesting in that Alya way that wasn’t really a suggestion, but rather a demand. “I’m sure if you vanished for just one minute, I could get Nino to pull him out in the hallway and you could get your answer.”

“Alya.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Focus on your wedding,” Marinette commanded.

Alya scoffed. “Right. And how am I supposed to enjoy said wedding knowing that my best friend is miserable waiting for a response that, if she doesn’t go and demand it, might not ever come?”

“You could look at your groom and be happy about spending the rest of your life with him?”

“Oh please, I would choose you over Nino anytime.”

She didn’t doubt that.

“Listen,” Marinette began, putting down her make up brush. “I’m going to be fine; I promise. I’m just going to get some air.”

“Sure,” Alya said with a roll of her eyes as Marinette got out of her chair and moved to the balcony door. “I’ll see you when you’re done having your fifth mental break down and finally want to talk, Marinette.”

Damn, she was good. Marinette sighed, turning the deadbolt before looking back at her friend’s knowing expression, the other bridesmaids busying themselves in the background. “Thank you,” she said, because she wasn’t about to deny it, not to Alya. And maybe, once she got it out of her system, she would talk to her. Maybe once it was all over, she would tell Alya everything.

But at that moment, all she needed was air. And so she went, pulling open the balcony door of the hotel room and letting the night air cool her skin. She let go of the handle, letting it click shut behind her as she walked further onto the balcony, the streetlights of Paris gleaming far in the distance.

It was times like this that she missed being a superhero. She wondered what Paris would look like then, sprawled out in front of her years later. Brighter, probably, the city had changed since Ladybug left.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” A voice said, and she was sure that it had said it to her a thousand times before. The words were so familiar in that voice, said in the same inflection at the same volume that she had heard growing up. “It’s ours,” she was sure he’d only said that once or twice before—on the nights when it felt like there was no one else and the city belonged to them alone.

“It’s Paris,” she corrected, just as she had before. Because there was no owning it. It was this living, untamable thing, a treasure for her to protect.

For them to protect, because there he was, standing out on his own balcony, looking at the city like it was far more beautiful than the stars.

Not Adrien, not at that moment. Just as she wasn’t Marinette, not when thinking of Paris. Chat Noir and Ladybug, the heroes of the city, both standing out in their civilian forms, looking over it once more.

There was so much distance between them, and yet it felt like he was right there. At any moment he would leap, clad in his black leather cat suit, and stand right beside her. That was how the story should have ended; if it couldn’t end with a kiss, then it should have ended with Chat Noir and Ladybug, together again.

But Tikki and Plagg were far away in a box in Nepal.

“I came out to get some air,” he said, not turning to look at her.

“Me too.”

“Do you remember when we used to sit on your roof and watch all the cars go by?” He asked, and she could only smile. How could she forget?

Things were so easy when the masks were on.

“We have half an hour,” Marinette informed him. “Then the wedding starts and we start walking. We should go inside.”

“We should,” he agreed. Neither made to move. Neither wanted to move.

She caught him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Never mind the fact that she was staring too. She wished then, like she had so many times before, that she knew the right thing to say.

“What if we didn’t?” He asked, like it wasn’t this crazy, completely irrational thing to do. Like there weren’t so many people in the rooms behind them waiting on them. “What if we didn’t go at all?”

“It’s not even your wedding,” she said, turning to face him entirely. “Or mine.” He grinned anyway, sauntering over to the side of his balcony nearest her, leaning on the railing. “Don’t you think that would be rude?” They had been chosen for a reason.

“What do a best man and maid of honor even do anyway?” Adrien fired back, raising his eyebrows at her. “Past all of the party planning that we’ve already done, there’s just speeches and toasts ahead of us. I don’t think either of them want us reading our speeches, I planned almost every word of mine to embarrass Nino.”

She frowned, wishing she was able to resist it, but meeting him on the side of the balcony beside herself. He was so close that she almost thought she could leap. “And what would we do?”

“Stay here forever, find a way off this roof, run—Your pick, really,” he said, as if it was that simple. As if they could leave. It was her best friend’s wedding. “I know Andre’s stand closed years ago, but maybe if we’re lucky there’s another icecream man in Paris running around at night. I bet there’s one outside of the Eiffel tower, if you wanted to revisit old times.”

“And why would we do that?” She asked. This stupid, awful part of her was considering it.

“Because Nino just told me that he wanted me to be happy and that was one of the most important things to him today, and I bet Alya just told you the same thing,” he said. “But we’re not happy.”

“And?”

He looked at her like she was stupid. Maybe she was. He’d been out there longer than her, she could tell by the pink of his cheeks, maybe some great clarity had befallen him in that time, and he’d realized that she actually wasn’t all that bright. “Come over here,” he said.

“I am not coming over there.”

“Then I’m coming over there.”

“You are not coming over here!” Marinette declared, slightly astounded. “People are changing!” He didn’t seem to care all that much. “We’re not all models, some of us have shame!”

He laughed. Fuck, his laugh. She’d forgotten how good it was. “Meet me in the middle then,” he said, hauling a leg over his guardrails before she could protest. “I want to be closer to you.”

She was going to die because of him, she was sure, even if he was sitting oh so comfortably on his own railing. With her luck, she’d slip then fall to her inevitable doom. She could only hope that the bushes below her were soft.

“There,” he said once she’d settled, kicking out so that his foot lightly tapped her leg to prove his point, “Closer.” This was obviously some elaborate scheme to kill her that he had spent the last three years planning.

Almost as soon as she sat down, she began to second guess it. The voice in the back of her head was screaming for her to get up and go back to the suite. She could see the girls in the hotel getting ready to leave, Rose hauling up Juleka’s dress and Mylene reapplying Alix’s eyeshadow. She knew she should have left, sitting out there dangling herself over the edge of a building with Adrien wasn’t the best idea. She was supposed to be in there, taking care of things, fixing dresses and calming down nerves. But then there was Alya at the door, her face lighting up as she looked out at her, craning her neck just enough to see Adrien. She didn’t look like she missed her, only like she wished she could stay a moment longer.

She had to see it out for Alya, if only so there was finally an end to it all, a yes or no to the Adrien situation. Then she could be better, the kind of friend Alya deserved, one who wasn’t stuck in the past. Then she could dance at the reception with Nino’s cousins, and faun over men with Alya who weren’t blond supermodels.

“I know I should have told you that night,” Adrien said, drawing her back in. “And I did try to. Actually, I should have told you many nights ago, years even, but I don’t even know how to start now.” She closed her eyes, things like this were easier to take when you didn’t have to look. “I don’t regret disappearing, Marinette.”

There it was.

“But I do regret not taking you with me,” he said, and her eyes flew open.

If she hadn’t been holding on for dear life, she might have fallen off the balcony.

“Not just now,” he clarified, because it felt like a split decision. “But before too, so many times before. From the moment I left, I knew that I wanted to turn back, but I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing. Over and over again, this is for Marinette. Marinette will move on. It didn’t matter if it hurt, you would be okay.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t,” Adrien agreed. “I’m going to sound like an awful person, but I was happy about that. I was way too happy,” he admitted. “And this isn’t going to fix anything, this isn’t going to give you those three years back, this isn’t going to solve the problem an empty hotel room caused, and this won’t bring back Tikki and Plagg—But I’m asking you for just one second to give me this chance. I’m asking you to make the dumbest mistake of your life with me; to leave this party and everyone in it, to walk Paris again like it’s our city to own. For just one night, even though your body will practically ache with stupidity, disappear with me. Leave them all to wonder where we went, how even years later we always seem to miss things. Because I love you, even when you’re just walking on the sidewalk beside me and not saving the day, you’re my everyday Ladybug. Because I just want those moments back where it’s just you and I, and no one else knows who we really are.”

“And who are we, Adrien?” She asked. “The two biggest idiots in Paris?”

“A team,” he said, “amongst other things.”

---------------------------------------------

Epilogue:

Alya Lahiffe was dancing with her newly obtained husband when she saw it, a flash of red and black over the hotel garden wall. Her hands tightened around his neck as she took it in, a woman in a red bridesmaid dress and a man dressed in all black sprawled out in a heap on the ground, laughing after having practically tumbled over the brick wall surrounding the venue. They both looked from side to side, their noses nearly colliding with each other as they turned, both lighting up in laughter as they assumed the coast to be utterly clear and them to have snuck back into the party without anyone realizing.

“You okay, hun?” Nino asked as he looked down at her, taking in her expression.

“Yeah,” she grinned, watching as Marinette left only a peck on Adrien’s nose, resulting in the young man’s outrage. “I think I am.” She turned them, letting Nino see as Adrien reached for Marinette once more, dragging her down to kiss him.

“The absolute worst best man,” Nino chuckled, looking away as he pressed his forehead against Alya’s.

“And the most seasick, lovelorn maid of honor,” Alya said. “It’s a wonder they got anything done.”

“I give them a year before we get to pay them back, and we’re not skipping the ceremony. We’re giving bad speeches and throwing the bachelor party on a boat, doing the cupid shuffle—the whole nine yards.”

“And letting Marinette’s dad overload them with cake?”

“If he forgets any, we’ll just have to pull the samples out of our freezer.”

[stydiaeverafter]

Can’t help falling in love with you ❥

Summary: Ray tried with all his might not to fall in love with Heather Nill, but the girl had flown right into his heart, and the will to fight it had disappeared into the night.

Rated: T

A/N: One day I just happened to watch this random show and ended up loving it! I really enjoyed the concept and the characters, especially the story of Heather and Ray. I knew I'd have to write them sooner than later.So I hope you enjoy this fic of NillHall. ♡ (I might be adding more chapters)

Read on ao3

She flew into my heart 

“We don't have to fall in love, Ray."

Those words. Those beautiful words Heather had spoken to him were constantly a shadow within his heart and mind.

Ray tried with all his might not to fall in love with Heather Nill, but the girl had flown right into his heart, and the will to fight it had disappeared into the night.

Truth be told, he had been falling in love with her not after they had kissed, but ever since he had gazed up at her on Devil's Drop spreading those brave wings and jumping with wide arms.

Heather was different from all the rest. He thought at first it was the chase...cat and mouse. Most girls would flock to him. It was easy. Predictable. But this hadn't been. This was revealed in the cornfield and the ball. She wasn't biting his bait—instead, she was pushing back with everything she had. "I'd rather fucking die," she had once affirmed to him. Heather had meant every word, and it nonplussed him. With every step he took getting further away from her in the cornfield, he wondered why he even gave a shit. Everything that had worked in the past had blown up in his face, so why bother?

Ray was a fool apparently because he had wanted to fluff her feathers more and more as time went by. There was a need of wanting to be around her at any chance he could find, and unfortunately, Ray thought about her even when he didn't want to.

It was as if Heather Nill had crawled her way into his existence—whether she wanted to or not. It bothered the hell out of him, yet, he couldn't help but get enough.

Ray had retaliated a bit at the Player's Ball, even though Heather had looked damn-near edible in that dress. No other girl at the party had held a candle in comparison. When he was feeding her lines that he had dressed up pretty, Ray unintentionally expressed the desires he had imagined late at night when she wasn't around.

His feelings were apparent again when Ray got more turned on by who was observing him kissing the random rather than who Ray was actually kissing. He had wanted to forget whatever crush this was on Heather Nill; instead, her mesmerizing eyes pulled him in to the point that he trembled nice and slow. Even though Ray had stated that the whole situation was bullshit, it felt real, denying it had been the bullshit.  

At the end of the day, Ray's attention should've been on Panic, but it was the panic Heather left inside that stirred him upside down.

The more time he spent around her, the more Ray craved it. It wasn't just their kisses they had shared, though, even though they were the sweetest type of torture, but the fact that she was honest to God good. Sarah had even warned him about it. Everyone could see it. Heather was too good for the likes of him, and he had known it from the first moment Heather gazed deeply into his eyes when he tugged her close on the plank. It was as if she saw something that he couldn't, and it unnerved him in a way no Panic challenge could.  

When Heather had accepted his invitation and had joined the group on his boat, it had been a good one, one of the best days he had had in a long time. Heather had a way of bringing his smile out to the surface like it was the easiest thing in the world. He felt as though he had been floating the entire time. She made him laugh effortlessly and also made him face demons of his past like he had the night of the Player's Ball. Always with her.

It unnerved him yet pulled him in as the current did. Ray had lost control and reached out to her as a blind man did, pulling her towards him without even meaning. When her lips had grazed his own on the boat, Ray knew he was forever lost in this beautiful, yet too good for him, girl.

Sarah was right—he would become broken from these feelings. Feeling vulnerable was clearly already on the table.

They had gone further that day, and it was like the first time being with someone, even though he had done that to countless other girls. With Heather, it was different. Everything was.

Ray had openly searched the manor to discover her at the Graybill house, creaking the floorboards as he took each step. When she jumped around, he had forgotten all about the game and wanted nothing more than to have her back into his arms. She was clearly his Kryptonite.

He had been surprised by the hunger he felt as they kissed, not for the first time. Ray was being drawn in by this girl, and it had been obvious that she didn't even realize she had that type of control over him.

Ray, himself, hadn't realized how deeply his feeling ran until Heather had stated, "You do this all the time. What's the big deal?" The words pierced him painfully, and his brain had short-circuited. Ray had wanted to scream at her, yelling, "It is a big deal to me. It is. Is it not to you?" But that wasn't fair, so Ray held it on the tip of his tongue, angrily leaving the room but not before calling it a mistake, which was a lie. That was not how he felt—she was anything but a mistake. But Heather had been right, though, and that's what pissed him off the most. All she had done was to hold up the mirror reflecting the type of person she had grown up knowing.

He had been that guy before spending time with her. He was a playboy, moving from one woman to the next, without so much as a care in his pointless world. He drank. He smoked. He had sex. He took his boat out. That was the story of his life.

But being around Heather had changed that. See, it wasn't just a random hookup—it was the conversation. From the moment Heather spoke to him, she challenged him. Heather recognized things no one else had, and she was honest with him from the very beginning. It was so real that Heather had asked him to return the favor.

That had scared him for the first time, and Ray hadn't liked it one bit. He couldn't even open up to himself, let alone the beautiful girl who flew. So Ray had hidden behind his cowardly mask, turning into the asshole she knew all too well. Even though it had pained Ray in a way, he hadn't entirely understood when she sadly and disappointedly walked away at the Player's Ball.

Bits and pieces of bravery had presented itself as Ray did start, in fact, opening up to Heather Nill. Each syllable had scared him shitless, but he found the more he opened up to her, the more it felt like breathing for the first time in his 18 years of life.

So even though he had walked away angrily, knowing what was happening between them wasn't a mistake, Ray knew she deserved better than the likes of him. The Hall men were deadweight and always would be. How could he pull down a woman with wings ready to take flight? There was a whole wide world waiting to embrace someone like her. What could he possibly be to her in comparison?

But those thoughts had no longer mattered when the house had burned in flames. His heart had burned with anxiety as he searched for the woman he was falling for. With every step he took, Ray was haunted by the last words he had said to her, "Just a mistake." Letting someone like that die before spreading her wings was a sin, and the thought of never gazing into those beautiful blue eyes felt like his own personal hell on earth.

Thank God above, Heather Nill had kicked her way out of that house like the fighter she was. Ray admired that this small girl didn't need saving, even though secretly he wanted to protect her. Seeing her lifeless on the ground edged away at his cold stone heart. Ray acknowledged that as he witnessed and felt a sudden wave of relief when Heather finally gasped for breath, he had truly fallen in love.

She had been living rent-free in Ray's mind since the moment she took flight off the cliff, and with every passing day, it had escalated to every breath and step he took.

Heather being stuck in the hospital had been a torture he'd never known. Ray had visited wanting to selfishly make sure she was okay but had seen Bishop entering her room. It had been a good reminder he did not belong in Heather's world; he'd never have a place in it, even though it killed him to admit it.

He had been surprised beyond belief that she had shown up at his house, but Ray knew it had been too good to be true as she couldn't get away from him fast enough. As she sped away, the word mistake haunted and swirled around his curls like a fucked up hangover.

Through the game's final stages, they found their way back to each other, even to the point of Ray admitting to others how he truly felt on the bridge. Diggins had blabbed that he hadn't answered the question of being in love with her, but in terms only she would understand, he had. He did love her, every part of her, but he knew he had to be selfless with Heather.

Ray had to let her go. She didn't belong in Carp. She didn't belong to him. Heather deserved what was still good in this messed-up world.

For him, though, his heart would always belong to her as he rotted away in the shithole of his hometown.

Once, he had remarked to Heather, "I don't think good things are gonna happen to me anymore," but he was so very wrong.

Heather Nill was something good that happened to him. Something amazing. Loving her came easily, like drifting down the stream with the current. It terrified him, but he was grateful. The girl that flew into his heart forever changed him for the better.

At the hospital where Luke was, Heather had all but expressed that she cared for him, too. That someone else actually gave a shit about him. It had knocked him speechless, to the point where he thought he'd join his brother on the neighboring hospital bed.

Then the thought of losing her once more at the Joust ran him ragged, but nothing would ever stop her. When he saw her standing there all but glowing on that dirt road, Ray once again saw the girl who had jumped from the drop. She took his breath away with her returning kind, brave smile, and the fear of saying goodbye felt closer than ever before.

However, it had seemed by the stream as if she had chosen him. It was a blessing and a curse that she had seen his video. He didn't want her to feel chained to Carp, but Ray couldn't deny the joy and the sense of peace he felt inside as she moved closer to him.

"We don't have to fall in love, Ray," Heather had said against his lips with a hint of a smile, a secret between the two of them.

Smiling, he had taken her into his arms, which felt so right as if it were meant to be. However, with every kiss, the words were left unspoken. Oh darlin', I've already fallen helplessly in love with you—the girl with the beautiful wings.

Losing her was what he feared now because sooner rather than later, Heather would fly away.

Perhaps the game wasn't through with Ray after all.

[okay-victoria]

What do people think of Tanya? AKA: Actually, a lot of people agree with Lehrgen

Summary: WHOOOOO BOY. You know it’s going to be fun when my subsections have to have their own subsections. Briefly, there is the Good [people who like Tanya both personally and professionally], the Bad [people who like/love Tanya professionally but not personally], and the Ugly [people who ideally, Tanya will never speak to, look at, send mail to, or be in the general vicinity of ever again]. 

I would say most people fall into the “Bad” category - they recognize her value as an officer, sometimes to a worshipful degree, but on a personal level range anywhere from thinking she’s a creepy child to actively disliking her. Unfortunately for Tanya, the people that fall into the Ugly category are as a rule higher-ranking than the ones in the Good category, and most people in the Bad category seem to like her specifically in her military role, and it is questionable they’d want her as even a coworker outside of that, let alone as a friend.

The Good

People who’re in here: People who have only ever heard of Tanya in the context of the Silver Wings award, people she interacts with in the Imperial Navy; rando soldiers; someone kinda high up in the later-war Eastern Army command; Ugar

People who only know her from Silver Wings:

V1/C1

Describes the nice aura people would see in someone who wins the Silver Wings.

The Navy

V3/C2

A naval officer does assess Tanya as having a predatory look, but doesn’t seem to think particularly badly of it, he just notes it, and then says “Degurechaff was a fellow soldier he could be proud of, which was why he extended his hand in utmost seriousness to wish her well.”

Rando Soldiers

There’s no real good single quote on this, but over time Tanya comes in to reinforce various units and leaves behind various impressions, ranging through Good, Bad, and Ugly, but anyway, there almost have to be low & middle ranking officers and soldiers who are presumably nothing but grateful to Tanya for rescuing them, even though we never get much of anything from their perspective.

Others

A superior officer of Tanya’s in Eastern Army command, in V5/C1, gets a transfer request for Tanya’s unit and reflects he is sad to be losing her.

Ugar - I don’t have down any specific pieces, but IMO it comes across in the LNs that Ugar is generally well-disposed to Tanya and doesn’t have the positive professional/negative personal thoughts that most other people close to her do.

The Bad

People who’re in here: Tanya’s academy/war college instructors, the 203rd battalion & later Kampfgruppe, Zettour, Rudersdorf, Generic Superior Officers, Romel, Lehrgen’s professional opinion

Tanya’s Academy & War College Instructors:

V1/C1

Tanya’s zeal during academy scares her instructors.

V1/C4

The instructors scrawled “abnormal” across the top of Tanya’s file.

“In the academy, we were told over and over – and, for some reason, over again – to love our troops. Weirdly, now that I think about it, I feel like they emphasized this the most when talking to me.” <= Tanya...you’re...you’re so close.

V1/C5

Mentioned that some teachers in the academy are on Lehrgen’s side of the What The Fuck Do We Do With Tanya debate.

V3/C5

Romel’s summation of her personnel assessment notes that at least on paper, the academy and the war college gave good overall evaluations of her.

203rd Battalion:

V1/C3

[Visha] “The moment she turned her icy cold eyes on us like we were objects to be appraised, I shrank from her in spite of myself. People might laugh at me for being afraid of such a little kid, but those eyes reminded me of the way a cat looks when it’s playing with a mouse, which creeped me out”

[Visha] “I was different from Lieutenant Degurechaff, who could calmly nail fleeing soldiers in the back with optical sniping or explosion formulas. I was relieved because I wouldn’t have to shoot.”

V1/C5

[Visha] “Was she an agent of the devil or of God? It had to be one or the other. Ahh, I can’t believe I have an ally more horrible than the enemy. She’s not human. I would bet my life on it. Me and a few others saw it once. During training, one of our teammates dropped like he was dead. The captain gave him a good kick, and before we knew it, she was back on his feet. I had been staring into the abyss of death myself…the captain heaped abuse on me. But I know, I saw it: she charged into the avalanche to save me. Even after my friends told me that she tossed my busted body aside like a used rag, I believe. She is definitely a good commander, even if I’m not sure about her as a human being. Of course, we all laugh and bad-mouth her…if the captain is an apostle of God, then only the devil can possibly exist.” <= in good news, Tanya, you are currently winning on your quest against Being X and mostly making people believe that he’s the Devil for allowing you to exist!

V2/C1

[Weiss] also refers to Tanya as a vampire

[Weiss] thinks Tanya is arrogant

[Visha] “her thought is That’s so low, Major.” <= this is in response to Tanya pulling out her child voice to announce they were going to bomb Dacia’s factory.

[Weiss] “Weiss has only known her for a short time, but even he can pick up the displeasure his superior doesn’t bother hiding. Her mood is as dangerous as nitroglycerin. When Weiss quietly takes a step back, everyone discreetly follows suit. Nobody wants to be so close to Major von Degurechaff when she’s irritated.”

V2/C5

[Grantz] “If the devil exists, it has to be our instructor, the commander of the 203rd Aerial Mage Assault Battalion, the legendary Major von Degurechaff. The way she smiled. The way she looked at us like we were maggots. The way she seemed thirsty for blood. I’d believe she had tried to kill a rebellious underclassman or crack his skull open. If I screw up on the battlefield, she’ll definitely kill me. That’s how threatened I felt by the instructor who just had to also be my advisor…I wanna cry.”

[Grantz] “This was the major who had once said during a speech at the academy that deadweight should be killed…This is crazy. No one said it aloud, but it was the look on everyone’s faces. This was a nighttime mission to abduct enemy soldiers…Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz realized he was shaking. My survival instinct was screaming. I wanted to avoid the war, the combat, the killing. I was hesitating. But one glance from Major von Degurechaff was enough to subjugate that instinct. She was far more terrifying…I was so terrified I hardly felt like myself anymore…How could the major just calmly sing a hymn?”

[203rd banter] Visha asks if anyone wants to trade places with her so she doesn’t have to be with Tanya all the time, and Weiss and Grantz are not itching to take her up on the offer.

V2/C6

[Grantz] Is really, really bothered by how chill Tanya seems to be about Arene.

V2/C7

[Weiss] Reflects on all the horrible things Tanya has put him through, but ends his reflection on the note that he understands why it was necessary to prepare them for war.

V3/C5

“Apparently, the troops serving directly under her thought she was a great field officer” <= Romel re: Tanya’s personnel file

V4/C5

“‘Please have the 203rd be part of your Kampfgruppe. All of us in the battalion wish to continue serving under you.’”

Tanya doesn’t get what she wants, is then pissed, and it gives off weird abusive-parent vibes where all her children try to flee and not be present, and for the ones who have to be (Weiss & Visha), they take it by flinching, cowering, praying to God for Tanya not to explode, etc.

V5/C4

[Visha] “Reality is far too unreal. She’s crazy. There’s something strange about her...The colonel cackled – no, she giggled, smiling like a child. It was positively surreal to see her eyeing the enemy with her tender gaze and licking her lips. She snickered, but what was so funny? She was terrifying...Dripping red liquid. Pink things that used to be humans, flying everywhere. And opposite that scene was a beaming little girl. It was so surreal, it made more sense for me to suppose I had gone insane. No, maybe I really did go insane. The sight of my superior officer nodding with satisfaction and beginning a confession of her faith was horrific. I didn’t get even a glimmer of madness from her beautiful, innocent eyes. They were the eyes of a stubborn servant of logic, full of pure reason. But that’s what was horrific: those eyes stuck on that doll-like face.”

V5/C5

Tanya has some good banter with her Kampfgruppe soldiers and it seems like everyone’s getting along.

V8/C4

T: ‘Are you saying you throw yourself into the slaughter purely, justly – sane and sober? Don’t make me laugh. That’s a broken man talking. Going to war after downing some liquid courage with a grimace is much more human.’ He frowns for a moment, perhaps thinking to argue back, and then whines, ‘So are you drunk, then, Colonel?’ <= yes, a random officer from Tanya’s Kampfgruppe just asked if she was drunk and that’s why she’s always throwing herself into battle so excitedly.

V8/C5

T: ‘Glad you’re safe, Lieutenant.’ V: ‘Thank you, ma’am. That said, I would have rather you spared me from getting caught up in that attack.’ T: ‘What choice did I have?’ V: ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Serebryakov puffs her cheeks out in a pout, which is surely a sign that she’s feeling better. <= Tanya, Visha wanted you to apologize, not excuse yourself, damn!

Zettour

V1/C5

“He doesn’t know whether they should praise her original ideas or call her insane.”

“Apparently, she hasn’t forgotten that she once said she wanted a battalion. She, a first lieutenant, to a brigadier general…something liable to provoke antipathy? She’s already done that.”

“The smirk on Tanya’s face reminds Zettour of some unpleasant rumors he’s heard about her.”

V2/C5

Zettour both remains horrified that Tanya was able to speak so frankly about a world war, yet he is sympathetic to the fact that she could do it because she understood what would happen.

V4/C3

Tells Rudersdorf that he “unwaveringly trusts” her military decisions.

V4/C5

Tanya comes to Zettour to request better units than he’s given her. He finds the request beyond arrogant, seeing as how pressed they are for men, especially for the fact that this is shortly after the Moscow situation and her battalion has “gone too far and been a handful”.

“Somehow, he didn’t think there could be that many damaged kids in the Empire like this young teen back from the battlefield. And actually, regardless of how he felt about it as a soldier, personally, the idea of interacting with them was terrifying.”

“But Degurechaff was unfazed and inquired about their experience with killing people. She saw people as products, and she was asking if they had been tested – that was the nuance. Could such a completely utilitarian view of people even be taught? Certainly, the army is an organization that pays attention to individual functions. Substitutability and cost consciousness are two factors hounding everyone. But can you really judge a human being by those criteria alone?...That innocent face and her straight back made her look something like a surreal doll. Doesn’t…Doesn’t anyone think this is strange?”

Zettour is mentioned to have originally had the same doubts about Tanya as Lehrgen, but after her performance he claims he is ready to “swallow any pill, no matter how bitter” (I think working with Tanya being the bitter pill) to win the war.

Zettour gives Tanya a little discretion to commandeer some equipment, she takes a lot of discretion. Zettour sort of laughs at off saying “this was Degurechaff” but does also mention that Tanya’s actions “amounted to a borderline interference in Supreme Command.”

V8/C4

Zettour is impressed with how Tanya has trained Grantz and thinks that if she wasn’t so good in the field, he’d put her in education.

“Sure, Degurechaff may have been broken, but not as an officer.”

Rudersdorf

V2/C1

Rudersdorf says that Tanya has a “distinct” [read: probably means difficult] personality, but if he just divided people into useful and not useful, she was useful.

V4/C3

Zettour and Rudersdorf debate Tanya, and he mentions that he only thinks she is talented in the military realm.

Generic Superior Officers

V2/C5

Tanya has a misunderstanding with her CO on the Rhine front. He wants her to train some new recruits normally, she mistakes it as saying “well, kill as few of them as possible, but do what you gotta do,” she gets kind of reprimanded over it.

V3/Intro

“Performance Evaluation: Major Tanya von Degurechaff:

Counselor’s Notes on character and conduct [this is printed normally]: Abundant loyalty and excellent fighting spirit. Follow regulations to the letter. Devoutly religious.

[this part is handwritten] Has a bad tendency to take matters into her own hands. Competent but as difficult to handle as a mad dog.”

V3/C1

“Some of the officers even added another thought in the back of their minds: Major von Degurechaff might actually be able to wring out even better results.”

V3/C3

Tanya goes wild on her base commander when he won’t let her sortie to Brest to prevent the French army from evacuating. <= Oddly, IIRC, no one ever like, apologizes to Tanya for not believing her, which is kinda rude, so mostly the incident reflects negatively on her instead of being a balanced: ok she did violate some rules, but...maybe if we’d listened to her we’d have avoided the rest of the fucking war, so seems like it might have been called for?

V3/C5

“The most important evaluations during a war are the ones from the battlefield, and those were all over the place.” <= Romel, re: Tanya’s personnel file

“The second was that although the evaluations were contradictory, she had achieved enough that she was considered an outstanding soldier. Awkwardly, regardless of how she was as an officer, as an individual mage, she was thought very highly of. Her number of kills was among the highest on the Rhine front.” 

“In any case, strictly as a mage, she was unrivaled. As an officer, too, she was by no means incompetent. So they must have been giving her to him as reinforcements and as an excuse to get her out of their hair. Honestly, he felt like they were foisting off their problem on him. ‘They’re telling me to take a mad dog out on a walk with no leash?’ He let slip a complaint. Maybe it was just prejudice, but that wasn’t what it felt like to General von Romel. After all, he was basically being asked to bet on a bad hand.”

V4/C2

Everyone on the General Staff realizes the huge amount of fallout from Tanya attacking Moscow. The backstory of this is that when Tanya asked for permission, the General Staff thought she was just going to do a fly-by and freak them out, not attack the city. It pretty much kills any opportunity they had to negotiate a quick settlement with Russia in the cradle.

Romel

V3/C5

Romel’s first meeting with Tanya pretty much goes: “so arrogant it’s invigorating...unbelievably insolent...in addition to her self-important attitude, it exuded heavy sarcasm...not only was she arrogant, she was clearly horribly warped.”

“Any commissioned officer would understand just from hearing her make that one comment why the Northern and Western Groups couldn’t control her. Having a mage battalion drop out of the command structure was almost like losing a whole division” <= ie, Tanya’s previous superiors must have really disliked her to give her up.

“She simply decided she would be a patriot if it was good for the nation. In short, she’s a capable lunatic, but the bad part is she doesn’t realize she’s twisted…She’s crazy. And competent. And more sincere than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Without a doubt, she’s going to end up being the most horrible person I know. And she’ll probably also be one of my most reliable friends on the battlefield.”

V3/C6

Romel reflects that she is a mad dog, and that she is an ego-crushing entity for the average officer. <= while Romel never brings this up, this has a *ton* of important real-world implications for Tanya, especially assuming men still have more than a little trouble listening to women outside the military. Even if you believe the best rumors about Tanya, you still might not want to hire her because she’s going to be better than you, and most people hate that feeling.

V4/C1

Tanya goes to the Eastern Front, and Romel reflects that he is sad to lose her and that once you got used to her, he found her easy to work with.

The Ugly

People who’re in here: Lehrgen’s personal opinion, Some wartime randos, OG Eastern Army Command, OG Northern Army Command, Imperial Government, people who mostly know Tanya from her Arene reputation, Western Army Command; Implied Future View of Tanya

Wartime Randos

V1/C5

“Some of those who had been on the front lines had a strange reaction to the name [the 11th Goddess] we picked. They claimed it was the worst joke they’d ever heard.” <= ie, Tanya was the Devil, not a goddess

V2/C1

Tanya is happy that Dacia has zero airpower. She displays her happiness by smiling maniacally and skipping around her tent. Everyone thinks Tanya is happy that they just got invaded again and the war is growing and she can go kill people. 

V2/C5

A kinda random infantry guy is still having nightmares about Tanya in like, 1960, and reflects back on how he felt when he heard Tanya casually call for friendly fire to go right through where her men are flying. He questions why anyone listens to her.

“But when I replay the memories in my mind, I can’t help but shout, You monster! A hero, a star, and outstanding magic officer. You, ma’am, were a great officer. To all of us imperial soldiers serving on the Rhine lines, you were a god...Yeah, she’s a god – an immensely powerful one who presides over life and death. Her words, brimming with a spine-chilling anger, swept over the area as if she was planning to attract all the enemy hostility like moths to a flame. Major von Degurechaff had bared her fangs. It invited a violent reaction. The Republic wanted to hunt the devil. In other words, they devoted all humanity’s wisdom to killing the god of death. Gods don’t die, but those of us next to them? …They were right to call her a god of death. She killed the enemy, and the enemy killed our men. Then the noble major, with a glance at all the dead in the mud, took her leave. Fucking hell.” <= and you thought Lehrgen hated her. But, again, real-world implications of this could very well be that post-war, Tanya is a total persona-non-grata as someone that had a high degree of influence on how rabidly everyone fought against the Empire, and how the Empire was treated in the aftermath. I don’t make it out quite that bad, but it could be really rough if someone wanted to make it that way.

V4/C5

“The Guard Division had been on many assignments dealing with formal events, so we had experience…But what is that? That absurd, expressionless, doll-like creature was giving orders to people who appeared to be bloodthirsty mages just back from the war zone.” 

“Could it really…could it really be possible for a child to wear such a smile?...Her hands were soft and would have looked more natural holding a doll, but instead, this odd, human-shaped creature spread her arms as she delivered a welcoming address. No one. None of the high-ranking officers present could raise an objection to this thing. The veteran mages all obeyed this inhuman being in the form of a person.”

OG Eastern Army Command

V1/C5

“The members of the eastern army had been openly angered by her annoyed look until days before, but now their faces were pale. She said exactly what she thought: ‘Incompetent, pitiful, lazy, arrogant, unprepared, mentally disabled, inattentive, no powers of observation’ and her conclusion was that ‘all mages of the Eastern Army group require reeducation’”

“The ranking officers from the regional field armies who had come to protest ended up bearing the brunt of the General Staff members’ critical glares.”

OG Northern Army Command

V2/C3

“With no idea when Colonel General von Wragell might explode in his seat at the head of the table, Lieutenant General and Chief of Staff von Schreise was inwardly annoyed, but at the same time, the atmosphere was so tense he wanted to bury his head in his hands.”

“Schreise couldn’t be the only one thinking that he would have thrown her out immediately if she weren’t a representative of the Central Army’s view.”

“‘You’re very humble, aren’t you?’ one of the staff officers murmured, curling the corners of his mouth into a smile that was more of a sneer.”

“Schreise had never seen a major with such a big head without making light of him…without hesitating even a little, she – a mere battalion commander – matter-of-factly gave her opinion to the staff and even had the audacity to disagree with them. Even with the sacred, inviolable General Staff’s power behind her, she was nearing an inexcusable challenge to authority. A head could be allowed to swell only so far. There’s a limit to what can be tolerated, even for recipients of the Silver Wings Assault Badge!...the major, though still rather new, was readily crossing a line of which all graduates from the war college should have been aware.”

V3/C5

“There was a pile of especially severe criticism from the Northern Army Group. They said she was transferred after voicing a clear objection to those in authority.”

Imperial Government

V2/C5

Tanya sinks a Commonwealth vessel, she is court-martialed, the military says she did nothing wrong [which I agree with], but the diplomats want to punish her to appease the Commonwealth. After the not-guilty verdict, Tanya’s smug-ass smile makes everyone go: umm...should we really have let her get away with this??

V4/C2

She then further makes the diplomats hate her over her Moscow raid.

V4/C3

Rudersdorf warns Zettour that Tanya going overboard is earning Zettour criticism from the government.

V4/C4

During her second court-martial, Tanya doing the most in Moscow manages to fracture the relationship between the government/supreme army command & the guys more in charge of the day-to-day war, like Zettour & Rudersdorf.

International Post-Hoc View on Arene

V2/C6

“They gunned people down like they were so many targets in a firing exercise. They got ‘points’ for shooting people. People had blocked themselves in, so they used heavy-explosion formulas to bombard whole districts. Those are all painful memories of the tragedy being shared today. Even counting only the confirmed deaths, the city of Arene lost half its population that day. In order to avoid the heavy responsibility for each soldier that would result if they went into the city and had to visually confirm their targets, they aimed to cause widespread fires via artillery bombardment from positions surrounding the city. A portion of the documents shows that they had chosen targets that were likely to spread the flames as proof-of-concept for firestorm.” <= the reporter doesn’t know this, but Tanya is the person that comes up with that proof-of-concept for creating a firestorm, as well as the person that creates the case to make it legal to repress a civilian revolt with a military. To me it seems like Arene is presented as the Tanyaverse Bombing of Dresden, except how it would be viewed if Germany had won WWII.

Tanya thinks about how if the Empire loses, her reputation is in the toilet if it becomes known that she did this.

Western Army Command

V2/C6

[The Lt. General or above that is in command of the Western Front] “A terrifying report or a proposal from hell. The one who thought of this was either a lawyer so cunning the devil would invite them to join forces or a criminal. This way of thinking is practically inhuman. Only a devil who forgot their reason and conscience in their mother’s womb could come up with such a tactic. That someone would equate having the technical capabilities for an operation with actually doing it…Are they deranged?”

“Luckily, an army corps commander summoning a mere major is extremely rare. Exceptional though it was, it meant there was a chance he might have to summon this monster again someday…Doing his best not to look directly at the monster straightening her posture in front of him, the army corps commander accepted that it was for work and met her.”

“The principles behind the actions of this major in front of him were impossible to understand using anyone’s logic or emotions. Her inorganic eyes compelled you to conclude that her thoughts, her frameworks, her way of being were all warped.”

This guy keeps going on and on more than I have here, tbh he’s one of Tanya’s main haters. It’s fine Tanya, it’s only the guy in charge of Western Army Command, who listens to him?

“I hope no one noticed that I just flinched, thought the army corps commander, sensing that he was distinctly afraid of her…No worries about what? He deeply wanted to ask what she was planning to do, but he held back. He told himself it was surely better not to know…But there is probably no one more suited to being a soldier than you. Perhaps you feel at home in hell on the Rhine front.”

V3/C5

“The Western Army Group declined to evaluate her, saying her good and bad points neutralized each other, so it was difficult to rate her. Furthermore, she had attempted to resist orders.”

Implied Future View of Tanya/The Parable of the Salamander

V4/C5

“From what I heard, the Salamander is adorable and very clever. If you show it affection, it’ll get attached to you. Like a German shepherd, it can become a trustworthy member of the family. Sometimes it begs or plays tricks, but apparently, everyone ends up overlooking these things. Of course, Mrs. Legen grew angry and screamed that it went too far, but…Well, in the end, everyone doted on the Salamander. Because when it’s even more reliable than a German shepherd, how could you not? At some point, though, the Salamander’s requests and pranks grew to be too much. But what do you think happened when no one was sympathetic to dependable Mrs. Legen, who had continued to angrily scold it the whole time? That’s right. No one was able to stop the Salamander! Of course, the Salamander loved and cherished everyone. But sadly, there was no one to teach it right from wrong. So the Salamander never realized that everyone disliked it. Soon it had exhausted everyone’s patience.” <= for reference, Tanya commands the Salamander Kampfgruppe; this is told as a cautionary tale that Andrew says circulates throughout the future Empire.

Your Author’s Take on Tanya’s Reputation vs Reality

The above should have real-world implications for Tanya’s personal life as far as friends, and for her career both within and beyond the military once the war is over, because, you know, people talk. Anyone who phones up an old pal because said old pal had some quality time with Tanya and they’re curious what she’s like is probably not going to receive a glowing personal recommendation, and the higher up those people are in society, the worse it is likely to be. 

Even for people who think she has a genius applicable beyond the military sphere, outside of extreme circumstances people generally don’t want to employ anyone, no matter how smart, who is known for being unpredictable, uncontrollable, arrogant in the extreme, abusive towards coworkers, manipulative, possibly just straight up evil, etc etc. Within the military, after the war I would expect her to be hampered by the fact that a lot of people won’t want to work with her unless there’s a really pressing reason they need her skillset.

I can’t believe I’m bringing this show up from years past, but she’s sort of in the same position as Dr. House from the TV show - famously talented; famously toxic in the workplace; only one place will employ him, and at a much lower salary than his reputation should command, and even so, thinking that he could get away with that in real life is pushing the suspension of disbelief for the show. The same goes with friendships - very few well-adjusted adults are willing to befriend The Cool Asshole in real life.

When it does happen IRL, those relationships usually aren’t healthy & happy, and can easily end up with borderline-emotionally-abusive undertones because the follower is afraid of losing the leader, and molds themselves to fit what the other person wants so as to be an unchallenging, uncritical presence in the life of their idol.

For a story about an adult man reincarnated as a young girl fighting in magical WW1.5, YS manages to put a surprisingly interesting twist on the Main Character is a Cool Asshole Without Consequences model, with Tanya getting away with it in the present due to extreme circumstances, not realizing that the war is the only reason she’s getting away with it, and facing many implied future consequences for it.

While it’s entirely possible and often completely necessary to handwave Tanya overcoming this for storytelling purposes, as you can’t go many places story-wise if Tanya is as screwed as it sounds like she’s going to be, standard reality is that she’s gonna need to do some serious legwork to dig herself out of the hole she’s in, both personally and professionally. 

I appreciate that the crux of a good Tanya story is often Tanya thinking normal reality will apply to her but then bypassing normal reality to end up somewhere she never intended on being, much to her chagrin, and readers therefore may feel adhering to realism violates the reality of Tanyaverse. 

For the purposes of this story, I have chosen to stick with where the preponderance of evidence leads and apply a good amount of normal reality to Tanya, because that is exactly what allows me to proceed along a different avenue of Tanya misunderstanding things and ending up somewhere she never intended on being, keeping to the spirit of Tanya stories. Plus, Tanya doesn’t seem very intent on growing as a person in the absence of consequences and I need my character growth drivers.

...and I can’t avoid admitting I still end up handwaving some portion of those consequences for Tanya, since, as stated above, it’s...hard to go anywhere with a story if you don’t.

[nnightskiess]

santana lopez imagine

i kinda combined two requests together bc i thought they’d fit well!

a/n: this is for u elena. sorry you had to wait so long♡ 

also, i wanted to try and show that soft and nervous side of santana that came out at the beginning with dani, so i’m sorry if it feels out of character sometimes. (i did my best lol)

“So, what’s been going on with you? I haven’t seen you in a few months.” 

Y/N was having lunch with her friends from back home. It had been hard to keep in touch with them now that she had been living in New York for over a year. Not that she’d complain, since she gained multiple new friends and... well, a relationship. And not with just anyone— with Santana Lopez, whose singing career skyrocketed after a duet on Mercedes Jones’ album. She got a record deal a month after and her first EP was a hit. She went on tour with her first album but had vanished off the face of the earth after her very public breakup with her high school girlfriend and her backup dancer, Brittany S. Pierce. She stopped posting on social media, she wasn’t spotted by paparazzi anymore and her plans for a second album were now off the table. It was clear to everyone that the breakup had broken the girl. That was until she walked into the diner she used to work at and locked eyes with Y/N. Santana didn’t want to fall in love with anyone else and wasn’t completely over Brittany, so it wasn’t love at first sight. 

But the moment Y/N stole the show while taking the lead singing Shout by The Trammps, she knew there was something special about the girl. Was it her voice that Santana’s mind went to when she lied in bed that night? Or the twinkle in her eyes when she sang? Or perhaps the way her smile widened a tad bit more when she looked at Santana?  

Santana found herself go back to the diner on days where she’d rather sit in bed and cry. She’d forget her sorrow in moments they locked eyes but could cry again when Y/N wasn’t working that day. 

Santana had taken her notebook with her, the one she would never let anyone read— well, except for Brittany. It’s where most of her songs were born and where her most delicate and vulnerable thoughts were being kept. She’d never been too keen on sharing emotions with everyone, so writing them down was a great alternative. 

“I normally wouldn’t ask, but I’ve seen you here with that notebook now at least a couple of times... Are you writing a book?”

Santana’s head shot up. Y/N was standing next to her table, wiping her hands onto her apron.

Santana cracked a soft smile, “No—actually, I’m writing songs... a song... well, trying to, at least. My label wants-” She swallowed her sentence, she didn’t want this girl to know about any of that drama. 

Y/N seemed to ignore it.

“You sing?”

Santana nodded but furrowed her eyebrows when Y/N sat down in front of her. “Go on, then. Let me hear what you’ve got so far.”

“Oh, no no no-”

Y/N pursed her lips, “Did it happen not too long ago?” she asked after a couple of seconds of Santana trying to get out of this situation. 

She rose her eyebrows, unsure of how Y/N read the situation so well, 

“It’s actually been a while but it still hurts.” She caught herself confessing.

“Then I won’t pry. I’ll leave you to it.” Y/N slid out of the booth, “Oh, and— I happen to know that our strawberry milkshake is the best medicine to heartbreak. It’s on me.”

“Thanks...” Santana watched her leave into the kitchen and immediately rubbed her temples when the girl left her sight. No, no, no, no. Not again. But wasn’t this exactly the reason she had started visiting the diner more and more? To spike up a conversation with the girl? She cursed at herself, stood up, grabbed her stuff and left the diner. She wasn’t ready yet. She could take the short glances and attention, but that was the line. The only woman she had truly trusted was no longer with her, she couldn’t open up to anyone again. 

Through the window of the diner she could see the girl with a disappointed expression on her face the moment she realised Santana had left. But Santana didn’t turn around and kept walking. 

✫彡

“Okay, stop crushing my spirit. I wanted a nice dinner with you.”

“Then you should’ve just asked Berry over for dinner. I’m sure she’d tell you all about her awfully cheerful day.”

Kurt put his hand on Santana’s so that she would stop playing with her food. She glared at him. 

“You can glare at me all you want, but we’re not going to brush things under the carpet. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Santana dropped her cutlery and sat back, crossing her arms. “We’re not talking about Britt again. You want to help me move on? Then fucking stop bringing it up.”

“No, not that. There’s something else. I can sense it.”

“Since when do you have a Mexican third eye as well?”

“Off topic.” Kurt waved her off. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

Santana lowered her head and slightly looked up at him, trying to decide wether to share or not. 

“Is the label pressuring you?” He tried.

Santana sighed, “Well, yes, that too.”

Kurt waited patiently for Santana to feel comfortable enough to share the rest.

“They were okay with delaying the start of my second album but now they’re starting to breathe down my neck. They say it’s been long enough and that i’m just deadweight they have to pay but get nothing in return for, which is fair— but still. I’m only human, I’m not some super song-writing machine like Mercedes.”

“I thought you loved writing songs?”

“Yeah... when I had Brittany.” Santana looked at her lap and started playing with her hands. “Now that I don’t have her... I can’t seem to even write one sentence... and when I do, they’re all just too gloomy or depressing.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. “Well, Adele wrote one whole album about her breakup which sold like Wonka bars. Who says you can’t?”

Santana shook her head, “You don’t get it. I don’t want to sing about her anymore, even though it might help me move on. But the thing is...” she bit her lip, “I can’t. I don’t want to.”

“Then write about how you can’t write. Write about how you want to feel instead of feeling like your heart has been ripped out. Write about conquering this heartbreak, like a powerful song?”

“How?” Santana looked up, tears in her eyes. 

“By remembering who you were before.”

“But I’ve been with Britt for as long as I-”

Kurt shook his head and waved his hands around, “No, think of the Santana in high school. You were fierce, strong, not afraid to speak your mind but you also had a big heart. You didn’t want to show it often but we all knew yours was just as big, if not bigger, as ours. Remember how it felt every time you got a solo and when you stood on the stage? Write about that feeling. Write about feeling on top of the world again.”

“Thanks, Hummel.”

He smiled at her and squeezed her hands, “Anytime. Now eat before it gets cold. I didn’t spend two hours in the kitchen for nothing.”

✫彡

Santana walked out off the apartment she had rented after her breakup with Brittany and crossed the street. She needed some fresh air and a distraction from her song-writing. Spring was around the corner but it was still very chilly in the big city, so she held the collar of her coat while walking through the tiny park close to her block. She started humming the melody she’d just come up with. Something just didn’t feel right yet.

Santana saw people look at her as they passed by but hoped that the big sunglasses on her face would keep them guessing of her identity. No matter how much she loved the attention from her fans, she sometimes just wanted to be normal and not have to pose for selfies every damn day.

“Hey, you!”

She sighed and stopped to turn around since she’d look like a real ass if she didn’t. She half expected to be met with a group of teenage girls with their phones ready to snap a picture, but instead she locked eyes with the girl from the diner.

“I think you dropped this.”

The girl apparently didn’t seem to recognise her thanks to the shades, and she handed her a crumbled piece of paper.

“Oh— um, thanks.” Santana gave her a tight-lipped smile. She stared back at the girl.

“I know you.”   (weren’t you in a movie with my sister? lmao sorry i had to, let’s continue)

Oh, no. The girl couldn’t find out that Santana was the woman who had basically stood her up after their talk in that diner.

She let out a breathy chuckle, “Do you?” 

“Yeah, you look familiar.” Something in Santana hoped that the girl recognised her for being a celebrity, not for what happened a week ago.

Y/N shamelessly looked her up and down before snapping her finger.

“Milkshake girl. I recognise your voice.”

Santana smiled awkwardly. Great, now she definitely looked like a douche. 

“Sorry about that, by the way... I-”

“No need to apologise. I probably came on too strong, sorry for giving you the wrong impression. I only wanted to cheer you up.” She smiled back, “It’s a shame though, it was a great milkshake.”

Santana’s expression softened, relieved at how well the girl had taken it. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you again after that... You used to come in every few days. Is it my fault? Gunther would kill me if I lost him a customer. Wait— Don’t answer that. It’s none of my business.”

Santana smiled and removed her glasses.

“If he ever gets mad at you, just give him a box of Yeast-I-Stat. That’ll pretty much shut him up.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “How do you-”

“I worked there for a long time when I first moved to New York.” Santana shrugged, “I was pretty desperate for any kind of job when I landed that commercial.”

“Oh my God, you’re the Yeast-I-Stat girl!? I knew I recognised you from somewhere else, too.” The girl gasped, “I like yeast in my bagel... but not in my muffin.” She mocked and laughed afterwards.

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Santana shook her head in amusement, kinda glad those days were over.

“Is that really what you know me of?”

“Yeah, what else should I know you of? Any other embarrassing first-job commercials I should know about?”

Santana was about to mention her career but stopped herself. Clean slate. She wasn’t a celebrity in her private life. Besides, she didn’t want the girl to think she was bragging.

“No... thank God.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds before smiling.

“I’m Y/N.” She held out her hand for Santana to shake.

“Santana.”

Y/N smiled at her with the most adorable smile ever. Santana didn’t miss the twinkle in her eyes. 

She blinked a few times before shaking her head, “So, yeah. I should get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I have to go, too...”

“Bye...” 

Santana waved softly as the girl turned around and walked off.

Clean slate, Santana.

✫彡

“They’re doing a Gloria Estefan night at the Spotlight Diner. We should totally go.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but that sounds out of character for the diner.” Rachel shrugged.

“I guess they finally had a cultural awakening.” Santana was mindlessly scrolling through her phone. “They’re probably too white to sing her Spanish songs though, bet they’re gonna butcher it.”

“So that’s a no for reserving us a table?” Kurt turned to the two.

“No, I wanna go.” 

“Count me in, too. I love ‘Conga’.”

Santana rolled her eyes, “That’s the only song you know of her, isn’t it?”

“No...”

“Keep next Friday night free.” 

✫彡

They walked in as ‘A Bailar’ by Gloria silently played over the speakers in the background. Santana scanned the room, shamelessly trying to find the girl she was looking for. Unfortunately, she was nowhere in sight. 

Kurt waved his hand and one of the waitresses came to take their order. They talked a bit as they waited for their food. Every time Santana saw a girl in the red outfit walk by from the corner of her eyes, her head would shot up, only to be disappointed again when it wasn’t Y/N.

“Tana, stop ogling everyone. Your food’s getting jealous.” Rachel pointed at the untouched plate in front of her. 

A few minutes later, their heads shot to the door as Y/N bursted through it. She quickly fixed her hair that was messed up by the wind and quickly tied a white apron around her waist. Gunther came from behind the counter. Though they couldn’t hear what he said, it was clear she was in trouble. He kept pointing his finger at her chest before snatching the apron off her waist and sending her into the back. 

“Oh, I bet she’s on cleaning duty now. Remember when I got an hour late because I was held up at an audition?”

Kurt and Rachel started talking but Santana wasn’t paying attention. 

Santana furrowed her eyebrows until she got a call from her PR manager. She declined and a few seconds after, she got a text.

Santana’s stomach sank and she froze. New relationship? Brittany had already moved on? Yet she still spent every day moping around, overthinking everything that had happened, unable to write any song that wasn’t about the blonde. Brittany was already giving someone else all her love? How was that fair? How was she even able to do that?

“Santana?”

“You alright?”

She snapped out of it and gave them a tightlipped, fake smile. There was no time for them to question her any further as Rachel let out a startled yelp when suddenly the first notes of ‘Conga’ blasted through the diner. The lights flickered and changed colour on the beat. Santana rolled her eyes, of course they’d start with that song. 

Girls started dancing through the pathways and tried to hype everyone up. Kurt was shimmying along and Rachel was nodding her head to the beat, a big smile on her face. Santana tried to blend but she was busy biting her lip to stop herself from crying. 

The percussion band on the little stage started playing ‘Cuba Libre’. A girl danced her way onto the stage and sang the Spanish verse. She was clearly hispanic since her pronunciation was great. Two girls started dancing on the counter and another helped someone up—Y/N. 

‘Cuba Libra’ faded into the chorus of ‘Turn the Beat Around’ to which Y/N took the lead. Santana’s frown softened at seeing the girl perform, but she still couldn’t shake the thought of Brittany off.

Santana sank back into her seat and crossed her arms, wanting to go home and crawl into her bed and not leave it for the next couple of days. She hadn’t even realised that another song was already playing and that the girls were pulling people out of their seats to ‘Get on Your Feet’. 

Y/N spotted Santana in the crowd and walked over to her, but Santana wouldn’t crack a smile. Y/N kept singing to her until she’d turn around. Kurt softly shook his head at the girl, telling her that she should leave Santana alone. But what he didn’t know, was that the girls already knew each other. Y/N noticed how Santana pursed her lips, not giving in to her. 

Y/N grabbed her shoulders, bent down to her height and slowly made the girl turn.

She sang to her,

“Deep in your heart is the answer. Find it, I know it will pull you through. Get on your feet!”

She leaned over to grab Rachel and Kurt’s hands, helping them stand up. Almost everyone in the diner was up and dancing right now, except for Santana. Kurt gave her a look, telling her to suck it up. 

“I think it's true that we've all been through some nasty weather,” Y/N turned to dance with one of her co-workers. She felt Santana look at her and walked back up to her. She danced around her. “Let's understand that we're here to handle things together.”

Y/N stuck out her tongue at Santana’s stoic expression, trying to break her. And it worked, Santana let out a soft chuckle and shook her head in amusement. Both Y/N and Kurt held out a hand for her to take. She rolled her eyes and stood up. The four of them danced together for a few seconds until Y/N walked back to the other girls. They ended the song on the stage, where everyone left but Y/N. They went back to eating their dinner as the next few songs would be slow and easy on the ears. 

Y/N sat down on the stool next to the guitarist. He started playing the soft notes of ‘Wrapped’. Kurt and Rachel went back to eating their food but Santana was too mesmerised by the girl to engage in their conversation. The soft light that was shining down on her made her look like she was the only one in the room. And judging by the look on the girl’s face while she sang, she felt like she was the only one in the room too. She hadn’t once opened her eyes the first minute, she was just so indulged in the song. 

A small smile made its way onto Santana’s face at the sight. She knew how good it felt to be so into a song that you could just forget the world around you— to find your corner of the sky. It was very obvious that Y/N felt at ease, even while performing in front of people. It was rare to see people be so clearly in love with what they were doing. 

Santana grabbed her phone, opened Instagram and decided to film this moment. Y/N’s face wasn’t recognisable from the distance where Santana was filming from so she decided to just put it into her story. Everyone deserved to see this. 

Was this positive and uplifting enough?

✫彡

‘What we know of Santana and Brittany’s breakup...’

‘Read what Brittany S Pierce has to say about her ex’

‘Santana’s social media silence over?’

‘Santana Lopez still in love or in love again?’

And many more headlines had been posted after that Friday. Santana got a lot of followers after her first post in over a year. She had also gotten a lot of hate, which was something she hadn’t missed. Brittany hadn’t said one bad word about their relationship or about Santana but for some reason she still received backlash. Brittany spoke so highly about Santana and all the questions were answered with respect. But Santana wasn’t surprised about that at all, that was just how Brittany was.

There were still people—mainly Brittany fans—who blamed Santana and made all kinds of crazy assumptions about what had happened. 

“Just delete the app. You don’t need that kind of toxic energy around you.”

Y/N was filling the ketchup bottles while she sat in front of Santana. 

How had this happened, you ask? One of Y/N’s coworkers had recognised her on Santana’s story and pointed it out to her. When Santana visited the diner again, Y/N had jokingly apologised about not knowing who she was before, to which Santana had replied,

“You knew who I was. You knew the real me. Not the celebrity or crazy hot girl from the Yeast-I-Stat commercials.”

After that, Santana made sure to come round when Y/N was done or only doing little chores. 

Y/N loved that she got a new friend and Santana was glad that she finally had someone who she could start over with. Someone who didn’t know her from back in high school and someone who didn’t become friends with her solely for the fact that she was famous.

“I can’t. They want me to post at least once a week.” Santana groaned, “I don’t even know what to post. All I do is sleep, try to write and go here.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes until Y/N opened her mouth again.

“Why are tomatoes the slowest vegetables?”

Santana furrowed her eyebrows, giving her a look. 

“No guesses? Well, they can’t ketchup.”

Santana snorted and shook her head. “Wow, okay. I’m going to pretend you didn’t just make an awful joke.”

“Yeah, you go do that while I bring these to the back.”

Santana watched her leave and sighed. The past week had been hell for Santana. She yearned for every little bit of attention from Y/N and her insides turned to mush whenever the girl smiled at her. But something held her back. She didn’t want to fall in love again. Not yet, not when she still held her high school sweetheart in her heart. But it was so hard to not stare at Y/N or freak out whenever she called her on the phone. 

“Ready?”

Santana laughed at the huge guitar in Y/N’s hands. She seemed so small now. 

“What’s that for?”

“You said you didn’t know what to post. You should post a little acoustic cover of that song I helped you finish last week?”

Santana looked at her, contemplating if she should agree or not. 

“Can you even play?”

Y/N smiled sheepishly, “Only that song. I practiced the chords all week. But hey, if I mess up— just know that i’m willing to publicly embarrass myself just to help you out.”

Santana smiled at her in adoration. “Fine. Okay.”

They walked to the vacant stage and put Santana’s phone on the sheet music standard.

“Oh-I... I’ll scoot out of the frame if me being in it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Why would it make me uncomfortable?”

Y/N laughed, “People might assume we’re together after all the assumptions about you in the magazines. That would be weird.”

Santana’s expression faltered. “O-Oh...yeah.. it would...” She faked a smile.

Y/N started strumming the guitar.

(radio silence by naya rivera)

Santana closed her eyes as she started singing. It was clear to everyone that this song was about Brittany and she wasn’t ready yet to let them hear the whole song. It felt too personal to give it away just like that. Which is why they decided to do just a snippet. 

She opened her eyes and looked at Y/N when one chord sounded terrible. You could hear Y/N giggle from behind the phone. Santana smiled wide and had a hard time singing without laughing. Y/N stuck out her tongue as she seemed focused on getting the next one right. Santana unintentionally looked at her longingly the last few notes but broke out of it when Y/N stopped playing. 

✫彡

Should she be thanking the tabloids? No, never. However, she couldn’t deny that they had been the reason why Y/N had even brought it up. 

“Do you like me?” 

Santana widened her eyes.

“And I don’t mean as friends. I mean like-like. Do you like-like me?”

“I-uh, I-” Santana stammered. 

“It would be really embarrassing if you didn’t, to be honest.”

Santana gave her a wary but panicked look.

“Because I do... like-like you, I mean.”

“Wow, wait— what?”

She opened and closed her mouth until she saw the honesty on Y/N’s face who let her statement linger in the air, hoping that Santana would say something. But the silence only heightened her nerves

“Santana-”

“I can’t... I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

She quickly grabbed her stuff and left the diner, just like she had done the first time. 

She rushed home, biting her lip to prevent the tears in her eyes from falling. The second she unlocked her front door, she let them go. Santana tried to control her sobs as she sat on the couch, holding her head in her hands. 

Her safety net whenever she felt lost or emotional— Brittany — was gone, what was she supposed to do now? She let out another sob as she missed Britt’s arms holding her close. 

She reached for her phone without a second thought and dialled the woman’s number. Brittany picked up after a few seconds, much to Santana’s surprise.

“Hey, um, Santana. What’s up?”

Brittany decided to break the ice, but all formalities were thrown out the window when she heard the Latina let out another sob.

“Santana, are you okay?! What’s happened? Where are you?”

Was she okay? No. But what was she supposed to tell Brittany? That it was partly because of her?

“Please, say something, Tana. I’m worried.”

Santana held the bridge of her nose and let out a big, shaky sigh.

“Please forget that I called, this was a mistake. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

She hung up. But the phone rang after a few seconds. Santana tossed it next to her on the couch and rubbed her forehead. How could she have been so stupid?

It rang again. And again, and then another three times. Santana stared at the screen long and hard before picking it up. 

“Don’t shut me out, please. You know I still care about you when something’s wrong.”

Santana let out a huff and Brittany knew exactly what that meant.

“Santana, listen— I am so, so sorry for what happened. I too thought that we would be the happiest and sappiest couple forever but... some things just... happen. And I still completely understand how hard it was for you to stay friends with me without being with me and I’m so terribly sorry for that they brought you up in that interview— but I meant everything I said, Santana. You were the best thing that happened to me back then. And to me you still are my best and most incredible friend but... that’s just it.”

A long pause.

“And I kind of really miss hanging out with you and so does Lord Tubbington so if you’re comfortable with the idea, would you want to get together sometime soon? Wait— not get together-together, just... argh, you know what I mean.”

“How did you do it?” Santana broke her silence. “What changed in your mind for you to get the closure you needed? Because I never fucking got it.”

Brittany kept quiet, knowing there was more to follow.

“I have spent a whole year feeling like absolute shit, but I knew... that there was no way that we’d ever get together again. But the closure? Nope.” She furrowed her eyebrows in frustration. “And lately there’s been this incredible girl in my life and guess what? You two are fighting for first place in my head and I can’t help but want to push her out because I’m not ready to let her stay there until you are completely out of my thoughts.”

She heard Brittany let out a breath.

“Sant-”

“Oh, no, no, no. I don’t need a pity-party. I don’t-”

“Santana Lopez, listen to me.” Brittany raised her voice. “If your plan is to sabotage your own happiness, then congratulations— you’re well on your way. It’s no wonder that you’re having a hard time moving on. I mean, one— I’m a catch but two, we were together since high school, that’s a long time. We were each other’s first loves and truth be told, you never really forget those. You’ll compare every following relationship to that one, even if it was full of flaws. Truth is, you’ll never be able to move on or get the closure until you open yourself up to idea of loving someone else again. And I know how you work— you don’t ever want to open up to someone again but... if you give this girl a chance, who knows? She might be the one to change your mind. And I’ll cross my fingers she will. I hope she’ll kick me off first place like a rugby player.” Brittany snorted at her own joke. 

“Because you deserve a special someone too, Santana. And if you still don’t have the closure you need... I loved you, I cared for you, and in a way I still do. But we won’t ever get together again. That ship has sailed. I want you to be happy and I want to see you flourish in every aspect of life, just... without me being your special someone. I’d still very much like to be by your side, though, but as a friend.”

Santana let the words sink in until she suddenly widened her eyes. 

“I am such a fucking idiot.”

“Um... are we having the same phone call? Because I’m lost...”

“She told me she liked me and I ran out.”

“Was that metaphorically speaking or did you literally run out?”

“Like a chicken, Brittany.”

“Santana!? Be Chicken Little and run back!” Brittany exclaimed, “But watch out for the traffic, please, because that would be a tragic end to the story....and it would be animal abuse...”

Santana smiled softly, missing this side of Brittany.

“Okay, okay!” She laughed. 

“Keep me posted?”

Santana hummed, “Thank you, Britt.”

“Of course. You’re still my best friend, even if we haven’t seen each other in over a year. Go get the girl.”

✫彡

Santana hesitantly walked back into the diner. It wasn’t rush hour so there were only a few people having a drink.

“See you guys tomorrow!”

Y/N walked out of the backroom and froze in her spot when she saw Santana looking at her. A tightlipped, awkward smile appeared on her face and she tried to walk passed her but Santana grabbed her hand. 

“Wait, I-...I need to tell you something.”

Santana looked the girl in her eyes, seeing the anticipation and worry in them. But then she saw something else, she saw the same twinkle in her eyes when Y/N sang so beautifully that night. Only this time they were twinkling because she was looking at Santana.

She grabbed the girl’s cheek and planted a chaste kiss on Y/N’s lips. Y/N widened her eyes at first but kissed back. They parted when a bell coming from the kitchen interrupted them.

“So much for needing to tell me something...” Y/N chuckled heartily, “But I guess I got what you were trying to say.”

“You guess?” Santana shot back.

“Yeah... I’m still slightly confused...”

“How’s this?” Santana grabbed her by the waist and kissed her again. Y/N slowly tapped the girl on her chest when things started to get heated.

“Let’s keep it PG, we’ve got an audience.” 

Santana bit her lip in embarrassment when she saw that all eyes were on them now.

“But your message was loud and clear this time.” Y/N whispered in her ear and gave her one of the most adorable smiles.

“Oh...” Santana let out a breathy chuckle and looked at the ground. Being nervous was so out of character for her, but whenever it came to her and relationships she was always a simp for her significant other.

“But... can we take it slow? Because-”

Y/N nodded immediately. “I know, you don’t have to tell me. We’ll take it slow.”

✫彡

Y/N sat on Santana’s bed, reading a book while the Latina was trying to write a new song for her album. She heard yet another paper being ripped apart, followed by a loud groan. 

“Baby, you okay?”

Y/N bent over the couch and hugged Santana’s neck from behind, planting a kiss on her temple. Santana sighed and sat back, feeling more relaxed the second Y/N’s arms wrapped around her.

“It’s not working. I can’t seem to get my exact feelings onto paper and what I have now doesn’t even do it a little bit of justice.”

“The break-up song? Let me see-” Y/N went to reach for the notebook but Santana immediately turned around and smiled.

“You know what? I’m starving, and I want to take you out.”

“Oh— are you sure? We just had-”

“I’m sure. I need a break anyway.”

“Okay...well, let me get a jacket.”

Santana watched Y/N walk into the other room before quickly hiding the notebook behind the couch pillows again. She’d feel so embarrassed if Y/N ever read any of her love songs to her. Truth be told, ever since their first kiss in the diner, Santana had found her new muse. She had written a lot of songs since then but not one seemed to be good enough or do the girl justice. Besides, if Y/N read the lyrics to this song... Well, it would make or break their relationship and Santana wasn’t going to lose someone again.

“Let’s go.”

✫彡

“But I can tell my friends, right?”

“Baby, of course you can.”

“Sweet! I’m going to see them again next week. Can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they see you.”

“Oh, I’m... not sure if going with you is such a good idea.”

“I forgot— we’re taking things slow.” Y/N nodded to herself, “Sorry, I get too excited sometimes.”

Santana caressed the girl’s head and planted a kiss on it, “It’s okay. Soon.”

✫彡

“So, what’s been going on with you? I haven’t seen you in a few months.”

Y/N took a sip of her drink, “Well, i’m still working at the diner, that hasn’t changed. And-”

“You’re in love.”

“How-”

“I can sense it. Also, you've posted a lot of cheesy and soft quotes on your twitter so that was a dead give-away.”

“Well, yes. I’m dating someone.”

“Boy? Girl?”

“Girl, duh.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Her friend squealed, “Who is it? Show me a picture, let me approve.”

“It’s Santana Lopez.”

The two friends fell quiet.

“The famous singer?” One of them asked.

“Hun, she’s hardly famous anymore. Are we sure she still even exists?”

“Hey!” Y/N pouted. “But I’m telling you the truth. It’s Santana.”

“Real funny, she doesn’t even live in New York.”

“Uh, yeah, she does.”

“No, she doesn’t. TMZ said she moved back to Ohio after the break-up.”

Y/N shook her head, “They also said she started dating a 80 year-old billionaire and bought a pet alpaca, which I think is ridiculous. You’re too gullible.”

Her friend shrugged, “Perhaps, yeah. But hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell us who it really is yet.”

Y/N rolled her eyes when they switched the topic.

✫彡

“How did it go, babe? Were you happy to see them again?”

“You’re not going to believe me but they thought I was joking.”

“Joking about what?”

Y/N sat down next to Santana on the couch, immediately cuddling up to her. “Well, they didn’t believe I was dating you.”

“Why would they not believe you?”

“I think you forgot that you’re kinda famous.”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m hardly famous.”

Y/N mocked her, earning a playful punch in the shoulder from Santana but her smile soon disappeared.

“Um...”

“No bad news, please!” Y/N immediately noticed the change in Santana.

“No, no, don’t worry. I mean, I don’t think it’s bad news— it’s just... a lot...to deal with right now.”

“Just rip the bandaid off.”

Santana grabbed her phone and showed Y/N the post.

“Oh...” Y/N swiped and saw that she had been photographed as well.

“I know we said we would take things slow so I’m so sorry that the media is trying to fuck that up again.” Santana examined Y/N, who was difficult to read. “This is exactly what ruined everything last time. Fuck! Here I thought it would be different this time around. I should’ve never-”

“Santana, sshh.” Y/N grabbed her hand, trying to calm her down. “Stop thinking.” 

Santana looked up like a sad puppy.

“Nothing is getting ruined again. Not on my watch.” She put the phone on the coffee table, “Let’s just ignore that. Let them start rumours, let them guess, let them make up drama but the only two people who really know the truth are you and I. It’s our life, not theirs. So no matter what they will say, I will love you unconditionally for as long as you want me to... and I will never feel differently... about you.” 

Santana's head shot up, looking puzzled and panicked at the same time.

“W-Where did you get that from?”

Y/N smiled at Santana and caressed her cheek, “You need to find better hiding places, babe.”

Y/N suddenly looked worried, “Unless that song wasn’t about me... then... well, this is awkward. Just-”

“I love you.” Santana cut her off, tears in her eyes. She felt the urge to pinch herself but decided it would look silly. Was she really in love again after all that she’d been through? 

“I love you too, unconditionally. And... you better make that song your first single.”

✫彡

“Guys, I’m literally in the pictures with her?!”

“Yah, but you look more like a fan of her than her girlfriend, look at you... swooning.”

“I mean, yes, I adore everything she does...”

Y/N’s friend leaned over and smiled, “So you’re really dating the Santana Lopez?”

“I mean, I sure hope she does...” Santana walked up to their table in the little cafe, startling Y/N’s friends while the girl just looked at them with a smirk on her face. Finally.

Santana sat down next to her and gave her girlfriend a kiss before turning back to the two friends sitting in front of them.

“Is that enough proof or do you need me to bend her o-”

“That’s enough!” Y/N gave Santana a playful slap across the head. 

“Oh my God, no!” Y/N’s friend exclaimed, “Speak for yourself! Imagine the money I’d make with a tape of that! I’d finally be the rich bitch I’ve always been deep down.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at him and it earned a laugh from Santana, “I like you.” 

“Why, muchas gracias.”

“Wow, thanks for completely taking my spotlight. Hi, i’m her best friend, he’s just our accessory.”

“Excuse me?!”

Y/N shook her head at the two of them. 

“Are you regretting you came along?” Y/N turned to her girlfriend.

“We wouldn’t judge you if you said yes, to be honest.” Her friend laughed. 

Santana smiled at them, “No, it’s been a while since I met new people and you two seem fun and well, you mean a lot to this one over here so I’m happy to be here.”

Y/N snuggled up to Santana and put her head on her shoulder.

“Alright, go and make me jealous. It’s fine.”

“Shut up! Now tell us how you two met, please!”

✫彡

Santana couldn’t stop playing with her fingers and the bracelets on her wrist as the hours passed. Only a few more minutes now until her new song ‘My Unconditional Love’ would go online, for the world to hear. There had been a lot of speculations about the two women the past few months, but they had tried to be more discreet when they were outside. Much to the dismay of the paparazzi and tabloids. This song would basically be a dead give away to their relationship but she didn’t care. This song already meant so much to her and Santana hoped she could write plenty more songs like these about Y/N.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

Y/N’s voice interrupted her thinking.

“Wh- No, never! It’s probably my favourite song I ever wrote... it’s just... nerve-wracking, is all.”

“C’mere.”

Santana walked into Y/N’s open arms and let out a big sigh at the feeling of her arms around her. 

“You’ve come a long way and I am so proud of you... but most of all, I’m happy to be on this ride with you. I know this song will point a lot of fingers to us dating but hey, like we said before— no one needs to know but us and our friends and families. Capiche?”

Santana nodded and grabbed the girl’s cheeks, “I’m so happy with you.”

They both beamed from ear to ear until the bell rang. Santana opened the door. 

“I’m so excited!” Kurt squealed and dragged Rachel along inside.

“It’s time, guys!” Y/N sang as she appeared from the kitchen, trying to balance a tray with four champagne glasses on it. 

“Hook your phone up to the speakers!” Rachel grabbed a glass. Santana’s new song started playing which earned raised eyebrows from the three others.

“This isn’t the same song you sent me?!” Kurt exclaimed.

“No, it is. It’s just not the slow version. I’m keeping that version for us.” Santana grabbed Y/N’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It felt too special to share.”

“Well, damn, I’m digging this one, too!”

They started dancing together to the upbeat song. Y/N kept staring at Santana, who seemed too excited and happy to notice.

Her unconditional love.

[moss-sauce]

    anyways my best friend right now is barker. he deserves someone caring about him you fucking cowards. and that someone, is a kitty kitty

[ao3 link]

Not for the first time, he wakes up on the floor.

    His skull throbs and his temple is tender (implying he didn’t get down here lightly), leaving him dizzy and woozy. Overall, his body feels like deadweight--which it should be, his addled brain snaps--and he’s reluctant to move.

    The apartment is hazily lit, the light on the nightstand fuzzy and stretched through his bleary eyes. It has the same odor as always, the same chaotic arrangement, the same mess he’s intended to pick up for months now, the same liquor bottles stacked haphazardly on the table and countertops.

    He comes to the disappointing realization that he’s blacked out again. Tilting his head to the side tiredly, he spots the bottle in question, long since emptying onto the floor in a foul-smelling puddle. He should clean it up before he busts his ass on it. He’d argue that it should be done before it ruins the floor, but it’s so far-gone that he isn’t bothered with caring about it anymore. 

    Feeling a cool waft of air pass over him, he shivers and moves to stand. He’s left the goddamned door open again while he’s in such a vulnerable state. Barker scolds himself harshly. The IMC no doubt is still on the hunt for him after his abandonment and ultimate betrayal, not to mention bounty hunters looking to cash in on the fifty-grand credit reward on his head.

    Try as he might, he can’t muster the strength to move, let alone sit up. Even as he tries, his body protests loudly and furiously. 

    While wallowing in self-loathing, he hears something. Slight, almost undetectable, except for the apartment being silent.

    Desperately, his hands search for his pistol. They check his empty holsters reflexively, leaving him with a sinking feeling. 

    The nightstand.

    He cranes his head to look up on the short stand. Sure enough, his pistol rests on top, the clip sitting parallel to the barrel. 

    So, this is it. This is how he goes out. On his back, belly-up, in possibly the worst scenario imaginable. Fuck, they probably strolled in through his front door that he left ajar.

    The floor creaks as something steps on it.

    He gets a surge of bravado that he acts on. “C’mon out, fucker,” he seethes. “‘M not goin’ down easy.”

    The floor creaks again as whoever it is proceeds closer. Whoever they are, they’re light on their feet. Their movement is barely audible. 

    Mustering all the strength he can, he shoves himself to sit propped against the front of the couch-- he should at least face his demise full-on. His hand snaps out to grab the pistol and clip, fumbling to insert it with shaky, uncoordinated hands. Barker swears to himself at his own incompetence until the clip finally clicks into place.

    “Won’t say it again,” he hollers. “Get your ass out here!”

    Something hums from where the footsteps are coming from in the kitchen. Shaking fingers go to prime the gun. He aims, horribly offset and wobbly. 

    What rounds the corner is not his demise, somehow.

    The little orange tabby patters into the doorway crookedly. She seems to have made herself at home--she doesn’t cower away from Barker when she sees him. Distantly, he realizes the damn critter has probably been sleeping on his bed. 

    Frustrated yet relieved, he empties the gun and puts it to the side. “You lil’ shit,” he curses, “‘bout scared me to fuckin’ death.”

    The tabby looks at him calmly. He notices one steel-blue eye is cloudier than the other. Her skinny and matted, obvious battle scars showing up through the orange-striped fur.

    She’s probably feral, he realizes. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s seen strays roaming the streets. Though, it is the first time he’s seen one with the gall to come inside. 

Tabby comes meandering in towards him boldly. As she nears, she stops to curiously sniff at the puddle of whiskey that had spilled onto the floor. 

    “No, that shit’s bad for you,” he chides. How ironic, Barker!

    Something within him nags away at his conscience. He’s capable of at least giving the poor thing fresh water or something. The adrenaline high is still strong from thinking his end was near. With a heaved sigh, he gets his socked feet under him and props himself up against the couch.

    The Whiskey Kitty  startles at his movement, skittering away but quickly returning to peer at him curiously with a chirr. Her head is angled to keep her good eye on him. He clods to the kitchen with as much coordination as a hung-over man can garner. 

    Whiskey Kitty lets out a small, trilling mrrp! as he passes by.  For the grown-ass man he is, it goes straight to his heart. He’d stoop over to pat her head were he not worried about keeping his balance. Instead, he goes straight for the cupboard, fetching a shallow bowl and running it under the tap. Once it’s filled, he shuffles to the kitchen table to plunk down in a chair. Once seated, he sets the dish on the floor.

    Whiskey Kitty hauls ass over to the dish, drinking from it almost feverishly. He feels a pang in his heart: how long has it been since someone’s looked at her twice? Barker finally caves in to the urge to touch it, carefully leaning forward to hold his hand out. 

    He misses by a long stretch. 

    Cursing to himself, he goes to sit back up, but Whiskey Kitty seems to have noticed the gesture. Clumsily, she bumps her head into his palm and rubs happily. Something like a rough, garbled purr starts up from within her. It’s strong enough to shudder the cat’s whole body.

    How long has it been since she’s felt safe enough to let her guard down like this? Hell, how long has it been since he’s been able to let his guard down? Jolting in realization, he realizes the door is still wide open to the night of Angel City. In a hurry, he clambers to stand and rush over to close it. Whiskey Kitty follows him stride for stride.

    At the doorway, he gestures for the cat to leave. “Shoo,” he says half-heartedly. When the cat stares at him with the yeah, right, asshat look in her eyes, he gives up. 

    “One night,” he promises. “You can hang out overnight. That’s it.”

    Whiskey Kitty seems to understand the crack in his facade, moving to slither between his ankles happily. When the door closes and the lock clicks, she backs away and utters a quick, quiet ah! at him. 

    “You expect me to feed you, too?” he groans. What the hell does he have that’d be fit to give a cat, anyways?

    As he turns back towards the kitchen, Whiskey Kitty takes the lead, trotting past him with her tail tall and curled at the end. When he finally returns, she’s seated up on the tabletop with her tail wrapped neatly around her paws.

    “No, c’mon,” he groans. “Get down.”

    She stares at him knowingly. 

    “‘M serious,” he begs.

    She blinks.

    With a huff, he turns to the fridge. “Fine. Asshole.” He rustles through the meager contents inside--mostly bottles in various states of half-empty. The only thing he can find that he thinks would be fit for a cat is a carton of strawberries. The urge to grab one weighs heavily on him, so he fetches the carton and shuts the door.

    Back at the table, he stares face-to-face with the Whiskey Kitty. He distinctly sees the cloudy cataract in one of the cat’s eyes.Her face is marred with old scars, and he distractedly notices a deep wound on her shoulder.

    “You’re a scrapper, ain’t ya?” he muses. The cat stares back at him. Tentatively, he reaches a hand out, surprised when Whiskey Kitty hardly even flinches. “You used to b’long to som’one.” He’s amazed Whiskey Kitty still trusts humans--he sure doesn’t. Humans are sleazy and scheming, and if his time in the IMC was any indication, gutless cowards that have pawns fight for them.

    Whiskey Kitty jolts him out of his dwelling by bumping her head against his fingers, searching for more contact.

    Mah! says the cat.

    “We’ll find a good home f’r you,” he promises. “I’m jus’ an old drunkard that can’t do jack shit anymore. Otherwise, I’d…” he huffs, because it’s true, “keep you myself.”

    Remembering that no, Whiskey Kitty probably hasn’t had a meal in days, he flicks the carton open and breaks a small piece of a strawberry off for her. Immediately, she licks up the juice leaking from the piece, purring contentedly. 

    “You’re a good girl,” he tells her. “You don’ deserve what th’ world dealt you.” She pays him no mind, instead nibbling on the red flesh of the berry happily. When she looks up at him, she licks her whiskers contentedly. 

    He feels drained. His back hurts from being on the floor for god-knows-how-long. The telltale thumping of a headache is present in his head, making him sigh and rub his temples. He grabs a strawberry out of the carton and bites the greens off, popping the entire thing into his mouth. Through the dryness and aftertaste of the liquor, it’s splendid. He finishes his handful, giving Whiskey Kitty her fair share, before standing and stowing the carton back in the fridge. Standing nearly sends him careening into the counter, making him brace with one arm. 

    Whiskey Kitty sees him moving, hopping to the floor with a small thump.

    “You’re cute ‘n’ all, but you ain’t sleepin’ in my goddamn bed,” he tells her. She looks up at him curiously, seeing right through his ruse. Flustered, he turns his back and thumps down the hallway to his room, flinging the door open and throwing himself on the mattress ungraciously. He’s still moving from the mattress pushing back against him when he feels something hop onto the bed at his side with a small noise. “Ugh,” he groans. He supposes some cat hair on his sheets can’t be any worse than stains.

    He stays sprawled out on his stomach as his eyes drift shut slowly. The quiet of the night and, for some reason, the notion that he isn’t entirely alone tonight almost, almost makes him calm. 

    Beside him, he feels Whiskey Kitty curl up in the crook of his arm neatly before settling. He can hear her purring again, something that helps him settle down enough to drift off to sleep.