#i feel so stupid being sad about k leaving

[oetscop]

:(

[alwaysshallow]

boys trying to survive nnn with their partner (141 + los vaqueros + könig x f!reader)

a/n: if it wasn't for @blissful-bunny, there wouldn't be nnn. LMAOOO i hope y'all will enjoy, it's my first time doing something like this... and i think i don't hate it as i did before!

mdni, as always. nsfw below + keegan's version here

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Being around Ghost durning this time is funny, to say the least. You know about this bet from Gaz, when you invited the whole Task Force 141 for dinner. There wasn't much of a reaction from you, just a nod and a hum that's interesting to hear that. Nothing more, until your boyfriend's friends went home, and you stayed with him, washing dishes.

"You think you're gonna last?" you ask, and you pretty much can't stop yourself from laughing when he gives you a side eye.

"'s just a month." he grumbles, and you know, you somehow irritated him. Or, the bet did, you're not really sure. "Been through worse."

Theoretically, it is true. He's military, he has seen things that you won't ever see, something so stupid like this challenge shouldn't be something hard to do.

Practically? Practically, he takes every fucking chance to get closer to you. You're making breakfast, showering, washing the dishes? He's gonna be right behind you. It's not surprising at first, he liked to be near you always, but it has a malicious intent to it, when he drags his clothed cock up and down your ass, grunting right into your ear. He gets you worked up, and you're pretty sure he's gonna lose, but he stops right before he cums.

You can't really decide if it's funny or sad to see him like this. It's his pained expression that he gives when he bites on his lower lip, grumbling something about watching you touching yourself, so it will be better. You can't really say no to a man starved, so you put out a show for him, thinking how so much better his fingers would be in your pussy.

If it would depend on you, you'd kneel and relieve him, but what can you do, when he has this ridiculous challenge of his?

He breaks after two days, when he sees you in your shared gym, exercising. It's unexpected, when he puts down dumbbells you were working with, doing squats; you want to ask what's wrong, but when he lifts you up, your back hitting the wall, you just know. You even forgive him when he doesn't prep you enough, and he just thrusts into you without much thinking of it, his balls heavy.

You know you won't leave this gym for a long time.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"You're participating in what?"

To say it was weird, was one thing. To say that Kyle does it, was even weirder, especially that he was straight from two months of deployment. Needy. You knew it, as you were with him almost three years by now, he had always spent hours in bed with you because he missed you like a madman. These two months were pretty much the longest you've been separated with him, so, you can imagine your surprise, when you learned about the challenge, when you two were cleaning your apartment. He was touching you every now and then, giving you little kisses, and now he was talking about something like this.

"I'm—"

"—No, I heard you" you chuckled, shaking your head. "I'm like… trying to understand who convinced you to do so."

"Bet with Soap. Lad thinks 'm not gonna last with you." he murmurs, and you just know that this motherfucker made this as a personal challenge. So, you just nod your head, to Kyle's surprise on his pretty face. "That's… all you're gonna say?"

"What else I'm supposed to say?" you raise your eyebrow, amused. "That I feel sorry for you, this will do?"

"That ain't funny."

"It is, kind of funny." you grin, as you kiss his forehead, at which he closes his eyes, so you repeat kissing his forehead a few times. "I'm gonna support you in this, yeah? So it's gonna be easier."

It wasn't easier. You could see that he glances at you every now and then, when you are doing domestic things around the house, giving him little, encouraging smiles. Little do you know that Kyle's bulge is growing larger and larger every time he looks at you.

Gaz is pretty calm, at least until he sees you in his t-shirt (that is way too big for you) and just panties underneath, sitting right beside him with a bowl of popcorn. You two planned to watch a movie, but your boyfriend quickly brushes it off, as his hand wanders under the hem of your panties.

"Kyle, you—"

"I know." he almost growls, as he puts you on his lap.

The moment he feels your wetness, he's a gone man; he makes you ride him, and the challenge is just a fading memory, when his lips attack yours.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap is absolutely offended when everyone in Task Force 141 tells him he's gonna lose the challenge. He can't shut up about it for an hour straight, as he lays with his head on your lap, telling you something about celibacy and being true lover, not some "horny arse like the others". You listen to it with a small, amused smile on your lips because as much as you love your boyfriend, everyone is right about it.

He's not gonna last, and he knows it personally too, but you say nothing about it. You just listen to Johnny's ramblings, until his eyes are on you, observing your reaction so casually.

"What do ya think? 'm gonna beat it? Be the best?" he tilts his head like a puppy, squinting his eyes. It's an icy ground you're standing on right now.

"I think… it's gonna be hard." you answer; slowly, reluctantly. It's not something that he wants to hear though, as he groans, shaking his head with displeasure. "What? You asked!"

"I ken it's gonna be hard. 'm askin', if 'm gonna beat it" he emphasizes his last words, and you can feel he barely holds himself from rolling his eyes.

"…well, baby, as much as I have faith in you in other things…"

It's not a good answer for him, nor for a challenge, considering that you end up getting fucked by him – it's some kind of punishment, he tells you, when he folds you in half. He tells you that he also didn't lose the challenge, technically, as you had sex November 1st , at 3 a.m. You nod, hesitantly, so you could go to sleep without causing him to ramble about it again; you are exhausted.

It takes him three days of fucking you in various places to finally come into the conclusion that the challenge isn't for him. Three days of promising and hearing him whining that it's gonna be 'st the tip, baby, to feel you good.

"Good that you've figured that out." you say with a small smile, in restaurant's bathroom, his forehead against yours, as his cock is still buried deep inside you.

"Lasted longer than lads. Sure of that."

John Price

You want to think of your husband highly, when you hear of this stupid thingy. The authority, someone that leads the Task Force 141, setting the example for his younger proteges with his willpower. Someone who actually cares about engaging in challenges, even if they're stupid, even if he shouldn't even look at something like this.

Yet, you know John, you're married to him, for God's sake – and you know his sex drive. When this man is home, nothing and no one stops him from getting what he wants, and that's on you. In your mind, there's a core memory of him saying that he absolutely loves your pussy, multiple times.

So it's not a surprise that he doesn't participate in this challenge. It's not a surprise when he babbles about having kids with you while he fucks you wherever he can; kitchen counter, under the shower, your couch. His obsession over kids grew over this month more than ever, and you were happy to meet his expectations in a middle, since you thought of having a little angel in your small family for a longer time now. Having a dog wasn't enough.

A surprise comes when he proudly admits that he won in the end of the month. Boys are pretty much shocked by this, considering that their Captain didn't even look frustrated once, and he was in better mood than usual. Yet, they don't have a place to complain, so they accept the defeat with a frown on their faces, and a quick comment from Soap that he for sure cheated.

"You didn't win, honey." you laugh to him, sitting at his lap, when he's in his office, alone.

Price arches his eyebrow in amusement. "I did."

"That's not really—"

"Listen, we were tryin' for babies, weren't we? It wasn't egoistical fuckin'." he explains, completely serious.

It takes all in you not to either gasp or laugh again. "So, if it would be without the intention of making babies, you'd lose?"

He gives you a quick nod. "Exactly, missus. Exactly."

Alejandro Vargas

It's easy to last a few days for Alejandro. Maybe even a week, or a bit more. With his kind of work, being a Colonel, you often didn't see him for days, or even weeks if it was a bad time. Right now, with working over destroying a Mexican cartel, being home was rare for him. Was it saddening? Of course, but you knew what you were doing when you married him, you've talked with him about it for days, maybe weeks, even.

So, maybe that's why he didn't really think much of a challenge when he agreed to it, one of the nights he was drinking with Los Vaqueros. Just for fun, just to make a fun memory in this mess they were in. Days were passing in the blink of an eye with the same routine; a few hours of sleep if he's lucky, patrol, documents, action and repeat. Nothing too fancy, nothing too new for a man of war like he is, he got used to it all.

Harder was the moment he came home to you, where you were waiting for him with your open arms, all needy for his presence, for his touch, but somehow, somehow he managed, giving you the best orgasm of your life with his mouth only, even if he was in need too.

"Cariño?" he calls you, confused, when he doesn't see you in bed in the next morning. In his sweatpants only, he goes to the kitchen, following the sound of pan that sizzles lazily in the background.

"Makin' breakfast, Ale!" you reply, looking behind your shoulder with the biggest smile that slowly falters the moment you see his eyes darkening in the span of seconds. "What's with the face?"

He approaches you slowly, caging you between his arms. "Just… appreciating" he says, as he starts kissing your neck "my little wife. Who's been really patient with me, gone for so many days. And now, you're making me breakfast—" he groans, shaking his head. You can feel his growing bulge, as you grind your ass against it.

It's obvious that Colonel lost the challenge, after he arrives to his work with his wife, his arm possessively around her. Why? Maybe it's your neck covered in hickeys, your trembling legs, or his arms visibly scratched, but no one says anything about it in the base.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

You have a kind of forbidden romance with him; you're the one of Los Vaqueros, and the romance is absolutely prohibited here, to prevent the collapse of the squad. Not to mention that he's a right hand man of Alejandro, so he has to follows the rules directly. Maybe even more than anyone here, to be honest; setting an example that he's not a exception to the rule.

It doesn't help that you're so kind. That you nod every time you see him as a silent greeting, and then you rush to do whatever you have to do today. It doesn't help him that you're helping everyone around you with a smile that could light up the whole town, and he smiles every time he sees it, too.

Everyone pictures that Rudy would win the challenge easily, since in their heads, his head wasn't occupied with anyone, and he could easily withold himself with his desires.

And maybe he would. Maybe he would, if you weren't the one guarding the base with him, if you weren't the one who was smiling at him with those plump lips of yours.

"If you'd only know how much I thought about… hah—" his breaths are ragged, as the pace of his hips gets quicker. His lips finds yours, as he kisses you with such hunger, you know without a doubt that he means what he says. It automatically makes you smile.

"It's fate that binds us, then" you say, your fingernails clutching at his arms; you're sure that you're the creator of bloody crescents here, but you can't care less about it. Not when the man of your dreams is fucking you.

He smiles at your words.

Rudy never been a good liar, and you painfully learn it, when Alejandro asks him why he's so happy; as you stand nearby, you hear the whole conversation. It's cute in some way, the way he's a blabbering mess, without any sense of it.

It takes Colonel's one look at you, and he knows.

You never walked faster to your work, neither did Rudy.

Konig

If you think he's gonna even try playing at this, you're in deep denial. Maybe if he'd be alone he could try of a genuine curiosity, but not when he has you. Such a pretty, obedient girlfriend, that he has wrapped around his finger, and a girlfriend that is pretty much at his service every time he wants.

He's a man to laugh about that challenge with his squad, telling them that they're filthy, and he would last the whole month, maybe even longer, if it weren't for you. Because he's such a caring boyfriend, he listens to your needs, even if you're whiny.

At least, that's the story that his squad knows.

He tells you about this while he folds you in half, that he needs to act a little grumpy around his squad, to put a facade that he's hungry because it's the right thing to do. When you suggest that he could even try, he barks a low laugh, while he pumps his cock before thrusting into you.

"Schatz, as if. Not gonna play the kids game." it's all he says, kissing you with affection on your swollen lips. "I do not intend on torturing you like this. You wouldn't survive a day without my dick."

There's some truth to it — but you're truly wondering if that's you who wouldn't survive without his dick, or he, that wouldn't survive without your pussy and sex, considering he is even more of a maniac than you are.

dividers by cafekitsune

[4ngel-inc]

࿔*:･ 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 — 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 ࿐

tags — fem reader, a little angsty but mostly fluff !! ᰔ

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 never wanted to let you go, he'd always believed you'd be together forever, but when he finally opened up and told you about his past—about his time in the mafia and everything that entailed—he thought he noticed a flicker of fear in your eyes, and it scared him. he simply couldn't handle the thought of being judged or abandoned later down the line for his past mistakes. it was selfish, really, the way the tears rolled down your cheeks solely from such an impulsive decision on his part. he regretted it immediately, but it was simply too late—he'd already broken your heart. for months, he contemplated how to get you back—flowers and apologies simply wouldn't be enough, he knew that. did he even deserve your love, after the heartache he'd put you through? he finally convinced you to grab coffee at your favorite cafe, and decided on a very simple approach, the one you deserved—spilling his heart out to you entirely. "i just want to be loved, i've never admitted it to anyone, and i've never loved anyone. i'm- uh, not sure what to do with my feelings." he looks sad, and it's the most serious you've ever seen him. after listening to him pour his heart out for a while, and overcoming a little hesitation, you decide to give him another chance. "we can try again, but please, let me see the real you this time, osamu," he waits for you to finish, "it wasn't fear in my eyes, it was love. i just can't bear the thought of you hurting, or of you being so lonely, but i'm here now, k?" you both smile, and share a sweet kiss.

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 isn't the type to thrive off of instability—he likes safety, security in a relationship. he never wanted the type of relationship that was on and off again, it was childish in his eyes, and not something he found appealing. and so the first time you two had decided to take a break, he told himself it was the last time—he was done with the relationship, and brushed it off as a passing fling, since you two were only together less than a year. however, he begins to understand why he trusted you in the first place as time goes on and your absence starts to sink in—you made him feel different than the rest, made him feel like a different person. there was something in the way you touched him that made him feel worthy, like love wasn't a rarity or a foreign concept, but simply a part of his everyday life. and now, that feeling is gone. chuuya is quite stubborn, so it takes him a while to realize how much he truly misses you, but when it finally sinks in one night, as he aerates an expensive red wine in his glass he's sure you'd scold him for drinking so late at night, he decides enough is enough. it doesn't take long for him to show up at your door, and he's quite frank when he arrives—as soon as you open the door, he sighs, "no relationship is perfect, i'm sorry i gave up on ours, it was a stupid fight. can we try again, doll? i miss you, a lot actually." needless to say, you give in.

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀 wasn't expecting you two to break up at all, but you just couldn't handle the pain of watching him come home bruised and bloodied every night. even more than that, you couldn't understand why he wanted to continue working for the mafia anyways, especially when they were clearly just using him—you butted heads about it a lot, and eventually you decided to leave, akutagawa coming home to an empty apartment one day. you'd warned him you were leaving a few days before, but that didn't lessen the hurt he felt the first time he had to sleep alone. even now, weeks later, as he showers and climbs into bed, he doesn't feel the same as he did before he met you. is he changing? he feels softer, more vulnerable, he feels like crying—he hates to admit it. however, you are the one who decides to come back to him, realizing you'd made a mistake. you knock on his front door one night as he's getting ready for bed, and though he answers with an inquisitive look in his eyes, he lets you in. "what are you doing here?" he asks. you sigh, "don't sound so happy to see me." he isn't sure how open he should be with his feelings, you'll likely just hurt him again. "should i be happy? you won't stay, anyways." you approach him hesitantly, "i was wrong about us, about you—the mafia is the life you know, and loving someone means accepting all of them. if you'll give me another chance, ryūnosuke," you pause before continuing again, "i'd like to show you how much i love you this time, i don't want to be scared anymore." it isn't difficult for him to give in, and you stay the night, and all of the nights after.

𝐅𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀 never pictured himself in a serious relationship, so when he does find himself settling into one, it makes him a bit nervous. he isn't used to anything, or anyone, uprooting his life or shaking things up—other than work. so, he's a bit more critical of relationships than he might be otherwise. after your first petty argument, one that only happened months into your relationship, he convinces himself that maybe, the two of you just aren't quite a good fit. he lets you down easy, "dear, i'm worried maybe we've rushed into this a bit. i'd like to take a step back, for the time being." needless to say, it hurts, a lot. but you decide to respect his wishes and give him his space, and you find you're starting to enjoy being single again. moving on from fukuzawa isn't easy—he's the man of your dreams—but after convincing yourself you simply aren't the one he wants anymore, you begin to heal, and see the sun shine through the clouds a bit. however, fukuzawa only grows lonelier as the days go on. it's the silence of his home when he returns late at night, the way he craves the sweets you'd make him, the way he reads his books without you by his side, and the way he takes his walks without your hand there to hold, that make him realize life with you was always better than life alone. fukuzawa is a stern man, but not when it comes to this—he calls you and calmly asks to talk, and after humbly asking for another chance, it's easy to give him one. he's ready to love you with no inhibitions this time—you deserve the best of him, after all, and he'll gladly give it to you.

[rishiguro]

GAME OVER - K. KENMA

warnings: hurt/no comfort. 3.7k of angst. break up. yelling. talking about abandonment. heartbreak. no beta, we die like ao3.

zipping the suitcase shut, you closed your eyes. this was your second and last one. you were practically done, your best friend has confirmed that they were already on the way and soon you would be out of here the rest of your stuff was already at their place, you had made sure that today, the day you were finally leaving, everything you had would leave this place.

you had planned this. you knew you wanted this. and it’s not like your soon-to-be-ex boyfriend ever mentioned something about your belongings slowly disappearing, if he even noticed it – which he probably didn’t.

after all, he didn’t even notice you growing distant over the last couple of weeks. 

quickly you lifted the luggage from the bed and pushed it into the hallway. you wanted to leave as soon as possible, hell, you wouldn’t even mind waiting outside, even though it was freezing and snowing without an end in sight. but for now you decided to stay inside, after all you knew that kenma had plans. not that he would’ve told you personally, but you overheard him talking to his best friend on the phone last night.

as it turned out however, this didn’t seem to be the case.

you were currently walking around the apartment one last time, checking if you had taken everything with you before finally leaving, when something made you stop in your tracks, your hand tightening around one of the straps of your backpack.

you could practically feel your heart stop as you heard the door unlock and fall shot shortly after, followed by keys being tossed into the bowl right next to it.

why was he home? he wasn’t supposed to be home. 

“(y/n)?” you heard him call out for you and instantly your heartbeat sped up rapidly. he sounded puzzled and slightly irritated, which affirmed your belief that he saw the luggage in the hallway. “what’s going on?”

with a clenched jaw you forced yourself to calm down, your feet taking you to come face to face with him. “why are you home? i thought you wanted to go over to tetsurou’s place,” you stated calmly, forcing your voice to sound as bored as possible. you didn’t want him to know of the turmoil you felt inside of you.

kenma narrowed his eyes at you. “you didn’t answer my question”

shrugging, you pointed roughly into the direction of your suitcases. “well what does it look like? i’m leaving”

you don’t know how you were expecting him to react. shock? sadness? or even relief?

what you didn’t expect was to look at his ever so apathetic face as he only raised his eyebrows slightly at you. “haha, very funny” 

you could only blink at him for a few moments before you shook your head, muttering something to yourself. you shouldn’t be so surprised that he didn’t take you seriously. it’s not like he respected or even reacted to anything you told him before anyways.

good. maybe that would make it easier for you to leave.

“sure,” you whispered, not being able to mask the hurt and anger in your voice completely. 

you should have left earlier. you should have just gone outside despite the thick snow and cold wind instead of waiting for your friend to text you.

“come on, i know you’re joking,” kenma rolled his eyes at you as he spoke. “you wouldn’t just leave like that. did someone put you up to this stupid prank?”

scoffing, you let your backpack fall to the ground, clenching your first on your side.

a couple of months ago you would have tried to excuse the apathy in his voice and even excuse his way of dismissing you and whatever you were doing, telling yourself that he was tired or just busy but once this period was over he would again be the loving and attentive young man you fell in love with.

but he wasn’t anymore. and he hasn’t been for a long while.

furrowing your eyebrows you looked down to your backpack, rusting in it for a couple of seconds before pulling out a white, slightly wrinkled envelope. you took a deep breath to gather yourself before looking back up at him. “i wanted to leave this on the table, but since you’re here already” you held it out in front of you, looking at him expectantly.

with a confused look on his face, kenma reached out, taking the paper from you with slow hands, his bewildered eyes never leaving your stone-cold expression.

he looked down at it, seeing that it was addressed to him, his name handwritten in big, cursive letters. “what’s that supposed to be?”

“i told you, i’m leaving,” you repeated coldly.

with skeptic eyes he looked at the white paper for a second before meeting your eyes again. “why would you?” he sounded confused, more bewildered than actually emotional.

of course he still didn’t believe you. 

you were here in front of him, your suitcases packed and a backpack on your shoulders and he still didn’t take you seriously. what would you have to do for him to just listen to you for one time?

you couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at him, fingers tightening around the straps of your backpack before you swung it back onto yourself again, at the same time putting your shoes on. “read it and find out”

you jumped slightly as kenma spoke again, his voice now significantly louder than before, uncharacteristic for a quiet and rather apathetic person. “seriously? you say you’re leaving but can’t even tell me to my face why? really?” he sneered, taking a step closer to you.

in return you backed away, trying to keep your voice as low and steady as you could. “you have no reason to raise your voice at me right now”

after his hands had balled up the letter, kenma threw the paper on the ground. 

that’s what he was doing to what you were telling him. this is how much your words meant to him.

not even worth a listen, only worth to be thrown away.

“of course i have! i have every reason to! my partner wants to pack up and leave and doesn’t even have the heart to talk to me!” he continued yelling, pointing at you accusingly. 

of course everything was your fault. of course he didn’t listen. of course he didn’t entertain the possibility for even one second that everything you wanted to talk about and everything you argued about was serious.

you shook your head in disbelief, a shocked laugh escaping you. “suddenly you want to talk?”

“what the hell are you talking about”

every single word that left his mouth managed to drive the knife in your heart even deeper inside. did he ever even care? did the past years mean absolutely nothing to him? why was he so confused? did your concerns over all these months and years really mean nothing to him?

why did he care so little?

“if you want me to talk, sure, i’ll talk” you clenched your teeth, balling your hands to fists at your sides.

you looked back at him, letting out a deep breath before you summarized all your thoughts in just a few words, mentally begging that you could simply get out as fast as possible. “you don’t give a shit anymore. not about this relationship or about me”

you didn’t want to talk to him about it, afraid of what you might say or not say and afraid of what he might say. you didn’t want to see him stare at you as you poured your heart out, slap him in the face with every issue that‘s been laying heavy on your heart for way too long. you were afraid of breaking down crying in front of him, showing him just how much you hurt.

you simply couldn’t. you wouldn’t allow yourself to be so vulnerable in front of him, not in front of the person that made you feel so worthless and broken.

“i care about you!” kenma shouted back at you, taken aback by what you had just told him, “how could you say that i don’t?“

was that how he showed that he cared? ignoring you, arguing with you and constantly dismissing you? was that really how a person would show their love and care?

you scoffed. “no, you don’t, kenma! you stopped caring about us a long time ago,” you yelled, wanting nothing more than stomping your feet in frustration. why did he suddenly care so much? “you never talked to me unless it was to ask me to get you something because you were too lazy to get up and pause your game or wait before entering the next round. you never even thanked me when i brought you whatever it was you were asking for. you completely neglected your half of your chores and even had the audacity to get mad at me when i didn’t do them for you. and if that wasn’t enough, if i just as much as delayed mine for just a couple of hours because i came home from work exhausted as fuck, you found it in yourself to be angry at me too”

with every word you spoke you could see the anger in kenma‘s face disappear, instead shock and guilt taking it’s place. his entire stance loosened up, almost like he was about to lose balance on his feet. “(y/n), i-”

“i’m not done“ you continued to stare him down, a part of you taking pleasure in seeing his resolve crumble and see him look like a kicked dog. you know you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help yourself. you suffered for so long, you were in pain for so long — he should know how he had made you feel all this time. “you never listened to me anymore, because whatever was on any of your screens was more important. i don’t know if it was a game, or a friend, at this point i wouldn’t even care if you had a side piece. because it’s not like this would matter anymore. whoever or whatever it was, is clearly more important to you”

kenma stepped back, looking away from you as he pressed his fingernails deeply into his palm. he opened and closed his mouth multiple times, unsure of what to say. that was until he finally settled on something. “you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he whispered.

you let out a breathy laugh. was he serious? blowing things out of proportion?

would he still say this if he knew just how many tears you shed because of this? if he knew how often you made excuses for him to not just yourself but your friends too, who desperately tried to help you realize that the relationship wasn’t healthy or good for you? how you were constantly doubting yourself, not knowing if you were the one expecting too much? would he finally realize everything if he knew how broken you felt?

turning away from him, you pressed your lips into a thin line, quickly flexing and relaxing your hands as you tried to ground yourself. with a sad smile you looked back at him again. “it was our anniversary a week ago. do you remember that?”

you could see how kenma‘s face fell, as he became even more overcome with guilt. so he really didn’t care anymore. “thought so. you didn’t even come home that night,“ you continued, melancholy overtaking you as you recounted the day mentally. the excitement and hope you felt when you first woke up and started your day, which slowly turned into sadness and hurt with every passing hour until you completely shut down the moment the new day began. “do you know how shitty it felt to sit at home and just wait for you to show up, only to realize that you actually forgot?”

you shook your head again, swallowing rapidly to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. “you. the guy that remembers every easter egg, every cheat code and every shortcut from practically every game he played over the last year. that guy forgot his anniversary. and his partner’s birthday too while we’re at it”

it seemed that now the harsh reality finally hit kenma. he nodded, looking down in shame as he fiddled with his fingers. he opened his mouth, only to close it again. and again. and again. you could see the gears turning in his head.

in the meanwhile, you felt relief. while you still didn’t like that you were standing in front of him and couldn’t just disappear as planned, never seeing him again, you got a sense of comforting retaliation with every passing second. maybe, just maybe, he could feel even just an ounce of what you felt. 

“(y/n), i can make it up to you, i promise, i’ll do anything. i didn’t mean to, i just got so caught up in everything,“ he tried to reason, miserably failing in his attempt to admit his faults without taking an ounce of accountability.

maybe he didn’t get it after all.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “you’re incredibly stupid if you actually believe that,” you stated with a shockingly monotone voice, shutting your eyes in defeat. “just face it, kenma. you didn’t care and don’t pretend to care now”

“but i did! i do!” he immediately claimed, stepping closer to you again, trying to take your hand, only for you to pull yours away as soon as his fingers touched your skin.

you sighed, holding your hands up in front of you in an attempt to protect yourself from every word that was leaving his mouth. he had already proved over and over again that he didn’t care about you — that he didn’t love you. so why couldn’t he allow you to finally leave and rid yourself from all this pain?

“stop. i can’t hear any of your lies before, really. i’m done with this too now, just like you are. shouldn’t you be happy now?” and yet again you felt your throat tighten. did kenma actually enjoy this? did he get some sick sense of pleasure from seeing you so hurt, so broken? why couldn’t he just let you go when this was what he made you believe he wanted?

“no one here that will annoy you when you’re gaming, no one that will force you to actually eat and no one that will drag you away from your pc so you can see the sun for at least five minutes. sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“no,“ he denied, reaching out for you, only to see you back away even more.

“no? but that’s what you wanted” you refused to look at him, instead carefully and slowly making your way over to your suitcases.

kenma however didn’t want to see you go, his hand grabbing your arm in a desperate attempt to keep you here, by his side. “no it’s not”

you used your free hand to peel his from your arm, shaking your head again in defeat. “well, that’s what you got now at least”

he stood there frozen as he watched you grab the handles of your suitcases, taking a deep breath before you spoke again, this time with your back to him.

“you know, i really wanted us to last, kenma. i really did. i tried to talk to you about this, i wanted to work this out together. but you never listened” you sighed, not being able to stop a sad smile appearing on your lips. “kind of ironic that you do now”

you could feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. you could feel the hope rising in your chest, feeling relief at the thought of leaving this place. as you were about to step out, you stopped in your tracks, but refused to turn around. instead you glanced over to the window, seeing just how heavy the snow has gotten over the last hour. you clenched your jaw. “i asked tetsurou to come over later. i know you don’t like being alone at home when there’s supposed to be a snowstorm”

when you stepped even further away from him, finally reaching the door, kenma was ripped out of his frozen state, jumping forward and grabbing your arm once again. “(y/n), no!” he yelled out. 

your jaw clenched as soon as he touched you again, your mind falling into a loop of yelling at you to simply rip yourself away from him and leave without any other word and the other part simply begging him to finally let you go. you took a deep breath. “you’re going to close your eyes and let go of me. you’re going to count to ten. and when you open your eyes again, i’ll be gone”

it seemed so easy for him to hurt you over and over again, and yet he couldn’t seem to let you go. did he love to see you in such pain and misery? did he really just want to hurt you? 

“please don’t do this to me,“ kenma begged, his voice significantly more hoarse than before.

you scoffed. it’s not like you were doing this all just to hurt him — you simply wanted to be better, more than just feel blue day in and day out. you wanted to live again, not rot with a boyfriend that didn’t give a damn about you. “let go of me”

he grew more and more desperate, pulling on your sleeves like a child. “please don’t do this to us!”

“there is no ‘us’, kenma!” you finally yelled at him, confirming not just to him, but really to yourself that you actually meant what you said and wrote down. you were over and there was nothing he could do to change it. “didn’t you hear me? it’s gone”

“i love you!” he yelled back, his voice breaking. “i love you, i love you so much, please” 

and even though you were so relieved to finally leave, in this moment, you halted. 

love.

oh, how much you had loved him. 

after a deep, almost silent sigh, you looked back at him, seeing kenma with his head hanging low. “i would’ve given you everything to hear that just a few weeks ago. i gave you everything i had. and i would’ve been so incredibly happy” a smile spread over your face and you allowed yourself to fall for the illusion that his confession gave you. in some other universe you would hear these words daily, spoken with so much care and adoration, more than you could ever imagine. you would fall into his arms and kiss him sweetly and passionately and at the end of the day fall asleep in your shared bed, your bodies intertwined. you would be happy. “but now?”

“(y/n), please,“ he whispered.

“no. you’re too late”

and with that you shook him off off you again, finally opening the door, the cold air in the hallway hitting your face. 

behind you, kenma fell down to his knees, a lump in his throat, as he reached out for you, only to pull back immediately after. “please, i’m sorry! i’ll be better, i’ll change, i promise!”

you didn’t look at him, not wanting to see him in such a state. “i’m so sorry” 

pathetic — that was what he was right now. carelessly toying with your feelings and now that you just couldn’t take it anymore and left him, he suddenly seemed to have an epiphany. like a child that always ignored a toy, only to throw a fit as soon as another one wanted to play with it.

“i don’t want to hear your apologies. they don’t mean anything, kenma. they’re worthless” you spat at him, still staring at the grey wall ahead. “you can’t just keep apologizing and not change anything. i’m so sick of it, i can’t take it anymore” you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes to prevent just a single tear from falling. “i can’t get my hopes up only for you to crush them every time”

“i never wanted us to end,” he whispered, hands falling into his lap. “especially not like this. you have to believe me. please, let me fix it”

you shook your head.

“it doesn’t matter what you wanted. what matters is what you did. and what you did was hurt me. over and over, again and again” you huffed, looking down and a sad smile on your lips. “there’s only so much i can take,” your voice broke, leaving you with no choice but to clear your throat and shake your head. you promised yourself that you wouldn’t start crying here. you had cried enough already in this apartment.

“and there’s nothing you can do to fix it. you can’t reset”

you turned your back to him, only to face him again a couple of seconds later, clenching your fists at your side. after taking a deep breath, you spoke again. “it’s over, kenma” 

without waiting any longer you grabbed your two suitcases standing next to the door and walked out, careful not to slam the door behind you. while you dragged your luggage down, careful not to trip as your eyes filled with tears and constantly swallowing the lump in your throat, kenma still stood in the hallway, staring at the spot in which you stood just a few minutes ago, completely dazed. 

it was only when you were long gone, after your friend had picked you up and allowed you to cry your heart out on their shoulder, did kenma feel like he could finally move. he was about to turn around and leave when he noticed a white ball laying on the floor. with a shaky hand he went and picked it up, only to realize that it was your letter, the only thing you had left behind for him.

clutching it into his chest he sank down on his knees, hunching over as he felt the tears pooling out of his eyes.

finally kenma realized that what you said was true. there was nothing he could do to fix this and get you back, there were no save points to return, no data to delete to start over and no cheat codes to enter.

it was game over.

[petersbaby]

(Can’t) Sleep - Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings: vague mentions of abuse/trouble at home, oral (f receiving), fingering, smut, cum

I DONT KNOW IF IT SNOWS IN INDIANA LOL

-

“Hey, eds. Can you come get me? You said to call you if I ever need you and I need you now.” You say shakily into the phone after he picks up.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Give me a few and I’ll be right there.”

“K. Thank you.”

Eddie jumps up from the couch right away, rushing to action. He tries to put on his shoes so fast that he falls over and heads out to his van.

You felt bad, borderline awful, because it was snowing and already starting to get dark out but you had to leave and he was the first thing to come to mind when you wanted safety. The fact he didn’t even think for a second before saying “of course” sort of melted your heart, but you still felt guilty.

Either way, you go to your room, and change into some warm clothes and pack your backpack with a few things you’d need like medication and makeup and an outfit to sleep in. You were gonna sleep over, but he just had no idea yet because you hadn’t asked him. You were extremely confident, however, in the probability he’ll say yes.

You stand in your living room, looking out the window for headlights on your dim street. Soon enough you see them, not the brightest but just enough for him to see to drive.

You made him drive in the freezing cold and the dark in his piece of shit van that barely made its way around every day, but he’s not thinking about it that way. You wanted him. You needed him. And to feel that from someone was something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You trudge outside, walking up to open the passenger side door and toss your bag in the floor next to your feet on the floorboard after you get in.

“You okay?” He asks, concerned, dark eyes still somehow shimmering.

“I’ll be okay. Thank you, again. I know this probably isn’t what you wanted to do with your Saturday night.”

“Yeah, you actually caused me to miss the red carpet event and then the fashion show I was going to. I was actually gonna star IN the fashion show. But yeah, you just had to go and crush my dreams.”

“Shut up.” You smile, and you ride the rest of the way back to his house in comfortable silence. You pull into his driveway and he turns off the car, unbuckling as you do the same.

“Here.” He takes your backpack and slings it over his shoulder to carry it in for you and you meekly follow behind him to the front door.

“So like I was saying, I’m actually quite famous. The mansion I usually live in is being cleaned so we’re gonna have to tough it out here. Deplorable living conditions, if you ask me.” He gestures his arms wide at the general area around him.

“Well even if it has to be in this sad little home, I’m honored that you took time out of your schedule to hang out with me.” You say sarcastically, matching his energy.

“You wanna smoke?” He offers, trying to make you feel at home the best way he knows how.

“I’m okay, that shit makes me paranoid.”

“Ah, gotcha. Well, what do you wanna do?”

“You got any movies?”

He looks at you as if you just asked the most stupid question anyones ever asked.

“Do I have any movies? Come on. Of course I have movies.”

He walks towards his bedroom and you assume he wants you to follow him, so you do, and you’re met with what is undoubtedly very much a teenage boy’s room.

“Sorry, just don’t look at all the shit. There’s a ton of shit in the floor but the bed is fine.”

You nod and start to go towards the bed.

“Well-wait…” he stops you, seeming to think for a minute. “Nah, yeah the bed should be fine.” He tells you as he collects a pile of tapes in his arms. He comes to you, dropping them all on the bed beside you where you sat perched on the edge.

“Wow. You really did have movies.”

“What did I say?”

The sarcasm, again. Charming, very sweet in a way.

“I’m assuming you want me to pick one…. Here.” You pick up and hand him the copy of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and he seems impressed by your choice.

“Huh. Wasn’t expecting that one. You look more like a rom-com typa girl.”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“No, not in a mean way. This is perfect.” He clarifies. He goes to put all the other tapes back onto the shitty table holding up his TV and you start to unlace your sneakers and kick them off. You slip your jacket off your shoulders, feeling so much lighter immediately.

“Yeah, get comfy. It’s okay. I won’t bite ya.” He glances back at you and you smile to yourself. You crawl over to the side of the bed that’s against the wall and sit there, legs crisscrossed.

“Alright.” He announces as the movie is in and he starts to do the same, kicking off his boots and shedding his vest and leather jacket.

“You can uh… you can get under the covers if you want to. All yours.”

There was a slight awkwardness there, you never having been in his room like this before. It was oddly comfortable, kinda like home, but also new and unfamiliar. You break the silence.

“But for real, you actually didn’t have any plans? Anything I messed up?”

“No. You wanna know my plans? They’re pretty much the same every weekend. I lay here, smoke weed, watch movies.”

“Oh. I guess that’s nice.”

“What about you, what’s going on with you? Something happen?”

“Yeah, just uh… just my dad. It’s nothing new, but tonight I just couldn’t really handle it. I had this overwhelming need to get out of there, I felt like I was suffocating on all the bitterness and anger in the air of the house.”

“Damn.”

You giggle a little.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just say that.” He starts to ramble, desperately trying to defend himself and clarify that he didn’t mean to sound rude.

“It’s okay. What can I possibly expect you to say? It’s fine.” You shrug.

“Yeah, I just feel like that was a little insensitive on my part. I don’t have any advice, because I don’t even fuckin’ have a dad. They suck.”

“Yep. Pretty much.”

You sit together for a moment, watching the title screen play out,

“Thank you for being there, eds. Thank you for being here, I mean.” You say softly, head falling to the side to rest on his shoulder, a gesture he felt with great warmth.

“It’s no problem. I told you I would be, didn’t I? From the first time we met. It means a lot to me too, because it makes me feel like you’re starting to trust me.”

“I trust you, stupid. I already trust you.” You joke, but meaning the general message.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

He places a hand to rest on your knee, the one closest to him and mindlessly runs his thumb in gentle circles. Your head stays where it’s at, finding comfort on him. You stay like this for a while, until about halfway through the movie.

“Do you wanna lay down? No, that sounds weird. I mean, just lay down and you can keep resting your head on my shoulder. Seems like you like that. And that sounded cocky. I’m digging myself into a hole right now.” He rambles.

“Yes, we can lay down.” You say calmly, trying to give off the vibe that he doesn’t need to be so nervous around you. You do, you on your side and him on his back and arm out as you slip between his arm and his body, effectively giving him the opportunity to wrap his arm around you. He does, and you snuggle into his shoulder, closing your eyes before you know it.

-

“Hey. Eds.” You whisper, having awaken in pitch black and silence except for the bugs outside and the hum of fluorescent lighting from the streetlights.

“Hey.” You repeat, shaking him a bit this time. He looked so sweet, so soft, fast asleep. You felt bad about waking him but you needed to.

“Hmm?” He stirs, eyes squinting as they open up slowly.

“It’s too dark in here. And too quiet. I’m scared.”

“Oh, you’re afraid of the dark. Shit, sorry.” His voice is groggy with sleep and he rolls over to flip on his lamp on the bedside table.

“And can you put in another movie? I don’t care which one.”

“Course.” He gets up out of the bed, walking over to the tv and you realize you both fell asleep in your daytime clothes and on top of the covers. You lift the blanket up just in time for him to crawl under it right next to you.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry, you can go back to sleep now.”

“Are you gonna go back to sleep to?”

“No, probably not right now, anyways.”

“Then I won’t either.”

“Okay.” You whisper like you’re at a slumber party and your friend’s mom told you guys to be quiet, but it’s just the two of you. He points this out and that’s when you realize.

“So sweet. Little whispers.” He muses, pretty smile on his face.

“Be quiet.” You say softly, smiling, only a bit louder than a whisper.

It was crazy, insane, almost incomprehensible how fast it happened. The moment the words finished falling from your mouth, your lips were on his or maybe his were on yours, you didn’t even really know who went for it but that didn’t matter as sparks lit up your whole body.

You swear with how intense the fireworks are that you’re glowing from the inside out. Like if he looked at you, he could see all the mini explosions going off in your heart and all around your stomach, and before you know it you’re whimpering with need. Once he hears this, he disconnects your lips.

“Hey, you know what you’re doing, right?”

“Wha-what do you mean?” You ask, confusedly.

“Like you really meant to kiss me.”

So it was you.

“Like, just making sure you’re not like half asleep and not thinking straight. Or maybe you’re just scared and that’s why, but either way we probably shouldn’t if you don’t mean it.”

“Yes, I meant to. And I really want to again. Unless you don’t-“

Your sentence cuts off when he closes the distance between you two again. It becomes fairly intense, a little bit messy as his tongue slides across your lips and you part them, allowing him into your mouth.

You make out with each other as if you’ve done it a million times before, like your lips and tongues are already very familiar with each other even though this is the first time they’ve met.

Both laying on your sides, facing each other, you bring your hand to cup his face and pull it impossibly closer to yours, hand then snaking around to the back of his neck where you reached up to run your fingers roughly through his hair at the back of his scalp.

“Fuck,” he breathes, grabbing your hips and pulling your body so much closer to his that they’re pressing against each other and you feel something hard brushing against your thigh when he does this. He starts to wander, but stops.

He tries silently to think of a nice way to say “can I touch your ass” but evidently comes up short.

“Keep going.” You assure him.

His hands move the rest of the way down to your ass where he kneads over and over, taking handfuls, squeezing, pushing. Pushing and pushing until he’s basically grinding your body against his.

“Take these off, please.” You pull away to say, reaching down to feel the way his cock was incredibly hard and straining against his jeans. You take it in your hand and squeeze his bulge gently but also firm.

“Jesus fuck. Ah- okay.” He’s taken aback for a moment but nods, taking his pants off and leaving him in his boxers and loose fitting band tee. You slip your hand underneath his shirt, running it up and down his warm abdomen as you feel the muscles freeze and twitch, you guess maybe it’s because it tickles, so you stop.

Instead, you attach your lips to his neck, licking the slightly salty skin there before sucking on it, biting down with teeth, which caused a groan from him, one you swear must’ve been brewing in there for a while because it was so loud and so lewd.

The way he moans just encourages you, continuing on to bite and suck marks into his skin and then kitten licking over them to soothe the sting.

“God, I know this might be rude, but I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing this to me.”

“So then don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t take it. Do something about it.” You whisper.

“Jesus Christ, are you sure?” His voice is raspy.

“I am.”

“Take your pants off too, then, okay?”

You nod, pulling your pants down your legs and off your body.

“You’re right. The dark sucks. Because then I can’t see you.” He comments, eyeing you up and down, especially focusing on your bare legs and feet.

“Stop it.” You say, blushing, shutting him up with a kiss. He couldn’t help being corny, and you couldn’t help the fact that it somehow worked on you.

He gets up and climbs onto you, slotting himself between your legs, which you part open for him. You feel his erection press up against your core, which makes you gasp.

It was incredibly hard and admittedly bigger than you could’ve ever previously imagine, almost to the point you were nervous. You told yourself that you can take it, though, that you will take it. He grabs the cotton fabric of your shirt and pulls it off of you, leaving you almost completely exposed, still in your bra and underwear.

“God, you’re perfect.”

“Am not.”

“Yes. You. Are.” He punctuates each word with a kiss, trailing down your chest. He places a kiss in the very center of it, between your breasts. Next, he goes to your ribs, then your stomach, then your lower stomach.

He ends up between your thighs, biting the insides of them softly and kissing his way towards your center. Before he gets there, he takes a moment to lean back a bit to appreciate the sight in front of him. He reaches to rub your pussy through the fabric, but since it was black, it was a surprise how wet you were.

“Jesus Christ.” He marvels at the feeling, pressing gentle circles over your clit. You squirm a bit, bucking up against his hand, and he pulls the soaked undergarments from off of your body.

He places a kiss on your clit first, gentle but enough to make you twitch. Then he starts to lap at you, tongue seeming to try to consume everything that was dripping from your hole. He was like a dog who needed water.

“God, Eddie, oh god.” You moan, eyes involuntarily shut.

He comes back up to lick at your clit and dips a finger into you simultaneously.

“Ohhh, fuck.” You continue babbling.

He quickly adds a second digit and bends them inside you, and you cum right on the spot. It was so sudden and took you by surprise, and you couldn’t silence the moan that came from you while you orgasmed, his fingers still working you and eyes watching you as you fall apart.

You lay and pant, breathing heavy, body weightless like a feather. Getting ready for more, silently preparing. He concludes that his job is done, and comes back up to your level to lay beside you. You seemed pretty tired.

“Wait, are you done?” You turn to look at him.

“I- yeah, I got you off.” He says.

“Indeed you did. But don’t you want more?”

“More…” he repeats blankly, far off in thought. Clueless.

“Do you want to have sex, Eddie. I asked you to take your pants off for a reason.”

“O-oh shit, really? Are you sure?”

“I am. Are you?”

“Yeah. Of fucking course.”

“Good. Take everything else off for me?”

He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side, then shimmies out of his boxers. Once he’s done, you get on top of him. You stroke his cock a couple of times, just feeling the weight of it in your hand, and precum oozes from the tip. He needed you, now.

“Is this okay?” You want to make sure.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” He stammers, and you smile. You position his cock right below your entrance, and slowly sink down onto him. He groans, quite audibly, and you relish in the feeling.

He was stretching you, you can’t remember a time you’d felt so full in your life. The sting subsided once you sank all the way down and just sat on it for a moment, then you started to move.

With your hands on his bare chest, you ride him gently to begin with. You grind forwards and backwards, just getting a feel for how well he fits inside you, accidentally finding that special spot in the process and stimulating it.

“Oh my god, Eddie. Ohhh my god.” You whimper, continuing with your movements.

“So tight, shit, she’s fuckin’ squeezing me.” He groans beneath you.

He grabs your ass, squeezing so hard his fingernails dig into the plush fat of it. He starts to guide the way you ride him, setting a quicker pace. He must be close. You decide to lean down and let him take over. He pounds up into you from below and you choke on your moans, a new one coming out each time he hits the deepest part of you.

“Fuck, fuck me. Fuck me, eds.” You whimper into his ear and he moans, goosebumps crawling across his body. He continues even though he never stopped.

“Okay, ‘m gonna cum.” He eventually forces the words out while he thrusts into you quick, gradually becoming sloppy. You feel his cock twitch inside you and an overwhelming warmth immediately after.

He rides it out, fucking his cum back up into you for as long as he can before he’s overstimulated, and you get off of him when he stops. You immediately regret doing so, grabbing your pussy and keeping your hand over it. You didn’t want to leak cum all over the place you were about to sleep.

“Can you get a towel maybe?”

“Oh, shit, yeah one sec.” He jumps out of bed and grabs the nearest towel he could find, thankfully clean but not for long. He returned to give it to you and you placed it beneath your body and relaxed. It was a lot, evidently, it seemed to pour and pour until it finally stopped. It felt a little gross, but also nice.

Eventually, you threw the towel to the floor (his room was already messy anyways), and changed into the outfit you had brought but fell asleep before you could put it on. He did the same, getting dressed, but left his shirt off. The room was warm, even more so now after everything, so it was fine for him to do.

He lifts his arms and you crawl into them, resting your head on his chest. He fell asleep soon after, snoring slightly, which made you smile. It was just a little one, barely noticeable, but you noticed because you were right up against him. You closed your eyes and at some point you drifted away.

[stardewsnail]

Can you write head cannons of how the bachelors would react when jealous? Perhaps they heard their farmer was giving gifts to other bachelors. Can be NSFW. K love you byeee

This is a bit inconsistent because of how familiar I am with them/how interesting I thought their reactions would be–some of these are head canons and some of them are drabbles. Somewhere along the way I realized I switched from they/them pronouns to she/her so I guess this is about a fem farmer now lol–hope you enjoy! 

Bachelors get jealous 

MINORS DNI; cw: sexual activity, jealousy, sad boi hours

Shane 

- very different if he’s with the farmer or not bc I feel like he’s used to being envious of others 

- When he sees the farmer bringing Elliot a bottle of wine or Sam a cactus fruit he feels like he has no valid reason to be jealous. He’s just embarrassed and ashamed of his own feelings.  

- Like, obviously the pretty, successful, kind farmer isn’t going to be interested in him? He’s working at the Joja mart and drinking away his money—he’s barely keeping it together and he comes with a kid. Not exactly the biggest catch

- After the cliffs he had come to terms with his crush and is just sort of leaving it because he cannot imagine her reciprocating his growing feelings. That’s fine, he loves having her in his life regardless. He doesn’t have the expectation that they’ll ever return his feelings and that’s okay. He gets a therapist and focuses on getting better for himself and the others in his life

But if they’re together it’s different

- He retreats into himself and has a bit of a mental spiral (ranging from “it was bound to happen eventually” to “oh god our chickens are going to come from a broken home”) 

- Fortunately he has a therapist to work through things with so he’s able to actually express himself to the farmer in a healthy way and receive the emotional validation that the farmer does in fact love them and their chickens will grow up with parents who love each other 

- He’ll pull her onto his lap or against his chest and if the vibe is right the cuddling might turn into a make out session which might get handsy—Shane is extra needy after all this, lingering through the motions. After sex he stays inside her for a minute, just sharing breath and being as close as possible

- Shane alternates being big and little spoon don’t @ me 

I feel like Shane having a therapist pulls a lot of the “drama” out of him being jealous because he’s so focused on developing healthier coping strategies so him talking about his feelings directly is a big step!

...

Sebastian 

Pre relationship

“Motherfucker-!” Sebastian snarled, watching his avatar die yet again. In his headset Sam groaned, quickly meeting a similar fate. Abigail, now left alone, didn’t fare much better. 

“Okay, it’s 4, I’m calling…” A yawn cut through Sam’s words, “….it.” 

Sebastian winced, glancing at the clock, “Damn—yeah. Night, guys.” It was stupid late. He was going to regret this tomorrow. No, actually, he was already regretting it. Now he was just pissed at the game and at—he shoved that thought down, feeling heat rise to his face. He dropped heavily onto the bed, arm thrown over his eyes. His head hurt. 

And he really didn’t want to deal with the bolt of anger that shocked him when he saw Alex throw his arm around the farmer. Her face was lit up with laughter as they shared some joke—the jock had only touched her for a moment and sure, it might not actually mean anything—but he was jealous. And even a solid nine hours of league had done nothing to subdue the feeling that boiled in his chest. It wasn’t even like the farmer didn’t talk to him either—and while she brought everyone little gifts, he’d had the thought that maybe his were special. A foolish, hopeful thought. Alex was outgoing, athletic, and only still lived at home to care for his grandparents. Sebastian was a twenty-four year old college dropout living in his mom’s basement filling his time with gaming. God, he really was a loser. Fortunately he was unconscious before he really had to deal with that. 

… 

Knock, knock, knock

Sebastian groaned, burrowing farther under his pillow. His mom always woke him up when she made breakfast even if he wasn’t actually required to get up. Maybe later he could ask her what she knew about the farmer. He was pretty sure she was still working on upgrading their coop anyway. It wouldn’t be an odd question. He rolled over, trying to relax back down into sleep. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the second knock sounded. If he ignored it, chances are his mom would leave him be. But then she knocked again, a little harder this time. He swore under his breath as he hauled himself out of bed, not bothering to hit the lights before throwing open the door with more force than strictly necessary. 

The farmer’s hand was still raised to knock and she froze, looking up at him with raised eyebrows. 

Sebastian’s entire brain blue-screened. It crashed. It attempted to restart. It failed. It tried again but all that came up was how he must look—an old band t-shirt, unbrushed hair, stubbled chin, frog-print boxers—holy shit he wasn’t even wearing pants.  

“Good morning!” She said, cheeks pink. It certainly wasn’t morning, that much he knew.  Sebastian wished the floor would swallow him right then and there. “Sam said you guys were up late playing games so I brought you this,” she held up the coffee in her other hand, “Robin said I was fine to come down, I didn’t think you’d be asleep, sorry—“ 

“I needed to get up anyway,” he said, a bit too fast. He ran his hand over his hair, trying to judge its state and was quickly dismayed. Fuck, she was pretty. Great impression Sebastian. Great job. 

“Thank you,” he added, finally accepting the warm paper cup. 

“I started growing coffee beans a while ago,” she continued, fidgeting and definitely noticing his lack of pants, “This is the first of it. Let me know how it is, I’m still experimenting with roasting.”

“Oh wow,” he took a sip realizing not only was the coffee delightful, she’d also added cream and just a touch of sugar–exactly how he took it, “This is really good. Thank you.” 

She lit up, “Oh good! I was hoping you’d like it.” She was hoping he’d like it? Him specifically? The caffeine hadn’t hit him yet, but the taste of coffee still got his brain moving. He noticed the fishing pole sticking out of her pack.

“Are you headed to the lake?” he asked, before he could really think it through.

“Yeah–I wanted to do some fishing,” she rocked on her feet, “I’ll let you get back to it–”

Shit, that hadn’t been his intent.

“D’you want company?” he cut her off, flushing when she just looked up at him with a smile.

“That would be really nice–you can tell me about your game. It sounded fun but I didn’t quite understand when Sam was talking about it.” 

“Great,” he said, “I’ll uh…meet you out there?” He still wasn’t wearing pants.

 Dating 

Sebastian trusted his girlfriend. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that seeing her smile and shyly give Elliot a bottle of her mead had shaken the dust off his old companion, jealousy, and now he didn’t know what to do with the itch in his skin.

He’d spent the day working on his bike, music blasting, a scowl etched on his face. At some point Demetrius had come out to say something, but a glance at Sebastian’s face had him simply turning tail back to the house. 

It was better he got it all out of his system before he met up with the farmer at the saloon. 

Some time and a hot shower later he was entering the saloon, wondering if she had beat him there–and she had. 

And Elliot was there, fawning over the farmer who had a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles as the writer told some dramatic story, talking with animated hands. 

He was across the bar in a second, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. The lazy grin he gave Elliot was more a challenge than anything–he didn’t know where this sudden boldness was coming from–Elliot didn’t seem like the type to pull something but there was a primal need to mark his territory. The farmer was his.  

She flashed him a grin, her hand coming to rest in his back pocket, and finished what she was saying. 

“Hey, babe,” she said, pushing to her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips, “I got here early–want to get in some practice before Sam and Abby show up?”

“Need a warm up?” he teased, “Think that will help you beat me?”

“One of these days,” she bumped his hip with her own, “I’m gonna win. Talk to you later, Elliot!” she added. Elliot said something in response before slinking back to where Leah was sitting, watching as if this was her very own reality TV show.

...

Harvey

Harvey wasn’t jealous. The farmer was just a friend–she was kind and generous and liked giving gifts! Most mornings she popped by the clinic to bring him a coffee and chat for a few minutes between appointments. 

It was only natural for her to prefer someone less devoted to their work, younger and more aligned with the pop culture she was familiar with. Sam was a ray of sunshine, and seeing him light up when the farmer had offered him a cactus fruit had sent a spike of something that was not jealousy through his chest. 

He spends all his free time for the next few days pouring over his model planes, completing two kits in record time. Between that and the kids in town catching something nasty and viral, he hadn’t even seen her in a week. Which was fine. 

He hadn’t anticipated her to be waiting right outside the door of the clinic, swinging it open as soon as the lock turned. If he had been any slower, she probably would have hit him with it. Her eyes were piercing as she held out the coffee, a small frown on her face.

“Have you been avoiding me?” her words were blunt and heat rose to his face, hands raised as if that would be enough to convince her of his words. 

“No–no, I just–well–” he swallowed, looking anywhere but her face, “You just seemed busy and like you were spending time with Sam and–” She was giving him this small smile that had his stomach turn to jelly, and now he didn’t know what to do with his hands. She held out the coffee. 

“Want to meet up at the saloon later?”

“Yes!” His reply might have been a bit eager,  but he didn’t care because her face simply lit up. 

“Great, it’s a date.” and then she turned out the door, going on her merry way before he could even process her words. 

...

Alex

- to be honest before they’re dating I think he would just AGGRESSIVELY do push ups where the farmer could see 

- or he’ll make a comment about how hot Haley is looking to the farmer

- Either way he tells Haley about “how well he handled it” and she is so, so tired. 

Alex doesn’t care that the farmer went all the way into the mines to find that special rock for Sebastian. It wasn’t even Sebastian’s birthday or anything, she was just nice and he was not bothered. 

He wasn’t bothered when he was doing push-ups.

He wasn’t bothered when he was squating. 

He wasn’t even bothered while doing his deadlifts. 

And while he showered, he totally wasn’t thinking about how she looked so pleased when she showed him the gem, mentioning that it was Sebastian’s favorite.

Now they were sitting on her bed, watching some movie that he couldn’t quite parse over his churning thoughts. He’d been inching closer and closer without realizing, and now he shifted to rest his head in her lap watching her instead of the movie. 

Immediately her hands found their way to stroke through his hair. She smoothed his brow, and he realized he’d been frowning. 

“What’s up?” she asked, ever perceptive. 

“Nothing,” he replied reflexively, and she paused the movie, waiting for him to continue.

“You…like me, right?” His voice was quiet, and if it wasn’t her he would be too embarrassed to ask such a vulnerable question. 

“I love you, actually.” She said it so casually he took a second to process the confession. Her smile was soft. 

Never one for words over actions, he sat up, closing the distance between them with a kiss.

...

Sam 

- I feel like Sam would try to cover any jealousy with a smile and positive attitude but something about the farmer “doting” on Alex and making him baked salmon really bothered him 

- He asks Shane for advice because that’s his work dad/adult and Shane just looks up at the security camera like it’s the office but does try to give advice because he’s fond of the kid 

- His advice is literally just for Sam to make a move because so help him god if he has to head about the farmers eyes one more time 

...

Elliot 

- He’s in denial that he’s jealous 

- I feel like Elliot’s solution to every emotional problem is writing

- He would probably end up projecting it onto his characters writing a scene where somebody is jealous (because he’s not jealous nope. He’s not jealous at all) 

- He’s a little moodier, a little more sardonic and eventually the farmer asks what’s bugging him–he assures her that it’s just difficulty with his novel

- He doesn’t say he’s jealous nope

- He's just gonna go full Gomez Addams and make love to them in a bit of a frenzy—I’m talking a trail of clothes, fucking her right on his desk.

- He’s leaving hickies, the farmer is being claimed 

- The farmer is being RAVISHED 

- He probably won’t bring it up bc he does trust the farmer completely and knows it’s his own anxiety and the farmer more than reassured him on the reg and he can trust that

...

I’m hiding my dumbass notes waaaaaaay down here

I wrote this while zoinked and made up a whole ass bachelor named Mike and sat there for a good min wondering why I could remember anything about Mike, who the FUCK is Mike????

Am I writing Elliot ravishing the farmer on the desk? Yes, but this reply was getting a little long so it’s coming later

I’ve been a little slow on requests lately, but my spouse is going to be out of town for the next month so I should have a lot more time to working on these :) it brings me such joy every time I get that lil notification, thanks y’all <3

[captainpulisic]

turned my bed into a sacred oasis - c. pulisic

credit and thank you to my beloved miss belize for helping me with the plot & dialogue. I owe you many orange slices. not technically a sequel to this but I see this being in the same universe word count: 2.6 k gif credits to myself

they’re delicate touches as your fingers trace mindless shapes over his chest. you’re quite content in your current position, head laid on christians shoulder and a leg thrown over his. your bodies were still slightly sweaty, the sheets pooling around both your waists. you get lost tracing the lines of his tattoos, leaving an occasional kiss on his shoulder. he answers by letting out soft hums of approval.

you trace a few hearts and both your initials across his collarbones until you dip a little lower, landing where his actual heart is. feeling the low drum of his heartbeat brings a smile to your face. you flatten your palm and apply light pressure, “your hearts going kinda crazy right now.”

“yeah well in case you forgot, we literally just had sex.” he lets out a breathless laugh. there's a pinch to your bare hip and light kiss to the top of your head. there’s only sincerity when he adds, “and i’m positive my heart is always like that when i’m around you.”

you’re torn between rolling your eyes at his clicheness and kissing him silly for his romanticism. you settle with a soft whisper, “i’ve missed you.”

“missed you more.” he begins to mirror your tender touches, pressing you closer to him. soon enough, you feel one of his hands trail along your lower back while the other catches your moving hand- the sneaky one that had caused his heart to thump faster than usual. automatically, your fingers intertwine and he gives them three gentle squeezes. “and i’m so happy I get to sleep next to you, again.”

“really?” satisfied with your current predicament, you’re too comfortable in christians arms to try to look up at him. you settle with opening one eye and leaving another kiss on his shoulder.

“are you kidding me?” his hand travels to your waist, leaving another squeeze. this earns him another kiss from you. his voice has gotten softer, more timid. “I don’t think i’d be a very good boyfriend if I wasn't happy about that, y/n.” 

you feel yourself drifting to sleep, content to have christian back in your bed- both sexually and literally. snuggling deeper into his side, you don’t notice how stiff he’s gotten. 

you feel him take a deep breath, “I am a good one, right?”

your brain and body are exhausted, so you’re not really processing the conversation. you stifle a yawn and absent-mindedly ask, “a good what?”

there’s a pause before he says- well whispers, “boyfriend.”

you freeze for a moment. that’s all it takes for your mind to wake up and your eyes to fully open. 

“what?” you’re offended on his behalf, immediately sitting up. the cold air nips at you, yet you’re too startled to care. christian whines at the sudden loss of your body warmth, instantly missing your touch. he tries to coax you back into laying down, avoiding your hard stare as his arms try to ease you back into position. much to his dislike, you’re swatting these attempts away and are searching his face for some sort of explanation. you’re baffled, “why would you even ask me that? what?”

he’s looking everywhere in the room but you. 

you scoff, “of course you’re a good boyfriend, you’re an amazing one.” 

“alright, then.” he bites his lip, somberly nodding. he leans back onto the pillow, giving no further explanation.

as confused as ever, you shake his arm. he looks like he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it but you can’t let it go. minutes ago you both were happy and on some sort of love high, and the idea of him going to sleep sad makes you want to die. you won’t allow it, christian deserves to always be happy. you probe, “why did you ask?”

“forget it, it was just me being stupid.” he sighs, self-pityingly shaking his head. he takes another moment before adding, “it’s just stupid.”

“hey, it is not stupid.” you reach over and hold his hands in yours. you start to kiss his knuckles and work your way down to his palms. his shell begins to crack, and he finally meets your eye. another kiss to his wrist, “just help me understand, i’m a little lost.”

he pauses, trying to choose the right words. you leave another kiss on his palm, encouraging him to speak. another sigh, “I just don’t know if i’m doing any of this right, or if i’m doing a good job at it.”

another pause.

he says it all very slowly, carefully choosing his words. “i’ve just never really had anything like this before. i’m not sure i’m being enough for all of the shit included.”

“hmm?” you encourage him to elaborate.

“you know, i’ve never had anything become so serious, with anyone.” it’s a sad smile, yet it doesn’t fail to absolutely shatter your heart. his eyes can’t seem to look directly at you, averting their gaze to the ceiling. the way he’s biting down hard on his lip makes you sure he’ll draw up blood. “i’ve had relationships but nothing official, really. it’s never been able to get as far as we have.”

the atmosphere had gotten very sullen and you’re sure you’re as close to tearing up as he is. hearing these deep, tucked away concerns tugs at your heartstrings and makes you feel horrible that he’d ever even felt any sadness. plus, the way his voice was beginning to shake was not helping. you leave a few more kisses on his wrists, your fingers begin to rub small circles on his palms.

christian continues, “no one thinks it’s worth it, having to put up with this life. i mean, you’ve seen how it is. the scrutiny and rumors and lack of privacy and everyone having an opinion on my life. no one will put up with that, no one will want to.”

“hey,” your frown grows more prominent. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. you let go of his hands to cup the sides of his face, forcing him to finally look at you. “now who got those stupid thoughts stuck in your head, I have to go beat them up.”

he lets out a soft laugh at this, barely letting the side of his mouth quirk up. it gratifies you, but it’s not enough. you need to see him utterly and completely happy before either of you are allowed to go to sleep. 

neither you nor christian had to answer your question, though. you both knew the answer as soon as you asked it. all he could do was cast his eyes down at the space between the both of you, his lips turning downward, again. he was thinking of her. you didn’t like using her name, it humanized the enemy. yes, anyone who caused christian a fraction of sadness was your enemy for life. and you didn’t know much about her, only that she had been here before you and hurt christian beyond words. she’d used him and left him and left you with the task of picking up the pieces of his heart.

“I thought that what I had with,” you see him hesitate, like a whole new bubble of sadness might be getting caught up in his throat. you offer him a small smile and a tiny nod, pushing him to continue. “what we had was real, that I was finally going to be in a serious, adult relationship but she just left. she told me how it was all too much shit and that no other girl would put up with this life- that none of it was worth it. I guess I took it as me, maybe, not being worth it.” 

“she never deserved you or your big heart, really. she was an idiot because none of what she said is true.” you answer within a heartbeat, moving your hands from his face to his hair. running your fingers through it and lightly scratching at his scalp, you hope it brings him a sort of comfort and dispels those horrible thoughts from his head. reassuring him, “and she doesn't deserve to still make you so sad.”

“I don't get sad over her anymore. being with you makes it clear to me that what I felt with her is nothing compared to what I feel when i’m with you.” he shakes his head, confused at your implications. the last thing he wanted was for you to think it was her he was hung up on. it was her words and dissatisfaction with his lifestyle that had put insecurities in his heart. “I think I just get sad over how she might be right. what if, maybe, she and you deserve something easier, something better?”

“christian, no.” you try to shut down his negative thoughts. “she was wrong and she shouldn’t be so inside your head.”

“but it hasn’t just been her,” he whines, finally letting civility out the window and huffing like a petulant child. mumbling on, “i’ve also had flings- or whatever you want to call them- before, but nothing too serious. none of them have stayed, or even tried to. what if it’s because they all know my life is hectic and complicated, what if they don’t want to deal with it?”

“no,” you repeat, trying to get a word in edgewise.

“it’s true!” he’s on a roll now, spilling out all the fears and self-doubt that he’d tried to bury deep inside himself. “and I get it, I do. i’ve never wanted to put anyone in the position of getting harassed simply for being with me.”

“christian-”

“and I know it’s not just that stuff, I know it’s my fault, too.” cue the self-deprecating eye roll and shaky breath. his sad smile has been ever so present tonight and it’s gut wrenching. he babbles on, “I have to train and travel all the time, I have to be focused on my career. it’s like, i’d never have time to be a good enough boyfriend. I get so scared because what if it’s not enough?”

you try once more, “chris-”

he lets out another frustrated groan, “i’ve never wanted to throw caution to wind this badly, i’ve never wanted something to last as much as I do this. i’m helpless and I can only hope that I am being a good boyfriend because it’s what you deserve.”

me? when had we started talking about me?

all you can do is point to yourself, “what I deserve?” 

“yeah, you!” he scoffs. “you’re the best person I know and you deserve someone who can give you something more normal, something more easy. I know that’ll be hard to get with me.”

you’re able to squeeze in a ‘screw easy’ amongst his ranting.

“i’ve been pretty good at not going too far with anyone, because I know it’ll never work. there’s no point in any of it. with you, I can’t seem to do that. I selfishly want you, and I keep praying that might be enough.” there’s another shaky breath, “but what if she was right? what if it all becomes too much for you? I don’t think i’d ever get over you leaving.”

god, just tear your heart into two. you’re sure it’d hurt less.

“don’t think about her, or of the untrue, idiotic things she said. you’re the one who deserves someone good.” you manage to level your voice, speaking with only love and admiration towards him. yet, all you really want to do is scream and curse her out for all the damage she’d done to this beautiful boy. he deserved everything good in the world and you intended to prove that to him. “loving you and being here, in this bed, with you is the greatest privilege of my life. I must’ve been a holy saint in my past life, who did a lot of charity, for me to deserve you in this life.”

“y/n,” he tries to cut you off this time. you raise your finger to his lips, silencing him. in return, he playfully bites the tip of your finger but nonetheless remains quiet. 

you continue, “I would endure all that ‘shit’ ten times over if it meant I got to come home to you every night. I would go through worse, horrible things if it meant we’d be lying in this bed as you told me about your day. I don’t think there’s anything in this world that would stop me from wanting to be with you. hey, don't give me that look- i’m serious. the only way you’re getting rid of me is if you go into witness protection or something.”

he averts his stare to the ceiling as he becomes a blushing mess. this is too much, he wants to blurt out. your love is so much and I don’t think I deserve it. I don’t want to taint it.

“i’m pretty sure i’m going to love you forever. so, all I ask is you let me and keep letting me until then.” it’s a mere whisper when you add, “please?”

you see him internally struggle for a moment. you worry that your words didn’t get through to him and he’ll continue to stay in his puddle of self doubt. his eyes shift between your own, as if pondering over everything you’d just laid out on him. he cracks a smile before it’s gone all too soon. yet, there's a mischievous spark in his eye, only you could see. 

“y/n, I need you to be honest with me,” he feigns a serious look. raising an eyebrow, those big brown eyes search your face for a moment. after a moment, he squints, “are you just saying these things to get into my pants?”

you snort before you could even try to stop it.

“hey, im serious.” he pouts, still committed to his solemn expression. “you should know that I don’t put out so easily.”

“well I don't think you’re going to like what i’m going to say next,” you trail off. one quick glance and it’s obvious his hair is more disheveled than ever- and that bit of smudged lipstick on the corner of his mouth isn't helping his case. you look down to where the sheets are still pooled around you both. from the corner of your eye, you can easily identify where both of your clothes had been discarded without a second thought. your fingers reach out to tap the various hickeys left on his collarbone, “but I think you do.”

this made him laugh. it was one of those happy, boyish laughs- the contagious kind. therefore, you were quick to join in, ignoring the strong urge to leave a kiss in the crease by his eyes. in the midst of the laughter, christian has gotten the upper hand and managed to ease you back into his arms. as he positions you to lay on top of him, you rest your chin on his chest, eyes shining bright as you peer up at him. 

he smiles at you, his eyes warm and soft as they travel over your face. “being here in this bed, with you, it’s the only place I wanna be, too. just being with you makes everything seem worth it, you make it seem worth it.”

“let’s not dwell, yeah?” your laughter calms and you sigh, letting your fingers trace softly over the ink on his chest. you leave a kiss there, giving him your brightest smile. “we’re together, the last thing we should be is sad.”

rather than responding, he leans down to leave a quick kiss on your lips and nods in agreement. it’s soft and sweet and shy, and as lovely as every kiss he gives you. that night (like every other night), there’s no other place that he'd rather be, than in that bed wrapped up in you.

feedback is greatly appreciated. feeling very iffy abt this one so please be gentle with it.

[persage]

My Best Gift - S. HARRINGTON

I wanted to post it on Christmas - yes, it's a silly fluffy Christmas story- but it was a busy time and now here we are a little late but I still hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Steve is resigned to spend Christmas alone. He certainly doesn't imagine that Robin has planned a surprise for him, much less seeing someone he honestly believed he would never see again and that he misses more than he cares to admit.

Words Count: 3.5 k

Tags: none, just some Fluff I needed on Christmas time. It's silly but I promise it's cute

Steve Harrington is ready to spend a serene and peaceful Christmas, just him, his father's good whiskey and a good action movie. A calm evening, for the first time in a long time without family dramas, parents in quarrels, embarrassing silences or equally embarrassing reproaches. Also without Nancy and her family, but Steve prefers not to think about it. With them he spent the first happy Christmas with a family of his entire life, then he just lost them. Being alone on Christmas day is not sad and it is not pathetic and he has no intention of indulging in excessive thinking, he will enjoy the peace like a grown man.

Like a Harrington.

After wishing Dustin and Rob and everyone else happy holidays, reassuring an unspecified number of people that "No, I won't be alone", giving Robin and the kids his presents, now Steve clutches the remote in his hands and think back to Joyce Byers' unexpected invitation and the way in which for a moment, just one, he has risked calling her mom. He feels pathetic now.

Dinner time approaches, but he has no desire to start cooking, so he shrugs, concentrating on the colorful images that pass before him on TV. He takes a gulp of warm alcohol down his throat, which burns like pure fire and he is about to light a cigarette when the doorbell rings and for a moment he lets himself be taken by the stupid fantasy that it could be his parents, that they have come home  to surprise him and he runs towards the door without even realizing it, like a child who hopes to be able to see Santa. His heart sinks into an abyss, a dark place that he didn't even know he owned, when opening the door he finds nothing but darkness and silence waiting for him. He wants to cry to be honest, like a stupid little boy.

But before he can slam the door as hard as he is able, Robin's face peeks out. He doesn't have the chance to say anything because a pair of arms tighten around his neck and he immediately catches a scent that he knows well and calms him down. "Dingus!" Robin exclaimes happily, pulling away.

"Rob? What are you doing here? I thought... "

"Did you really think we'd let you celebrate Christmas alone?"

He raises his eyebrows in defiance, spreading his arms to make room for a series of all too familiar heads and faces and this time Steve has to use all his strength not to be moved and start crying for real, because his real family is here and for the first time he is not alone."Merry Christmas Steve"  Nancy says, making her way with Jonathan,  a turkey in her hands. She places a kiss on Steve's cheek standing up on her toes and Jonathan squeezes his shoulder and after all that has happened this is enough for him to know that everything is okay, that they are friends, that they can be together without embarrassment or resentment.

"I'll put this in the kitchen" she shouts, smiling at him. Steve lets his gaze slide over Robin, her open jacket, her red sweater and a Christmas hat identical to Max's one, who wears it with a much less happy expression than Buckley. Envelopes of every shape and color protrude from her feet.

"What are you waiting? Will you let us in?" Dustin asks, in a fake annoyed tone, actually smiling to the point that Steve fears his cheeks might come off.

"And your families?" He asks shyly, still fearful that now they might leave again. They enter the house one by one, greeting him, some with a nod, some with a hug. "They'll understand" Max replies, trying not to show satisfaction in seeing Steve so excited.

"You don't get rid of us, man." Lucas continues, bypassing him and entering the house, where Nancy is already beginning to dictate orders. One by one Dustin, Robin, Max and Lucas, even Will, Mike (who would rather be anywhere else) and El file past him. He can't deny it, this is a surprise, more like a Christmas miracle... And for a moment he feels different, lighter, more carefree. Steve Harrington feels happy. He is not used to that feeling during Cristhmas. He looks down at the ground and shakes his head, unable, however, to stop smiling. When he thinks that parade of his people is over and that there are no more intruders to let into the house, he gently pushes the door with a wave of his arm, and turns towards the living room. Before he hears the door close, however, he senses someone coughing lightly, and a voice comes clear and distinct.

"You won't let me in?"

Steve's eyes widen, because he's sure he knows who this voice belongs to and up until now he's been sure he won't be hearing it again any time soon. His breath catches in his chest. In a second he turns back towards the entrance, where the toe of a black shoes block the door from closing.

"Y/n?" He mumbles before meeting your face again. He hurries to open the door all the way back and immediately freezes to the spot. In front of him, wrapped in a black coat,  hair scattered around your face and eyes brighter than the stars exactly as he remembered them, you star at him with a faintly hinted smile on your face.

"Oh my god y/n" his voice shakes  more than he wants to, so he fakes a  a cough, while Robin looks at him knowingly and a sly smile. You star at him for a few more moments, just a fraction of a second, before dropping the envelope and purse on the floor and throwing yourself into his arms. After all it's been a while since you last saw him, before your parents forced you to leave Hawkins and move.

Hardest experience of your life.

You still remember the day of departure, passing in front of your friends' houses, you have flooded your clothes with tears and thought about everything you left behind and the things you never had the courage to say and do. And all these things are now here, in front of you and they are looking at you with the biggest eyes in the world.

Incredulous.

Because Steve Harrington has always been your biggest regret and your only desire.

"Steve." You sigh against his skin, so happy to finally be here that you almost shiver. When Robin Buckley has called you to ask you to join her in Hawkins, she really thought you couldn't do it, given the short time in which she had organized the surprise for Steve. "You'll be his Christmas present!" And you had thought of a joke and you had anxiety until you had Robin in front of you and she smiled and embraced you happily, as if your presence could really be a gift. Yet here you are, with the boy you thought you hated so much as a child, only to discover that you felt everything for him except hate, that never really felt anything but love.

"What... What are you doing here? You should... Be on the other side of the world. I haven't seen you in..." He strokes your hair lightly, then he grabs your face in his big hands and squeezes it tightly to check if you are real. "One Year and Three Months Stevie" And after saying that he squeezes it a little tighter, because he probably just realizes right now how much time has actually passed. You are one of the things Steve tries not to think about, filed away in a corner of his heart where your absence can't hurt him. You wrote to each other in the beginning, even quite often, but then it just became too difficult. He moves away a little, just enough to look you in the eye, and none of you try to hide the surprise and the smiles. Somewhere deep down there are  regret and the fear too.

"You are... Changed." he says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You've gotten slightly taller and your cheeks have taken on color and are fuller than the last time he saw you, when the upside-down chores were slowly draining you. You seem healthier, calmer and happier, safer than you will ever be here. With him.

"You too Harrington look...Grown up. A man"

He doesn't answer and you continue. "I guess being a hero makes you grow up fast" You burst into a nervous laugh and look down at the toes of your boots.

"Sorry, it's just that... I'm nervous" He shakes his head.

"Don't be y/n, this is still your home." You observe him, the words get caught on your tongue, stumble and never come out right.

I love you. I miss you. I wished I was here.

And instead all you can say is "I know things have happened...Bad. Difficult. I.." Steve closes his eyes, trying to erase the images of StarCourt, of the Russians, of Billy. Hopper. You have lost so many things but honestly he is happy about it. When he opens them you're watching him worried, his fingers reach your cheek again, gently brushing it

"Yes but I'm glad you weren't there. I prefer to know you're safe"

You smile, softly, placing your hand on his still firm on your skin. You're about to reply that you wish you were here just to keep him safe but Dustin's voice cuts you off.

"Lovebirds, would you do us the favor of coming here?" Stepping back, he coughs lightly as a blush spreads across his cheeks. "Come on, before someone destroys my house." He leans in towards you, reaching out to close the door behind you, and for a tiny instant, you were numb by the scent of him. The moment soon vanishes as he takes you by the hand and leads you to the room where all the voices come from.

"Steve, you haven't even decorated the tree!"

Nancy says shocked. When her eyes lock on your clasped hands, she just smiles at you sweetly.

"It's not like I exactly expected to spend Christmas like this." He tries to justify himself, earning a series of insults and "You're terrible!" from the rest of the company. "As if you mind," Dustin teases. "I'm the one who minds being here actually" Mike mutters slyly.

An hour later Steve is leaning over the dining table, a glass of white wine in his hands and watches as Lucas and Will attempt to scramble over each other to position the three topper. Robin and Jonathan burst into laugh after noticing they brought the same kind of decorations. You and El are trying in every way to whiten the tips of the tree to simulate snow. Right now, while looking at his friends, Steve again perceives this feeling: pure joy. It's has nothing to do with food, gifts or Christmas lights.

It is more a warmth,  something that objects can't bring people. He feels it again, this damned wonderful overwhelming happiness, when, having puffed and abandoned the hard work you've been doing, you look up at him and smile at him from across the hall.

You are here.

You're here, for real and Steve already feels the pain of having to let you go again. But you're here and he can hold you,  kiss your hair, talk to you. It's the best gift ever. He still remembers so distinctly the moment he met you, you were just a little thing, so small you looked like a doll running around the garden of his house and rolling with him among the flowers that his mother cared for more than her own son and Steve hated to death. He remembers your little hand hanging a drawing of the two of you on his bedroom wall. He rembers you throwing your head back and laughing by the sea when Tommy and Carol dragged you for a weekend away from the city routine and then you hiding your tears at Barbara Holland's funeral, trying to be strong and breaking down anyway, shattered in front of an empty coffin, devoured by guilt. There is no memory of his childhood or adolescence that does not involve you, or that he cannot be traced back to you. Even after your departure in every memory you are, a distant thought. Now that you're here everything seems to be back exactly as before. And even if he doesn't even know what heaven is, Steve Harrington feels very close to it. The dinner is not as perfect as Robin planned it, but no less exciting. As she studies her best friend sitting next to you, she still can't believe she haa managed to bring you home. You laugh with Nance and Jonathan. Dustin, Will and the boys are chatting across the table. Robin feels like a little girl waiting for her presents and always leaving a plate of cookies and a glass of milk by the fireplace.

In the imperfection of her life and the difficulties that her family has to face, she has managed to do something great for Steve and this is the most precious gift in the world. If everything they've been through has brought them here, Robin is ready to face it all again. There is nothing  she could want more then her dingus being in peace. You wake up abruptly, still upside down from the jet leg, in the living room, lit only by the tree surrounded by colored lights.

You must have collapsed just a few hours ago, curled up on Steve's couch - specifically next to him, surrounded by his perfume - and now you see your friends curled up in their sleeping bags scattered around the room, each too tired to even notice they're asleep on the floor. Shifting the blanket someone must have wrapped you in after you fell asleep, you decide to use it to cover Max, lying on the other side of the sofa clutching one of the large pillows to her chest, her hand left dangling down to where Lucas promptly reached out to squeeze it . With all the delicacy of which you are capable, you place your feet on the floor and try to get around the various sleeping bags scattered along the room. Luckily, you manage to make it to the kitchen without waking anyone – not that they could have woken up anyway – but noticing a light on.

Before you can even think anything, your eyes met the figure of Steve who has his back at you, wrapped in a burgundy sweatshirt and wearing a pair of shorts. You've missed seeing him so calm, so relaxed. You just missed him to tell the truth, more than you expected.

"What are you doing up?" You ask in a low voice, leaning an arm against the counter and waiting for him to turn around.When he does, he runs a hand through his messy hair and smiles at you.

"I can't sleep" he explains to you, placing a cup on the counter. You catch the movement and narrow your eyes. "By chance is that...?"

"You caught me." He raises his hands in surrender.

"Hot chocolate. Oh, God... You shouldn't have done it without me it's pur thing Steve!" You scold him, silently approaching and trying to suppress a grin. Chocolate has always been their ritual during the endless study afternoons, spent doing everything but study.

"I am sorry... "

"Now, my dear Harrington, I shall be forced to take serious measures."

You threaten. Before he can do anything, you've gotten very close and managed to grab onto his hips. You begin to tickle him when he tries to move, but you're faster and let your hands slide under the sweatshirt, on the abdomen and Steve is shaken by a series of irrepressible laughter. "I give up, I give up!" He almost screams, grabbing your wrists and finally managing to stop you.

"What do you have to say in your defense?" You lift your chin to him, closer than you've ever been all evening, and your smile fades as you notice Steve's eyes roaming over your lips tracing them with his gaze. Just do it. Please . But don't speak, in fact your breath catches in your chest. Everything is exactly like in the good old days.

Immediately he releases your wrists.

"Steve" You mumble confused by whatever is going on, this is enough to bring him back from the trance he seems to have fallen into. Steve turns and leans towards the top right locker where he keeps his cups, with his back to you. "A cup of hot chocolate on the way." He mutters, you try to suppress the sigh you feel growing in the center of her chest. "I missed you, you know?" You confess with a half smile, going to sit on the opposite counter, continuing to observe his back. It's nothing new, you know what there is between you, affection, Devotion but sometimes it's feels like it could be so much more it actually hurts.

"I would have liked to keep in touch, to contact you more often..." He starts.

" I know it. It looked wrong. ridiculous. I get it, really." you interrupt him. He still won't look at you. "I'm glad you're okay." You continue."I'm glad you're okay too. Thank God you are safe. I would die if everything ever happens to you Steve." Only now  he turns around, hitting you with the intensity of his gaze "I missed you too. You don't know how much, princess" As soon as you hear that nickname, that stupid nickname he gave you years and years ago, your heart skips a beat. And you blame the memories, you blame Christmas and the distance, for what you do afterwards. While Steve walks up to you carrying the hot cup, it's easy to take it out of his hand and place it behind you. It's easy to grab hold of his fingers that you know as your own and bring him close, just as it's easy to stare at him from below without letting go. The easiest thing, however, is to close your eyes. Close your eyes and wait, as you have done since you were twelve, when you finally understood that there is no person in the world more similar to you, more suited to you than stupid Steve Harrington. And that's why, in the end, you fell in love with him hard.

The long-awaited kiss reaches you,  the only light that remains is the sensation of this moment, imperfect as it has always been between you two, but nothing less than exceptional. You sense the initial awkwardness, which, of course, has nothing to do with inexperience– Steve seems born to kiss ypu and make it seem like the simplest thing in the whole universe. It's an embarrassment that says "you've been my best friend since before I even remotely looked like a girl, but now you want me and I want you and here we are" and likewise you feel it fade, giving way to an ease you haven't felt with anyone else.

The romantic side of your mind suggests it's because he knows you better than any other guy.

Steve, who has leaned over your legs stretching his neck towards your face as if a natural thing, moves his left hand towards his side, and only now  you suddenly realize you want him closer, you need him. Therefore you surround his waist with your legs and cling to the collar of his sweatshirt, devouring his mouth in a need that has been ignited since he held you in his arms in front of the door. Despite the desire, however, you are  this is Steve you are kissing now and you must know what the hell it means to him before doing something you could regret. In the same moment in which Steve starts to move away slightly, you do it  too and finally open your eyes.

"I wish I hadn't waited a year to be able to do it." He whispers softly, letting the fingers of his right hand get lost behind your neck, in your soft hair. And it's enough for you, for him and for everything you've never said.

For now, that's enough.

"You've always been slow Harrington"you scold him, trying with all your strength not to smile at him, "Give me a good reason to stay Steve" He leans down once more to kiss you.This time, you both smile.

This time you will never leave.

[theodork]

Over; Part Two

Character: Saiki K

Warning: Break up, angst, cursing, aruging

Summary: A powerful, omnipotent, psychic's girlfriend broke up with him because she did not feel loved by him. He does love her he just doesn't know how to express it. Saiki can't see why Y/N is hurt and it leads to a minor argument on the rooftop

‘Saiki communicating’ (or the reader and Saiki's telepathic coves)

“everyone else talking”

Italics- thoughts

~Over~Part~~Two~~

..............................................................................................................................

"We broke up, I broke up with Saiki" Y/N said, Teruhashi and Yumehara were both huddles around Y/N's desk. Teruhashi did everything she could to contain her excitement while Yumehara threw dirty and contemptuous looks in my direction.

"I thought you two were in love," Teruhashi asked. "Yeah well, it is what it is." Y/N stated as if what she was talking about was the most mundane thing in the world.

"He did seem kinda sad when I walked in, well it was unusual from his normal stoic manner," Teruhashi's honeyed voice masked how she truly felt.

I don't care, he should have cared when we were dating, now there's nothing that will fix that because it would not be a real and geuine gesture. She thought. She stayed silent and did not answer the bluenette.

Why was Y/N being so unreasonable? Why was she being so childish and dramatic? I was frustrated and couldn't understand why she acted like that yesterday.

Of course, I cared about her. Of course, I loved her. I loved her so much, and I did not even think it was possible. I was the most powerful psychic in the world doomed never to love, but she changed everything. For the first time ever I had felt a sensation I had never felt before. I felt like I was drowning in my own despair. My chest was heavy, and my heart ached. Every breath felt like a struggle, and every thought was consumed by her. It was a pain that I had never known before. Pain that I did not even think I was capable of feeling.

What hurt, even more, was not knowing how to fix it. For the first time, I felt helpless. I was gripped by a sense of helplessness that I had never experienced before. If the situation had been different, I might have found some solace in the fact that my powers were rendered useless. However, at this moment, I was unable to do anything to change the circumstances and it left me feeling utterly powerless. Being the most powerful boy in the world was absolutely pointless, even now it did not benefit me in the slightest. I could not just read her mind and get her anything she desired, I could not just apologize for anything I did--not that anything was my fault she was just being dramatic--because she knew my secret. She'd know it wouldn't be 'a real and genuine gesture' as she put it.

How stupid was I? You don't ever call me Saiki. I thought back to yesterday. Why didn't I say more and why didn't I try to solve it right then and there? There is nothing I can do right now. I needed to let her have some space, as much as it was killing me to do so.

It especially hurt when everyone at school knew we had broken up. It felt weird to feel like this and it was not just because she was my shield from other social obligations. It was a nice perk, however. It was like she was moving on. It felt final when she announced to Teruhashi that she was no longer dating me. More than all of this it hurt to see that she was hurting. To hear what was going on in her mind and not being able to ease this.

..............................................................................................................................

Despite not being one of my most noble uses of power, I convinced her to go to the rooftop out of desperation. "What did I forget?" she was cut off from her thought when she opened the door to find me. "Nope." Y/N turned to leave as I grabbed her arm.

'Please wait,' I asked. She turned and looked at me. Her eyebrows knit together, she was pissed.

"Fine," she hissed. She was hurt, she was masking her hurt with anger even though she knew I could hear her thoughts. "But stay out of my head, ass." She yanked her hand back.

"I'm sorry for whatever I did or didn't do," I said. She quickly interrupted me, "Are you sorry? Do you know what your sorry for? What do you think because you are actually talking this time? I am supposed to believe you?"

'Could you just be rational for a minute?'

She glared at me, "What are you sorry for?"

'Whatever you are upset about, it doesn't seem like you even know. I don't know what you want me to do'

As Y/N placed her hands over her face, she stared into the distance. "If you don't know, you aren't sorry, we just aren't right for each other."

'All you had to do was talk to me,'

"Why can you read minds? Couldn't you not tell I was upset?" She started to tear up. I felt awful. " You can't see it when it's right in front of you! You can't see me, how do I feel? I'm right in front of you. Couldn't you have spared me some of your time without making me feel like a burden? Could you have gone out of your way for me? Instead of pushing me way untill the last minute and then trying to lure me back?"

Had I really been treating her that way? It didn't matter because that's how she felt. I mentally facepalmed. How could I have been so blind? It was real to her.

She waited for me to respond.

"Dating is still a novel concept to me," I said. "And it scares me to think about losing you. It feels like I already have." She nodded. "I never ment to make you feel like a burden, I just don't know what I am doing. It's not an excuse, but just know that I love you." I said. She smiled. It was bittersweet.

I waited for her to respond

[skazoo]

hit me with your killshot.

↳ jeong yunho x f!reader

you trusted each other but now your words mean nothing and your actions speak the truth.

length. 1.6k

genre. angst until it's not..., fluff, secret au bc i can't spoil

warnings/tags. war language, weapons, non-explicit violence, betrayal, mention of death.

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. oh, how i love writing this au it brings me sm joy you don't understand. hope you like it!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

all is fair in love and war.

your mother used to say it all the time when you and wooyoung were kids and fought constantly over the most stupid things. she always said it with an amused smile on her lips, like she knew something you were not yet privy to, and when you were younger the notion of being kept in the dark by the person you trusted the most angered you. scared you.

you couldn’t understand what those words really meant. what did love and war —irreconcilable antitheses, mortal enemies— have to do with each other? and why did it seem like everyone around you, your older brother included, had accepted the sad juxtaposition as truth? 

years passed, you and wooyoung got used to one another, fought less, and the enigmatic phrase seldom left your mother’s mouth to the point that it started to fade away under the new memories of your teenage years.

just when it was about to get buried by your twenties, something happened that you hadn’t thought possible. something you’d skeptically deemed ‘not for you’. he happened. yunho happened.

and your mother’s words finally made sense.

all is fair in love and war because the rules of normal civility do not apply during war-making, and when one is desperately in love; because love and war have universally accepted limits but if one were to break those unwritten rules someone would still find a way to justify, to forgive and forget.

but something in the old proverb felt incomplete.

love and war are not the only gods that rule over the earth and you wonder how did the people that came before you not realize the looming force of the third: business. 

what is fair in business? 

what about your business? where it costs little to play dirty and it pays off handsomely? in which love is a mere distraction and war is a means to an end?

and now you’re the lonely bearer of the weight of this third secret factor. now that you’re at war and you’re running from love, you think back about the times you didn’t understand and wish to be brought back there. clueless but free.

it feels stupid to think about all this while you’re tiptoeing around the upper floor of the dark arena —battlefield of the ruthless game you all play— but it’s really all you can do, high off adrenaline and anticipation, waiting for someone to distract the unfortunate victim you have chosen for this round just so you can fix the red laser beam on its unsuspecting back and shoot your shot, granting your team one more chance at victory, at survival.

you crouch down, rifle in front of you and you scan the ground sector through your scope.

from up here you can see what goes on in the maze below. every movement, every noise has you drawing a mental map of the players. 

you can see jongho’s head slowly but surely cornering a terrified choi san to the east wall of the arena, meaning that sooner than later you’ll have an advantage in numbers over the rival team. from the sound of his shotgun reloading almost faster than it shoots, seonghwa must be stalking down kim hongjoong —sworn enemy and skilled sniper— somewhere around the entrance gates. that leaves wooyoung staring at you from the ground, weapon in hand and eyebrows raised in a telling frown. one that shows you he’s ready to play his part in your minutely crafted plan. 

the high wall of the maze is the only thing separating him and your target of choice. kang yeosang leans idly against the hard barrier that cages all of you in like he doesn’t know he’s being hunted for survival, as if he doesn’t realize your brother has been waiting for months to see him fail at your team’s hands.

he starts humming something under his breath too and it’s then that you realize that something– someone extremely dangerous is missing from your mind-map.

when jongho hit one of his teammates in the stomach, your personal and complicated enemy fled the north section before you could follow his movements and with the quick plan of taking out yeosang in full motion you forgot to look for him.

your head snaps to either side of the narrow platform you’re standing on. the thought of his dark eyes watching you this whole time sends chills down your back and makes a heavy weight drop to your stomach.

how did you end up like this? 

before the arena, before you started to play this sick game for a chance at a happier life, everything was just as perfect as it could have been.

jeong yunho. same age and lifelong friend of your annoying brother. tall, built, and handsome, one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen and a laugh you still can’t get out of your head. 

your mother was so happy when wooyoung grumpily let the fact that you were stealing his friend away from his group activities slip during a visit home from the city.

and oh, were you happy. 

navigating the hardest periods of your young life, in a hostile environment with the sweetest words whispered into your ear every night before you went to sleep.

then the ragtag group of friends you found yourself spending most of your time with, made the cursed discovery. every and each one of you got sucked in before you could realize what it meant.

it stood at the core of the city, a dark monster of metal and neon, big enough just for the bloodshed it hosted. the arena with no physical public, just big screens that displayed what went on in hell.

it started as curiosity and now you face this nightmare every week, hoping to win the glory that you all adamantly desire for different reasons. wooyoung to finally end yeosang’s incredible luck. seonghwa to destroy hongjoon’s ego. jongho for fun. and you to escape the game of cat and mouse you play with the one you trusted with your life.

you shake from your trance and try to listen for any sign that the tall soldier is near. 

amongst the noise of the ground floor, you fail to capture the clang of his boots on the metal grate but yunho doesn’t care to hide from you anymore.

from the crouched position you still have, he looms over you with sad coldness, staring you down like he’s trying to understand where you come from.

then he speaks. voice low, gelid. you can feel the anger through it. “did you take mingi out?”

“yunho–”

“he tried to warn me about you, you know. did you?”

you shake your head slightly. your teammate won’t care if you tell on him. your bloodthirsty sniper wants people to know what he’s capable of. “jongho…”

“it was your plan though.”

it’s the truth but it still hurts. “yunho, listen–”

“it’s always your plans that put me in the worst positions.” he aims his gun at your chest, his hands trembling slightly from the strong grip he has on the weapon; knuckles white.

your voice breaks when you speak. “yunho, please i know you don’t want to do this. please.”

“are you really begging right now?” he scoffs. “mingi was your friend, Y/N! you were going to shoot yeosang in the back!” he nods the gun to the ground floor where wooyoung is still waiting for your move. “i’m done with letting you win, i’m sorry. i can’t watch you do this anymore.”

your rifle is your only source of comfort right now and you grip it with all your might. even now you can’t seem to point it at the man that stands before you. even now you can’t bear that you’re on different sides of the same battle.

“you have to understand…” it sounds like he’s trying to justify himself more than anything.

“understand what, yunho?” you spat. “you’re standing over me telling me to understand but i really can’t because you’re doing the same thing! you’re going to kill me and call it justice!”

he flinches.

“look at me in the eyes and tell me you never loved me. tell me that i meant nothing to you, that it was all a lie and then maybe i will understand you.”

“Y/N–”

“i love you.” your eyes cloud with heartbreak and a single tear makes its way down your cheek. 

everything is over. betrayed by your own lover. killed by love and war.

his finger moves to the trigger. time slows down. you close your eyes.

“i will always love you.” a whisper.

instead of the bang of the gun a loud siren that resonates throughout the entire arena.

“TIME’S OUT!” yeosang cheers followed by wooyoung’s groans.

mingi and san pop their heads from the exit door with small smiles on their lips. “it’s a draw but we all did great guys!”

the others find their way towards the exit, technical gear coming off while the lights of the arena switch back on.

“just– for next time maybe we should finally change teams so that those two up there don’t go full mr. and mrs. smith on us!” mingi’s loud voice reaches everyone.

“yes, please. it’s just laser tag you guys, no need to be that dramatic over it.” wooyoung’s clearly addressing you and everyone agrees with him with quiet grunts.

your boyfriend who still looms over you throws you an amused grin and offers you his hand to get up. when you’re back on your feet he dusts off your shirt and dries the cinematic tear off your cheek. big hands put your mussed hair behind your ears and cup your face.

“they think we’re too much.”

“they just can’t handle us, yuyu. let them cry.”

he chuckles loudly as you place a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“by the way, next week i’m finally taking you out.” you taunt.

“like, on a date or with a sniper?”

[prazinos]

Cold. Pt 2

Warnings ! ~ This part talks about self harm (non-specified), Chrissy ain't nice, sex mentioned very briefly.

Read Part One ! {} Request Something ! {} Masterlist ! {}

You awoke to the familiar warmth of Eddie, you were clinging to him like a koala, and when you looked up at him you noticed he was already looking down at you with glassy eyes.

'What's wrong?' you asked quietly

'Just feel bad' he whispered hoarsely

'No offence but you kinda should' you smiled at him

Eddie let out a quiet, sad laugh before wrapping his arms around you tightly. Although you felt like you could barely breath, you enjoyed the pressure.

'let's do something, anything you want' Eddie said into your hair

'I just wanna watch a bunch of movies with you Eds’

‘Alright sweetheart, but what are we gonna do about Steve? Are-are you not wanting to see him anymore?-have me see him anymore?’

‘I think…I think that I can forgive him but he just really needs to make it up. Like he needs to understand my point of view and seriously apologise about Chrissy being a better fuck than me’

‘Nobody’s a better fuck than you honey’ Eddie said while kissing your face. You pushed him away giggling

‘But I think he just felt like he had to defend himself ya’know? I mean, he’s had to deal with his dad calling him a world of names-especially calling him a man whore-when he found out about us. So I think that Stevie just thought you were attacking him like his dad does, and I think when he calms down he’ll understand your point if view’

‘Yeah I guess but I just don’t know why he’s hanging out with Chrissy so much’ you whispered, feeling tears welling up again.

‘Honey, Chrissy is um, manipulative. Whenever Steve or I would tell her we would hang out with you that day she would get like really upset, or tell us she isn’t feeling well. And then when we both got sick of it and called her out on it she told us that she was going to um…harm herself’ Eddie said, clearly annoyed.

‘I think it affected Steve more than me, first time she said it he was really shaken up about it’

‘oh’

‘that doesn’t excuse his behaviour at all though’

You nodded, your eyes feeling tired again. You yawned, shutting your eyes, shoving your face back into Eddie’s chest, inhaling the smell of cigarettes and his cologne, he smelt more like cigarettes than usual though.

‘Chrissy just leave me alone okay?’ Steve nearly yelled

‘but it’s not fair! You broke up with her!’ Chrissy practically wailed

‘No I didn’t, it’s a fight not a breakup. Jesus Chrissy just get it through your head that i don’t want to be friends with you anymore’

‘Because you can’t! Eddie already dumped me-‘

‘Hold on, dumped you? He was never your boyfriend Chrissy’

She giggled at his words, ‘of course he was! We had sex!’

Steve’s eyes widened at the words that came out of Chrissy’s mouth. Eddie wouldn’t do that, right? I mean surely not. He knew Chrissy was a bitch but Jesus Christ.

‘What?’ Steve glowered

‘Oh yeah, a couple times actually. He felt so good’ she smiled.

‘You fucked my boyfriend?’ Steve yelled, getting closer

‘Y-your boyfriend?’ Chrissy asked, suddenly terrified

‘Yes my boyfriend. How dumb are you that you didn’t even know we were together? He calls me Stevie, he calls me honey!’

‘You guys never k-kissed! And he calls everybody nicknames it’s his thing!’

‘He calls people he loves nicknames. Me, Robin, Dustin, our girlfriend! Did you ever pick up on how he only ever called you Chrissy?’

‘W-well no but-‘

‘But nothing! Tell me, what’s the tattoo he has on his v-line?’

Chrissy’s eyes lowered to the floor looking for an answer.

‘It’s a um, it’s, it’s barbed wire’

‘No Chrissy it isn’t. you clearly didn’t fuck him. You wanna know what it actually is? Eddie has a tattoo on his v-line that says Ahoy. it was a stupid fucking dare Robin gave him. You didn’t fuck Eddie. You never will’

‘Okay! Maybe I didn’t fuck Eddie but you look like you need to blow off some steam and maybe I can help?’ Chrissy says, inching closer, placing her hand on Steve’s chest.

Steve quickly shoved her away, maybe a bit too hard as Chrissy fell backwards and landed on her ass.

‘No, don’t fucking touch me. God I just-I can’t believe you. Or me for that matter. I feel disgusting for what I said. I said you were a better fuck for God's sake!' Steve yelled, the emotions building up and making it harder and harder to contain the tears.

'I could be a better fuck Stevie' Chrissy says looking up at Steve.

'Don't-don't call me that. Just fucking, don't talk to me anymore. Please'

He then stormed out of the apartment, beating himself up on the inside. He seriously cannot believe himself. He felt disgusting, he felt like his father. His face now blooming with a bruise that will remind him of his mistake for weeks.

He now didn't know where to go, he knew when he got back to his apartment that Chrissy will have left but likely left a large mess on her way out.

Steve didn't know how he was going to make it up to you and Eddie. He couldn't make it up with sex, that feels like a cop out. But he also knows that flowers and chocolate won't do much. Maybe a necklace and new ring for you two? Or is that too much like his father, always making mistakes towards Steve or his mother; then buying Steve a new baseball bat or buy his mother a new bracelet.

He's getting too into his own head, you know what? He is going to buy you two jewellery.

He walked out of the high class jewellery store, bag in hand containing a new ruby necklace for you, before going to a more indie store he knew Eddie frequents.

When Steve walked in the store he asked the woman at the counter if she knew Eddie, and when she told him that she indeed does, he asks if Eddie has been eyeing a specific ring.

Turns out Eddie has expensive taste, not that Steve can't afford it.

He arrives at Nancy and Robin's apartment, knowing that Eddie was there with you, judging from when Nancy had told him on the phone after he left yesterday.

Yes, he had tried to call Nancy and apologise to you and Eddie over the phone since he assumed the two of you would definitely not want to see him.

Sighing, he knocked lightly on the door, waiting for a handful of names to be thrown at him.

Nancy opened the door, her eyes hardening when she saw Steve.

'You know you can't buy their forgiveness' she spits

'I-I know, I just, can I see them?' Steve asks

She looks at him, trying to decide if he has good intentions.

She rolled her eyes at his kicked puppy look, before stepping aside, allowing Steve inside.

He hightailed it to the room that you were in, knocking lightly. He smiled softly when he heard Eddie laughing at something before saying 'come in!'

When Steve opened the door, he was met with the two of you cuddled up on the bed.

Eddie's eyes immediately glared daggers into Steve, only softening for a split second when he saw the nasty bruise on Steve's face.

'Please, I don't want to fight' Steve mumbled.

'Are you just here to tell us what a good fuck Chrissy is?' you asked, venom lacing your words.

Steve looked like he had been punched in the gut.

'God no, she disgusts me. I'd never fuck her' Steve mumbles.

'Oh yeah right' you spat.

Steve got closer to the bed, sitting on it, 'I don't even know where to begin, I-I'm so sorry'

'Uh huh' you muttered.

You appreciated Eddie not inserting himself in, while yes he had a right to be mad at Steve, he wasn't hurt nearly as much as you.

'I just didn't want you accusing me of something I would never do, you two have my whole heart and, and Chrissy? God she's a horrible person but I refused to see it because I just thought that she was the same girl she was in high school' Steve mumbled, 'And I don't know how to make it up to you guys, but I promise I will, even if you don't want to be with me anymore, I will move to Australia if you asked me to, just so you never see me again' he continued.

you giggled at his words, something that made his heart flutter.

'Chrissy has changed and she changed me as well, that doesn't excuse my behaviour but to put it in perspective, Chrissy told me that she fucked Eddie. Which, she didn't she didn't even know about his tattoo on his v-line-'

'Second best tattoo on me' Eddie smirked, pulling the cover away, showing off his Ahoy tattoo.

you slapped Eddie lightly on his chest, a silent way of telling him to shut up so Steve can continue.

'She didn't even know about the tattoo on his v-line, so clearly they didn't fuck, and she didn't even know that me and Eddie were dating. it's unbelievable. And I didn't want to make it up to you guys with sex because I felt like that would just be a douchebag move. I did get gifts, and yeah, that's also a bit douchey I know, but I would have felt even worse if I didn't give you something. I'll make it up to you two everyday for the rest of our lives I swear'

You and Eddie looked at each other, a silent conversation.

You squinted at Steve.

'I forgive you, but not fully, obviously i'm still pissed about what you said, and did. As I am with Eddie. But I forgive you'

Steve's shoulders relax, obviously relieved.

'I wanna see these gifts' Eddie says, clapping his hands together.

You rolled your eyes and laughed lightly at Eddie.

Steve reached down, grabbing the bags off the ground and handing them to the two of you.

Your eyes widened at the expensive brand logo on the bag, reaching in and pulling out the box. You looked up at Steve, and he knew what you were gonna say.

'No, you two deserve something. I don't care how expensive it is' he said simply.

you clicked open the box, Eddie watching next to you. And your eyes opened comically wide at the sparkling red gem.

'Jesus H Christ' Eddie whispered.

'Steve this is gorgeous' you said softly.

'Only the best for my girl' Steve smiled.

'See if you get the best for your boy too' Eddie said, reaching into his own bag.

When Eddie pulled out a ring box, Eddie's eyes shot to Steve's

'asking to marry us Harrington?'

'Not yet' Steve laughed.

Eddie popped open the box, smiling brightly at the ring that was inside.

'I've been looking at this for weeks! You know, Octopus's actually-'

'Octopi hon' you corrected softly

'right, Octopi actually-'

Steve smiled as Eddie rambled on, moving to lie down next to you two.

Both Steve and Eddie knew that they would spend forever making it up to you. But that was something they were more than happy to do.

HI BOZOS!!!!!!

IM SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT!

Alr, this isn't like the best but I do hope ya'll enjoyed and please know, love Chrissy, nothing against her character.

Also can we talk about how Eddie would be obsessed with Octopi?? Bro probably thinks it is so cool that they have 8 arms for sure.

BYE BOZOS!!

taglist ! @svtbpbts @letitiasleftfoot @munson-girl @zzz000eee @tiannamortis @eddiesguitarskills @danandphilequalsmemes @bibieddiesgf @alohastitch0626

So sorry if I missed anybody !

[mochalate]

[3] precipice ; porco galliard (2/2)

pairing: porco galliard/f!reader  chapter word count: 24.6 k  chapter content/warnings: secret meetings in the dark, crushing on your bf/gf, porco's scandalous sexual history, some angsting about marcel, girls' night out  chapter summary: The most precious secrets are the ones that are the hardest to keep. a/n: this is overdue, isn't it? 🤭🤭posting as two parts because I learned tumblr has a post length limit!! As always, please let me know what you think, I love hearing from my fellow galliard girlies. <3 Read on AO3? || See Series Masterlist? [<-Chapter 3 (1/2)][Chapter 4->]

The old woman gives Porco his change. The coins are cold against his palm, from sitting near her ice chest. He doesn’t like how they jingle in his pockets with every step; and he plans to give them to the children, once he gets back to them.

“Just the one, dearie?” she asks, in her quakey voice.

Porco nods.

Her husband hands him the ice cream cone wrapped in tissue. He says something too, but the man doesn’t have enough teeth left for Porco to make out the words.

“Thank you,” he replies, hoping it’s appropriate. “It’s good to see you two as well.”

It’s a pleasantly warm afternoon, but they’re both bundled up in matching brown coats. Pigeons flock at their feet, pecking at the breadcrumbs they’ve scattered around. They’re sitting on one of the wooden benches under the elms that line the path through the park. Mottled light filters through the drying, thinning leaves in large patches— Liberio is entering autumn. It's fairly crowded, with people wanting to enjoy the cooler weather.

(It’s a nice day, for once.)

The old woman— Porco doesn’t know her name, but she’s been here for as long as he can remember— gives him a wry smile. “He asked if you wanted spoons, to share with your lady friend.”

Porco swallows. “It’s not like that. We’re— we’re colleagues.” He can feel the chill emanating from the ice cream against the sudden, anxious warmth on his skin.

“That’s what I told him!” She smacks the man across his upper arm. “No armband on her! She’s one of us, you old lout. Don’t you go getting this poor boy in trouble.”

Her husband chuckles.

Porco thanks them again, and begins walking back; but the exchange has his nerves on edge. Was he being careless? Was this too dangerous? This was a mistake. It was selfish of him to ask you to come here, out in the daylight.

The carpet of red and yellow leaves crunches under his boots. He sees you alone on the bench. Your uniform is stark white against the muted, earthy colours around you. Just a nurse; spending her lunch break out in the only green patch for miles around.

You’re watching the children play. They’ve somehow roped Colt into their game while Porco was gone, and he’s chasing them across the grass.

“Po— Galliard,” you greet him pleasantly as he comes up.

Right. You’re a nurse from the hospital nearby, and he’s Galliard. It couldn’t be any other way, not out here; no matter how much he felt otherwise when he looked at you. He’s stupid to have forgotten that. He’s stupid to have forced you into it.

Porco hands you the cone, and pulls his hand back even though he wants to let his fingers linger against yours for a little longer.

“For me?” you ask, pleased. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. Thank you!”

The delight on your face makes him guilty, somehow. “You didn’t get any for yourself earlier.”

You lick the ice cream. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to. All their customers were…”

“Eldian,” he completes. He swallows back a sigh, and goes to lean against the tree behind the bench. Stupid.

You turn to look at him with a sad smile. “You can’t sit with me, can you?”

“It’s not a good idea,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault.” You tell him, turning back.

This is a public park, and it’s one of the handful of areas outside the internment zone that’s open to Liberio’s Eldian population— upon obtaining permission from the relevant authorities, of course. And still, the two peoples separate like oil and water. The path that runs through the middle of the park is a boundary. You’re allowed to be here, but on this side— the Eldian side— you’re an oddity.

(Of course, no one on this side dares say anything about it. But they do stay away; and none of the other children join in with the candidates’ game.)

“You and Colt seemed friendly with that old couple,” you comment, still looking ahead. “Who are they? They weren’t wearing armbands.”

The old Marleyan couple has been here since before he was born, and he's sure they'll be here long after he's gone. “Their son was in the military,” he explains. “An Eldian saved his ass thirty years ago, and carried him back behind the lines after he lost his legs to a landmine.”

“That's terrible.”

“Well, he survived. And now he runs an ice cream shop, so mom and dad express their gratitude by bringing some over every weekend for the Eldian kids.”

You sound impressed. “They've been doing it for thirty years?”

“Give or take. We don’t buy anything from the regular shops because…” He trails off. Because, there’s a good chance they would add rat poison to the sprinkles— but he doesn’t want to tell you that.

He doesn’t have to continue though, since Colt chooses this moment to trip and fall teeth first into the grass.

(Again, Porco thinks in disbelief. Good luck for everyone but himself.)

Colt picks himself up but stays on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. You gasp out a soft ‘oh no’. The children worriedly look at each other, suddenly silent, and cautiously approach him.

You're trying to hurriedly hand Porco your cone to go check on him when Colt explodes upwards, and tackles Falco to the ground with a triumphant cry. The other three shriek and scatter.

Porco watches you laugh, sitting back down with your arm resting across the back of the bench. He watches the ice cream melt, beginning to run down your fingers. Something squeezes his heart. He really does want to hold your hand.

“Hey,” he says. “My throat’s been kind of sore.”

You scrunch your eyebrows as you look up at him. The dappled sunlight shines across your face. “Warm water will—”

“I think I'm going to go get it checked at the hospital before I head home.”

Your frown deepens in confusion before understanding dawns. “Oh! Oh, you could do that. Yes.”

“I'm going to tell Colt I'm leaving. You're uh, you're probably heading to your shift after you finish eating, right?”

You nod, incredibly seriously.

And so Porco finds himself, about twenty minutes later, at the reception counter in Liberio General’s marbled foyer. The nurse on duty is a small woman, with her black hair in a wavy— almost curly— bob. She’s standing; but she’s short enough that her shoulders barely clear the tall counter. The way she’s staring at him is unnerving.

It’s because she’s staring at him, Porco realises. Not at the armband.

“Uhm…” he says, because the silence has stretched on for a fair bit now. “Like I said, I wanted to see our regular nurse but she wasn’t at—”

She blinks at him. Her eyes are large and round. “You look fine. Really fine. Wow.”

Porco blinks back. “... thank you? But I—”

“Were you really going to die, or would you have been fine anyway if they just let you steam in the corner for a bit?”

Porco thinks he should probably be offended by this, but there isn’t even a hint of malice in her words— which is impressive, because those were hard words to say without malice. And honestly, with that uniform, she reminds him of you; just a little. So he decides to engage with her.

“…Are you talking about back in the Mid-East? Were you there?”

“I wasn’t with you, but I was there.” She leans closer. “So, were you? Going to die.”

“I was bleeding pretty bad. Probably would have.”

“Wow. I wish I could heal like you.” She pulls back her sleeve, and shows him a long, thin burn on her forearm. “Got this from a pot. It’s so ugly.”

“It’s not that bad,” Porco assures her. It really isn’t. “Can I see my usual nurse? Her name is—”

“I know who your nurse is. She’s not here yet, though. What seems to be the problem?”

He doesn’t think he can get away with a sore throat. “My, uh, eye hurts. And sometimes I see spots. Big ones.”

She frowns. “And it won't heal itself? It sounds like you need a doctor, not a nurse. I can make you an appointment—”

“No! She… she needs to get me a referral. I’m uh, military property, after all. Can’t go around making my own appointments.”

“Oh, is that how it works? That’s inconvenient.” She sounds genuinely sympathetic.

Porco almost feels bad for the blatant lie. “It is.”

“Hmm. But she’s not here yet.” The nurse thoughtfully taps her chin. “If it hurts real bad, I can get a surgeon to smash your skull in and then we can wait for the whole thing to reset. That should fix it.” She looks pleased with this idea. “I don’t think we need a surgeon for it at all! You wouldn’t even have to wait.”

Porco’s mouth falls open. “Helos, lady. You know I can still feel the pain, right?”

“You can?” She looks shocked. “Oh my. That’s inconvenient.”

“…It is.”

Porco’s almost ready to go and take his chances back at the park; when you pop into his vision, a little breathless.

“Hi, Hannah.” you say to the nurse at the counter.

She chirps back a greeting. “You’re breathing hard. Did you run here or something?”

“Thought I’d be late.” Then you turn to Porco, biting your lip. He thinks he can hear a barely-suppressed giggle in your voice. “What are you doing here, Galliard?”

The nurse at the counter— Hannah, she seems to be your friend, so he tells himself to remember her name— tells you about his eye.

“Ah, it is an immune privileged site,” you tell her. “It makes sense.”

“Oh, it does! Why didn’t I think of that?” Hannah gasps. “Will we really have to smash in his skull to fix it after all?”

You look stunned, and more than a little concerned. “Why are we— ? Hannah, did you tell him we’d do that?”

“It was just a suggestion,” she says sheepishly. “Look, lunch is almost over, but why don’t you go have a look at him in exam room three? That’s Dr. Klein’s today, and he’s always late. There’s time.”

“Dr. Klein…” you mutter. “Thanks, Hannah. I’ll do that before clocking in then, okay?”

You barely wait for her to answer, before giving his sleeve a tug— his heart skips a beat— and leading him out of the foyer. The examination room is only a short distance down the corridor. You hold the door open for him to follow you inside.

This room is far more spacious than number sixteen. It’s about half the size of the clinic. The walls are made of panelled wood, and the shelving doesn't seem to overflow. Sunlight shines through the tall windows.

(Porco doesn’t know when he started finding the smell of antiseptic and the sight of sterilised steel to be this comforting.)

He leans comfortably against the examination table. He's never been here before, yet it feels strangely familiar, as he watches you moving around. You’re drawing the curtains. The room dims, but the curtains are light; and the day outside is sunny, so it’s still fairly well-lit.

“Can you sit on the table, please?” you ask him, as you rummage through the drawers. “In case anyone comes in without knocking.”

He obliges.

You pull out a small penlight from one of the drawers. “So, something is wrong with your eyes, is it?” It flashes on and off, as you make sure it works.

Porco can see you relax too. The practised, formal expression melts off your face. You come to stand between his legs; and when you look at him again, your eyes are full of affection.

(He puts his hands around your waist, just like last time. But this time, he doesn’t need to let you go.)

Fuck, he thinks. Beautiful. He isn’t capable of making longer sentences at the moment.

And he can’t hold himself back anymore. He grabs your face between his palms, and kisses you. You make a muffled noise, but you don’t resist.

“Would it be cheesy to say,” he says after, with his hands still on your cheeks, and his forehead resting against yours, “that something’s wrong with them, because I can’t stop looking at you?”

“Incredibly cheesy. But I don’t mind.”

Porco hums, and tugs your hands into his lap. His back is to the door. Like this, no one coming in can see how your fingers are intertwined with his. Finally.

It feels quiet.

He realises his mind has been noisy all day; anxiously trying to keep this secret. Trying to live in two worlds at once— one where he's supposed to be, and one here with you.

Maybe he should be saying something, and making the most of this brief time he has alone with you. But somehow, he’s content just like this; holding your hand, feeling its warmth without words.

“Porco,” you say, looking down and gently squeezing his fingers, “thank you for coming to see me again.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He squeezes back. “Hey, look at me. I’ll always come back to you, alright? Don’t ever doubt that.”

You open your mouth to say something else; but there’s a knock on the door. You jolt backwards and wrench one of your hands out of his, to grab the penlight. It clicks on just as the door swings open.

It’s Hannah from earlier, here to tell you Dr. Klein would arrive in five minutes.

You look calm, and your voice is level when you tell her you’re almost done. But Porco can feel your hand trembling in his.

It's noisy again. And too bright.

It wasn’t always like this.

No, that’s not entirely true. It used to be like this. Then it wasn’t for a little while. And now it is again.

For a little while, you weren’t scared of doing things. You thought you finally knew what those right answers were, and figured that the ones that didn’t really make sense to you didn’t make sense to anyone— especially not the people here in the hospital. You thought you didn’t have to make those choices you didn’t agree with.

That’s why you told Dr. Klein he had to try and save Julie.

That’s how you learned you were wrong.

And now here you are again, terrified of taking a step outside the lines.

It’s certainly easier this way.

(It is, it is.)

Did you get it right the first time? Or were you just making old mistakes?

(You admire Porco; and how casually he’d asked you to join him at the park, and then at the hospital. You feel terrible that you haven’t been able to bring yourself to do the same for him.)

“Sorry, I'd invite you, but…”

When Eileen gives you that apologetic look, uncomfortably fiddling with the end of one of her long, red braids; the easiest thing to do is to say you understand, that it’s alright. And then you watch her scurry away down the corridor to join the other nurses about to take their break out on the grounds.

Eileen had graduated with you.

She was from a small town too, but not as good as yours, so maybe that was why she knew the answers so very well. You’re sure she must have sworn up and down to the disciplinary board that you’d made a mistake.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame her.

One of the nurses glances back over her shoulder as she’s leaving, and accidentally catches your eye. You desperately try to stop yourself, but you can’t help the flash of hope. Maybe they changed their minds, maybe Eileen convinced them that—

Then she whips her face forward, and leans towards Eileen to whisper something. They erupt into giggles.

It's pathetic, you think as they disappear around the corner, that it still upsets you this much.

You’d thought it would be different, after being away for months in the Mid-East; hoped that was enough time for them to forget. But nothing has changed. You’re still the one who made a mistake— the one who wouldn’t even admit to it.

The one who it was better not to talk to, just in case.

You’re standing in the corridor outside one of the general wards. It’s a quiet night. In the ward, there’s just an assortment of allergies, and a few broken bones. Only a handful of the rickety cots with their starched white sheets and thin pillows are occupied.

It’s not nearly busy enough to keep you distracted from how terribly your shift is going; and there’s still hours left before you can go home. You sigh, and lean your back against the wall.

The hospital has had lightbulbs installed recently. They burn yellow under their flower-shaped lamp shades, all along the corridor. You tilt your head to peek underneath; fascinated by the loops of glowing filament.

Would it have made a difference, you wonder, if it had been this bright back then?

The memory makes your stomach churn. You turn your gaze down towards the dull red carpet, trying to blink away the ghostly afterimage of the bulb’s guts.

The night of the accident had been a new moon, dark and cloudless. There hadn’t been any bulbs then. Just a thousand candles lining the corridors; the windows shut to keep them from going out. The stuffy heat of the flames and what felt like a hundred bodies packed into the narrow space, a writhing mass of white bandages and the red and brown of blood, too enveloped in strange shadows to make out where each person started and ended; only the noise of children wailing for their mothers, people calling out other’s names. So many names.

Stephen, Stephen, are you here? Please, is my son Stephen here?

Have you seen Sarah?

Maria…? No, no, NO!

And then there was Julie.

Silent.

(No, not silent. Not entirely, not yet.)

You’re so lost in reminiscing, you don’t notice the muted thumping of the wooden cane on the thin carpet, until its owner is right beside you.

“I was hoping you would be here,” a man’s voice says.

You’re jolted out of the memory. Exhaling, you look to the side.

(You remember that voice, how could you forget?)

“Director Klein. Good evening, sir.”

The old man adjusts his cane. “And a good evening to you too, my dear. Would you join me in my office?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. It wasn’t really a question, after all. The Director rarely asks questions. You push yourself off the wall to follow him further up the corridor.

White. That’s always your first impression of him. Snow white hair and beard— both neatly clipped and combed— and a white shirt under a pristine, long, white coat. You’re sure he carries that cane purely for the effect the carved golden handle has on people; because his back is straight and his steps are strong and confident, as he makes his way up to his office. He's missing at least fifteen of his seventy years.

You remember the last time you walked behind him, down this exact path, with blood crusted under your fingernails, and stained into that skirt you would eventually go home and throw away.

My son was alive, ALIVE!

Ma’am, it was a mistake in the paperwork—

Yes, a mistake! Yours!

Director Klein’s office hasn’t changed, either— tall bookcases, stuffed with leather bound volumes; and the walls so covered with photographs and certificates you would be hard pressed to find a square inch of the flowery wallpaper underneath. He takes his seat behind the heavy cherrywood desk.

You’re left standing in the middle of a room that feels cramped enough to make you claustrophobic; and yet big enough to have you feeling small and awkward at the same time.

“How are you?” he asks. There’s sincerity in his voice.

“Fine. I… fit in better than I thought I would, there.”

“You can still come back.”

You swallow, and look away. “I still don’t want to.”

“I’m only trying to help you, child. Don't be stubborn.”

He sounds concerned. He sounded concerned that night too, when you really thought you could have made a difference by pleading your case.

Dr. Klein, you agreed with me. Why are you—

I didn't have time to check for myself! You really must have made a mistake!

“I appreciate you offering, sir. But I think it would just cause a lot of trouble if I came back here full time. I’m— it's not worth it.”

Dad, she's a new nurse. It's understandable. But our reputation is on the line. You need to clear it up with the committee so they don't think a doctor—

The Director scrutinises you for a few moments. Then he sighs. For a second, he looks much more like the old man he is. “Very well. It's not what I wanted to discuss. Please, sit.”

You sit.

He reaches down to open his desk drawer, and pulls out a red folder that he slides across towards you. It’s emblazoned with the military coat of arms.

You look curiously at him. He gestures for you to open it. You do, and find a single sheet of paper.

“A confidentiality agreement?” Your heart beats a little faster; but a quick skim reveals no details, except for a vague description of titan research. “What for?”

The Director raises an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be much of an agreement if I could just tell you.”

You read the document again, slower this time. Project Merlot, proclaims the bold type on top of the page.

“You can’t tell me anything?”

“Not unless you sign.”

The idea is exciting. I wish I had something interesting to tell you, is what you’d said to Porco. Well, here it is. Something outside the routine of the clinic, and something other than being treated like you have a contagious disease.

What gives you pause, however, is the fact that it has something to do with titans. ‘Research on titans’, especially where the military is concerned, was just a polite way to say ‘experimenting on Eldians’.

(The memory of Falco, trying to hide his nervousness flashes through your mind. One of the most insidious rumours about Eldians is that they don’t feel pain. You know how much of a lie that is.)

“Why would you want me on this?” you ask the director, frowning. “Considering… my reputation.”

He peers at you over his glasses. “Zeke Yeager requested you specifically.”

You’re surprised. Why would an Eldian want to take the lead on a project like this? “He’s involved?”

There’s a hint of a smile on the Director’s face. “Again, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve signed one of these myself.” He takes off his glasses, and produces a soft-looking cleaning cloth from his breast pocket. “I admit this probably won’t be the most pleasant of projects,” he says, wiping the lenses, “but if I may venture to say so, it is precisely because of your reputation that I think it would be better with you on it.”

You stay silent, unsure.

“You can take a day to think it through, if you prefer.”

The thought of asking Porco what he thinks half-forms in your mind; but suddenly, you’re annoyed— annoyed that you’re so scared all the time, that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do things without some kind of permission, even when the opportunity seems to fall into your lap.

Things have to change.

“May I borrow a pen?”

The Director smiles— it’s a rare sight— and gives you the one from his breast pocket. You take a deep breath, and hover over the dotted line for just a second, before signing your name in glossy black ink.

In the back of your mind, you know this is objectively going to be a terrible job— one which will more likely than not end with you having to throw more bloodstained skirts away. That’s why you’re the one signing your name, and not the children of one of the higher ranking officials. It’s how these things usually work.

But as you close the door to the Director’s office behind you, you find yourself feeling more and more like you won’t regret it. Not if you can help make sure even one person suffers a little less. It’s what you’re good at.

“Ah— I was hoping you’d still be here.”

It feels like déjà vu, when you turn to the side. He looks so much like his father.

“Doctor,” you say. You don’t greet him any further.

Benjamin Klein awkwardly shuffles his feet. The last time you saw him, he had all the charm that came with being the son of a rich, important man— it had dazzled you too. Right now though, he looks a little small.

“How are you? Is the new appointment treating you—”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been away from my post for too long. Please excuse me.” You walk past him, back towards the general ward.

It feels awful, being even slightly rude to him. You think you may throw up right there from the nerves; all over his shiny leather shoes. But if you’re going to stop being scared, biting your tongue and being nice to this man simply doesn’t fit. No matter how powerful he is.

He doesn’t take the hint. That probably also had to do with being the son of a rich, important man.

“I feel terrible about what happened. It’s been a while now, and—” he starts saying, following along beside you.

And you think it’s okay to be seen talking to me again.

“— we never got to have that cup of coffee together. Will you let me make it up to you?”

There had been a time, when those meaningless flirtations he would offer you had actually made you happy. But now you’re at the ward doors, about to step back into that cold place; and all you can think is that he’s incredibly selfish.

“I don’t think I’m free, doctor.”

You catch only a glimpse of his disappointed face, as the doors swing closed.

For the longest time, you’d tried to force yourself to believe that no one had had any choice in that whole affair. But then Porco had shown you that there was always a choice.

Doctor Klein hadn’t been alone in the choices he’d made that night. You know you’re not the only one who saw that the little Marleyan boy was beyond help. You know that there were several eyes who couldn’t meet yours as you pleaded with his mother in the middle of the corridor, while your fingers were still sticky with Julie’s blood.

You shake your head to clear it. Being at the hospital always brought the memories back, but there’s no point remembering any of the details now.

(Even if no one will let you forget it.)

Eileen and the others are back. It doesn’t even cross your mind to try and approach any of them. The distance feels too big to cross by yourself.

You’re neither here nor there now, you realise— rejected by Marleyans, yet still distrusted by Eldians.

That was the strange thing about the military base, you think. It’s the strictest place— by far— when it came to marking out that boundary. But it’s also where it blurred the most; in a way it never could outside the battlefield. Fighting beside someone, bleeding beside them was a camaraderie that turned it into a line in the sand, right up at the edge of the waves.

You know that kind of connection, forged in blood, is dangerously addictive.

It’s still the best place for you to be.

You’re distracted by a tap on your shoulder, and someone calling your name, for the third time tonight. You turn, half-expecting the ghost of the deceased, previous Director Klein.

But it’s only Hannah.

(It’s still unexpected, since this ward is the farthest from the administrative wing, but not as much.)

“Took you long enough!” She brandishes a folder at you. “I didn’t trust those bitches to give this to you if I left it with them. Here, it’s a temporary schedule for next week…”

For someone with less than two years to live, Porco thinks as he leans into the plush meeting room chair and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, Zeke really is taking his sweet time.

Just like the walls, there’s not much to look at up there— there aren’t even any windows in the room. Porco figures it’s more paranoia than any actual need for security, here on the third floor.

(After all, there was plenty of time to dream up imaginary assassins, when the last time you faced a real enemy was twenty years ago.)

It’s his first time being deemed important enough to be here. This is the fancy meeting room— the one where the asses usually occupying these chairs are highly paid, and have great retirement benefits. Where you walk in, and are immediately faced with a row of larger-than-life, grandiose portraits of former Generals; decorated with medals and standing in front of red velvet curtain backgrounds.

Like he said, not much to look at.

Porco gets up, and walks towards the only things worth anyone’s attention in the room— the row of copper plaques right below the paintings. He runs his hand over the engraving. Names. Dozens of names, his among them. Marley’s titan holders.

Their names, and their years of service.

(Only the years of service. The military didn’t care when you were born, or how long you’d gotten to grow up.)

He follows the lists down to the very end, running his fingers over each line, letting the syllables of each name rest in his mind for a second before moving on to the next. He’d like it if someone would do that for him, he figures.

And then he arrives at his own.

Porco Galliard: 850 —

It's like an open grave. He tries to imagine what it would look like in ten years, picturing the curves of the eight and the six and the three that would one day be carved into the plate.

For a moment, he’s surprised by how naturally the number comes to him. And then he steels himself. No, there’s nothing surprising about it. He will make sure he gets his full term. He won’t leave you behind any sooner than he has to.

Porco’s eyes flick to the name above.

Marcel Galliard. 845-846.

One year. The twelve years before; with all the meals they’d shared, the times they’d walked home together, the countless memories of birthdays, of fights, and just plain talking in the middle of the night— none of that was worthy of being recorded. No, just the one year.

(A rare courtesy from the military, really. Marcel hadn’t actually made it past the winter.)

Maybe it was for the higher ups too, Porco muses. To help them rationalise how they treated people like tools, simply discarded once they were too blunt to use.

But they aren’t just tools, they’re people; and they stubbornly persist.

The memories of a direct predecessor came like remembered dreams— the details always vague, but sometimes the emotions were remarkably clear. But going back any further was difficult. There was no telling what could trigger it. Porco had spent hours in their old room after he inherited the Jaw, rummaging through Marcel’s things— increasingly desperately— to no avail.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Pieck tells him of an inexplicable happiness, a sense of security when she smells apple pies now. In the brief time they’d had before Marcel was sent to Paradis, he’d suddenly been able to cut and shuffle a deck of cards like a seasoned magician. Porco now gets uneasy on snowy days, when he used to love them.

(He can’t help but feel he got the short end of the stick there, somehow.)

He wonders what will be left of you, in the memories he has to pass down. Will his successors love sweet vanilla, like he tasted on your lips? Will they be comforted by the sight of the elms lining the streets in the old part of the city? Maybe they would feel strangely compelled to turn their eyes to the ground, and watch the swaying shadows of the leaves on the cobblestone.

Porco misses you.

He hasn’t been able to talk to you— really talk to you— for two days now; not since you anxiously approached him on the training grounds under the guise of having to reschedule his regular checkup, and told him about the temporary schedule that would have you working the evening shifts at the hospital all week.

(Porco can only think God had decided to fuck it up for him again.)

(One time, when he’d made a similar comment, Colt had said with some surprise that he didn’t think Porco was the religious type. Porco doesn’t really think of himself as a religious type either, he just likes having something to be angry with.)

He glances at the clock on the wall. You should be locking up the clinic right about now, busily wiping down the counters and locking the cabinets.

“What are you smiling about, Pock?” Pieck asks him.

He’s shocked that he didn’t hear her coming up to him, and that he hadn’t remembered to keep his face straight while he was thinking about you. “Nothing. Just in a good mood.”

She looks at him wryly. “I won’t say you’re never in a good mood, but it’s rare, and you’ve been grumpy all day so far.” I’m not buying it, her eyes say.

Drop it, he says, rolling his own. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”

She sighs dramatically. “You’ve been so distant lately.”

It’s a lighthearted comment, but Porco immediately feels guilty. There’s never been a lot he doesn’t share with her, not since they became the two left behind. “Pieck, I—”

Pieck smiles and pats his shoulder. “It’s just a joke. I’m not going anywhere yet, don’t worry.”

(Her name is, after all, right above Marcel’s.)

He thinks this is the part where he should be a good friend, and reassure her that he’s not shutting her out. Tell her he’ll tell her later, at a better time. But he knows there will never be a time where he wouldn’t be burdening her with his secret. So he just swallows, and nods.

“I haven’t been in here in a long time,” she comments. “The plaques are a little creepy, right?”

More than a little, if he’s being honest. “It’s like they can’t wait to get rid of us.”

“Good luck to them.” Pieck runs her finger up the list; going back thirty, forty years. It stops, on one Francis Zimmer. “Him. He’s the one who liked apple pie, I think. I looked through the newspaper archives in the public library.” She looks a little sad as she continues. “He asked for it as his last meal.”

Porco bumps her with his elbow. “Don’t go getting all mopey on me until after the meeting, please.”

“I won’t, that’s your job,” she teases back. “How about we go sit down again? I think Reiner must be getting lonely.”

Porco glances back over his shoulder, to where Reiner is still sitting at the long meeting table. He’s poured himself some water, but it sits untouched in front of him; as he forlornly contemplates it.

“I think he’s about to start crying into his glass,” Porco says incredulously. “I don’t want to be there for that.”

Pieck sighs. “He’s been through a lot, Pock. Cut him some slack.”

“I cut him plenty of slack,” Porco scoffs.

He’s about to continue, but there’s voices in the corridor, and the door opens. Commander Magath walks in, followed by another army official, and then Zeke.

Once everyone has taken their seats, Zeke starts to distribute the stack of red folders he has with him.

“Everyone comfortable?” he asks, jovially. “This has been in the works for a while now, but I can finally introduce to you all, Project Merlot.”

The army official— he’s got an absurd amount of medals pinned to his chest— scowls at him. “Before Yaeger continues, I am reminding everyone that anything which is discussed in this room cannot be repeated outside of it.”

“Of course, Major,” Zeke says. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “It would be disastrous if the public were to hear that there will be pure titans inside Liberio quite soon, after all.”

It’s remarkable, you think, how boldly the mess hall on base puts up a menu every day; when everyone knows they’ll run out of almost everything by three, and that whatever’s left will be indistinguishable by taste, sight, or smell.

“I think this one’s yours,” you tell Claire, frowning at the ambiguous brown lumps floating in the gravy in front of you. “These are potatoes, right?”

Claire pokes at them with a fork. “I don’t know. They feel kind of chicken-y to me.”

“I think they’re both potatoes.”

Claire picks up a piece with her fork, and cautiously takes a bite. She chews thoughtfully. “...at least there’s pudding today,” she says after a moment of consideration, nose scrunched.

Someone shouts near the outside entrance to the hall. You and Claire turn to look down the rows of long wooden tables. A group of soldiers has just come in, shoving open both doors, and everyone sitting nearby is yelling at them to stop letting the cold in. Outside, the autumn afternoon is grey and overcast.

The sun has only shown hints of itself since this morning; when you woke up to a day so cold, you could have sworn you’d slept through the months to winter. The brown cardigan you’re wearing over your uniform is barely enough to keep you comfortable.

The hall is warm enough though, with so many people in it; but the noise of a dozen conversations from several very loud, very boisterous young soldiers blends together into a cloud of sound where you can’t pick out any one thing. It buzzes in the background of what Claire is saying, drowning her words in its mush.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” you ask, squinting your eyes, as if it will help your ears.

She repeats herself, a little louder. “I said, is that the lipstick I gave you? It looks nice. I told you it would suit you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

When you’d reached for your usual shade this morning, you’d remember Porco’s story about Braun. It had just been a silly thought, that you should change the colour just in case— you doubt Braun even knew you were wearing makeup at all— but you’d tried on a different one just for fun. The brownish-pink looked unexpectedly nice.

It had made the ache in your chest even worse.

You want to be able to show it to Porco. It’s been four days since you’ve been able to see him, and each passing sunset makes you miss the golden evenings in the clinic more and more.

(You miss him so much.)

“Are you sick?” Claire asks. “You look a little pale.”

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit.

Claire scowls. “Are those idiots still giving you trouble during your shifts? You have to report them, it’s harassment—”

“I’m fine,” you insist. Their behaviour honestly hasn’t been bothering you all that much recently. “It’s just a few of them, and I don’t like them anyway.”

Claire looks at you suspiciously, but then sighs and pulls out a small notebook from her pocket. “If that’s what you want to do. Do you mind if I work on some of the wedding planning? I’m running behind.”

“Go ahead,” you say. “What are you working on?”

“The guest list,” she replies. “We decided to keep it small, so I’m deciding who gets the cut.”

She looks concerningly gleeful when she says that.

“You’ll be invited, of course.” Claire says, misinterpreting your expression. “But I won’t have the invitations printed for a while. Do you need a plus one?”

There’s the smallest lump in your throat when you say you don’t.

Claire hums, focused on her list. “Cassandra’s out, that’s obvious.” You don’t know who Cassandra is, or why Claire is sneering at her name. “Michael stays,” she continues absently.

“Michael?” you ask. “The soldier from the hospital? I didn’t think you liked him.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t like him, but I can’t not invite him. After all that business with his family…”

Claire vaguely explains, but you never do find out what happened to Michael Sells and his family; because at that moment, another gust of cold wind washes through the hall, and you instinctively turn your attention to the door.

You see the red armbands first, and your heartbeat quickens.

Zeke Yeager walks through the door, followed by Pieck. You’re disappointed, but you keep waiting, watching the door that’s slowly swinging closed. Just when you bite the inside of your cheek, and prepare to turn your attention back to Claire, it’s pushed open again.

Porco.

You don’t know how he immediately knows to look in your direction, but he does; and you have to clasp your own wrist in your lap to stop yourself from waving at him. He doesn’t acknowledge you— he doesn’t even smile— but his gaze keeps coming back to linger on you as he makes his way across the room. He sits with the other two Warriors. The bench faces you; but it’s on the opposite side of the room— the unofficial Eldian side.

(You wonder if you had sat closer to that invisible wall, if you could have found some cracks to whisper to him through.)

“Do you think I should ask the caterers for crab cakes after all?” Claire asks.

“I like them,” you reply.

Porco’s resting his face on his palm, elbow on the table. He’s turned towards the other two, but you think you can see him stealing sideways glances at you, over his fingers. You swallow and shift your eyes away. You can’t stare. Not this openly, not here.

“I’m getting the blue dresses for the bridesmaids, I think. It’ll be great for a summer wedding.”

“Blue is lovely,” you say, a hand over your face to cover your smile.

You fake interest in Claire's notebook, and slowly raise your eyes to look over her shoulder. Porco is talking to Pieck now, attention away from you. You take the opportunity to really look at him. You feel like you could do that for hours; brushing your fingers through his longer blonde strands, running your thumbs over his face, memorising every detail.

(How cruel that you have to wait, when he’s right there in front of you, and you already know you’re condemned to spend more time apart than together.)

“Do you want to come clothes shopping with me on Thursday?”

“I’d love to.”

Porco makes eye contact with you again. You think you must be going insane; because even that little quirk of his mouth, the biggest reaction he can afford, envelopes with you a warmth that blossoms from your heart and goes to the very tips of your fingers. You’ve never felt this kind of happiness before. So pure, and so unreasonable.

(For now, it’s enough to endure the sorrow of having to pretend you don’t adore him— of having even the breadth of this room between you.)

Claire is putting away her notebook. “You haven’t touched your food! Are you sure you aren’t sick?”

You scoop up the maybe-potatoes. “I’m just a little distracted.”

Lunch passes much too quickly after that, as you finish your meal; stealing glances across the room the whole time. All too soon, you’re getting up and following Claire towards the door. It takes an immense effort to not look towards Porco’s table as you cross it.

The chilly breeze is still blowing, but the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds now. It’s one of those early autumn days that just can’t decide if it wants to be warm or cold.

“Do you mind hanging back for five minutes while I go to the bathroom?” Claire asks.

You agree to wait, and go to stand behind a pillar to protect yourself from the wind blowing through the open corridor; while she hurries down to the bathrooms. You notice a poster crudely pasted on the concrete, its edges lumpy and shrivelled from the paste. It’s a notice for a new weekly charity clinic in the internment zone, sponsored by the military hospital; asking Eldian soldiers to let their families know.

Interesting, you think. I wonder if Director Klein is behind it.

You’re perusing the poster, trying to figure out how you can volunteer, when you suddenly feel the weight of an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You tense up, about to shout in surprise— and then Porco’s voice is whispering in your ear.

“You look nice today.”

The cry catches in your throat. His warm breath— the ghost of that whisper— lingers against your ear. His body brushes against yours, familiar enough to make you blush. Something is slipped into your hand.

And then, in the same second, the weight disappears— and you see him casually continuing down the corridor.

(Did he just…?)

Your heart is pounding. You clutch your cardigan around your body, and whip your head all around to check if anyone saw.

There’s not a soul.

(He didn’t even let me see his face, you think, giddy.)

You look down at the thing he’d pressed into your hand. A small sheet of paper, messily torn and folded in half. A note.

‘I want to see you,’ it reads, in a hasty print. ‘Meet me in the usual place whenever you come back. Even if it’s late. I’ll be waiting for you.’

You hold the note against your chest, willing your heart rate to go down before Claire comes back.

It doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

The night before Marcel left for Paradis, he’d shaken Porco awake, and they’d slipped out of the house.

They’d squeezed themselves through the gap in the wired fence— there was no need to, not with the red sashes that now encircled their arms, but it had made the whole thing a lot more exciting— and made their way past the edge of the city and into the first of the rolling fields on its outskirts.

The grass had been damp, and the crickets had been loud. The stars had stretched out above them, twinkling in a sky so filled and endless that for once, Porco hadn’t felt caged.

That’s the kind of sky he sees right now, through the branches of the elm.

It’s almost midnight. The moon is high and full.

He’s worried— not because he thinks you won’t come (the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind), but because it’s late, and because it’s cold. He’s leaning against the tree, making sure to stay in the shadows; as he tries to picture the route back from the hospital.

The road is well lit, he tells himself. She’ll be safe.

He sighs, wishing he could come pick you up from your work.

(Did you wish that too? He wonders if you ever felt envious of the other nurse, who he’s seen meeting the PSA agent at the gates more than once.)

The crack of a dried leaf pierces through the night. It's the sound of something trying to be quiet. Porco flattens himself against the tree and cautiously turns his head to look around, heart rate kicking up.

It's just a cat, padding into the moonlight.

It spends a few moments sniffing around, before suddenly darting away across the grounds and into the darkness, chasing something only it can see.

Porco relaxes again, and turns his eyes back towards the stars.

On nights like this, when the wind carries the scent of damp earth from somewhere far away, it pulls him back through the years and right into that field.

Marcel had done most of the talking. It hadn’t been because Porco didn’t have anything to tell him. No, he’d had too much. So much that it all got tangled up and stuck in his throat, a big ball of questions and hopes and anxieties that he’d been too young and too embarrassed to whittle down to the one thing he really needed to say.

I’ll miss you, come home soon.

Marcel had filled the silence by pointing out constellations, and telling Porco the stories he'd read about them. It wasn't the kind of thing either of them ever talked about— there hadn't been much time for fairytales after they entered the Warrior program— but they'd made Marcel learn how to navigate by the stars to prepare for his mission; and he claimed it helped him remember everything.

“The way I see it,” he'd said, suddenly roughly pulling Porco into a headlock and mussing up his hair, “we're going to be looking at the same sky. So I won't be that far away, not really.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Porco had scoffed, scrabbling at his brother's arm, “That's so sappy. I'm gonna throw up.”

Nearly ten years on, he remembers the waver in his brother's voice, and now figures Marcel had been saying that for his own benefit as much as for Porco’s. He thinks Marcel may just have been a boy who liked stories.

Ten years on, that field has a factory on it, belching smoke into the sky and vomiting muddied water into the grass.

(He can't ever go back, but Porco always did think those old stories were pretty depressing anyway. The wisdom of the ancestors seemed to amount to ‘if you step out of line, you will die horribly, and all of it will be your fault’.)

Porco takes a deep breath. It’s cold enough to sting.

And then, he hears your voice calling for him; so soft it’s almost a whisper.

“Porco? Are you here?”

He steps out from under the shadow of the elm, heart pounding with anticipation, and sees you under the moonlight. You’re searching for him, clinging to the strap of your bag; and turning all around, taking faltering, circling steps.

Then you see him, and stop.

Porco thinks that joyous smile on your face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He’s so enamoured by it, he forgets to move his feet, and you reach him first.

“I’m late,” you say, still whispering. You’re standing barely an inch away.

It’s still too far. “That’s okay, I just got here,” Porco lies. You’re worth waiting for.

He pulls you by the arm, into the shadows with him; and gently pushes you back against the tree, one hand cradling the back of your head. He can barely see your face, but it's enough.

(For now, it’s enough.)

There's no words; only the sound of slow breaths as you gaze up at him. You let your bag slide down to the ground. It lands with a muffled thump. Time slows down as your eyes wander across his face, finally settling on his lips. Your hands come to his shoulders. Porco’s free arm snakes around your waist.

This is where you’re supposed to be, he thinks as he leans down. Right here, with me.

It’s been too damn long.

He missed how warm your lips are. He missed how your hands clutch at his jacket, how they trail up the sides of his jaw; and further up into his hair. It's a little different today, though— your fingers are surprisingly open and free, without inhibition, when they’re tugging at it. They’re telling him that you like this, you like this.

He knows, because he feels you kissing him back just as fervently, pressing your chest up against him; heat radiating from—

Ah, fuck. Porco reluctantly straightens up.

(He needs to control himself. He can’t let himself go too far, too quickly.)

“We should— we should go inside,” he manages to say, blood still rushing in his ears. His breath mists in the cold air.

(He has to do this right.)

“I— yes. We should. Inside.” You sound dazed. It’s almost enough to make him lose his resolve.

Porco leads you by the hand, making sure your path hugs the shadows around the building as much as possible. At the door, he waits as you fish the keyring out of your coat pocket, and fumble with the small padlock.

Once you’re both inside— the door locked behind you— he has an idea.

“How about we go upstairs?”

You pause, then nod. So he takes your hand again— so addictively soft, and smaller than his— and leads you past the clinic, and through the narrower door that opens into a cramped stairwell. It’s windowless, and completely dark.

Porco wraps an arm around your waist, and firmly grips the bannister with the other. He tells you to be careful. The polished wooden stairs creak as he climbs up one flight, and then another with you; moving his feet cautiously into the darkness, more sweeps than steps.

(He feels every breath you take, and wishes he could always keep you this close.)

After a while, the bannister stops abruptly. He feels around blindly in the dark, keeping you pulled snug against him. There’s a door handle. He gives it a turn. Locked.

He uses his fingertips to trace along it, and finds the indent at its base.

“Get your keys.” He instinctively keeps his voice low.

He hears the keys on the ring jingling in the dark. “I think I have the right one,” you say; quiet but excited.

Porco guides your hand to the lock. He hears you taking three tries to push the key in, and then the bolts sliding back.

The door opens, into a room that’s almost big enough to be a hall. Moonlight washes it with a faint glow, incredibly bright after the pitch dark of the stairwell; bright enough to see the dust motes in the air. The wallpaper is peeling. Cardboard boxes are piled waist-high all around, some of their bottoms torn and the files inside them spilling out. What look like old, rusted bed frames are pushed against the farthest wall.

It resembles the older wards at the hospital, with nice, tall windows all along the outside walls. Framed inside the tallest, widest window at the end of the room— behind a simple iron grill— are the elm branches. The moon peeks through the leaves.

The place is old, abandoned, and dusty.

Porco finally feels at peace.

“Oh, it’s so much prettier at night,” you breathe. “Where can we sit?”

Porco hums, and picks his way through the maze of boxes with you, finally finding a relatively clear spot on the floor right in front of the large window. It’s a little chilly to be sitting on the bare wood, but when you hug his arm and curl into his side, it doesn’t feel all that bad anymore.

“I… brought us something,” you tell him, a little hesitantly. You’ve let your coat open, and the white of your blouse glows in the moonlight.

“Actual chocolate?” he asks with a chuckle.

You laugh. He’s missed the sound. “No. I wanted to get us something sweet, but all the shops were closed because it’s so late.” You pull your bag into your lap; and after digging around for a moment, take out a bottle. “This was all I could find.”

“Is that wine?” Porco asks, an eyebrow raised.

“You’re always doing things for me,” you say, sounding like you really want him to understand something, but he’s not sure what. “And I just let you. I— ” You stop, and bite your lip. “Do you like it?”

Porco grins at you. He’s more of a hard liquor kind of guy, but somehow, whiskey doesn’t seem half as appealing right now. “Of course I do. Pour me some?”

You look pleased with yourself . “I can go get glasses from the clinic.”

Porco doesn’t like the idea of you stumbling around in that dark stairwell. “No. We’re drinking straight from the bottle.”

“Exciting!”

(That surprises him. He thought you'd be a little more flustered about it. He'd been hoping for it, in fact. He thinks it’s adorable.)

The key ring jingles again as you twist one of the keys into the cork, and struggle with it for a few seconds. Porco’s about to offer to help, when it comes out with a pop. A few drops spill on your coat. The small stains look like ink under the moon.

(Where did you learn how to do that?)

“Oh, I hope that comes out okay,” you say worriedly. You tilt your head back and swallow a mouthful of wine, then hold it out towards him. “Here. It’s good.”

Porco accepts the bottle but doesn't drink. He leans back a little, resting on his palm. “You seem a little… different.”

In the dark, he can just make out the anxious look in your eyes. “...Good different?” you ask.

He considers it. What was it really, that felt different? The way you’d kissed him. How you matched him step for step in the stairwell earlier, when he thought you’d be scared, and now this wine…

You seemed surer of yourself, Porco realises.

“Yeah, good different,” he tells you with a grin. He takes a swig of wine. It’s plenty sweet. “What changed?”

A little of that shyness he likes so much comes back; and you can't meet his eyes, even in the moonlight, for your next words. “Maybe you're good for me.”

(He may be good for you, he thinks; but you’re still the best thing that’s ever happened to him.)

Porco kisses you, once, twice, and then once more because he can’t help himself; tasting the wine on your lips each time. “Can I ask you something? Why did they send you here?” How did I get so lucky?

It’s a lighthearted question, but something shifts. You tense a little, enough for him to notice.

“You don’t have to talk about—” he starts.

You sigh. “No, I want to tell you. I have, for a while.”

And then you tell him, all about a little Eldian girl named Julie, who had been in a terrible accident— a train derailment— with over a hundred others. You tell him how she’d had a piece of iron impaled straight through her stomach, and how she had been crying without making a sound, waiting all alone— abandoned in a hallway like a discarded doll— for someone to help her, while her blood continued to stain the carpet. That you’d finally convinced a doctor to attend to her, and how he’d floundered in the middle of it; after they brought in a Marleyan boy.

“He left me—” you swallow thickly, and take a few deep breaths. “He left me and Eileen with Julie, and I had— I had my hand inside her, to put pressure on it, to stop the bleeding—”

(He thinks you drink a little more of the wine than you should while you’re talking; but even though your lip wobbles and you choke more than once— a knife twists in his heart each time— the tears stay glistening in your eyes and don’t drop.)

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “You don’t have to finish.”

You shake your head. “The boy was dead already. I don’t know if they messed up at intake, or if he died on the way to the ward, but he was dead. Crush injuries. But Dr. Klein didn’t want the paperwork to look like he gave up on him to work on an Eldian girl.”

Porco doesn’t comment, though he has lots of choice words for this Dr. Klein lining up on his tongue. He just comfortingly rubs your arm.

“I yelled at him to stop being ridiculous, trying to revive a dead body. And it wasn’t— I didn’t make a mistake, I know it. He was right next to me, I could see—” You stop abruptly, and then continue after a moment. “I eventually got him to come back. But the little boy’s mother wanted someone to blame, and she got it in her head that he didn’t get the help he needed because of me. Dr. Klein, Eileen… none of them backed me up.”

“Do you regret doing it?” Porco asks, gently.

“No!” you cry, snapping your face up to look at him. “I just— I don’t know if I made a difference.”

“It must have made a difference to her.”

You shake your head again. “Julie died anyway. She was too far gone. And I don’t know if Dr. Klein was right to stop trying.”

Porco pulls you into his lap without warning. You squeak in surprise, but he doesn’t let you move, holding you tight against him.

“It made a difference to her,” he repeats. “Don’t you dare think otherwise.” He feels your hand braced against his chest, how the shaky breaths against his collarbone begin to slow.

“Thank you, Porco,” you say after a minute, and he thinks you may be crying now; but he knows you’ll be alright. He hears it in your voice.

Porco kisses the top of your head. “It’s the truth.”

For a minute, it’s silent.

Then you speak again. “I think you were loved a lot.”

He raises his eyebrows. Several faces flash through his head. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but—”

“Not like that!” you say with a laugh. “I mean growing up. Your family must have loved you so much, because…” Your voice grows softer “...because you’re so good at showing affection. You must have learned from them.”

Porco feels his face heating up. “It’s not anything special—”

“It is,” you insist, as you curl into him a little more comfortably. “You’re good at it.”

Porco holds you tighter, feeling the warmth of your body, and the calming way your chest rises and falls with each breath. Your comment stays in his head as the conversation continues, even when your breathing slows and you start slurring your words.

(He can tell you’re falling asleep. He wonders if he should walk you back down so you can get to your room, and a real bed; but then you reach for his hand, and he decides an hour or two like this wouldn’t hurt.)

Was he loved? He thinks he was. He thinks of his mother, who made sure he never felt alone or insecure, after his father was gone. Who was always there to hug and kiss him, and tuck him into bed; no matter how tired she was. Who pretended she had already eaten, when there wasn’t enough food left in the pantry for three portions. Who now pretends she isn’t worried to death about him every time they send him to the edges of the empire.

He thinks of Marcel. Porco knows he was reckless— is reckless— and that Marcel had often been the only thing standing between him and his teeth getting knocked out. How the only thing he ever wanted in return was to ruffle his hair up a little bit. He knows he only learned how to get along with children, because Marcel had figured out how to get along with him first.

Porco wishes he could introduce you to Marcel. He thinks you would have liked him.

He thinks Marcel would have liked you too.

You wonder if the salesclerk— was that even what you were supposed to call her? It didn’t feel right— has sore cheeks from smiling so much. The slope of her lips hasn’t shifted even a little from when you walked into the boutique about an hour ago. It’s still perfect— formal, yet welcoming.

The older woman instructs the girl modelling a red dress to spin and show off the flare. She’s on a little round platform. It’s disturbingly reminiscent of a music box with a ballerina.

On the opposite sofa, Claire frowns. “I don’t know… do you have one that’s more coquelicot than rose?”

“Don’t force yourself to like it, Claire,” Sophie says, sipping on her champagne. “I know the embroidery is pretty, but it’s not worth it. The rolled hem won’t hold up with that fabric.” She addresses the woman. “Do you have something similar with a blind hem?”

Hannah pinches your blouse and pulls you closer to her, a little clumsily. Her drink tips dangerously as she leans over the cushion to whisper in your ear.

“What’s the difference?” she hisses. “And what in the world is coquelicot?”

“I don’t know,” you hiss back. “Isn’t that your fourth glass already?”

“Is it? They’re free though, it’s okay.”

Hannah has certainly adapted to this place better than you have.

You knew Claire was rich, but you didn’t know she was this rich. When she’d invited you to come clothes shopping with her, you hadn’t exactly expected her to patronise the night markets; but this was one of the most expensive boutiques in Liberio. The kind of place where you didn’t have to do anything for yourself, not even trying the clothes on.

It must look even more beautiful in the daytime, you think.

Everything is detailed. There’s luxurious gold trimming (real gold) on the creamy white walls. An ornate crystal chandelier lights up the cosy space, along with half a dozen lamps that have lacey shades. The legs on every table and side table are made of a delicately twisted iron, meant to resemble vines. Rolls of the most beautifully printed and embroidered fabrics you’ve ever seen are draped over them.

It should have felt cluttered, but somehow it’s all so tasteful it just looks intimidatingly expensive.

Even the sofa you’re sitting on— the cushions are a muted mint, incredibly soft, and its blue-green throw pillows are embroidered with red roses and pink peonies. The threads are so thin and delicate, you’re afraid to rest your weight against them.

Hannah doesn’t seem to mind though. She sits comfortably, with her ankles crossed, smiling pleasantly (and a touch too widely, unlike the salesclerk— or perhaps the ‘manager’ would be a better word?) as she looks around the room.

“Claire!” she says suddenly. “Look at that green silk. I think that would look so nice on you.”

Claire looks where she’s pointing and nods. “Show me what you have in that fabric, please.”

“Gladly, Madame.” The salesclerk— manager, proprietress?— claps her hands, and the ballerina hops off her platform. They both glide to the back of the shop. You see Ballerina undoing her buttons on the way.

Hannah stands up abruptly, and sways in place.

Claire raises an eyebrow at you. You mouth a four, pointing at your own champagne flute, and she stifles a laugh.

“Maybe you should sit down, Han.” Sophie suggests, eyebrow raised. “Or at least put the glass away. You’re going to spill it.”

You’ve known Hannah since your time at the hospital, and you spend most of your time with Claire. One is the opposite of secretive, and the other is far too poised to ever need to hide anything. Sophie is still a mystery to you.

Sophie has only ever spoken to you once— on the train back from the Mid-East— and you’ve seen her a handful of times while you were there. She’s always looked more like a strict school teacher to you than a nurse, with her half rimmed glasses and her black hair usually pulled into a tight bun.

Hannah looks at the glass in her hands, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she raises it to her lips, and drinks the whole thing in a single breath.

“No spills,” she says, holding the glass upside-down with a flourish.

Claire laughs out loud, while Sophie sighs. Hannah does a little bow.

You can’t help laughing too. Even aside from Hannah never failing to raise everyone’s spirits, you’re already in a good mood.

(You feel well rested for the first time in days.)

Hannah plops back down next to you. “Claire, didn’t you say you wanted to tell us something earlier?”

Claire suddenly looks very serious. “I did.” She runs a finger around the edge of her glass, and then takes a deep breath. “I’m resigning.”

“You are? When?” you ask, dismayed.

“You’re leaving?” Hannah cries.

Sophie just looks annoyed. “You’re quitting your job? Claire, no matter how nice he is—”

Claire waves her hands to shush everyone. “I’m not quitting being a nurse. And I’m not leaving Liberio. I applied to the new private hospital.” She takes a sip of her drink. “It only makes sense. It’s closer to where the apartment is, and the pay is better.”

(You’re surprised to see Claire looking a little sad, about something that made sense.)

“And,” she says, looking at you. “They’re still doing the interiors, so I won’t be gone for a while. I just wanted to give everyone a heads up.”

Sophie leans back, satisfied. “The private sector pay is great. I’m much happier out of the military. Don’t have goddamn sergeants thinking they can yell at me.”

“Oh, no one yells at Claire,” you say without thinking; your tongue loosened by the alcohol, and by how touched you are at her reassuring you. “They’re all too scared.”

Sophie peers at you over her lenses. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… how are you so pleasant?”

You feel your face warming. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so nice. Everyone gets a little jaded after seeing the frontlines, but look at you.”

“It's because she didn't see much of it,” Claire says. “She was only there for the last couple of months.”

The Warrior Unit was supposed to be a temporary assignment. Just somewhere the board decided to stash you, out of the public eye; until the whole business with Julie had been sorted. You weren’t really part of the unit, not back then.

And so you’d been left behind while the rest of them were sent to the Mid East. But you never did apologise— Director Klein ended up having no choice but to sign off on your formal transfer.

(It had happened almost overnight. It led to Claire finding you standing awkwardly at the entrance of the tent; wearing boots that had been issued last-minute, and at least one size too big. They’d made you feel even more like a child, far out of your depth.)

Sophie adjusts her glasses. “You haven’t even seen titans?”

“No.”

“Hope it stays that way.”

“This wasn't like Helena, Soph,” Claire adds, “The Warriors steamroll over everything. And it all happens so far away, relatively speaking.”

Hannah claps her hands. “This isn’t a fun topic! Claire, congratulations on the new job.”

Sophie shakes her head, as if to clear it, and nods. “Congratulations. Maybe I’ll apply too.”

“Oh!” Hannah suddenly sits bolt upright. “And maybe I’ll apply to the Warrior Unit!”

Sophie smiles wryly. “I thought your plan was having a rich patient fall in love with you. Not a lot of eligible bachelors over there.”

“No, but she’s over there.” Hannah gives you a one armed hug. From her, it’s as warm and comforting as a bear hug from most others. (Even if her drunkenness has her clumsily punching your arm on the first try.) “What’s so great about guys anyway? I don’t have half as much fun as I do with you three. Claire, is Eric fun?”

“Not as much as you,” she replies, with a barely straight face.

Porco's pretty fun, you think. He always makes me laugh.

But there's a tinge of melancholy to the thought.

Claire was leaving. She would leave, and one day she’d go so far— Odiha, or maybe even further— and you wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. They all would. And then Porco would too.

And then no one would know.

No one would know that he’s more than fun. They wouldn’t know how he’s been kinder to you than anyone else in your entire life. They wouldn't know that he makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

No one would know how he made you feel wanted.

They wouldn’t know, because even though it’s safest when it feels like you’re the only two people in the world, it meant that world would disappear with him.

“You look like you finally got a good night of sleep,” Claire comments.

Your heart starts to race, though you’re not sure exactly why. “Oh, yes. I slept well last night.”

(No one knows.)

The first thing that makes Colt think something is up, is when Porco spends the whole night chewing with his mouth closed.

The second, is his reaction to Olivia telling him— very suggestively— as she pours him yet another glass of whiskey, that her shift would be over in another hour.

“Yeah? It’s still pretty early, but be careful on your way home,” Porco says.

Colt chokes on his drink.

Zeke snorts.

Pieck’s eyes go wide.

A stream of beer dribbles out the corner of Reiner’s mouth.

The bar is busy, and loud. There’s a table celebrating a birthday, and the residents of the internment zone were never ones to let an excuse to celebrate pass them by. You had to take the happy times when you could, even if they were borrowed from someone else. Cheers periodically erupt from near the dartboard. It’s difficult to see through the crowd surrounding it, but Colt’s fairly sure the birthday boy has taken it off the wall, and added an extra challenge to the whole thing by moving it wildly around.

He’d been meaning to go join in, when Porco Galliard turned down a hookup. Colt has only just started getting buzzed, but the shock of it almost sobers him.

Olivia, with her attractive red lip, and long dark hair that could only be described as tresses, was reminiscent of the princesses from Falco’s old books; if those princesses knew how to make the best drinks in Liberio, and seemed to have an aversion to buttoning the top half of their blouses.

In short, it was not the response of a rational man; especially one with Porco’s habits.

Pieck claps him on the shoulders. “Porco! You shouldn’t have come out if you were feeling ill! Here, drink my water.”

Porco looks bewildered. “Feeling ill—”

Reiner wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and sighs. “I hope you don’t throw up in our room. Pace yourself, for god’s sake.”

“Why would I—”

Colt gently takes the still full glass of whiskey out of his hand. “You know there’s no need to try and keep up with me, right? I would never think less of—”

Porco snatches it back. “What the fuck are all of you talking about?”

Olivia, to her credit, seemed to be taking it in stride. She leans forward, elbows on the counter. Colt idly wonders if the buttons had actually popped off at some point. Or maybe it was more comfortable for her like that. It did seem too small. He doesn’t think he should ask.

“It sounds like they’re concerned about you not coming home with me, champ,” she says with a playful grin. “Is it something I said or did… the last couple dozen times?”

“Helos,” Porco mutters. “I’m fucking fine. I don’t mean to insult you, Liv. I just want to drink and go to bed today.”

Zeke conspicuously sets down his glass, and takes a puff of his cigarette; which usually meant he would be spouting some sage wisdom. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later, Galliard.”

Porco rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t interrupt. It never works. Colt would know.

"You're still in the sweet spot right now," Zeke continues, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the already hazy air of the bar. "Where they don't see a dead man, only some fun with a guarantee of no strings attached. No offense, Miss Olivia.”

“None taken. He’s very fun.”

“That makes him sound selfish,” Pieck comments. “Pock here’s quite sensitive, actually.” The way she says it, it’s somehow genuine and teasing at the same time.

Zeke waves the lit cigarette around as he speaks. It flits through the smoke like a boozey firefly. (Colt’s aware the metaphor is absurd, but the alcohol is starting to hit him. People said he never knew when it did, but look. He did.)

Porco slams back his drink. Colt winces. That was most definitely a sipping whisky.

“Fuck you guys,” Porco says, voice hoarse. “I need to take a leak.” He shoves himself backwards, the bar stool screeching, and then stalks off in the direction of the bathrooms.

Colt trades a look with Pieck.

(Really, he wanted to exchange a look with everyone to see what they thought of that, but she was the only one who looked back.)

“I don’t know what’s up with him,” she says. “He’s starting to worry me though, to be honest.”

Colt finishes his drink in another two gulps. He was the only one who could help Porco now. Pieck couldn’t go into the men’s bathrooms.

And so he goes after him.

He finds Porco not inside the bathroom, but in the hallway outside of it, where the noise of the bar is contained behind a stout wooden door.

(So he didn’t have to piss, Colt thinks. Maybe that’s important.)

“Galliard.”

Porco, who was moodily staring at his own boots, snaps his head up in disbelief. “Leave me alone. I’m not horny all the time, fucking sue me.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Colt asks.

“Lots of things. Want a list?”

Before he can chide him for the sarcasm, Colt trips on his own feet, and stumbles rather than walks the last few steps. He ends up leaning heavily on Porco’s shoulders, trying to regain his balance.

For all his flaws, Porco doesn’t try to push him away. “Are you drunk already? We haven’t even been here for an hour.”

Colt raises his head. He can find his balance later. “Galliard,” he says, looking him straight in the eyes, so he knows Colt is serious, “you know you can trust me, right?”

Porco’s throat bobs. “Yeah, man,” he says, voice thick. “I trust you.”

There’s no easy way to ask this. Turning down Olivia, the hurrying away after showers— it could only mean one thing, from him.

Colt takes a deep breath. “Galliard, after your injury. I know the nurses treated you—” He feels Porco tense under his hands. “— and it’s difficult to even think about, but—”

Porco isn’t breathing. He stares at Colt, eyes wide.

“—but did your dick grow back wrong?”

There’s silence, punctuated by uproarious laughter from the bar.

And then, Colt’s on the floor.

Porco pushed him.

“Motherfucking hell, piece of fucking shit—”

He’s swearing up a storm, but really, Colt doesn’t mind. It’s not directed at him. It’s just how Porco deals with his emotions, sometimes. It stopped bothering him after the first five years. (As long as Falco's not around.)

“Well something’s bothering you,” he insists from the floor. It's disturbingly sticky as he pushes himself up. “You’ve been acting weird ever since we came back from the Mid East.”

“Give it a rest—”

“You’re even broodier than usual. Is Mrs. Galliard okay?”

Porco drags a hand over his face. “Ma’s fine, Grice. Thank you for the concern.”

And then, Colt remembers something that’s been bothering him for a while now. “And then you asked that nurse to come with us to the park—” Suddenly, it all clicks into place.

The dawning realisation must be obvious on his face, because Porco’s has gone white. He can tell, even in the dim lighting. “Grice—”

“You’ve got a crush on her.”

Porco’s making a really weird expression now. If Colt didn’t know better, if he didn’t know how the alcohol made him overly dramatic, he’d think Porco was about to cry.

“... and what would you say if I did?” His voice is hoarse again.

Colt thinks about it. “That it’s understandable. She saved your life.”

Relief blooms across Porco’s face. The pinch between his eyebrows disappears. “Then—”

“But that you’re—” Colt pauses to hiccup. “— being really stupid by indulging in it like that. Quit it before—” Another hiccup. “— she figures it out.”

Porco pushes him aside, and starts to head back to the bar. Colt can’t see his face, so it’s difficult to decipher his tone, but the words are oddly clipped back. Like he’s forcing each one out. “Wow, Grice. I thought you’d be the blindly supportive type.”

Colt’s confused. “I thought you didn't like fairy tales.”

Sylvie’s cooking smells heavenly.

(It always has, right from when Theo was a kid, and she was making magic out of a can of peas.)

Theo cautiously peeks in through the kitchen window. He can see the table set for two places. One’s for her, of course. But that other one…

Was Porco home?

“I can hear you crunching through the leaves from here, Theo,” she calls, not looking up from the pot she’s stirring. “Come in. The plate’s for you.”

And so Theo meekly makes his way to the front door, and slinks in like a particularly dirty stray cat that the family has taken upon itself to feed. Confident, but ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. He makes sure to wipe his shoes on the mat— he’s pretty sure Sylvie’s hospitality would reach its limit if he got mud on her nice carpet.

He takes a seat at the table. It wasn’t too long ago, he thinks with some sadness, how he had to drag in a chair from the living room to sit at this table. Back when all four dining chairs had been spoken for.

“Porco came by already tonight. Said they were going out to the bar, if you want to avoid it.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I know his liver will be fine, but as a mother…” She takes a deep breath, and keeps stirring her pot.

“Oh,” Theo says.

Sylvie had given him more second chances than he could count. It’s why he believes Evie every time she calls him selfish.

(It’s why Wolfe fell in love with her, he thinks. That endless forgiveness, when he knew better than anyone how much Theo didn’t deserve it. He would have given Theo those chances too, though; if he’d survived that first one.)

Sylvie turns off her stove, and carefully walks the pot over to the table. Theo tears himself a chunk off bread off the loaf on the table. She ladles stew onto his plate, humming all the while.

“You’re in a good mood,” Theo comments. It’s nice to see Sylvie like this. She’s usually so worried about her son.

Sylvie waves off the comment as she sits down. “Oh, it’s just that Porco seemed so happy today.”

“Yeah? Something good happen?”

“I wouldn’t know, he didn’t tell me a thing. He said he was just here to make sure you had cleared out.”

Theo blanches. “And what did you tell him?”

“That it wasn’t his business who stayed in my house,” Sylvia scoffs. “Well really, I told him I’d take care of it. He took it how he liked.” She leans toward him. “But he seemed too happy to care either way,” she says conspiratorially.

“The kid does wear his heart on his sleeve,” Theo agrees.

(Porco always had. Right from when he was in diapers, wrinkling his nose at Theo’s off-key singing. In Porco’s defence, there were actual stray cats who could caterwaul more melodiously.)

“Oh, I love him too much for him to be able to hide it anyway.” She smiles to herself as she reaches for the bread. “That’s the thing about love. Everything shows.”

Theo rolls his eyes. “That’s so sappy, I’m going to throw up.”

Eric clears the side of his desk for Claire as she sets her shopping bags down and rests her hip on its edge. He allows himself a moment to admire the ring glinting on his finger. That had been a good choice.

The office is on the night shift. Claire’s not strictly supposed to be here right now, but most people are sleeping at their desks and weren’t awake to report it. It’s one of the few public buildings that got electric bulbs put in this year, and Eric is slightly displeased that they generate enough heat that he needs to take off his sweater vest. It’s one of his favourite parts of autumn, and now it’s been delayed.

“... and then when we went to look at perfumes, she picked out this honeysuckle one. It was too sweet for me, but she’s cute enough to pull it off.”

“I think you’re sweet,” he attempts.

Claire swats him on the shoulder, but he can see she’s smiling. “That’s not the point! The point is, you should have seen her face. She was definitely thinking about someone. I’m not about to pry though.”

Eric hums. It’s not in disinterest. He’s just trying to make sure he’s filing everything away correctly. He’s still got a headache from Chief Gerard yelling at that poor secretary this afternoon for misplacing documents. The poor girl had been swearing someone had messed with them, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Are you still working on that missing persons case?” Claire asks.

Eric frowns. “Technically, I am. But it isn’t going anywhere, so the Chief assigned me to something else.”

“Oh?”

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’m temporarily partnering with Detective Rolland.” He discreetly rolls his eyes towards the man sitting on the other side of the room.

Rolland is a psychopath. Eric knows this. Chief Gerard knows this. Everyone knows this. But the man had a knack for closing cases. Criminals all but lined up to confess. The Chief didn’t let him investigate alone anymore, though. There needed to be someone making sure his methods would hold up in court.

Eric thinks it just warps the younger detectives’ idea of what’s acceptable.

In fact, Eric wouldn’t put it past him to not care about the protocol around properly signing out files.

I should look into that, he thinks to himself, as he watches Thomas Rolland pull back his sleeve, to check the time on his large, gold-plated watch.

Hannah's getting a suspicious amount of character development, isn't she? 🤭 Please leave a like/reblog/reply if you enjoyed!

[vampyrsm]

➛ oneirodynia — bakugou k. ➛ implied 362/363 spoilers, angst w/ comfort.

The way he was looking at you was something that you never in your life wanted to see. He looked distraught, an expression that looked wrong on his beautiful features. He always looked at you with love, and undeniable adoration and it was only for you. But as you hover over his body, grasping your hands on one of his big gloved ones and holding it to your chest as you weep; he looks sad.

His eyes are unfocused, trying their hardest to blink away the tears that are unwillingly rising when he hears your choking sob. You were grasping so tightly at his hand he registers it should've hurt, but he can't feel anything in that arm anymore. His chest feels tight and heavy, and the blood staining his clothes is making it even harder to breathe with how it sticks to his sweaty skin.

"Baby," he rasps, blood filling the cracks of his lips and he's trying to smile you think, and all you can do is furrow your eyebrows together in pain at the sound of how broken he is. This was never meant to happen to him, it wasn't meant to ever be him. "Listen t'me."

You lean closer, his uneven breath coming out in quiet wheezes the closer you are and you have to bite down on your lip to stifle the cry you want to let out. "'m here 'ki, I'm right here." you brush one of your hands along his forehead, sweeping blood-stained blonde away from his sticky skin.

He still can't look at you properly, just a blurry outline of the features he had grown to love and adore over the years. "I will always love you, you hear me?" and you nod, leaning down so your noses are brushing together when your eyes close to just try and shake yourself free of this hell.

You whisper your 'I love you's over and over until you realise his warm breath is no longer panting against your face and your eyes crack open to see his eyes are glazed over. He's not there, he's gone. Your boyfriend is gone, his hand only being clutched in your own as you desperately hold onto him and every single memory you ever created together—

A loud gasp fills the pitch black room, only the lights of the city night filtering through a tiny gap in the curtains providing enough light to help you blink away the tears in your eyes. Your throat feels tight, and your chest is heavier as you recount all the details of the nightmare you just went through.

Quickly you turn to look at your side, and there he is. His blonde hair poking up in every direction, face smushed into the pillow and lips slightly agape as he breathes. He's breathing. He's alive.

It's an instant relief, causing another choked sob to rise in your throat and you try to stop your shoulders from shaking, to stop your entire frame from moving the bed as you suck in heavy breaths. You can't wake him up with something as stupid as a nightmare. It felt so real, the tacky feeling of his blood on your hands, and the warmth of his breath on your face.

"Baby?" comes his raspy sleep-ridden voice, and you look quickly to see his eyes just cracked open to reveal that gorgeous shade of red that pulls you in almost instantly. He's shifting in the bed, large arms releasing the pillow he was cradling and quickly scooping you into his broad chest. The heat that envelopes you is instantaneous, your face relaxing into the space between his shoulder and neck whilst his arms wrap around you to hold you close.

He doesn't ask you what's wrong, can already tell it was something deep in your mind that shook you from your sleep. So he just strokes his fingers up along your bare arm, until he buries it into your hair and runs soothing small circles against your scalp whilst you continue to shudder and sob quietly against his skin.

"Promise you'll never leave me," you whisper against his skin, earning you an unseen eyebrow raise. Was that what the nightmare was about? "Please, I don't know what I'd do in a world without you." and those words make his stomach turn, a nightmare about him dying. It was a topic often discussed when he was laid out in a hospital bed, numerous wires attached to his body and you were always perched next to him with puffy eyes and utter heartbreak in your eyes when you meet his gaze.

He turns his head, pressing his lips against the crown of your head and holds them there for a long second just inhaling your scent. "Promise baby, I'm goin' nowhere." his voice is a deep rumble against your body from how tightly you're pressed against him, and you know he means it. He's always told you that he'll never leave you, that he'll always make sure he comes home to you and he doesn't ever intend on breaking that promise.

Katsuki continues to hold you, soothing strokes and gentle kisses against your hair and temple until your breathing evens out, he can tell you're asleep with the way your hand is curled up against his chest and your lips slightly parted, tiny huffs of breath sticking to his warm skin.

crying. my. eyes. out!!!! anyway, this is my reality it's just a bad dream guys

↳ [masterlist]

reblogs & likes appreciated!

[keikeu]

you're doing well :: hirota riki

pairing :: idol! hirota riki x idol! m! reader

genre :: established relationship, fluff, comfort

warnings :: mentions of low self-esteem, overworking oneself and an injury

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you hadn't been feeling well for days. joining the rest for practice after you had just recovered from an injury was hard. your comeback was approaching soon and you were lacking. after all, you had little time to learn the choreography and so practicing it was harder. being considered one of the main dancers also added to the pressure you were feeling ever since you returned from your hiatus.

today was another day of being unsatisfied with your work. on top of that, your ankle which you had previously wounded was hurting. you took numerous breaks, leaving the rest of your teammates behind for the day. you couldn't help but feel bad. you were holding them back from fully practicing and sometimes it felt like you could see the disappointment in their face. they tried to reassure you that it was okay, but you still felt horrible.

when it was beginning to get late, k was the first to announce that they should close up for the day and head to the dorms. you sat down on the wooden floor, your back pressed against the wall, before informing them you'd stay a little longer to catch up on all the days you had missed. they told you not to stay too late or overwork yourself, but it was no use. you were going to learn the choreography to perfection no matter what.

maki stayed behind with you. he knew you hadn't been feeling good ever since your injury, your confidence had been dropping with each passing day. maki tried his best to improve your mood, telling you how talented and amazing you were. sometimes those words worked, they made you happy and so did the kisses he gave you afterward. but sometimes they didn't, and it made him sad seeing you like that.

right now, he was sitting on the floor, observing as you moved to the beat of the song. your movements were lightweight, you looked like a feather being pushed by the wind. your experience had shaped you into an amazing dancer now, and maki was always left mesmerized when he saw you. he loved to see you perform, you felt and looked the best in your element. he wished you could see yourself through his eyes. you couldn't though, but he was going to make sure you know how much he loved to see you dance and how good you were.

after what felt like forever, you sat down next to him to catch a break, running your fingers through your hair while your chest rose up and down from your heavy breathing. you were tired. tired and dissatisfied. your ankle was hurting and your head was pounding. maki turned to you, seeing you so exhausted made him sad.

"you're doing well." he said with a small smile on his face as he gently moved closer to you. you automatically rested your head on his shoulder, it had become a habit to do so whenever he was sitting close to you.

"i'm not. i can't do some of the moves because of my stupid ankle and i'm leaving you guys behind on schedule too. and i can't help but think what others will say when they see my performance." you said, your vision was getting blurry from the tears that were building up. your chest hurt and your heart was beating fast. you weren't feeling well.

maki pulled you into a hug, seeing you like this broke his heart. he hated that you blamed yourself, he hated that you thought about the opinion of others. he could feel your tears on his shirt, he pat the back of your head in hopes of calming you down. you pulled from the hug, but not from his embrace, and wiped away the dry tears.

"yn, you're doing so so well, please believe me when i say this. you're not holding us behind, we understand the circumstances you're in and we can't push you to your limit. plus, you're already doing that yourself, which you need to calm down about." he said, cupping your cheek with a smile on his face.

"you're such a wonderful dancer, you move in such a delicate and graceful way, it makes me frustrated that you can't see that. even after your injury, nothing has changed. you're still the same fantastic dancer you were before, so you shouldn't be so hard on yourself." he added, pulling your hand into his free one and giving it a small reassuring squeeze. you felt tears make their way on your eyes again.

"you're gonna make me cry again." you said, your head falling on his shoulder while light sobs escaped your lips. maki placed a small kiss on your head before apologizing.

"i didn't mean to, but you can let it all out with me." his words made you feel better. they always did, you were so thankful he was there for you, by your side since the day you two were trainees together. you remembered you used to cry on his shoulders back in the day, from overworking yourself or from the rude comments others made, and even back then, maki offered you his heartfelt words of comfort just like now.

"you know, sometimes i get so captivated by you when we perform that i'm scared i'll forget the lyrics to our songs!" he said, holding your face with both his hands now, lightly squishing your cheeks. you let out a little chuckle at his statement, you thought it was cute.

"i don't believe you." you said, making him gasp as he covered his mouth in shock. "do you think i'd lie to you? my boyfriend?" he asked in exaggerated disbelief, making you hit his shoulder at the mention of the word 'boyfriend'. you still weren't used to it, but it sounded sweet coming from him.

"it's getting late, we should go now." maki said, getting up and holding a hand out to help you move from your sitting position. you continued to hold hands as you walked together to your dorm and made small talk.

when you entered the apartment it was quiet, you and maki slowly made your way to your shared bedroom. he layed on his bed first and you plopped next to him with a small sigh. he knew you wanted to cuddle so he pulled your body closer to his. you let out a tired yawn, and he did the same after.

"we can practice together, i'm always here to help you." maki said, his tone lower and his eyes drowsy. a lazy smile made its way onto your face.

"thank you." you said before the two of you drifted to sleep. today may not have been eventful but you know tomorrow would be better with maki by your side.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

a/n :: thank you to the anon who requested this, i hope it's good and i hope you like it!! the ending might be a bit too cheesy but it's maki and i love him so🤭🤭 (also i was struggling for a title, i still don't rlly like it but i didn't want to postpone this)

©keikeu

[lunalockley]

Could I request a Steven X Reader angst&fluff that reader is an outcast that always being hated by their classmates and they have been bullied in the University all of the time. They feel so empty so they go to the roof for k*ll themselves but Steven stop them for doing it.

Hi Anon! Thanks for your request and sorry for taking so much time writing this one. Double sorry because turned into a very short fic.

Just before we get into it I would like to say that, if there’s anyone reading this going through something similar, I can only imagine how incredibly difficult and painful dealing with something like this can be but I would like you to know that even if right now seems unlikely those feelings will decrease over time, that you will feel better, that even if the people around you have led you to believe otherwise asking for help is always an act of bravery, that you are not alone and that you’re very much loved, needed and appreciated by your loved ones.

Guardian Angel

Steven Grant x GN!Reader

Warnings: Suicide attempt, depression and hardcore angst but at the end some (I hope) warm comfort and shiny future in Mr. Knight’s hands

Words: 600

At some point, everything feels like too much. You feel like too much of a burden, too much of a failure, too insignificant, too stupid for feeling the way you do. And overall so weak, unable to bear this pain. Unable to find any other way out from this misery. Unable to fight it anymore.

There’s no point in trying, no point in living. You feel like you are not good enough for that.

And as you look at the city under your feet, you think of all the pain, the problems, the emptiness, the cruelty you have experienced. As London’s winter cold breeze dries your tears, you think the best for everyone would be for you to not exist anymore.

And even when you know you are alone on the rooftop, you take a second to look around. To take in your last surroundings, to appreciate the moon and the stars. To say goodbye.

“I tried” you whisper, even when you know no one is listening. “But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”

As you take a step forward you concentrate on the gentle wind moving your hair, the cold air filling up your lungs for the last time.

But then everything changes.

All you can see is some white chaotic movement surrounding you, holding you. All you can feel is warmth. A warmth that feels familiar even when it makes you think of ancient places you haven’t met yet. A warmth that feels inevitable.

Yet, when the commotion passes, you are on the ground and all there is in front of you is a man. Above you, better said.

He frantically asks you if you are okay, his hands searching for wounds. You get lost for a second in the long eyelashes covering his brown worried eyes. But then you notice that there is no trace of white. He’s wearing black pants and a light blue jacket, everything around it's still as dark as it was a few moments ago. Everything barely visible under the faint moonlight.

“Bloody hell, almost don’t get here on time. My soul was about to leave my body” you hear him mutter while he helps you sit up.

“What was that?” You manage to ask. “That white warmth, what was that? How did you get here? I was alone.”

“You won’t be anymore, darling” he absently says drying with his fingers the last reminiscents of your tears, his eyes seem to feel your sadness like his own.

“Who are you?”

“Your guardian angel it seems,” he answers offering you his hand to get you on your feet. “The gods are watching out for you, aren’t they?”.

“I don’t understand”. You whisper, but he seems distracted. Like he’s listening to someone else you can’t see.

After a moment he nods. And then you run out of breath because he’s looking straight into your eyes while little fabric strips start to move through his body, his clothing slowly changing into a white three-piece suit. His face getting covered with a white mask. His eyes shining, stronger than the moon above your head. You’re not even scared, you’re shocked because it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“You are meant to live and do things out of this world, darling,” he says taking a step closer to you, offering his hand once more “There is so much in you that you cannot yet imagine. I’ll show you, I’ll take care of you if you let me”.

[holylulusworld]

Aahp (1) - A cold December night

Title: Aahp (1) A cold December night

Prompt filled for @writersmonth​​​​​ – Day: 25 - word: lips

Square filled for @sebastianstanbingo​​: Free Space - Nick Fowler

Summary: You end up being a pawn.

Pairing: Mobster!Andy Barber x fem!Reader, Mobster!Nick Fowler x fem!Reader (for now)

Other pairings: Former Mobster!Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader (implied)

Warnings: angst, language, unrequited love, sad reader, sadness, Ransom being an asshole (implied), soft Nick, grumpy Andy (but he’s got a weak spot for lost girls)

Words: 1,5 k

A/N: *Pookie = is a term of endearment for someone or something that you care about deeply in your life.

Angel and her protectors masterlist

Sebastian Stan Bingo masterlist

It’s a late and cold December night as you aimlessly walk the streets of Boston. The cold wind bites your skin while you struggle to remember the direction you came from.

“Hell, get a hold of yourself, Y/N,” you wipe your wet cheeks with your gloved hand, making things even worse as you feel the soft wool touch your skin. Now you remember the day he bought them for you, and your heart shatters all over again.

You’d like to take the gloves off and throw them away, but it’s too cold to do so. You’re already freezing, and it will be no use to lose a finger only as you can’t bear feeling the gloves on your hands.

“Miss, did you get lost,” you glance at the elder man flipping his cigarette onto the sidewalk. “It’s too damn cold to be outside tonight. You should go home.”

“Home,” nodding you look around the almost empty streets. “Can you tell me where I am? I need to get back to my hotel.”

“Oh! You’re not from around,” he gives you a sympathetic smile. “What’s the name of the hotel? I can tell you where to go if I know the name.”

“I’m usually not getting lost,” you laugh while rubbing your cold arms. “I just…you know…” wiping your eyes again you try to focus on anything but the burning pain in your chest. “I lost my phone too.”

“Love or business?” the man seems to see right through you. Maybe it’s like your granny used to say. You get wiser with every passing year. 

“A little bit of both…no,” shaking your head you try not to cry again. “Love. If it even was love.” You sniff now. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He made his decision and I need to get back to my hotel before I freeze to death.”

“I can call a cab for you, miss,” he gets his phone out. “Where do you want to go?”

“I-InterContinental Boston,” the wind is so cold that your teeth begin to chatter as you try not to cry again. “Is it far from here? I just ran and ended up here.” You point around the area. 

“Not that far. But it’s too far to walk. It’s dark and cold,” you watch the friendly elder man call a cab. All you can offer are twenty bucks and a broken smile as he hands you a cup of coffee. “It’s alright, miss. One day, the sun is shining for you again.”

“Probably not so soon. I just quit my job and left my hometown only to come here and realize he didn’t want me here. I got it all wrong,” you sip at the coffee. “Thank you for your help, Sir.”

The hot shower didn’t help getting the cold out of your bones. You’re still shaking while you hide under the covers. At least you booked the hotel for a few more nights.

He looked so shocked to see you. All this time he came to your town, pretending to offer more than passion and a few stolen moments while he was around.

How could you have been so blind and stupid all this time? Two years down the drain. More of your precious lifetime wasted on a man lying straight to your face.

It takes you three more days to leave Boston. You had hoped for him to come to you and explain the situation. That it wasn’t what it looked like, or that you got it all wrong.

Now you feel like an even bigger fool. 

All you can do is walk toward the exit of the hotel and pray you don’t run into the man breaking your heart for nothing. 

“Whoa watch your step, miss,” you mumble an apology as you almost ran a stranger over. He grips your arm to keep you from falling over his suitcase. “Hey, are you alright?” you glance up at the man, shaking your head as he gives you a soft smile. “Can I help you?”

“I don’t think anyone can help me,” blinking more tears away you try so hard not to cry in front of a stranger. That’s the last thing you need. Pity…

“Hey, you are shaking. Let me know if you need help,” he softly says as he guides you toward the couch at the lobby. He forgets about his suitcase and helps you sit down. “I know life can be hard. Just don’t give up.”

“You should care about your luggage, not some sad girl you just met,” now he huffs. “What? Are you a social worker or something?”

“Or something,” the man dips his head to look you up and down. “What’s a pretty girl like you crying about? Did something happen?”

“Nothing serious. Only a man breaking my heart for money,” you wipe your tired eyes. “He wanted me to move to Boston only for him to announce his engagement with some other girl. I think his grandfather wanted him to marry…and…I wasn’t good enough.”

“What a douchebag,” he sits next to you to pat your thigh. “What’s that bastard’s name?”

“You should go now, Sir. I’m fine, okay? Life goes on,” you shrug. “It’s not a big deal when a guy breaks a girl’s heart and ruins her life. I only quit my job and my apartment. I have to move out by the end of the month.”

“Shit,” the man huffs now. “What do you want to do now?”

“Sit and wait,” you laugh as he makes a face. “I got no clue. I don’t have a job any longer and can’t go back. My apartment is gone and there is no one I could turn to. My life just went to shit and the only person I can blame is myself.”

“I would blame the guy leading you on,” this time you look the man straight in the eyes. His features soften, and if not for the hopeless state you are in, you would call him breathtakingly handsome.

His blue eyes seem to shine whenever you look at him. “What are you doing, Nick? We don’t have time to flirt with cute girls,” another man steps toward the couch. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of man taking care of crying girls.  “We got to get going.”

“She needs help,” your savior gruffly replies. “Some bastard lead her on.” That picked the other man’s interest.

He’s as tall as Nick, and his hair is neatly gelled back, but there is a stray strand fighting his perfectionism. A thick beard frames his face. His features are hard, but his eyes soften as you choke out a sob.

“Angel, what happened?” he suddenly crouches down next to you to touch your knee. “Did anyone hurt you? Where did they hurt you? Did they touch you?”

“I told you; someone led her on, Andy,” Nick grumbles. “We need to help her.”

“I’m not some stray kitten,” you protest as the men start to talk about you as if you aren’t even there. “Hello! You can’t just decide to help me. I can fix my mess on my own.”

“Of course, you can,” Andy mumbles as he runs his hand over your thigh. “You just need a little help, don’t you?” his Boston accent is thick as he looks up at you with big blue eyes. “Right, angel. You want us to make everything better.”

“I-“ shit, it feels like he’s hypnotizing you with his gaze. While Andy coos soft words, Nick strokes your cheek, whispering sweet pet names in your ear. “Wait, I’m not going to go anywhere with two strangers.”

“Angel, you know us. That’s Nick, and I’m Andy,” you feel like a scolded child as Andy gets back up to straighten his back. He looks around the lobby, nodding at someone while you try to not freak out. “Nick, you will stay with our angel. I’ll make a few calls.”

“He can be a bit bossy, but you’ll get used to it,” Nick whispers in your ear, lips brushing your ear shell. “How about we get your luggage, and you tell me about your apartment.”

“I don’t even know you. What is going on here?” Andy sighs deeply as you start to get louder again.

“Angel, you need to calm down. This is-“

“You see, we need you to come with us. It seems you are of interest to Ransom Drysdale, grandson of Harlan Thrombey, one of the most dangerous men in whole Massachusetts,” Nick hastily cuts Andy off. “You need to trust me now. Okay.”

“Why would I?” fear creeps into your thoughts as two more men walk toward you. “What? How can they look like you? How-oh my…this is all too much…”

“Great,” Andy grunts at the other men. “You couldn’t make it faster? We had to do all the work.”

“She passed out,” Nick carefully picks you up in bridal style. “I guess this way it’s easier to take her, huh?” He grins down at your unconscious form. “How did Drysdale manage to get this cute *Pookie in his clutches?”

“Oh, we are already on pet name base?” Andy cocks his head to look at you in Nick’s arms. “Fine. Go and bring her to the car. We don’t want anyone to watch us kidnap Ransom Drysdale’s fiancé…”

>> Part 2

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