#i want to sit in a stream silently with like 20 people and watch Odd Tinkering while i draw. maybe play music very quietly in the bg.

[lucksea]

if the dmc or whatever wasnt a thing i would stream on twitch every day and just do this. while drawing this example i realized this would be almost exactly like those essay tiktoks where they have subway surfer playing at the bottom of the screen. unmedicated adhd experience

[bloomyagi]

bewitched (m)

summary: bakugou has always loved you.

pairings: bakugou katsuki x f!reader, hawks x f!reader (nsfw)

genre: characters are aged up, 20+, pro heroes au

warnings: allusions to cheating, angst, porn w/ lots of feelings, shower sex, kinda subby bakugou, he’s basically lovesick n soft for u, keigo is a good birdie, he would never do this irl

length: 3,518

notes: hello! my first bnha fic, please be kind <3 please let me know what you think! i’ve been so obsessed w/ jjk & bnha recently skdjkjf. send help 

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It comes down softly at first. The droplets whispering against windshields, ghosting across bare arms, a trick of the light. Then a pause, like the darkening clouds are reconsidering their decisions. There is no wind, no anger in the way it pelts down, darkens the concrete. Like resignation, like relief. It soaks bone, sends most civilians packing as they duck under awnings and flee into shops in anticipation of a short-lived flare.

But it is summer, and the rain is welcome as a remedy against the oppressive heat. Many onlookers merely move their belongings closer to avoid the stream, gaze out glass windows longingly. Some find inspiration, others find peace.

You stand in the middle of it all, drenched and unmoving as you watch your lover wrap his arms around his secretary, and you wonder whose mood this pathetic fallacy is expected to reflect as you look across to meet familiar eyes.

He, too, mirrors your stance. Clothes sodden, yet the nature of its designs only lends to plaster themselves closer to his skin. His irises are that bright, burning red. He is not fizzling, heated against the affair before him. Instead, his gaze is trained on you.

There is no fury, no sadness, no emptiness. His gaze is not hollow, it is instead strangely warm. Your chest squeezes, tightening in the way you experience when you read a novel laced in tragedy, that welling feeling of anguish and sorrow.

His hands are shoved in his pockets, and though his eyes remain fastened to you, he makes no step to move closer.

The sky lightens, a thin streak of sun peering through in a solitary beam. The sounds seem to press close again, like a bubble popping in your ear.

The summer storm is tempered as quickly as it appeared, the sound of life—laughter, the splashing of sneakers drowning in newly formed puddles—and the lingering smell of renewed earth and the chirping of birds as they shake off their wings to take flight.

Water drips silently down the pair of gorgeous wings before you. They flutter briefly, flicking off the thin layer that pooled on its surface, before unfurling to fold over her. He pulls her closer, separating only every so often to breathe.

Shameless, is all you think plainly. And you are—ashamed. That feeling catches you by surprise, breath caught in your throat as the feeling expands, takes root in your lungs. It is that hindsight, that disappointment—at yourself—that has you lowering your eyes.

He is still looking at you, even as someone squeals and a crowd gathers, pushing and shoving to press close, stays rooted to his spot, watching you, even as the couple finally break apart, dishevelled—she adjusts her pencil skirt, re-buttons her blouse; he runs a hand through his golden locks, fixes his half-open shirt—and Hawks’ chuckle rings across the street, one arm braced around her waist as he signs autographs and takes photos. She is glowing beside him, all smiles and shrill laughter. Her nails, perfectly manicured and sharp, digs into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. He likes it.

You stifle a dry laugh. Turning on your heel, you disappear into the thickening crowd.

He himself is being pawed at, hands fawning at his exposed arms, clutching at him like he is fresh off the conveyer belt.

He waits until he can no longer discern your retreating figure before bearing a half-smile at the crowd. He takes the pen that is shoved into his face, and he begins signing autographs.

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Time and experience have tempered his constitution. He has accepted his flaws, worked on them until he could proudly stand on the same stage as his—friends. Because that is what they are—these people that have helped him grow, comforted his trauma, stayed with him despite it all. What else could he call them but the very things they are—they are the pillar of his strength. Because of you, I learned I could be strong for the things I care about.

He is not number one. He has no need for such a title, no need for such a goal anymore. He is no longer the brash, easily angered teenager that charged for the strongest.

“I don’t care what they call me, what rank I am, or what they think of me. I only want the power to protect these people. That’s it.” He thinks back to your words.

You are not often solemn. You laughed a lot, the slow-appearing crinkles to the corner of your eyes a physical testament to your innate joy. You liked to take delight in the ordinary things. Perhaps that is what drew him to you—that strength. To shoulder the burden of your chosen role in this society, to have the bravery to smile amongst the suffering.

There was always an unbidden heat that surged in his chest when he thought of you. That odd feeling of a knot tying itself in his stomach when his skin brushed yours. When you fell from the height of a skyscraper, half-conscious from defeating a new breed of nomu, his heart stuttered and leapt in halting beats to throat as he split from his team, their screams for you ringing in his ears, the rush of badump-badump closing in rapidly, pushing his beaten body to its limits, faster, faster, faster—please! Who was he praying to at the time? He was begging anyone who was listening to give him that push—the gap was too big, you were too far, he was too tired, too useless, too broken—he slammed into you with enough force to compel blood up his throat.

He spat it to the side quickly, not bothering to wipe himself clean before he turned to you. The first thing he registered was warmth. You were limp in his hold, on the edge of passing out, exhaustion lining every curve of your face. Your lips quirked, eyes closed.

“Hurts like hell,” you slurred. “Falling from heaven.”

He stared at you, blinking the blood from his lashes.

And then he threw his back and laughed. It was a full-bodied, uproarish laughter. The type that rumbled from his chest. He shook, though he was careful not to jostle you, and you managed a quiet chuckle.

The adrenaline faded from his body, and he hiccupped as he slumped onto the concrete beam behind him. The ice receded from his veins.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured. It was a quiet plea. Don’t do that ever again, is what he really wanted to say, but how could he? This was the occupational hazard of your shared line of work. This was the risk. His eyes burned, half-lidded as he held you closer.

You couldn’t lift a single limb on your body, so you lean into him.

“No promises.”

It was enough. Your voice was raspy, drained, but there was a sincere lilt to it.

He wanted to say something more, then, but first responders arrived and whisked you separate ways before he could gather his thoughts.

He regrets it, to this day. Perhaps if he had said something then, said something sooner, the scene would have played out differently.

He does not have many regrets, have long resolved to move on from his past and mistakes. “What a useless emotion,” you once told him. “Don’t wallow. Mourn and move on. Do better. That’s what you owe. That is what you are owed.”

But this—this he will always regret.

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He finds you on the roof of your penthouse.

“I like it. Being able to see everything from up here.” The first time he’d peered over the edge, he’d been enlisted for furniture rearranging. You handed him a beer, beckoning him over, jerking your head to the scenery below. And it was—breathtaking. You were breathtaking. He hadn’t even bothered to entertain a cursory glance. It was summer then, too, and the evening breeze was light as it brushed your locks back. Lights began to flicker as the sun dipped lower into the horizon. He briefly considered making a similar move.

But moving was a hassle, only further proven by the efforts of today, so he dismissed the thought quickly, taking another swig. He was sweaty, a layer of grime a film over his skin from the manual labour he’d been voluntold for most of the afternoon. It was petty work compared to his—their—day job, but it was still a strangely refreshing workout.

“What are you feeling?” His steps are muted, voice faint. It carries on the back of a shallow gust.

You don’t spare him a look, staring into the distance. You’re sitting, one leg thrown casually over the ledge, the other pulled to your stomach. He’d made an off-hand comment once about adding some railings, but you’d rolled your eyes and pushed him playfully.

Pussy, you called. He chuckled. Like we don’t experience enough life-threatening dangers on a regular basis, he snarked.

All the more reason, then, you shot back. He fell silent then, the pulsing in his throat returning.

He could never really read you. Eyes are the window to the soul. He scoffs internally. Whoever said that must’ve known it was a load of bullshit. Your eyes never said anything. But his—his said everything he couldn’t, and more.

You hum. “Would it be cliché if I said I wasn’t surprised, only disappointed?”

“No.”

“Then I’m disappointed. I had hoped, I suppose, that he would choose differently.”

He tastes the words that I would be enough between, and the sigh of to change him that escapes your lips.

“You knew who he was when you went into this,” he says quietly. No judgement—he is not reminding you of your poor decisions, rather striking a conversation in the same manner one would inquire about the weather.

Quant, you think. And a few years ago, you would have added out of character. But now it is not so—he has grown into himself well.

You tilt your head back. He leans against the wall, arms crossed across that well-built chest of his, shirt straining against the muscle. He’s so tall now—so much taller than anyone had expected him to be. That wild, unruly blond hair of his has remained the same, appearing spiky but soft to the touch. And his eyes—they are gentle but retain the ferocity he is well-known for.

“Yes,” you say after a while. “That is why I am not surprised. But these feelings won’t just disappear overnight because of this.”

He’s quiet for a while, those crimson orbs of his trailing over your expression. You don’t know what he finds, but he must understand your position because he nods.

“I’ll wait for you.”

This—this is a surprise. Somehow, he always manages to surprise you.

“After all this time?” You ask softly.

“Always,” he says quietly.

He leaves, and when you return to the house, you pick up the keys he left on your counter. Twirling them on one finger, you smile to yourself.

Thank you. You know he knows.

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“I tried to be the person you wanted me to be,” he says.

“I tried, I really did. But this is who I am, who they made me. I can’t change. I’m sorry,” he says.

He says a lot more, you think, but you’ve long since stopped listening. He knows these are only flimsy barriers that excuse his behaviour. He knows he is not this person. He is not broken, he is worthy of much, much more. He just needs to believe it. They took everything from him. That is what he thinks, how he lives. Like he has no real purpose.

Instead, he is stopped, wings flaring as you reach for him. You smell familiar, and that ache in his heart deepens. He will forever regret losing you, but you deserve more. He is not good for you, and he is not your responsibility. His growth is his obligation. Perhaps, when he is ready, he will find you again.

But by then, he thinks, burying his face into your shoulder, you will have already chosen differently.

“I love you, baby bird. I will always love you,” he presses these words against your neck in a soft whisper, voice cracking, like a prayer, he tries to sear his truth into your skin. He tastes salt on his tongue.

And, between it all, he traces I’m sorry.

You squeeze him once.

You know.

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“Hey.”

You’re uncharacteristically shy, cheeks puffing in that sweet smile of yours.

That sharp, familiar warmth blooms in his chest at the sight of you perched on the arm of his leather couch. You look comfortable, relaxed, like you—belonged here, his mind supplies helpfully.

He steps out of his boots, unbuckling his support items and setting them on the counter to clean later. He’s a little worse for wear tonight, shoulders tight from chasing rogue villains the past few hours. The tension seeps away steadily, though, the longer he drinks you in.

You look good. You always look good. Gorgeous, even more so when you’re tired and dirty, covered in blood and dust and debris. It’s been so long since you patrolled together, pulled to opposite ends of the city the past few months.

“Hey,” he says back.

“Shower?” You take his hand.

He trails behind you, nearly tripping over in his haste to follow, failing to register your words in time. This must be a dream, he decides. And he will play along, as he always does in these fits of delirium. He will hold you and have you and love you in ways he cannot begin to describe, and then he will lose you as dawn breaks and he wakes to an empty bed. But he falls anyway, does it over and over until he feels like he will go insane from the sheer longing. He is addicted to you.

You haven’t spoken, not really, since that night on the rooftop. So you, being here, without any prior warning, touching him, smiling at him, leading him to his fucking shower—this must be a dream, right?

You push open the door to his bathroom. It’s big, he’s always been meticulous about his health, and enjoys his fair share of long soaks and hot showers.

He realizes a beat too late that you’re undressing him. He exhales sharply when you tug his shirt off, but before he could say anything, you murmur, “You smell like caramel. You always do. It’s just a little stronger than usual.”

“Oh.” He sounds a little breathless, a little strangled. Unlike him, but he has never really been anything but himself with you. He’s still discovering new sides to himself, it seems.

Oddly enough, he’s the farthest thing from embarrassed as he steps out of his pants and boxers. He’s flushed, but the heat that floods his veins is nothing short of delicious. It makes his head spin, makes him lean into your touch.

You strip quickly, tossing your costume fabric aside his for laundry. He sucks in an audible breath at the sight of your nude body. Beautiful, he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat, and he reaches out with a shaky hand to thumb the smear of grease on your cheek.

You smile, pushing open the frosted glass doors and pull him inside.

The temperature is perfect. He likes it hot on days like today, muscles relaxing as the water washes away his fatigue.

“You know me so well,” he says.

You push him under the stream, water cascading between the two of you. His locks flatten under the pressure, falling over his eyes. You run a hand through his hair, pushing it back as you press yourself flush against him.

“Yes,” you answer. “I do.”

And then you kiss him. A low purring echoes through the space. Ah, it’s me, some part of him thinks absently. He opens his mouth instantly, tongue lapping at yours, arms coming around to hold you close. He can distinctly feel the way your perked nipples rub against his pectorals. He can taste you. And you are sweet, so sweet and the lewd sounds of your make out reverberating in the room so vividly he knows this is not, in fact, a mere conjuration of imagination after all.

He loathes to part from you, but he does. His fingers dig into your waist, anchoring him to reality. He looks at you searchingly, beseechingly. If you are here, you can only be here for one reason.

“I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry, I know it must’ve been painful. I’m here now, I promise I’ll never leave again,” you say, cupping his cheek.

His breath catches. His eyes flutter shut.

“You promise?” He sounds so small, so weak. Vulnerable. He would’ve hated that, once, but he is no longer that person. Today, he can accept he is weak for you. Always has been. And that’s okay, he thinks. He doesn’t have to be strong all the time.

“Yes. I promise, Katsuki.” You press your forehead against him, standing on your tippy toes.

He kisses you again, swallows your dreamy sigh, one hand on the back of your head, the other crushing your body against his. He wants you close, needs you close. Needs to feel you, this is real, right?

“Yes,” you whisper, and he realizes belatedly that he spoke aloud. “This is real. I’m here. I’m right in front of you.” You take his hand and press it against your upper rib cage, where your heart beats. Fast, like the wings of a hummingbird.

He can’t help it. He takes you against the wall, so pent up from years of pining he can hardly think, rutting into you like a teenager in heat, feeling like he’s a virgin again, every trace of your skin so new, he maps them out first with his eyes, then his hands and mouth. He slows down when you call his name in a haze of pleasure, takes the time to worship you, find what makes you tick, watches your expression raptly as he rolls his hips, as he tweaks your nipples, palms your ass, litters a necklace of freshly bloomed violets on your collarbone.

He’s panting your name, you’re murmuring praises in his ear, tugging at his locks and biting down on his shoulder and he cums so hard his vision whitens.

The two of you slide down, his legs giving out in the aftershocks, until he’s sitting on the floor of his shower and you’re curled up on his lap.

The water is—miraculously—still hot.

You lay there for a while, and he catches his breath between lazy kisses, enjoying the way your hands roam his chest languidly.

Finally, he stands, letting you down reluctantly to actually clean yourselves. You giggle at the pout that forms when your feet touch the ground once more.

You wash his hair, massaging methodically as he dips his head back to let the foam drain. He takes great pleasure in this, at the way you spread a generous amount of body wash on your palms and begin scrubbing the grime from his skin.

He jolts forward, letting out a low groan as you squeeze his flaccid cock teasingly. He glances away, eyes half-lidded, at the heated look you give him when his cock hardens immediately.

“You underestimate how easily you turn me on,” he says plainly. Not a hint of embarrassment. And why should he be? You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I love it,” you murmur.

You rinse him off before turning. His length presses against your ass, but he makes no move to seek anything further, focused on washing you.

Satisfied, he turns off the water.

You step out, toweling each other off. He pulls you to him, inhaling deeply. He likes that you smell like him now.

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Afterwards, you are tucked in close, covers pulled up and he’s buried his face in your chest, bare legs tangled.

Perhaps it’s the novelty, the feeling of finally, but you can’t get enough of one another. You wake each other multiple times throughout the night, clawing at each other, ripping his boxers and your—his—shirt from each other until you were pressed tightly together, bare, a thin sheen of sweet already coating your bodies.

A thin strip of moonlight peeks through the cream curtains. He gazes up at you, thinks everything in his life has been leading up to this moment. That warmth swelling again, as it always does, so intense it has him arching his back. You touch his cheek, smiling. Something lands on the side of his pillow. Ah. You lean down, lips warm as they kiss away his tears.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He closes his eyes.

Thank you.

[thinking1bee]

Absorbed Part 2

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Kara Danvers x Reader

Tags: Angst, Violence, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Mentions of Transphobic Rhetoric, Hate Crimes, Xenophobia, Powers, Healer!Reader

Everything Taglist: @sammy90682 @nobody13 @owloftheshadows @captain-josslett @camslightstories @worldovart @finleyfray @acertainredhead

You knew that Kara going out on patrol was a bad idea! The atmosphere was swimming in kryptonite, another plan implemented by the Children of Liberty to kill Supergirl. Luckily, Lena came through with an anti-kryptonite suit, but even the smallest breach was enough to expose Kara and harm her severely. You should have said something! You should have reassured her that everyone would have been fine if she sat this one out! But she was adamant, saying that she couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while people were being attacked.

“We’re surrounded!” came Alex’s voice again, and you could hear the strain. You could here her struggling as she fought off their assailants.

“Please if anyone is around, help us!”

You listened as all the other Superfriends as chimed in.

“I can leave now, but it’ll be 20 minutes until I get there,” Nia said.

“Likewise,” Brainy chimed in. “Even if I fly, I put my estimated time of arrival at 22 minutes and 6 seconds.”

“I’m leaving the DEO now,” came J’onn’s gruff voice.

That meant…that meant that no one would get there in time for Kara. It was only a matter of time before she would start seizing. After that, the toxicity would be too great even for her to fight. Kara would die.

“Alex, I’m up the street,” you said. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.

Your ribs would just have to deal, and you took off at a sprint, running as fast as your legs could take you.

When you got there, you gasped at the scene in front of you. There had to be at least 10 of them, and they were overpowering Alex. You could see Kara on the ground, some few feet away. She was still moving, which was a good sign. At least she hadn’t lost consciousness yet. You took your gun from its holster and fired a warning shot into the air.

They all turned to face you and you smiled, beckoning them to come closer if they dared. Of course, they took the bait and they swarmed you. The thing about angry mobs was that it seemed like once a group of people all got together, the IQ level plummeted drastically, and between all of them, maybe there was one brain cell, acting as a hive a hate for them. Your assumption was true because it was likely that they forgot that you had a gun, and here they were, getting closer and closer as they gripped their bats and crow bars.

One thing that Alex taught you how to do was to shoot to incapacitate instead of to kill, and her rule of thumb was to shoot anything below the knees. You aimed, firing shot after shot, hitting shins and feet and one by one, the Agents of Liberty fell to the ground all while screaming and groaning in pain.  

You took at least 7 of them out before you ran out of bullets, and from there, it was hand to hand combat. You punched one in the nose. The sounds of cartilage crunching sounded off in the space between you before a gush of blood spurted from their nostrils. They fell to the ground as they held what was left of their face. You turned your attention to another, dodging their punch before taking their arm and snapping it at the elbow. The adrenaline overtook you, and you twisted on your feet to face the next person behind them. You were about to engage them when a surprise punch to your cheek made you stumble back. Before you knew it, more of them were showing up, filling in the spaces where their comrades had fallen. It didn’t take too long before you were overpowered as well, and you fell to the ground as they all beat you. You felt feet kick the wind form your lungs, and bats split open skin. You covered your face as best as you could, but it was no use. Soon you were spitting up blood, the world swaying as you struggled to breathe.

You thought that you were going to pass out until you heard boots running towards you. You looked through squinted eyes and blurry vision to see Brainy, Nia, and J’onn sprinting into the crowd, taking on the growing number of the Liberty army. You watched as even your friends became overpowered. Even J’onn, with his multitude of powers, was struggling to keep up with the hoard. They needed Supergirl and you looked over to see her. She was only a few feet away and she still lie writhing on the ground. You crawled there, wincing and crying out at the way your body screamed for you to stop moving, but you pushed through it, willing yourself to keep moving, to make it to the woman that had done so much for you already. When you got there, you peaked inside the helmet to see her eyes squeezed closed in pain. The displays in her helmet flashed wildly and you could see the warnings, the suit repeating over and over that there was a breach in the suit.

“Kara, can you hear me?” you asked her. She nodded weakly, groaning as her body throbbed in pain. You could see the way her veins glowed an ominous, neon green beneath her skin. They almost seemed to raise under her skin, forcing themselves out her body.

“It hurts,” she whimpered.

“I know.”

You knew what you had to do. You would have to heal her, and you told her that. She forced her eyes open, shaking her head weakly.

“Y/n, this could kill you. It’s too dangerous.”

You shook your head. Kara was who everyone needed. She was hope and light. She never gave up, even when the odds looked grim, even when there was every reason to just give up. Kara changed so many lives, including yours. She made life worth living. She reminded you that sometimes it wasn’t just about living for what you wanted, but it was enjoying the small things. She helped you remember that it was the summer nights and the winter mornings. It was the game nights and the savory potstickers. It was being alive for the next hug or looking forward to the movies. It was the small stuff, the things that we all took for granted because we’re programmed into thinking that we’re alive for some grand cosmic purpose. Sometimes being alive is just that: to live. The world needed more people like her, to fill it with warmth and love. Kara needed to stay alive, and you made up your mind to heal her, raising your hand above her body and watching it as it glowed white.

“Please don’t,” she begged, but you shushed her gently.

“Stay still.”

Your power blasted her, a jet stream of pure white energy healing her from the inside. Slowly you could feel her agony transfer to you, and you watched as the green in her veins started to dissipate while it simultaneously started to assault your body. You watched as the kryptonite started at your fingertips, and spread throughout your arm, searing through muscle and bone. The moment it hit your chest, you cried out, the pain more intense than you could ever imagine. When Kara said it felt like needles in her veins, she wasn’t lying. It was like being ripped apart from the inside, and you had to concentrate hard to keep going. It felt like days as this happened. You were forcing your eyes to stay open, forcing yourself to stay conscious just long enough to heal her, and when it did happen, Kara gasped, sitting up abruptly and looking at you. You cried out, your body buckling and if it wasn’t Kara who caught you, you would have hit the street. She was crying, her blue eyes twinkling as panicked tears left tracks down her cheeks.

“Why did you do that?!” she demanded.

You couldn’t answer. Every heartbeat was like broken glass in your veins, and you groaned as they throbbed under your skin. Kara sniffled, her expression turning from panic to determination as she lay you down, and she got up to face the Children of Liberty. She would end this, and she will do it for you. The gust of wind you felt signified her powered disappearance into the fight, and you’re left staring at the night sky, fighting for every breath you took.

They were beautiful, like tiny little Christmas lights in the sky, and as everything went numb you smiled as you gasped once more, relishing in the fact that you did get a chance to enjoy the twilight heavens above you.

*** You woke up slowly to still lying on your back. Was the fight over? Were you dead? Your senses were slow to come to you, and when you cracked open your eyes, a bright light blinded you. You groaned and squeezed your eyes closed again as tears escaped your eyes.

“Hold on,” a soft voice came. The lights dimmed and you opened your eyes again to see Kara sitting beside you.

You were in the DEO med bay, with an oxygen mask, IV, and a heart monitor all hooked up to you. You took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the dull throb in your chest that it illicit, and remembered how it was you got here. You watched, groggily, as Kara looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“What you did was incredibly scary,” she whispered. She reached over to hold your hand and you held it back. Her touch was infinitely soft and strong, and you let it ground you. With your other hand, you reached up and pulled down the oxygen mask.

“I know.”

“And you shouldn’t have done it.”

“But I did,” you replied. Kara nodded.

“Thank you.”

Kara was so selfless, and she wouldn’t understand why you did what you did. To her, she would die a thousand times over before she let anyone put themselves in danger for her. That was the true beauty of Kara, her nobleness and her sacrifice. At times it was admirable, and at other times it was annoying, but at the end of the day it all worked out. So, you accepted her gratitude knowing that if it happened all over again, you wouldn’t change a thing.

The comfortable silence that settled between you and Kara was interrupted by the rest of the superfriends coming into your room. With them they brought, smiles and laughter, flowers and food, and you watched them, silently thanking whatever was listening that they were in your life. Alex came to your side and sighed.

“Thank you,” she said. “For saving my sister. For saving all of us.”

She had a split lip and a dark, purple bruise marring the smooth complexion of her cheek, but otherwise she was fine and in one piece.

“You’re welcome.”

After that, there were no more words. Just joyful laughter and the sounds of everyone stuffing their faces. After all this time, you found something worth dying for, and it was your friends. It was all the people that surrounded you and loved you with everything that they had.  

[ab1tofsp1ce]

A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 5: Do You Trust Me?

Masterlist HERE

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 4.4K

Warnings: Violence, mild sexual harassment.

Description: If you want to get this ship fixed, you and the Mandalorian are going to have to make a deal that could put your safety in jeopardy - do you trust him?

The clouds had mostly cleared by the morning, and I found myself apologizing countless times for setting back our journey. Graciously, he reassured me that it was fine, but the pang of guilt ate away at my chest for the rest of the day. So, I decided that I would do the best damn repair job he had ever seen. I would work my ass off making sure his ship was perfect at as little extra cost to him as possible – this would be the only way I could make it right. Additionally, I tried my absolute best not to alert him towards how much pain I was in. It actually seemed to be working, as he seemed to have no cognizance of the pain I was in. I supposed for someone who deals with violence for a living, he had probably suffered a million injuries far worse than mine, and so I caulked up his indifference to this as opposed to my brilliant acting skills; I could barely hold back my moans and groans as we climbed up and over that mountain. Finally, the trees become sparser, and soon we left the forest behind us. We trekked through fields, most of which seemed to be untouched, but distantly I could see smoke rising in small puffs. We eventually came across a gravel road that seemed to separate the wild from the colonized; on the other side were well-kept fields of strange fruit trees and neatly plowed dirt. We stopped for a moment as we reached the road, the Mandalorian looking down at the small navigation device in the forearm of his suit while I took a moment to catch my breath. I’d definitely seen better days. It was fortunate I hadn’t had too much of a chance to look at my appearance, because I’m sure I wouldn’t have liked what I saw. Much of my clothing, particularly around my injured leg, was ripped or stained, and I was almost certain I still had grease on my face from my hasty repair work a couple of days ago. The small stream that banked the side of the road and the tended fields beckoned to me, and so while the Mandalorian busied himself, I went over and kneeled down at its edge to scoop up some water and splash my face down. It was freezing and fresh, reminding me again of the beauty of this planet. I took a moment to feel the mild sun on my back and the cool water drip down my chin, before standing up and turning back to the Mandalorian. “Before we go,” he said, when I reached him, “I want you to carry this.” Out of his utility belt he pulled a rather sharp dagger. It was nothing flashy, except for the way it shone in the afternoon sun, but it pricked something in my heart. “I – I wouldn’t know how to use it,” I admitted timidly. “Are you sure?” He held it out to me in the flat of his palm. “It would bring me some comfort,” he admitted, and so I took it. “Here,” he said, reaching down to my belt. My heart skipped a beat as he attached a sheath for me to keep it in. “Hide it. It will be the most useful if no one knows you have it.” I nodded, carefully sliding the dagger in.

We walked in relative silence, as we had for most of the day. But, unlike it was when we first met, it was a far more comfortable silence. A mutual understanding, of sorts, that we both had things we wished to mull over in our thoughts. I could only guess what he was thinking – he was still a mystery to me. But I thought about my plans on Kistern; where I would go, what I would… in truth, there wasn’t much use. I tried, desperately, over the whole course of the day to consider my plans. But I knew so little about the planet I would soon call home it was futile to try and pretend I did. I hated the uncertainty of my life at the moment (and of the past year), but I distracted myself by admiring the view around me and focusing on what I could manage in the near future; fixing this ship and getting off this planet in one piece. The sun was getting low in the afternoon sky by the time the once empty land began to become sparsely populated. But none of this planet’s loveliness could’ve prepared me for meeting its inhabitants. They were very similar to those back home on Yak’ish Temeen, in that they were a motley population of various races and species, but all equally unsettling. Roadside stalls and derelict houses intermittently spotted the side of the road, and we soon gained some unintentional company as more roads and paths began to diverge onto ours. By comparison to Yak’ish Temeen this was, on reflection, a far more diverse crowd – strange, large furry creatures towered over us, shepherding small and equally hairy creatures transporting goods on their backs, a group of Gungans manned a small cart of strange smelling purple fruit and humans at all wore equally unsettling expressions. They stared at us as we walked, glowering from a distance and occasionally whispering to each other. The Mandalorian must have noticed this, as he slowed down very suddenly to close the distance between us. “Walk near me,” he said quietly, not turning his head. “And don’t make eye contact. We’re not looking for trouble.” I slid my eyes down to the ground, trying to ignore the sensation of being watched. I felt my heart race in my chest. Eventually, we seemed to enter the settlement, marked by a higher density of houses and people. It was mostly one long street, flanked by various stalls selling strangely roasted animals, buckets of grains and other odd goods. Despite the fact I could hear children laughing in the distance, and that the general chatter of the place seemed civil, I followed the Mandalorian’s advice and stuck close by him. Although this was a new place to both of us, he walked with a confidence and direction that made him look like a seasoned local. By comparison, I was almost certain I looked frail and timid, shuffling along and intently staring at the ground. In times like this I was once again grateful for my peripheral vision. The Mandalorian veered off our straight course over to a stall on the right side of the road, where a man was talking to an Artiodac, both sitting on chairs under the cover of a low-hanging tarp. Under it and behind them I noticed a long table covered in various mechanical parts – all of which, I must admit, didn’t seem to be in the best condition. The Mandalorian conversed with the duo, who exchanged glances between each other, the Mandalorian and me. I shuffled uncomfortably under the weight of their stares, so I busied myself by trailing my eyes over the parts in the stall, scanning for anything I might be able to use. From this distance I could make out few bits that could be relevant – whether or not they were in usable condition was another question entirely. My heart stopped beating for a second, jumping out of my chest in shock as I felt a hand grab my arm gently. But it was just the Mandalorian, who was now facing in the opposite direction of me and the vendors as if to better prevent them from hearing what he was saying to me. “We’ll have to get the parts from here,” he said in a low, hushed tone. The baritone depth of his voice sent chills down my back. “Fill your bag with them. But don’t take long – I don’t trust these guys. Or anyone here.” I threw a glance at them; the man was murmuring something to his Artiodac colleague, both staring at us with dirty looks. I nodded in silent agreement with the Mandalorian, my arm still tingling as his grasp lingered on it, firm but tender. He let me get to work, scavenging through the piles of spare parts. As I did, he alternated between examining the pieces I presented to him and watching both the vendors and the general public. I tried my best not to let this creeping feeling disturb me, but it was hard to focus when I was acutely aware of the attraction we were drawing. I filled up my rucksack with the pieces we needed – although some of them were far rattier than I would’ve preferred, I figured it was better to clean and adjust them back at the safety of the ship than make any sort of complaint about it here. After about 20 minutes, I felt that I had truly ransacked the selection for all it was worth. What I had managed to collect wasn’t ideal, but I could definitely make it work, at least enough that we could get off this planet and to Kistern safely. Once I had informed the Mandalorian of this, he escorted me over to the two vendors. The human male gave me a look up and down, making me shuffle slightly – there was something almost hungry in his expression. He looked only a few years older than me and certainly didn’t look to be the muscle of the duo, but between his rugged facial hair and beady blue eyes, he felt threatening enough. Perhaps the Mandalorian saw this too, because he stepped forward rather pointedly, almost sizing up the man as he stood up. “Hand over the goods, lovely,” he said with a slick tongue. “Let’s see what you’ve picked out.” Turns out I didn’t need to hand over anything, as the Artiodac snatched the bag out of my hand with a low growl. “Watch it,” breathed the Mandalorian threateningly at him. The Artiodac took no notice, rummaging through my rucksack and conversing with the man in a foreign language as he occasionally gestured to certain parts. They seemed to be negotiating with each other, with the man occasionally spatting something at the Artiodac, who grumbled something back rather animatedly in return. Eventually, they seemed to come to an agreement, as they both turned back to me in unison. “You’ve got a good load here,” said the man, shifting his eyes slowly from me to the Mandalorian. “We’ve agreed it’ll set you back four thousand credits.” He exchanged a smirk with his colleague. “You’re overcharging,” said the Mandalorian in a gruff tone, which I could read as ‘I don’t have four thousand credits.’ “I can give you three thousand, no more.” The man raised an eyebrow, clearly bemused, and turned to the Artiodac to swap a few remarks in another language before turning back to him. “My friend and I agree four thousand is more than fair for a purchase of this size. However,” his gaze slid back over to me. “We’d be willing to compromise if you have something to offer that can… sweeten the deal.” The Mandalorian stiffened, seemingly understanding the implication of this statement. “Like what?” “My friend here,” said the man, shifting his weight to face me slightly, “is curious about what a Grat’anarian is doing in these parts. You see, he knows Yak’ish Temeen well, been there on a few business trips haven’t you, Uulog?” Uulog made a slurping sound as a reply. I shivered. “What’s your point?” The Mandalorian almost growled these words. “Well, if I’m correct, this one has a great bounty on her head… what with her refugee status, she has free entry onto all sorts of planets… planets me and my friend here, as well as many others, would love to gain access to. So, I’ll tell you what, you –” “I’m not bartering with her life,” said the Mandalorian, stepping even closer and slipping a hand silently onto his blaster. Uulog the Artiodac seemed to notice, as he reached for his blaster in the exact same manner, snarling. The man feigned a sympathetic smile, although the corners of his mouth remained sinisterly twisted. “Of course, of course! Such a pretty thing, I can understand how you wouldn’t want to part with her…” He looked at me and licked his lips. “However, I’m really not sure what else you have to offer that we’ll be interested in. Well, apart from…” he gestured with the silent tilt of his head to the Mandalorian himself. For a moment I was confused as to what he meant, but clearly the Mandalorian wasn’t, and his next words cleared it up. “My armor is not for sale.” “Hmm… what a shame. Well, then, neither are these parts.” The man studied the Mandalorian as if he knew this wouldn’t be the end of it; he was waiting for a better offer. The Mandalorian seemed stuck for a moment, and I could almost hear the cogs and wheels turning in his head. “Give us a moment,” he said to the man, who dismissed us in gratuitously generous gesture. Once again, the Mandalorian slipped his hand around my arm and escorted me to the side, shooting one last look at the vendors before turning to me. I could feel his gaze under the helmet and could sense his uncertainty. He had a plan, and I wasn’t going to like it. “Do you trust me?” I was taken aback dramatically by this question. My eyes, which had been trained in apprehension on the two conversing men, swiveled back to the Mandalorian in mild shock. His voice was almost a whisper, but I could once again hear what he was really saying – almost everything he said had another meaning, as I’d come to learn. I suppose a man of few words had to make the most of them. So, when he said, “do you trust me,” all I heard was “are you ready?” And despite my fear, despite the sinking feeling in my stomach, despite the hairs rising on the back of my neck and every instinct in my body telling me to run, I knew my answer to both questions. “Yes.” “Then play along,” he said quietly. We spared a moment, a split second to look at each other. I felt him squeeze my arm lightly, a small gesture that did a surprising amount to quell the rapid beating of my heart. Then, he turned back and walked over to the vendors. “Well, have we come to an agreement?” The man clapped his hands together enthusiastically, switching his gaze between the two of us. “You can take her,” said the Mandalorian. I’ll admit, I didn’t really have to feign shock at this statement. I knew, with the context of what he had just told me, that he wasn’t being serious, but his tone when he said it – so unbothered and emotionless – it fooled me for the few seconds it took to regain my senses. “What?!” I said, and he grabbed my arm with a force I was yet to feel from him, yanking me as if I was a bounty of his. “Ahh… an interesting development… I’m curious, what made you decide this?” The man’s voice was laced with civil suspicion; he seemed to find it hard to believe the Mandalorian would give me up so quickly. “Well, as you said,” said the Mandalorian, “she’s a very valuable bounty. But I need to get off this planet, so you can have her if that’s your price.” His grip tightened around my arm, and I took this as a silent signal; ‘you’ll have to sell this narrative’. “You bastard!” I yelled, and rather convincingly too. “You – you promised you’d help me! Over there you said – I’ll kill you!” I thrashed against his grip, but before I knew it, he was behind me, one hand tying mine together quickly with handcuffs and the other covering my mouth with his gloved hand. I knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but I couldn’t help my heart flutter at the feeling of my back pressed against the cold beskar breastplate behind me. The man’s smirk turned into a full grin, clearly entertained by our performances. “I have to say, you have not disappointed your reputation, Mandalorian. Cold both inside and out…” “There’s one condition,” said the Mandalorian, his hand still over my mouth. “I need her to repair my ship. You come with me, she repairs it, and then I’ll be on my way.” Once again, the two vendors exchanged brief and heated words in their language, before the man turned back to us. “You have yourself a deal. And, since we reached it so… amicably, I’m prepared to lower the credit portion of your price to just two thousand. As a symbol of… goodwill.” He smiled, that same twist at the corners of his mouth. I felt the Mandalorian nod in agreement behind me, and the Artiodac handed him back the rucksack, which he took with his now spare hand. “Perfect! Now, where is this ship of yours?” The Mandalorian slid his hand slowly off my mouth, faking a threatening glower at me before gesturing at the tall mountain we had recently climbed, which now loomed distantly behind the two men. Both of them turned around in unison, and the man made a sound of familiar acknowledgment. “Ahh, yes! The mountain of Pelesus! An important monument in Utaran history. I assume you hiked your way here, yes? Well, we do not mind in the slightest to give you a ride there… it would be in the best interest of all parties involved, no?” “Lead the way,” said the Mandalorian in return.

We were led further down the road before deviating off it and into what I can only describe as a shanty town, which proved this outpost was far bigger than we had initially noticed. Handmade lean-tos and shacks were piled haphazardly around, only making small alleys as paths between them. It was a strange and drastic contrast – the one between the beautiful, lush and rugged landscape around us with the squalors we were being led through. I wondered how this place could be so poor if it were so abundant with natural resources, and I sensed that something more sinister was probably at play on this planet. The man switched between conversing with the Artiodac in a hushed, foreign tongue to occasionally making cheery remarks to the Mandalorian, as if he were a tour guide showing us around the glorious city of Theed. Eventually, we made it to what almost appeared to be a junkyard on the outskirts of the town, where we were led to a landspeeder. “Wait aboard,” said the man, whose name we had learned on our walk over to be Raggard. I thought I may have a moment alone to ask the Mandalorian something, but the Artiodac stayed with us as we climbed onto the large and rusty landspeeder, eyeing us pointedly the entire time. I watched discreetly as Raggard waved over a few people who had been sitting around nearby and spoke to them in the same foreign language he had spoken to his colleague in. By the way they looked over Raggard’s shoulder at me hungrily, I could only assume they believed they would be getting their fair share of my worth when we returned. Which we wouldn’t, of course. I looked over at the Mandalorian, who sat next to me. He seemed unreadable at this moment, still as a statue and paying attention to nothing in particular. I hoped he knew what he was doing, because I certainly didn’t. His words, ‘do you trust me’, echoed distantly in my ears.

Soon we were off, the four of us in the landspeeder. The journey was only a few hours, and by far shorter than our hike here, but felt agonizingly long as I sat with anticipation and fear in the pit of my stomach. Finally, we arrived at the bottom of the other side of the mountain, and I could almost see the ship as I looked up its slope. We hiked the rest of the way up, the Mandalorian guiding me with a gentle hold on my arm, as my hands were still cuffed. Eventually, we reached the ship, by which time it was almost sunset. “You’d best get working,” said Raggard, walking slowly around the ship to admire it. “It’s clear you’ve got a lot of work to do before it gets dark.” As I collected and sorted the parts, I noticed the Artiodac grumble something at Raggard, who hissed something back in what seemed to be a low, yet heated argument. I tried to ignore it, focusing on my repairs and working as quickly as possible; the sooner we could do this, the sooner we could leave. The Mandalorian helped with repairs but no matter where we went, either inside or out of the ship, one or both of the duo followed us. Because of this, I had not a moment alone with him to ask what his plan was, although I had a strong feeling it would involve violence. Finally, not long after dark, we completed the repairs. The Mandalorian escorted me out of the ship to meet outside with the two men. I began to get nervous. “Well,” said Raggard, approaching us as we were followed out by the Artiodac. “It has been a pleasure, really. But I suppose now is the time to part ways.” The Mandalorian said nothing but didn’t let go of his grip on my arm – if anything, he tightened it. “It is a shame,” said Raggard, poetically, “that you must part ways with such a precious bounty.” He walked up to me, too close for my liking, reading over my face with a gleam in his eyes. “But I’m sure you’ll take comfort in knowing she’ll be of great use to us.” With a dirty, spindly finger he traced a line down the side of my cheek. I shuddered and bit down hard on my tongue to hide my disgust. “However,” he said, “although she will prove a most valuable asset, I just can’t stop thinking about that beautiful beskar armor of yours, I mean, how did you get it?” The Mandalorian didn’t indulge him with a response, but Raggard took his silence as one. “I know, I know, secrets of the Mandalorians. It has been exciting, really, to do business with you. But,” he said, slowly, exchanging a glance with his partner, “it will be even more exciting to kill you.” In the course of the next three seconds, I barely had time to do anything but fall to the ground in shock. As Raggard said these last words, the Mandalorian drew his blaster and simultaneously threw me to the ground. He shot over Raggard’s shoulder, and it was only then, when I looked up, that I noticed the figures drawing in from the forest around us. The men from back at the junkyard began firing at the Mandalorian, and from my position cowering on the ground I watched as he, one by one, meticulously shot them down. He didn’t even seem to look at them, he just knew where they were. When the Artiodac pounced it him from behind, I screamed in shock, but the Mandalorian shook him off in forward-roll drop to the ground, shooting him with a blaster shot straight to the head. I didn’t see what happened in the next few seconds and only heard the Mandalorian grunting as he spared in hand-to-hand combat with a few more goonies who had seemed to close the distance towards him. I was yanked up off the ground, and felt a cold blaster dig into my lower back, freezing me in fear as another arm wrapped around my throat tightly. I could feel Raggard’s hot breath on my neck and smell the sweat on his arm. I scrambled desperately at it, trying to pull it away so I could breathe, but it was no use. “STOP!” Raggard’s voice was shrill in my ear. My vision unclouded at last, and I was able to see the Mandalorian, standing only a few feet away from us, bodies sprawled around him. He turned to us, still holding his blaster in one hand and what appeared to be a spear in the other. “Let’s not – let’s not let this get more out of hand than it already is,” said Raggard, panting violently. I could feel him shaking with adrenaline. “I wouldn’t want anything nasty to come of this pretty little thing, but if we get too ahead of ourselves, I may have no choice.” But as he spoke, something strange happened. I felt the world fall away, and the sound of Raggard’s voice, the clench is arm had around my throat, the blaster in my back… I lost all sense that they were there. I felt my arms release from Raggard’s, falling to my side. Even though he was wearing a helmet, I knew he was looking at me. I could feel it, like I always did, the warmth of his gaze that, for once, seemed to slow down my heart as opposed to speeding it up. Right now, I could only feel him. Him, and… At my side, I slipped my hand into the folds of my shirt. In one swift movement, I unsheathed the dagger and plunged it into the arm that was so tightly constricting my throat. Raggard let out a yelp of pain, letting me go as he stumbled back. “Onto the ship!” The Mandalorian yelled, and I wasted no time scrambling aboard. Outside, I heard blaster shots and scuffling, but I didn’t give myself time to reflect on it. I ascended the ladder into the cockpit and, without even sitting down, began to start up the ship. My hands were shaking violently, and I tried so hard to keep my focus on the buttons I was pressing and not my concerns for the Mandalorian. Before I initiated take off, I almost jumped back down into the hull and watched in astonishment as the Mandalorian strode up the ramp, sheathing his blaster and spear in the process. With no hesitation he went right past me and into the cockpit, and only seconds later I felt the whole ship shake underneath me as we rose up from the ground and away from it all.

[ill-go-with-that-then]

A NEW ERASERMIC AU I'LL NEVER WRITE!

Imagine Aizawa works at Buzzfeed, and gets the idea to write an article about how Twitch streaming is stupid and pointless (because he’s a video game snob.) He chooses Present Mic’s channel to watch at random, because he’s super popular, but Aizawa immediately goes from undercover reporter to absolute fan. No middle ground. Just “huh, okay i was wrong” and subscribes.

He tunes in to all the live streams, because Mic is very funny and also very good at video games, and it’s cool to watch him play. He has skills, his commentary is A+, and Aizawa develops a little crush. But it’s not a big deal!! Mic is a celeb, Aizawa knows they’ll never meet, it’s harmless.

Sometimes the chat for the stream gets assholes in it, as you’d expect. Mic can’t monitor the chat too much, but Aizawa has no problems telling jerks where to stick it. And once, after a particularly egregious incident where some moron said something crude about women in gaming and Aizawa ripped him a new asshole, Mic sends him a personal message thanking him and asking him if he wants to be a mod, which of course, he does. He doesn’t know how to reply - this is his big chance to talk to Mic!! So of course he just says “sure” - no further conversation.

Aizawa has, of course, zero personal details on his Twitch account. No info, no icon, his screen name is a random string of numbers, he’s a ghost. The Ron Swanson of video game enthusiasts.

So Aizawa is working at Buzzfeed, living his best life writing articles like “10 Video Game Themed Products You Can’t Live Without” because journalism is in shambles and he drinks to forget, and one day his editor is like “hey, we’re gonna do a feature on Twitch streamers. Everybody is gonna go sit and watch a stream in person and get the behind the scenes info. Here’s a list of people who agreed.” And PRESENT MIC IS ON THE LIST

One of his colleagues reaches for Mic’s info sheet, rolling his eyes and sighing. “I can’t believe these are considered celebrities. Have you ever heard of any of them?”

Aizawa practically slaps the paper out of his hand. “Present Mic is a consummate professional and his content is high-quality and entertaining. I wouldn’t expect you to understand it since it involves technology more current than a compact disc.”

The room goes silent. Nobody’s heard Aizawa say anything nice about... maybe anything? Ever? But his editor, Kayama, pounces immediately. “WELL if you like him so much, Aizawa, that can be your interview!!”

Aizawa panics. On the one hand, he wasn’t going to let anyone else take that assignment. But on the other hand, now he’s going to meet Mic IN PERSON. During a LIVE STREAM. Is he supposed to tell him he’s a fan? Is that tacky? Will his crush be obvious? What if Mic sucks in person?? This is a double edged sword.

He only gets more nervous on the day of the interview. He’s tempted to dress up a little, look his best. Mic is a good-looking guy after all, and he’s always well put together when he streams. And even though Aizawa knows, knows he really doesn’t have a chance, he still doesn’t want to embarrass himself.

BUT he also doesn’t want to look like he’s trying too hard. That’s not who he is, and dressing up would be admitting to himself that he DOES want something more than a simple interview, even if it’s as little as Mic’s good opinion or positive attention.

He debates too long. While he’s still thinking about it, the alarm on his phone goes off, alerting him that it’s time to leave. He’s still in his pink sweatpants and he hasn’t shaved, and he realizes, just at that moment, that he probably should have tried harder at least for the sake of professionalism. But it’s too late. He has to go.

Mic actually doesn’t live all that far away. Just a short train ride, less than 20 minutes, and Aizawa is standing in front of his nondescript apartment. It’s a little odd - Mic is a very popular streamer, theoretically with income to match, and his style seems flashy. Aizawa had expected something a little more over the top. But this place is simple. Storing that information away for later, he knocks.

“COMING!!” He hears from inside the apartment, followed by the thud of footsteps. Aizawa just has one moment to brace himself because this is it before the door opens and there he is. Present Mic himself, all smiles. “Come in, come in!! You’re from buzzfeed right? Wow, this is so exciting!!” Mic ushers him in the door, taking his jacket and hustling him into a tidy living room before Aizawa can even respond. And of course, when he finally gets himself together enough to say something, the first words out of his mouth are “You’re... tall.”

He wants to smack himself. Yes, Mic is taller than Aizawa had realized from the stream, even a little taller than Aizawa himself. But those are thinking words, not speaking words. Certainly not the first words you use to introduce yourself to your celebrity crush. But Aizawa, a champion moment-ruiner, has made his bed, and now he must cry in it.

But Mic just laughs. “Yeah,” he says, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “I get that a lot. Sorry?” 

“Don’t apologize,” Aizawa says immediately, then wonders if he is, in fact, under some sort of curse. “Shouta Aizawa,” he introduces himself. 

“Hizashi Yamada, also known as Present Mic!” Yamada’s smile is friendly, like Aizawa hasn’t made an absolute fool of himself so far, and Aizawa has to look away from it. He glances around the room, which is tidy and clean, but cluttered with various objects that seem to have no connection to each other. There are books in a variety of languages, musical instruments, shelves of CDs, and an assortment of other things that have nothing to do with video games. 

“Quite a collection you have,” Aizawa says, because it is, and because he’s curious. 

“Yeah! I have too many hobbies but what can you do? Come on, I’m sure you’d rather see my workspace.” It’s not true, Aizawa has seen the office where Yamada streams before, and he’d much rather stay here and poke around, build up his mental picture about who Yamada is outside his Present Mic persona. But he’s not here for that. This is business.

But the streaming room is also not what Aizawa expects. Some things are familiar - the area visible to the camera is the same, set up and ready for tonight’s stream, but the rest of the room, the part that isn’t on screen, is PACKED. There’s a wobbly desk in the corner, covered in neatly stacked papers and binders labeled by month and year. The wall over the desk is a massive whiteboard filled with notes and ideas for upcoming streams. And there, in the lower right corner of the whiteboard, right where it would be even with Hizashi’s eyes as he sits at his desk, is a familiar string of numbers - his own Twitch username. And next to it is a little note - don’t forget. Good dude.

Aizawa sees his username and just - freezes. It hadn’t occurred to him that Mic thought of him at all outside of that one occasion he DM’d him, let alone that he considered Aizawa important enough not to forget. And the idea that Mic thinks he’s a “good dude” makes his face BURN in pleased embarrassment. He wants to say something but what? Is it weird? It’s weird, it’s too weird, and before he can think of how to do it, Mic is talking again.

“Okay, this is where the magic happens!! Actually, it’s more like weeks of frustration and repetition followed by 3-4 hours of intensely stressful streaming, but hey! People seem to like it!!” Aizawa wants to say something here - Mic is being a little too self-deprecating for his taste, but he stops himself. He can’t defend Mic’s honor to Mic himself - can he? The moment passes while he debates.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be on camera or not?” Mic says, tentatively. 

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you,” says Aizawa. “I’m more the behind the scenes type.”

“Totally, no problem!” Mic says, gesturing to his desk. “You can sit there, if that’s okay? The only other seat is by me.” 

Aizawa looks at the chair, then back to the small couch where Mic will be streaming from. “I think I’ll have to be closer to get photos for the article, if that’s all right.”

“You’ll be on camera,” Mic bites his lip. “I mean, maybe i could re-angle it, but then the screen-“

“It’s fine,” Aizawa says. “Journalism is about hardship.”

Mic snorts, and Aizawa can’t keep a little smirk off his face, proud that he got a laugh.

The stream goes smoothly - Aizawa likes it even more like this, without the chat to distract him, and close enough to notice things he’s never seen before. Mic’s feet twitch when he’s focusing hard, and his socks have cats on them. It’s adorable. Aizawa takes no notes - he doesn’t really need to, he’s seen enough streams to write this article in his sleep, and anyway, it’s not like he’s going to forget a minute of this.

Afterwards, once they’ve signed off, Mic talks him through his post show routine, everything from calculating how much he made and comparing it to previous weeks in a spreadsheet to going over the chat. “Huh,” Mic’s eyebrows crease as he looks at the chat logs. “Things got a little out of hand tonight.”

“Oh?” Aizawa says, shuffling uncomfortably. He suspects he knows why that is. 

“Yeah, one of my regular mods wasn’t on tonight. I hope he’s all right - it’s not like him to miss.”

“You have a lot of viewers,” Aizawa says, tentative now. “Do you know them all so well?”

Mic shrugs, embarrassed. “No, i wish I did! But this guy’s special, he’s really funny and he keeps all the trolls in line. I’d DM him to see if he’s okay but that’s weird, right? That’s weird. And anyway I tried to talk to him once before but he shot me down.”

“I didn’t-“ Aizawa says before he can stop himself. The curse is real. Mic stares at him, open mouthed, confused at first but then his eyes widen as he realizes what must have happened. Before he can say anything, Aizawa cuts him off. “Sorry. That i couldn’t mod tonight.” He mumbles, hand buried in his hair. He can’t meet Mic’s eyes anymore. “I’ll be back next week.”

Mic opens his mouth to speak, but Aizawa interrupts again, before he can. “And I didn’t - I didn’t shoot you down. I just didn’t think you’d want to talk to me. Why would you?”

Mic blinks, and Aizawa isn’t sure what he’s going to say. Will he be mad? Aizawa kind of lied to him. Is he disappointed? Does Aizawa not look like he expected? Has he been too silent? Too unfriendly? Does Mic not want to get to know him anymore? But when Mic finally speaks, what comes out is

“I can’t believe you made me memorize that stupid fucking username, we’re picking you a new one right now.”

[koeyohte]

It’s bright in the hallway.  Sunlight streams in from the expansive glass doors and windows just a few steps away in the atrium.  The campus has received many remodels in the past few years and I’m fortunate to be taking two of my semester’s classes in this airy building.

    I’ve never been good with school.  Other students could casually discuss what they’d learned or cram their study session in the night before an exam and do just fine.  I’ve always needed extra help - after hours work from the teachers, tutors, extravagant memory solutions.  I’d finished high school last year and now was waiting, alone, outside a closed wood door where my english literature class would take place; not for a while though, I think, glancing down at my phone.  I’m always early to class.  For now, I’m sitting on the floor, plucking at stray fibers of material from my jean shorts and wondering if wearing leggings would have been a better idea.  The tile is a cold shock to my skin whenever I touch it.

    I’ve been taking this class for three weeks now - two days in each of those weeks on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I look hopefully down the hallway, toward the atrium.  There’s usually a quiet young man who arrives early and waits across from me.  He keeps to himself and is always reading something.  I think he’s nice to look at, though I would never admit it out loud.  He’s a bit unusual looking - angular features compliment a frame that’s thin and wiry, but with broad shoulders that make him appear larger than he likely really is.  His hair falls just past his shoulders, which is unusual around here.  I’ve never seen a man around my age with long hair.  When I’m sitting on the floor, he seems rather tall, but when I’m standing, he’s actually about the same height as me.  I don’t know anything about him but it’s nice to share the otherwise lonely wait in the hallway with him.  I feel like there’s something calm and even comforting about him, though I’m not really sure why.

Twice, I’ve switched up what side of the hall I stand on, just to see what he’ll do.  He stood farther away during the first week but after I accidentally dropped my notes and he picked them up for me in the second week, he’s been standing a little closer, still always across from me.  I remember noticing a narrow but long scar across his wrist when he handed me my notepad.  His hands were rather rough when they brushed mine.  He hardly met my eyes and was quick to move away again, like he was uncomfortable with being near me.  The dark circles under his eyes were much more apparent up close.

I look up when I hear the doors of the atrium open and my heart skips a beat.

    He’s buried in his phone just like he has been every day before.  He makes his way down the hall, barely looking up even once, and comes to lean against the wall opposite me like he always does.  He looks past his phone to nod at me, which I wasn’t expecting.  I try to smile at him but it comes out like more of a grimace.  He doesn’t seem offended and brushes his long hair from his face while he continues to read.  His hair is a strange, dark blond color and it frames his sharp features in a way that makes it difficult for me to look away. He doesn’t seem to attract much attention from anyone else but I realize as I stare at him that I find him oddly handsome.

    I guess that explains why I’ve randomly thought about him more than a few times this past week.  That’s new for me.

    Confused by my revelation, I look away before he can notice.  I don’t even know his name.  There’s a subtle smoky scent that I now recognize is coming from his bag.  It’s sweet and herbal rather than stale and dusty.  His clothes are the same as always - a button down, earth-toned shirt with dark grey slacks.  He looks like he should be working in an office.

    He doesn’t say much and he won’t speak unless spoken to. I’m not sure if that’s just how he is, or if it’s a manners thing, or if he actually despises small talk.  He seems too buried in deep thought for it, from my observations.  He’s always reading something, whether a book in his hand or something on his phone.  I can tell they’re not text messages by the way he brings the phone up and stares at it while occasionally scrolling for the entire 20 minutes we usually stand in the hallway.

    It’s surprising and a bit bewildering to admit that I like looking at him, but it’s true.  That being said, I find just about everyone nice to look at in some way.  It’s confusing sometimes.  I’ve never felt anything more for anyone, though, despite being pursued more than once.  It just hasn’t happened yet I guess.  I’m in no rush, so it’s alright with me.  Unintentional flings don’t seem enjoyable and I can’t imagine being so intimate and open with someone who doesn’t plan to be there in the future.  Unlike Sun, I think to myself - she’s been with lots of people, and while some of them still spend time with her just as friends, others have left a bad taste in my mouth.  She’s easily forgiven them.  Or forgotten.  Maybe both.

    Someone else walks between us and when I glance up, I’m surprised when the man across the hall looks quickly away from me.  I watch him for a moment, wondering how long he was staring.  Maybe he wasn’t.  Instead of looking back at me, he scratches at his chin and tucks his phone away, looking at something over my head.  I find myself glancing upwards, assuming there’s a flyer I must have missed, but there’s nothing there.  When I look back at him, he’s watching me again, but he startles.

    “Sorry,” he mutters and looks away.  He sticks his hands into his pockets and avoids my gaze.  I’m not sure what to say.  That it’s okay?  That sounds weird, possibly even creepy.  Should I ask him if something’s amiss?  That might be weirder.

    He’s looking at me again and this time, he doesn’t shy away from my own gaze.  His light eyes trail down to my knee, where I realize he’s eyeing a small cut from where I had banged it on one of Sun’s short coffee tables last week.  He looks like he wants to speak but he’s holding himself back.

    “Ran into a table,” I say awkwardly, gesturing at the wound.  It’s just a small red line now.  The man looks back to my eyes and nods.

    “Looks recent,” he says after a moment.  His voice is mellow and lighter than I expected it to be.  He sits in the first row, close to me in our class, yet I’ve rarely heard him speak; certainly not more than a simple yes or no.  “Not from this week, though.”

    I tilt my head at him, surprised he can tell.  “How’d you know?”

    Something passes across his face.  He looks almost disappointed - or angry?  “I’ve seen a lot of… cuts,” he mutters.  He shakes his head but falls silent again.  His expression is mellow as he stares at the tiles between us.  Relaxed, he’s very nice to look at.

    I feel myself start when he blinks up at me again.  I’m wracking my mind for something to say.  There’s a palpable tension in the air - either that, or I’m just incredibly nervous, for some reason.

    “What happened to your wrist?” I blurt, glancing at the pale pink line that reaches over his skin.  He pushes his hand further into his pocket and I fear I’ve crossed some invisible boundary with him.

    “Nothing,” he responds quietly, voice hardly more than a whisper.  His posture is stiff now and he’s avoiding my gaze, so I don’t press him.

    “What do you do?” I ask, hoping a change in subject will make him feel more at ease.

    “Metal shop,” he mutters simply.  He’s still not looking at me.  Deciding he’s done with the conversation, I just nod and go back to my phone.  Sun’s sent me a picture of some plants she wants to buy for her patio.

    “What about you?” he asks after a moment.  I’m glad that he’s not giving up so soon.  He still looks upset, or frustrated, but his posture’s relaxed a bit.

    “Just… this right now.  I’ve been around.”  I pause, realizing how that sounds.  “I mean - I’ve had a few odd jobs.  Nothing serious.  Coffee shops, library, things like that.”

    At mention of the library, the man perks up.  “What did you do there?”

    “Just inventory, organizing shelves, scheduling shipments from one branch to another.”  I watch his features change, almost dramatically, from brooding and gloomy to fascination.

    “I assume that means you like to read?” he asks, standing up straighter.  He takes his hands from his pockets and folds them.  He crosses one leg over the other and suddenly appears much more comfortable than he ever has in the hallway.  The newfound engagement on his face makes him much nicer to look at.

    “I do,” I begin, but before he can ask me what most everyone does, I hurry on, “but mostly nonfiction.  I had to focus on school for so long, I hardly had time to read for fun reading.  I’m just now getting into it again.”

    To my surprise, he nods as if he understands.  Most people find what I’ve said to be ridiculous, or a poor excuse to avoid reading as a hobby.

    “I’m like that sometimes, too,” he says.  “I’m always reading something, though reading purely for enjoyment is something I only very rarely get to do.  I’m….”  He tilts his head to the side and sighs as though he’s about to tell me something ludicrous.  “I’m in the midst of a collection of European cavalry history, right now.”

    I nod, unsure of what to say.  It doesn’t sound particularly appealing to me, but I can understand the draw for someone who knows more already than I do.  I try to smile in place of empty words, and the man drops his gaze to the floor again.

    I notice a tear in the belt loop of my shorts and start to pull at it.  They’re one of my favorites, as they actually fit.  I have exceptionally wide hips, so everything is either too tight in the thighs or too loose everywhere else.  I grumble when the string gets caught on my ring.  I wear a thin silver band around my ring finger on my left hand - I grew tired of people trying to hit me up.  Free from the devious string, I glance down the hall, but first I steal a glance at my classmate.

    I nearly startle when I notice his eyes are resting on me again.  It looks like he meant to just glance at me but upon noticing my staring, now he is too, in an effort to hide his intention.  Whatever it was.

    My heart is pounding in my ears.  I can feel my pulse in my chest.

    “Jeans,” I say weakly, shrugging at the string in my hand.  The young man nods once.  I see him swallow and lower his phone from his face.

    “I had a sister who wore a lot of them,” he says slowly, as though he’s considering each word before he speaks.

    I notice how he chose his words - “had” a sister.  I offer him a polite smile.

    “I’ve never had a sister.”

    “Brothers?” the man asks.  I shake my head.  He shrugs.  “More resources for yourself.”

    I open my mouth to respond, then realize that nothing natural comes to mind.  What an odd thing to say.

    “I suppose,” I finally say.  He had started to look at his phone again but when I speak, he pauses.

    “You suppose?”

    I look away.  There’s an edge to his tone that wasn’t there previously.  He seems frustrated with my comment.  His brows lower and the creases along his mouth deepen.  Whatever attraction I did feel toward him fades slightly.  The man straightens himself up and tucks his phone into his pocket.

    “You don’t get anything to yourself with six siblings,” he elaborates.  A subtle, tired smile flashes across his face at my expression of surprise.  “That’s all I meant.”

    Realizing that he noticed my disenchantment with his tone, I begin to feel guilty.

    “It’s alright,” I manage, hoping he’ll forgive my reaction.  I’ve always been sensitive to people’s behavior.  I assume it has something to do with a handful of particular years during my childhood.  My mother went through something that I was too young to understand, but I didn’t miss the things she did and said to me before she found herself again.  I’m quick to assume the worst from people rather often.  It’s something Sun likes to remind me about, if she isn’t criticizing my willingness to help people.

“Seven of you?” I ask, realizing the man is still watching me.

    He nods.  “We’re fosters… so, none of us are really related.  Different ages, come from different places….”  He looks suddenly uncomfortable and trails off, looking away.  He sticks his hands back into his pockets, shoulders slumping.  He looks like he wishes he hadn’t told me.

    “That must be difficult.  I can’t imagine that.”

    “Hmm.”  The young man looks back to me.  “It can be.”

    A few other classmates are starting to arrive.  I’m disappointed that we don’t get the hall to ourselves anymore.  The man pulls his phone back out and resumes his reading like I’m not there at all.  I get the distinct impression that his foster family is something he doesn’t speak about much and probably didn’t mean to offer to me.

    The rest of the wait goes by as usual.  Relative silence in the hall is replaced by shuffling shoes, the rustling of paper, the clamoring of heavy books against tile, and chatter.

The door to the classroom opens, the last of the previous class files out, and the professor beckons us inside.  I take my place in the front row, all the way over to the right, where I’ve made a corner against the far wall.  The man follows and sits two seats away like he always does.  The professor does all the talking, until discussion time.  My quiet companion and I aren’t exactly fans of speaking to the class.  The professor hasn’t called on us yet and she doesn’t this week, either.

    Once dismissed, I gather my things and wait patiently for the young man to take his so I can leave.  He’s shuffling papers in his bag and muttering to himself.  He looks upset, so I pretend to read a message, but am glad to see one from Sun to respond to anyway.  She’s got some exciting news about a new girlfriend, it seems.  I begin to type a reply but the man groans and moves aside, pinning himself uncomfortably against the table.

    “Sorry, I’m sorry.  Go ahead.”  He waits for me to pass him and I notice how he recoils further as I do, as if being near another person disgusts him.  His knuckles are white against the table and he’s turned his head away from me like he’s afraid I’ll look too closely.  I try not to think too much about it, hoping it’s not personal to me.  I pause just after him when I notice the way he paws frantically through his things.

    “You okay?” I ask, lowering my phone.  He looks up.

    “Yes.  I just… lost something.”

    “Can I help?”  I start to move closer but he quickly straightens up, picks up the bag and sighs heavily.

    “No.  Thank you.”  Clearly frustrated, he strides past me toward the classroom door.  I’m surprised when he holds it open and looks expectantly at me.  I thank him and sweep out into the hall.

    “You sure you’re okay?” I ask again when he trudges past me.  He frowns.

    “I’m fine.”

    “Okay.”  He doesn’t seem fine.  He seems to be silently fuming.  His brows are low and the creases in his face are deep.  I remind myself that I don’t know him and it’s best to leave him be.  Despite the way my feelings get carried away so easily, I have to remind myself that they shouldn’t choose my decisions for me.  It’s very difficult, especially when I see someone upset or in need.  Sun likes to tease me about it, telling me I’ll spread myself thin trying to provide more attention to everyone I’ll ever meet than I ever do for myself.

Some days, I think she’s right.

I leave my disgruntled classmate behind and go to stand outside, waiting for my mother to pull the car up.  We share the vehicle, so she dropped me off today.  She had work for a few hours while I was on campus and doesn’t always get off on time.  I could be waiting here awhile.

    I look up when someone comes to stand next to me.  It’s my classmate, and he’s fidgeting like he’s distressed or like something is wrong.  His hands are flexing like he’s in pain and he’s gritting his jaw.  I don’t ask him this time if he’s okay.  He’s staring straight ahead as if I’m not there.

    “You getting picked up?” he asks suddenly.  I nod and ask him the same.  He barely hides a scoff.  “Ah - no.  They would never… no.  I just....”  He frowns and looks down.  “Nevermind.”

    “Wait.”  I follow him as he steps back toward the building.  He looks strangely on edge, like a frightened, injured animal.  I feel myself hiding an eye roll at the way he stares at me like I’ve caused him further upset.  “Don’t worry, I won’t ask if you’re alright - but... do you need anything?”

    He looks offended until he realizes why.  “I’m sorry,” he begins, turning around to face me again.  His voice is thin and suddenly soft.  There’s something gentle in the way he speaks to me now.  “I didn’t mean to be rude.  It’s not… socializing isn’t my strong suit.”  He looks sheepishly away again, hand anxiously rubbing at the strap of his backpack.  I can see how worn it is there.  “You don’t… have a lighter, do you?”

    That’s what the herbal smell was.

    “Sorry, no.”  I don’t have anything against smoking, but I’ve never done it myself.  Sun does, sometimes.  I’ve sat in her room in the cloudy, sweet haze while her company languished around, discussing things they weren’t ever quite relaxed enough to allow themselves the luxury of doing before.  It’s a great time it seems, but I won’t try it with so many strangers around.  I trust Sun with my life, but she has a lot of strangers in her room sometimes.  Some come and go swiftly and others stay for weeks.

    The man casts me a small smile.  I hate how charming he looks like that.

    “Darn.  Hope you won’t think any less of me for it, anyways.”

    “What makes you so sure I’m thinking about you at all?”

    I’ve spoken before thinking.  I feel my face flush bright red.  He blinks at me for a moment, then looks away.  Neither of us say anything for several breaths.  The tension is stifling.

    I close my eyes and shake my head at myself.

    “That - that was… I didn’t mean it like that.”

    The man laughs quietly and I see him reach up to scratch distractedly at the back of his neck, ruffling his hair.  He looks shabby but in a confusingly enticing way.

    “‘S alright,” he mumbles.  I allow myself to look at him for a moment while he’s busy looking anywhere else but at me.  His face is lightly shadowed and his sharp features cast sunlight across his forehead and the bridge of his hooked nose.  His eyes are light, unlike my own.  As I look, I notice pretty, almost yellow centers.  I’ve heard of heterochromia but I can’t tell from here if that’s what’s there for sure.

    He looks at me again and I notice out of my peripheral vision that my mother’s little blue car is turning into the driveway.

    “My mom’s here,” I announce, unsure of how else to proceed.  The tension is still there but it’s not as taut.  The man looks up and backs away from me as though he shouldn’t be seen so close.  He’s chewing his lip but as the car pulls up to a stop, he just looks away from me again.

    “See you,” he says, and turns back into the building before I can even respond.  I open the passenger door and climb in, not allowing myself to stall, and glad when my mother doesn’t ask any questions.

[maybe-your-left]

Cowboy Blues: Cowgirls in Kuna

A few months have gone by since you and Clyde were in the mountains and your relationship takes a turn. 

TW/CW: VIOLENCE THERE IS VIOLENCE AND BLOOD IN THIS CHAPTER. I am SO SORRY BUT IT HAD TO HAPPEN. If you are uncomfortable reading about physical assault PLEASE skip this chapter.

ALSO HERE IS MY MASTERLIST incase you miss any chapters or you want to see what else I am writing! Which is usually hot garbage! :) 

“Sunshine could y’ bring me some dinner?” Clyde grumbled through the phone, “I forgot t’ pack some before I left an the bar is packed tonight.” 

“Of course baby,” you started rummaging through the fridge, “I’ll be there in 20 okay?” 

“Okay. Thank y’.” 

“You’re welcome, bye.” 

It was rare for Clyde to forget food. Usually, he would steal whatever leftovers you had in your fridge, or on the rare nights you could eat together you would bring him food to the bar. After your cabin trip, you and Clyde had been ‘steady’ for about  2 months. Spending time at each other’s houses, spreading personal items in each other's space. Both of you shared house keys, and sometimes if Clyde was really lonely after work he would come to your house and sleep in until it was time for you to head to work. It was a wonderful routine, you felt so safe and secure in the rhythm. Clyde was sweet, attentive, and so loving towards you. 

Not a day went by without Clyde reminding you how beautiful you were, how much he appreciated you, or how much you meant to him. Nothing else mattered to him except your happiness and that was true both ways. You enjoyed his company, and every day he taught you something new. Everything was going so well you weren’t sure what to expect next! 

You climbed into the car and started towards the bar. Not really thinking about putting on a nice outfit, you wouldn’t stay too long since you worked in the morning. You had thrown together some leftover Lasagna, one of Clyde’s favorites, and some other odds and ends in case he got hungry again during his shift. 

Parking at the bar you saw how packed it was, most of the cars were out of state plates. It wasn’t rare, Duck tape was off the highway so lots of people came through before checking into a motel. Walking up the steps you noticed a truck that you thought looked familiar, an old Chevy. Each piece looked like it was from a different truck, and it was covered in mud. However, the plates were from another state so you paid it no mind. 

Earl greeted you at the door, “Howdy miss (Y/N), Clyde’s pretty busy tonight. Outta towners are here.” 

“Well, He asked me to bring him dinner so he better make some room for me!” 

He smiled and let you in, dozens of people inside. You could barely hear the jukebox playing over the loud crowds around the pool tables. You glanced around and saw groups of men circling around the few women in the bar. Most were regulars that wouldn’t take any shit from men who weren’t respectful, but you were glad that Clyde had help in case things got out of hand. 

Behind the bar you saw Clyde, your big bear of a man was moving so fast filling drink orders. Next to him was Joe Bang, Mellie’s husband, barking at customers to stay off the pool felts and also handing out beers. You wondered where Mellie was, usually, she helped with the bar. Ever since Jimmy moved to be closer to his daughter, she and Joe had helped out with Duck Tape. 

Walking behind the bar you placed his food in the mini-fridge, smiling at Joe when he waved at you. 

“Hi baby, do you want me to help out for a little?” you placed your hand on Clyde’s back. Instantly you felt how stressed out he was, this many people around him made him nervous. Especially since most were from out of town and they liked to ask questions about his arm. 

“Here y’ go,” he nodded to a customer, “Hi darlin’ sorry, it’s so busy.” 

He leaned forward giving you a quick kiss before rushing out from behind the bar, barking at some young kid that thought it was a good idea to throw a pool cue. You stood there watching Clyde escort the gentlemen and his friends out of the bar, saying that they needed to respect the property and whatnot. Sighing you turned back around and started taking simple orders, not being a bartender you just knew how to get people beers and that stuff. Besides, it looked like a beer-drinking crowd. 

“Well well well, what do we have here?” a voice called over the bar. 

You instantly froze, you knew that voice. It had been a while, but the voice was familiar. 

“You left me to become a barmaid? Pathetic,” they called again, “Even for you.” 

Whipping around you stared at the cold dead eyes of your ex, Josh. Sitting at the bar, about 4 empty beers in front of him as he nursed his 5th. 

“Excuse me?” you croaked out. You had to do a double-take, there was no way that Josh was here, how could he know where you were? You had changed your phone number, even gotten a new car, and you were sure you didn’t allow your vet clinic to post your picture on their website in case he went snooping. 

You turned slightly towards Clyde, unsure if you should call out to him or not. Although the two of you had been together for a couple months, you hadn’t told him everything about your past. Especially leaving out the parts where your ex used to beat you senseless, or how you ran so far your feet bled just so you could get away from him. 

Josh must’ve seen you look at him and he started laughing, “Oh and now you’re dating a cripple? What kinda man is that?” He chugged his beer, “Fuckin’ disrespectful is what you are. Leaving me and now, here is where I find you?” 

You couldn’t speak, afraid of screaming in front of everyone. You tried to get closer to Joe but he was too busy dealing with other customers to even pay you any attention and unfortunately you could hear Clyde by the front laughing with Earl about something. 

“What? You not gonna talk?” 

Looking around the room you tried to see anything you could defend yourself with. You didn’t think Josh was stupid enough to do anything in front of everyone but you couldn’t be too sure. Spying Clyde’s office in the distance you started scooting away from the bar.

Once you were about a body length away from Josh, never breaking eye contact, you sprinted. Pushing around the bar and through patrons, tears streaming down your cheeks. Thank god the bar was full or else people would’ve heard your sobs. Unfortunately, Josh had other plans, whipping around and grabbing your wrist. 

“You gonna fuckin’ run again?!” He had you pinned to a table, his sweaty hand was pressing your cheek to the wood. You were full-on crying now, the entire bar silent and staring at the encounter between you and the ‘stranger’. 

“Please let go of me, Josh,” you whispered. 

He pressed you down harder, your arm pinned behind your back. You felt like it was going to break and he had you in a cobra grip. “No, you don’t get to talk after what you did to me!” 

He lifted you off the table and suddenly you were thrown towards the bar, slamming into the stools. Crying into your arms, pleading for someone to help you. You looked through your hands, sure that Josh was about to kick you in the face when suddenly he was taken down by a large figure. 

In one fluid motion, Josh was on the floor knocked out cold. Blood seeping from his nose and mouth. You closed your eyes in fear as the boots came closer to you, above you, you heard his voice, “Joe get the fuckin’ police down here. Have em pick up this deadbeat.” 

Clyde. 

Of course, it was Clyde. He must’ve heard the commotion from outside and came in when Josh threw you. You sobbed even harder into your arms, acutely aware that you may have broken your wrist when you landed. 

You were scooped in the air, cuddled into Clyde’s chest as you cried. You didn’t dare move, paralyzed from what just happened. 

“I’m takin’ her t’ the hospital. Lock up after the police leave,” Clyde growled at Joe. 

“Sounds good big boy.” 

Wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck you cried into Clyde’s neck. Shaking from shock, every movement was shooting pain through your wrist but you didn’t want to be put down. Clyde was carrying you with his metal arm, secure under your ass, and he walked out of the bar towards his car. 

Opening up the passenger door he gently placed you inside, securing your seatbelt and shutting the door. He walked around the car and waved goodbye to Earl who just stared at you with an open mouth. Clyde climbed in, starting the car and drove out of the parking lot. No words were shared between the two of you, all that filled the air were your hiccuped sobs followed by Clyde’s deep breaths. 

----- 

The two of you sat in the emergency room lobby for about 20 minutes, Clyde had his arm around you the whole time. Giving you small kisses on your forehead and whispering “It’s okay darlin’,” every few minutes. 

Finally, the two of you were called back. Clyde quickly explained what happened to the doctor who was checking out your arm. Josh had managed to throw you against the barstools, leaving you with plenty of bruised ribs. On top of that, she assumed you did break your wrist when you landed, which meant x-rays. After going over the incident with both of you she excused herself to get the machine ready for you. 

“I’m sorry Clyde,” you whispered. 

“Why are y’ sorry? Y’ have nothin’ t’ be sorry bout darlin’,” he stood up in front of you. Placing his big paw on your knee, giving it a big squeeze. “Y’ don’ ever need t’ be sorry (Y/N).” 

You gulped, “Is your hand okay?” 

Clyde smiled at you, looking down at his knuckles which were barely bruising. “Y’ don’ need t’ worry about me. I was in the’ Army remember?” 

“Oh do they train you to punch assholes in the Army?” you hiccuped. 

“Sorta baby,” he kissed your forehead, “M’ sorry I was outside when he found y’. We probably wouldn’t be here if I had done my job.” 

You looked up at him. His eyes were searching yours, full of honesty and love. No one had ever protected you like he had, or even taken it out of your abuser. Even when you told your ‘friends’ about Josh they didn’t believe you, saying you were overreacting. But here and now you were being cared for by a man who desperately wanted you in his life. You felt the urge to tell him how you felt, how much you loved and appreciated him at this moment. 

“Miss (Y/N), the x-ray machine is ready for you!” 

“Oh, okay,” you pushed Clyde away from you. Moving out of the room with the tech, bringing you to the x-ray machine. She instructed you to take off your shoes and any other metal objects. She ran through a couple of cautionary questions like ‘have you had any issues with x-rays before’ and ‘is there any chance you’re pregnant’, all the normal questions. 

After about 10 minutes they escorted you back to the room where Clyde was waiting. He was sitting in one of the chairs, it was too small for his massive body. Staring down at his phone with a frown. 

“What’s wrong baby?” you asked, taking a seat on the table again. 

“Nothin’ just worried bout y’.” 

You sighed, looking down at your wrist. It was bruising really badly. If it wasn’t for Clyde, Josh probably would’ve done much more. You met his gaze again, taking a deep breath, “Clyde. Thank you. For this and for protecting me. I know I haven’t told you a lot but it means so much to me.”

“Of course Sunshine. There’s nothing in the world that would stop me from protectin’ y’.” 

You smiled, wanting to blurt out those three little words again but of course fate had other plans. 

“The x-rays looked good,” your doctor burst in, “Just a small hairline fracture. Should take about a month to fully heal. We will be putting you in a cast.” 

Nodding you looked over at Clyde who was sitting there with a pout on his face, “Okay that’s okay.” 

“However,” she sighed and set down her paperwork, “It wouldn’t be wise for you to be getting thrown around like that anymore considering you’re pregnant.” 

For the second time tonight, you froze. Pregnant? You couldn’t be pregnant, you were on the pill. Even though you and Clyde fucked like rabbits but you were really good at taking your birth control. Well pretty good, there were a couple times when you were late with taking it but that couldn’t have been the case for you getting pregnant. 

“We’re pregnant?” Clyde whispered next to you. 

“Yes, about 5 weeks pregnant. Came back from your urine sample earlier. I recommend getting in with a gyno here quickly since you’ll want to know if any harm has come to the baby.” 

“Okay,” you whispered back at her. She went on and on about your wrist after that, wrapping it in a cast and telling you how to take care of it but everything was turning into white noise. You couldn’t get over that you were pregnant, with Clyde Logan’s baby. Both of you were awestruck at the news. 

Before you left you made an appointment with the doctor she recommended for the next morning and Clyde drove the both of you to his house. Leroy greeted you at the door, following his master inside for some late-night snacks. You picked up your phone and let your office know you would be out for a couple of days, the injury and the news left you wanting some alone time with Clyde. 

The both of you made it to his bedroom. You had your own drawer in it, filled with pajamas and extra work clothes in case you forgot, and your nightstand had flowers and a phone charger for you. Clyde made sure you had everything you needed whenever you stayed, saying that his house was your house. You settled on the bed, staring up at Clyde who was taking off his work clothes. 

“So…” you coughed, “What uh-what do you think?” 

He furrowed his brow, “Bout what?” 

“About the weather,” you snapped at him, “The fuckin’ baby Clyde! What do you think about this?” 

He sighed and sat down next to you, pulling off his prosthetic arm and setting it on the nightstand. “It’s not up t’ me darlin’. This is yer choice an’ I will respect yer wishes.” 

You stared at him dumbfounded. You weren’t talking about that at all, you just wanted to know what his opinion on it was. Earlier today he had defended your honor, almost breaking his hand in the process, and now he was being weird about having children with you. Not like the two of you had an in-depth conversation yet, but you wanted to know what he wanted, especially since you were so close to saying the L-word earlier. 

“Please,” you grabbed his hand, “Just tell me what you’re thinking.” 

Clyde took in a deep breath, “I think,” he coughed, “I think yer gon’ be the most beautiful momma I’ve ever seen.” 

“Clyde,” you choked. 

“An’ I’m not jus sayin’ this because of it, but I love you (Y/N). I have for a while an’,” he sniffled pulling you into his arms, “I would love t’ raise a family with y’.” 

You cried into his chest, “Oh Clyde, I love you too!” 

Both of you held each other, crying into each other's necks. Placing deep kisses on your lips when you finally broke free, looking deep into each other’s eyes. Even though the night had started shitty, the two of you had come out the other side with wonderful news and signs of your love for one another. 

“We should get to sleep, we have a busy day tomorrow,” you grinned at him, wiping the tears from both your cheeks. 

“Okay sunshine,” he took a deep breath, collapsing next to you and pulling you into his chest. “I love you, it’s gonna be alright.” 

“I love you too Clyde,” you sighed kissing his chest, “Goodnight baby.” 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @kirah36​ @morby​ @clumsycopy​ @onlykyloscenes​ @candycanes19​ @desiraypark​ @princss-bucky​ @swiss-mrs​ @douglasdriver​ @ghoulian13​ @direnightshade​ @millenialcatlady​ 

Poor Daddy Clyde was just tryna lay some PIPE AND HE DONE GOT US KNOCKED UP. Also, I'm sorry for the late update, this fic has a lot in it and unfortunately, I see Clyde as a family man and dad Clyde gets me WET.

[1magine-engine]

1404 (Prologue)

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Youtuber Reader Words: 1500+ Posted: 26/11/20

Song(s) Featured: Moon on the Water by The Dying Breed (from Beck MCS)

“It’s actually really exciting.”

Tetsuro nods, knowing Kenma means it, whatever he’s talking about. Probably something about Bouncing Ball corp. and the new game they have in development. Really, Kenma hasn’t stopped talking about it since the project started almost half a year ago and while Tetsuro is interested enough to usually listen to him rave and gush, today’s just not that kind of day.

“-and the new voice actor I have in mind is really good. We save a lot of time and money cause they speak in both languages.”

Yup, they’re probably phenomenal if Kenma is so easy to compliment them. Tetsuro racks his brain trying to remember who he’s talking about.

“I’m actually thinking about having her as a guest on stream soon.”

Uh huh.

“Oh and I’m also going to shave my head and give my hair to that middle school girl who won’t stop messaging.”

Good for them.

“Okay, how many of those have you had today?”

Tetsuro looks down at the cup of coffee he’s forgotten he’s holding. “Uh…” his brows furrow and it’s enough for Kenma to pry the cup out of his hand and set it on the far end of the table.

“And you’re always telling me to get proper sleep.” Kenma gives him a look, sipping on his own drink. He exits Discord, Tetsuro’s sagging back, drooping shoulders and lifeless eyes, more concerning than his followers’ Rule 34 fanart. “Seriously are you okay man? Have you been sleeping? At all?”

Tetsuro shakes his head, the mere mention of sleep enough to slump him over the table completely. As far as he knows, a waiter hadn’t wiped it after the last couple of people who sat down, or before he and Kenma took their place. He finds he doesn’t care. “Stupid neighbors, always either fighting or fucking all night. It’s been going on for a month now.”

“Oh that’s rough.” Kenma winces, handing him back his coffee, knowing lunch break doesn’t last forever and Tetsuro has to return to his office as a zombie. “Tried filing a noise complaint?”

He was about to, one week into the couple’s constant spats, but hearing them scream at the top of their lungs at each other about money troubles and barely keeping themselves afloat stayed his hand. Tetsuro knows how difficult it is to get an apartment in his building, a prime position near the business district at a reasonable price. He also knows his neighbors to an extent, at least what they do for a living as a preschool teacher and a struggling musician. As much as he needs his sleep, he’s not so heartless as to put them out on the streets. “It’s fine,” he promises as he downs the rest of his coffee. “I’ve been living next door to these guys for almost two years now and they’ve always seemed happy before this. They’ll work through it and I then I can get some sleep.”

“If you say so,” Kenma says but he still stares down and shakes his head at the next waitress who tries to approach them with a pot of coffee.

It’s a month and two weeks in that Tetsuro reconsiders that noise complaint or at least considers gathering his neighbors from the same floor and staging an intervention. Mrs. Mamizuka across the hall has expressed her concerns to Kuroo in the elevator one morning, telling him they’ll surely notice how loud and disturbing they’ve become when they realize she hasn’t been giving them as many of her baked goods as she normally does. And Tanaka who’s taking up residence at the end of their hall has advised him to just go out at night, go to the convenience store next to the building and wait till they tire each other out or go partying with friends.

Oh, to be a college student again.

He’s not even in his mid-twenties and he wishes for the energy he used to have, the kind that could drive him through all his classes on just 3 hours of sleep. Maybe then, he could finish his damned paperwork. Maybe then he wouldn’t fall asleep on the bus and miss his stop.

“Been up working late nights Kuroo-san?” the night guard, Sato asks him when he drags his feet into the lobby after midnight.

Kuroo nods, also wishing he had half the middle aged man’s energy, because even at the latest hours of the night, Sato-san greets every tenant and guest with a smile. Kuroo could only force himself to return it. “Something like that.”

“Well you look pretty tuckered out. You should probably put off whatever you’re working on for the night Kuroo-san.” He wags an index finger like a weather man telling a fact about nature on the news. “Sleep is important you know.”

Doesn’t he know it.

When he crosses the threshold of his apartment, he doesn’t bother turning on the lights. He heads straight for his bedroom and musters up the energy to take off his jacket, tie, socks and shoes. The night is silent, save for a light chorus of crickets outside his window. He’s gotten home later than he would have any other time, a crescent moon sitting just past its peak outside his window. And he hopes, oh does he hope, that it means his neighbors have already fought all they can fight for the night. Or maybe the husband hasn’t come home yet and that’s why it hasn’t started. 

He regrets even thinking of it when he settles into bed and hears the distant sound of a door being unlocked and slammed open.

Tetsuro sighs, already rolling over to each for his messenger bag, his earphones sitting somewhere at the bottom. He stops his rummaging when no bedlam disturbs the night. Footsteps prick his ears but they don’t stomp and aren’t followed by booming voices trying to talk over each other. He rolls back over, leaning towards the wall and hearing nothing. Odd. More shuffling and trudging draw his eye up to the crag ceiling, to the apartment above his.

The kind elderly couple who used to live up there had mentioned wanting to move to the country for months. “The air is fresher there, better for old people like us,” the wife chuckled at him once when he’d helped carry her groceries across the lobby to the elevator. Not a week later, Tetsuro was helping the husband and their son move furniture out, just in time to miss the beginning of a hard spot in their neighbor’s relationship. But whoever has taken their place isn’t so fortunate but then again, maybe it’s him that’s out of luck. In the darkness of his apartment he stares up at the ceiling, brows furrowed.

He prays, prays to whatever kami watches over the luck and serenity of apartment buildings that it isn’t another couple that should’ve broken up yesterday. Hell, he’ll even take a new family with a rowdy kid. At least kids are usually out by 10 with their parents careful not to wake them, not banging on the walls or banging each other. No movie he’s watched or game he’s been in has ever left him in such suspense. After some more shuffling and gentle creak of chair legs against a wood floor, there’s silence. 

Tetsuro sits up, holding his breath.

“Full moon sways, 

gently in the night of one fine day.”

A car drives by, the doppler effect of it rushing down the street drowning out the first few notes of an acoustic guitar. Deft fingers play with practiced ease but do so with languid movement, catching on the strings more than plucking them. The voice, high and crooning, is the same, beautiful but almost lazy. Tired, he realizes, is a better word; she sounds as tired as he remembers he feels, once all the irritation at his neighbors and frustration with missing his stop ebbs away. Laying back down, he listens.

"On my way,  looking for a moment with my dear. 

Full moon waves, slowly on the surface of the lake. 

You are there, smiling in my arms 

for all those years."

Even as the song switches to strumming with the slightest bit of force, Tetsuro finds himself sinking deeper into his pillow, eyes growing heavy.

"What a fool, I don’t know ‘bout tomorrow, 

or what it’s like to be, Ah,"

He’s never heard the song in his life, neither does he remember enough of his English classes from high school to understand everything, but he doesn’t need to.

"I was sure, I couldn’t let myself go, 

even though I feel, the end."

Her voice and her guitar are muffled by the layers of wood and concrete between them. His window is open to let the cool night air and silver light of the moon in and he can tell hers is as well but she drowns out the chirping of crickets, the cars that drive by and even Tetsuro’s own thoughts as little by little, then all at once, he falls asleep.

"Full moon sways, gently in the night one fine day 

You were there, smiling in my arms,

 for all these years."

When he opens his eyes, it’s slow. Sleep inertia from a deep sleep is always worse but he finds his eyes widening as it goes away in minutes and he feel more rested than he has in years.

He blinks, staring up at the ceiling.

“Huh.”

[running-with-the-thieves]

Forever

Harry knew he shouldn't have got involved.

As far as she was concerned he was just her bodyguard, and he had to keep it that way. It was easier said than done, though. He had been her bodyguard for around 6 months, hired by her father after a near miss that she, despite being the smartest girl he'd ever known, obliviously believed to be a coincidental incident.

He was sat on the sofa, with her feet across his lap as they watched the notebook for at least the third time that month. He always claimed to hate the film, but y/n saw his glistening eyes and the odd stray tear, which he of course said was hayfever (in december). He insisted his favourite film is fight club, but y/n knew better. Just as the credits began to roll, his phone rung. He looked at her apologetically, peeled her feet off his lap and headed to his room to take the call. Y/n couldn't hear much, but she assumed it was her father checking up on her. She sighed heavily. It was all completely unecessary, but her father was stubborn, and trying to convince him of that would've been futile.

Harry re-entered the room a few minutes later, looking awkward.

"Was that my Dad?" She questioned softly, even though she was already certain of the response.

He nodded, painfully aware of her disapproval.

She frowned. Her dad had always been protective, but this was borderline stalking.

"He's just trying to protect you, love"

"From what? None of this makes sense."

He looked uncomfortable for a second. He couldn't tell her the truth without putting her in even greater amounts of danger. He'd considered telling her, many times. He hated lying to her, but such a sweet angel didn't belong in her fathers world, in his world, and he refused to be the one to taint her.

He was lost in his thoughts when he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?" She probed gently.

"'M sorry"

"Don't be, you have nothing to be sorry for, none of this is your fault." She whispered, pulling him into a hug.

They settled on the sofa again, and this time Harry chose a movie while y/n ordered chinese takeout from the place down the street.

While Harry was flicking between 'The Green Mile' and 'Shawshank Redemption', his phone rung once more. Y/n stopped ordering abruptly, looking at him in confusion. Her father very rarely ever rung more than once a day.

He shook his head cluelessly, and got up to answer. He didn't bother to move to his room this time.

Harry's responses gave nothing away, he simply responded "yes sir" twice, and hung up the phone looking panicked.

"What is it?" Y/n urged

"We have to leave" Harry said stoically.

She froze, unsure of what to do.

"Pack some clothes, leave your phone here, and don't tell anyone anything" he instructed sharply.

Y/n had never seen him like this before, and in all honestly he was scaring her, but she did as he said, not out of fear but out of complete trust. She knew even then Harry could never hurt her.

He didn't speak again until they were speeding down the motorway.

His gaze was focused, but softened when he glanced across to the passenger side and saw y/n's face riddled with worry.

"You okay, angel?"

Despite the circumstances, her cheeks warmed slightly. He had never called her that before.

She shook her head slowly, tears forming.

"What's happening, Harry? I'm scared" she choked out.

"We need to get you to The Estate, its the safest place for you at the moment."

Her bottom lip quivered, and her worried expression remained unchanged.

In the heat of the moment he grabbed her hand. He didn't know why exactly, but the innate need to comfort her, to make the pain go away, took over.

He held her hand the whole way there, murmuring occasional reassurances, sweet words filled with nicknames that made her heart feel warm.

They arrived at The Estate early morning, with her father rushing out to greet her. She had barely clambered out of the car before her father was hugging her tightly.

"Y/n, I'm so glad you're safe, I need you to be safe" he exhaled

She pulled back slowly in exhausted confusion, looking from Harry to her father.

Her father stared at Harry meaningfully, before sighing in despair.

"Debriefing in 20. You should know what's going on." he said curtly, looking at y/n meaningfully.

Harry steeled himself, but the truth was, for the first time in his life, he was scared. He loved her, he realised. She was his everything. She was so achingly pretty, like something out of a dream and he loved everything about her, her gentleness was a stark contrast to the harsh world he had lived in for 6 years. She was everything he never knew he needed.

He couldn't lose that. He just kept imagining her face as she found out he'd lied to her, over and over again. The only thing he ever cared about, and it was almost certainly going to be ripped from him.

The following minutes were silent as they trudged up to her room, a tension in the air that y/n couldn't fathom. He barely looked at her, and his mood was evidently abysmal. How had he gone from the sweet, attentive man in the drive up to this? She began to wonder if he regretted his affection, or worse, if he was trying to let her down slowly.

They arrived at her bedroom and as soon as the door swung shut, and they were away from prying eyes, she put a hand on his shoulder gently.

"H-Harry?" She murmured, her voice wavering, shocked by the polar change in his behaviour.

He looked at her, face impassive but eyes signalling something deeper, pleading almost.

"Please don't shut me out" she murmured.

Suddenly, he pulled her close to his chest, and kissed her, for what might be the first and last time, he realised.

His lips met hers gently, lovingly, and his heart only broke more at the thought of losing her, of losing this. She kissed him back without hesitation, eager to feel the warmth and affection that now felt long gone.

But it was different. It felt like he was saying goodbye.

10 minutes later, the two of them were stood in her father's office around his desk. Harry wasn't even looking at her, and she tried to convince herself it was because he was being professional in front of her father, but it did very little to ease her mind.

Her father cleared his throat, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Maybe you should sit down, sweetheart?" He suggested.

"Just tell me what's going on, please." She sighed.

Her father nodded curtly, and looked at Harry, then back to her before beginning.

"Before I go any further, I want you to remember, I'm still your father, and I love you very much, nothing will ever change that. Everything I did, right or wrong, was to protect you. Your whole life, I've tried to keep you out of this world, I thought you were safer not knowing, but with you being targeted recently, I've realised the only way to keep you safe is to tell you the truth."

There was a tense pause in the room, and all of a sudden it felt like there was no air. Her father took a deep breath before speaking again.

"I'm head of the British Mafia." He said, a strange pride in his tone.

Before she had time to react, he continued.

"That's why people are coming after you. These incidents haven't been coincidental. I thought I could throw them off by sending you away from The Estate for university, but now they've found you, they won't give up. These are dangerous people, y/n."

She inhaled shakily, slowly processing. But even in her shocked state, one question arose.

"And H-Harry?" She asked quietly as her tearful eyes met Harry's.

He looked like he was breaking.

She looked back at her father, his eyes sparking in realisation and despair.

"He's one of us." He said regretfully.

And with four words, her heart shattered.

All the late night talks, the comfort she felt around him, the movie nights, the inside jokes, the affection, his weird little quirks that she had grown to love.

She had fallen in love with him.

And it was all a lie.

She didn't really feel the next few hours. She walked out of her father's office on shaky legs, ignoring Harry's desperate pleas.

She sat in her bedroom for hours, just lying there, trying to understand. She felt so betrayed. How could Harry lie to her? Let her fall for a man who, for all intents and purposes, didn't exist.

How could her father lie to her? She felt like her whole life had been a lie. Her father, the man who took her to ballet lessons and baked with her, who read her stories and kissed her goodnight, was also a mafia boss.

It all felt so surreal. Like she should wake up any minute now.

But it was real. This was her life now, she thought with a sardonic half smile.

She heard the door crack open, and jumped up.

It was Harry. Her heart sunk.

"Don't" she begged. She wasn't sure what exactly she was begging for.

"Please, Angel. Just let me explain." He pleads

She shook her head. Everything hurt.

"You lied to me" she sobbed.

"Y/n, I'm begging you. Please."

With a heavy sigh, she relented. She wanted there to be a good explanation for all of this, she really did.

"It put me in agony lying to you, but there was nothing I could do; I had to keep you safe. I hated myself for it every day. It was the first time in my life I felt truly powerless. When I first got assigned to you, I wasn't expecting to fall in love. Love doesn't exist in my world. Love was weakness. Until I met you, and everything changed. I tried so hard not to fall for you, told myself it was unprofessional, it was dangerous, but it was useless. I've spent every day of the last six months with you, and they've been the best days of my life. I'm still the same man, and I know everything seems like a lie right now, but I want you to know that among it all is one, indisputable truth; I am irrevocably, hopelessly, in love with you. And I can only hope that's enough"

Tears were streaming down her face as she looked at him through blurry eyes, his face desperate and broken.

And it was in that moment she realised.

He was still Harry. She loved him. Everything else was background noise. Everything else she could deal with.

But losing him? That would break her.

She launched herself into his arms and he held her so tightly, as if he was afraid to lose her again.

"I love you" She said, her voice wavering.

"I love you too" he murmured "Forever"

"Forever" she whispered.

[haledamage]

OC Questionnaire

I was tagged by @actualanxiousswampwitch and not so much tagged as challenged by @queen-scribbles​ :P 

I am tagging/challenging you both back if you have more OCs you want to talk about, plus anyone else who has an OC you want to talk about! really, I want to know about your muses, please share them with me <3

I decided to go with Lexi from Mind Blind because she’s currently my most vocal muse, as well as Ari because I realized I’ve never done one of these for her? not sure how that happened

Lexi Wiseman

GENERAL

name: Alexandria Jane Wiseman

alias(es): Lexi, Lex, Button, Cadet Wiseman

gender: cis female

age: 20

place of birth: Chicago, Illinois

spoken languages: English, sarcasm, probably some coding language? took Spanish and German in high school, but really only remembers how to count to ten and ask where the library is

sexual orientation: bi bi bi

occupation: student at Unity’s Aeon Academy

APPEARANCE

eye colour: hazel

hair colour: brown

height: 5′8”

scars: not any major ones? She scars really easy, so even little things like paper cuts leave a scar, but except for things like that and old scars from scraped knees and elbows as a kid, Lexi doesn’t really have any scars worth mentioning. (or as Lex would say, “my scars are all mental ;)”)

burns: not really many burn scars either. a small and perfectly circular one on the inside of her right ring finger (accidentally bumped into the lit end of a cigarette), a faded line on her right calf from grazing the exhaust pipe of a motorcycle, but that’s really it

overweight: No

underweight: No

FAVOURITE

colour: green, especially darker ones like hunter green or forest green

music genre: loves music, all kinds. most of the covers she does are older pop songs, the songs that have made it into the collective consciousness, but she will listen to or sing anything :)

movie genre: action. loves a superhero movie and not afraid to admit it.

tv show: don’t think she’s much of a tv person. more likely listens to podcasts or watches twitch streams/youtube shows. I feel like she’d be a big Buzzfeed Unsolved fan. occasionally enjoys a cooking competition show like Chopped or Iron Chef, something you can enjoy without having to commit to it. Watches them with Nick because his commentary is the best part.

pastime: music (plays guitar and piano/keyboard, and knows her way around a sampler/MIDI controller), video games (especially fps, co-op or team-based online games preferred)

food: anything Nick cooks, but especially cinnamon pumpkin cookies

drink: cherry coke, sweet iced tea, iced white mocha

book: she’s not a really big reader (not that she doesn’t enjoy it, she just has other ways she’d rather spend her time), but she’ll read just about anything on the occasion she has time to. adventure, romance, mystery, poetry, whatever. really enjoys sci-fi especially, and comic books!

HAVE THEY

passed university: she didn’t go to college per se, since Aeon isn’t technically a college so much as a very particular and multi-year job training course, but she took a few courses at the local community college. Computer programming, music theory, whatever struck her fancy. Probably found something weird that she’ll never need in real life just for the hell of it.

had sex: no

had sex in public: no

gotten pregnant: no

kissed a boy: yes

kissed a girl: yes

gotten tattoos: no, but she wants one. eventually. once she settles on a design

had a broken heart: sure, in lots of different ways. the situation with her mom could certainly be considered heart-breaking...

been in love: she would deny it if you asked her, but yes. Very yes.

stayed up for longer than 24 hours: sure, yeah, why not? sleep is overrated anyway

ARE THEY

a virgin: yes. look, when you live with your brother who is a mind-reader and you have literally no way to stop loudly projecting your thoughts, sex is a tricky and awkward situation. better to just avoid it until someone comes along that’s worth it.

a cuddler: yes, very much so. Maybe a little touch-starved, despite Nick and Sally’s efforts. Someone please give her a hug.

a kisser: sometimes

scared easily: startles easily, but doesn’t actually frighten easily

jealous easily: not really. envy, on the other hand...

trustworthy: yes, but she’ll be the first to tell you not to tell her any secrets. She can’t promise what people can hear from her thoughts

dominant: not really. Can be assertive, but prefers to kind of go with the flow

submissive: not really submissive either, though maybe leans more toward it than toward dominant

in love: with her brother’s best friend. Has been for years now, expects she will be for the foreseeable future. She accepts that she will spend her life pining from afar. It’s not like Gray could ever feel the same, right?

single: yep

RANDOM QUESTIONS

have they harmed themselves: nope

thought of suicide: I don’t think so

attempted suicide: no

Wanted to kill someone: no

rode a horse: nope

have / had a job: her situation makes it a little difficult to work normal jobs. I would imagine she makes money through patreon with her music, and she will eventually have a job at Unity as a MIV, once she finishes at Aeon

have any fears: loss of control (again), not being good enough, abandonment, rejection (specifically being rejected for things she can’t change; she’s fine if people don’t like her for her personality, some people just have bad taste)

FAMILY

sibling(s): older brother Nick, relationship status: besties against all odds

Parents: John and Hope Wiseman, relationship status: fucking complicated

children: none, she is baby

pets: none

---

Aurienne the Sparrow

GENERAL

name: Aurienne the Sparrow. She had a last name once, but she doesn’t remember it.

alias(es): Ari, Little Bird, The Sparrow Queen

gender: nonbinary female/demigirl

age: 23

place of birth: Andoran, she assumes. It’s the first place she remembers living, at the very least.

spoken languages: Common, Elvish, a little Celestial thanks to her sister

sexual orientation: bisexual

occupation: Queen of the Stolen Lands, somehow

APPEARANCE

eye colour: light gray

hair colour: black

height: 5′10”

scars: a thin but deep and ragged scar across her throat that she normally keeps covered by a scarf or choker or high collar; arrow puncture in her left shoulder; long line on her inner right thigh from a greatsword that almost cut her leg off entirely; a few other minor ones

burns: a few on her fingertips from accidents with her flaming crossbow

overweight: No

underweight: No

FAVOURITE

colour: gold

music genre: punk and all its subgenres :)

movie genre: she loves a musical, all musicals

tv show: dramas and monster of the week shows. wants a tv show that’ll make her cry

pastime: music (when she’s feeling confident enough to give it a try again, which is… a work in progress), reading, silly but harmless pranks. Loves to meditate a surprising amount, just sit in silent contemplation.

food: samosas, lemon macarons

drink: matcha latte with white chocolate syrup

book: has a deep and unending love of poetry

HAVE THEY

passed university: nope, didn’t go to school

had sex: yes

had sex in public: …...perhaps

gotten pregnant: nope

kissed a boy: yes

kissed a girl: yes

gotten tattoos: yes, seven sparrows down her spine. recently, the one on the back of her neck got a tiny little crown over its head :)

had a broken heart: yes

been in love: yes

stayed up for longer than 24 hours: yes, but rarely

ARE THEY

a virgin: nope

a cuddler: sort of? I think she wants to be, but is scared to let herself be vulnerable like that. Will happily cuddle with anyone who initiates, though

a kisser: not really, unless she’s in a mood

scared easily: yes, but hides it well

jealous easily: nope

trustworthy: very

dominant: not really. Prefers to let others take the reins (probably not the best trait for a queen, but as she is quick to tell people, being in charge was never her idea)

submissive: most of the time. Probably a big part of why she and Tristian took so long to get together...

in love: yes, with a literal angel

single: she’s not sure??? like, they haven’t really made anything official yet, but no one would ever look at the two of them together and not think they’re a couple. they should probably have a talk about that soon

RANDOM QUESTIONS

have they harmed themselves: no

thought of suicide: yes

attempted suicide: no

Wanted to kill someone: yes

rode a horse: yes

have / had a job: former mercenary/adventurer, former baroness, currently queen of the Stolen Lands? She’s still not entirely sure how that happened

have any fears: helplessness, losing those she loves, being silenced (again)

FAMILY

sibling(s): twin sister, Auriel the Dove

parents: both deceased (I should probably name them at some point…)

children: none. Maybe someday...

pets: an owlcat named Headchomper, a red panda named Ember, an orange tabby cat named Tiger, a giant black wolf named Baron who is technically her sister’s animal companion and also technically her nephew

[oforamuse]

told you that i missed you

'you and mickey are getting married!?'

or, the one where fiona had to find about ian's engagement through lip.

a missing phone call set somewhere between 10x11 and 10x12

ao3

Ian’s mid-limp towards the fridge when his phone rings in his pocket, and without bothering to check the caller ID, Mickey said he’d call him later when he’d left earlier, he answers and brings the device up to his ear.

‘You and Mickey are getting married!? ’

Ah fuck.  

He should’ve expected this.

‘Hey Fiona…’ Ian trails off, knowing where this conversation is most likely headed. He makes a mental checklist to prepare himself for the showdown that’s about to take place with his older sister, she’s never taken to being left out of things very lightly - which in her defense, didn’t happen very often given her being the head of the household for all of his life.

‘Don’t hey Fiona me, Ian Gallagher’ She practically spits out, dragging the emphasis on their second name with a clear underlying message of are you fucking kidding me, ‘Were you planning on telling me this anytime soon or was I supposed to find out you two were husbands at Thanksgiving or some shit?’

He pictures her fondly, hand on hip and the other one waving about, failing wildly to get her frustrated point across. It’s an image he saw so often throughout his childhood it’s almost comforting, warming.  

‘You planning on being home for Thanksgiving?’ Ian chimes back, hoping to buy himself some time to gather his thoughts, though he immediately knows she won’t take the bait as soon it falls out of his mouth.

‘Don’t change the subject, Ian’ It’s the same tone of voice she used throughout their childhood, the go brush your teeth it’s gone midnight or carl put that hammer down right now before you hurt someone, and for a moment he feels 12 years old and scolded.

The words hang there and he can feel her glare down the phone, like a laser beam marking his pale skin, it’s always felt that way. The classic 100% Fiona Gallagher certified ‘I’m unimpressed’ look, a look he’s definitely been on the receiving end of far too many times to count growing up.

‘I was- listen, it’s been a little crazy here recently, I was going to tell you. It just...slipped my mind I guess’ Ian defends himself quickly, juggling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he attempts to clear the kitchen table from this morning’s wedding planning session with Mick and Sandy. They left after a long conversation about the perfect table cloths, table cloths, to go to the tux shop downtown. He didn’t know there were so many different kinds of things to be thrown, music to be played, or chairs to choose from. It’s been overwhelming to say the least, and deep down still pretty scary, there’s a small nagging part of him worried that this might be a mistake but it’s rightfully overruled by the much bigger and louder part of him saying it will be worth it. Seeing Mickey happy, being happy himself, knowing they can finally just be happy together, will be worth it. Worth any amount of meetings over chairs, or flowers or whatever, he doesn’t really understand it, but he’ll do it.

It isn’t the marriage part, really, that freaks him out - he doesn’t think so at least. He knows he wants to marry Mickey, he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with him. That’s never been the question, even when they were countries apart or failing to see other people, it was always there in the back of his mind for his future, the ideal. He’s nervous to take that final big leap, to solidify their relationship in front of the world and the law, like actual adults do. He’s seen so many marriages go wrong and it aches to think that they could end up like a statistic, after everything they’ve been through, they could end up just being part of a percentage of divorcees.

But, also, after everything they’ve been through, they may just be strong enough to beat the odds. He doesn’t really know the statistics for gay marriages anyway, specifically for guys, he assumes they must be slightly better, happier or some shit.

If they can make it through homophobic murderous dads, prison sentences and annoying twinks, they can make it through this.

His mind falls back to Fiona on the other end, her constant stream of failed relationships, marriages and almost marriages that littered his adolescent years. A lump forms heavily in his throat and he tries to swallow it back down, he never thought he’d be the first Gallagher kid to get properly hitched, and hitched successfully, because Fiona and Gus do not count.

‘Really Fiona, it’s been crazy here’ He tries again,

He’s not making some dumb excuse, with the last month of being broken up (but so not broken up) then going to engaged to wedding planning all within a few days, calling his older sister wasn’t top of his list.

Perhaps it should’ve been, he thinks, and Ian can’t help it but his stomach rocks with a wave of guilt, crashing onto his mental beach. It sits there, sickeningly. Fiona used to know everything, be part of everything that was happening with the family, now she’s hundreds of miles away and worlds apart.

He knows it was a big deal for Fiona to move away from Chicago, away from them and everything she’s ever known, but that was her choice, he reasons, her choice to be a phone call away rather than just a bedroom. He doesn’t blame her though.

‘So I had to find out from Lip? And only, might I add, because he mentioned how you and Mickey were looking at flowers downtown so obviously I asked him why on earth you would need ‘em and turns out you guys are getting fucking hitched!’

He dumps their coffee mugs in the sink and watches the brown liquid swirl away before he resigns and moves his phone up to his ear.

‘I know I should’ve told you.’ He whispers, turning to lean against the counter top, wishing he didn’t feel so weird about talking about marriage with his older sister, ‘I just, I-I didn’t know how. It’s a really fucking long story, Fiona, and you’re not here…’

The guilt comes rushing back, like a wave crashing onto Ian’s shore. He grips the phone tightly.

Fiona sighs down the phone, and she goes silent, he pictures her running her hands through her hair like she often does when she’s exasperated or worried. His chest warms at the thought, he misses her, he really does.

There’s another beat.

‘I guess I should say congratulations?’ She says breaking the silence, almost posing it as a question. He can hear the hint of humour in her voice, playing it off as both a joke and a genuinely sincere statement.

‘Thanks’ Ian laughs lightly, quietly feeling relieved that she isn’t more upset.

The wave of guilt pulls back into the ocean.

His eyes flicker over to the fridge door opposite, where there’s still an old post-it note of Fiona’s reading ‘Liam. Dentist 12:20’ stuck above the handle. Her presence is everywhere in the house, it’s in the foundations, the walls and the floorboards. It’s her house more so than anyone else’s, a hell of a lot more than it ever was Frank’s, or Monica’s for that matter. Still, it stings to know that she isn’t here, physically.

That she wasn’t here when he got out.

‘How did it happen?’ She asks, her habit for gossip overriding her need to hang onto the sentimentalities.

‘How did what happen?’

‘You know, the engagement, who asked who and all that crap. Not sure how it works when it’s just two guys.’ She snorts, and Ian rolls his eyes fondly, taking comfort in knowing it was meant harmlessly.

‘Pretty much the same way as everything goes with Mick, fighting and making up. Except this time with added engagement’ The bad joke hangs for a moment before he hears Fiona bark out a laugh down the other end, he breathes out, relieved.

He knows his and Mickey’s relationship can be volatile, especially physically. They’re tough, their hearts are tough. How can they not be when they’ve grown up in this shithole, surrounded by violence and poverty all their lives, only to top it off with a light dusting of homophobic and or, alcoholic, parents. They’re a product of their environment, that’s for sure, and it works for them.

‘Not that I’m surprised or nothing, but you guys really got into a fight and then engaged? Sounds like you two’

He winces knowing that Fiona hasn’t always had the best opinion of Mickey or their relationship, but he can’t really blame her given that he kept her out of the most of it in the past. It’s always been easier keeping her, and Lip to be frank, at arm’s length when it comes to Mickey, especially in the last few years. Especially after almost dropping everything and running off with him to Mexico. He was close, he was so close.

He’s quietly hoping the distance between his two worlds will finally change once they officially become family.

‘Nah, I beat down Mick’s date and then, I asked him to marry me.’ He smirks at the memory, sure it was childish to have gone after Byron the way he did but the guy had been pissing Ian the fuck off and he was so fucking bored of playing games with Mick. Plus, no one gets to talk shit about his guy.

‘Mickey’s date?’ She asks, her voice distorted with confusion and rightfully so. She’s missed a lot in the last few weeks, heck, Ian’s been having trouble keeping up with it all and he’s here. He can’t even remember the last time he spoke to Fiona longer than a few minutes except down the tinny prison phone - they must’ve talked when he got out of prison, right?

It dawns on him quickly that he doesn’t think they’ve had a proper conversation since he got out of prison, weeks ago. It sits in his stomach, distastefully. That’s the longest they’ve gone without proper communication since he ran away when he was 16.

‘It’s a long story Fiona’ He sighs, throwing a glance over to the stairs, wishing she’d walk down them this moment, ruffle his hair like she used to then crack open a beer with him.

‘When’s the ceremony?’

‘We’re thinking the next few weeks maybe, Mickey’s really getting into the wedding planning.’

‘Mickey Milkovich is enjoying planning a wedding? That I would like to see!’ She laughs, ‘but jeeze, a few weeks? That’s pretty soon, why rush?’

‘Terry Milkovich paid us a visit cause he’s mad as shit. Shoutin’ the street down and pulling out his gun. It upset Mick so he’s taken to use the wedding as a chance to torture him, I guess he’s hoping he drops dead from his gay son being happy or some shit.’ Ian explains, his hands gesturing in ways that Fiona can’t obviously see. God, Ian should’ve killed the bastard back when they were kids because they deserve a break. Realistically, he knows he couldn’t do it, but fuck, he wishes Terry had gotten stabbed or something in prison the first few times round, it would’ve saved everyone a lot of grief. Himself included.

‘No chance i’ll be able to make it then, I guess…’ Fiona says sadly, though Ian can tell there’s a small attempt to hide the tinge in her voice. She sniffles and the guilt threatens to crash back.

‘I guess not’

Ian thumbs at his engagement ring whilst the two of them hang onto the silence, unsure of where to move forward from here.

‘You happy?’

‘Yeah, yeah I am’ Ian affirms, and he is, he’s really fucking happy. He didn’t think he’d ever get to have this, especially not with Mickey.

‘You gonna be Mr Milkovich?’

‘Fuck off’

‘You guys talked about it?’ She asks, and he can tell this one is a genuine question, whether or not Ian is going to shed the Gallagher name once and for all.

‘Nah, I figured we’ll get round to it after the gold chiavari chairs or something’

‘The gold what?’

‘Don’t ask’ he begs, he’s heard enough about chairs and all that for a lifetime.

‘I’m happy for you’ She says after a few moments, and his heart warms. He imagines her throwing her arms around his shoulders and bringing him in for a tight hug, locked and safe.

‘I wish you could come.’ He whispers, his eyes stinging, his thumb rubbing at his band. He does, he really wishes his big sister could be there to see him and Mickey beat all the odds.

‘I know’ Her voice cracks ever so slightly and Ian aches at the thought of being the one who caused it, ‘I’m sorry I’m not gonna be there’.

‘Not your fault’ Ian sighs, and it isn’t. She needed to get out.

‘Yeah’ She sniffs and Ian has to bring his free hand up to wipe his damp eyes, ‘I want pictures’

‘I’ll have Debs send you some’ Ian says wetly, he’s pretty certain Mickey has even organised a photographer. There’s some rustling on the other end and he can hear someone call out Fiona’s name in the background, it’s muffled but distinct.

‘Ah shit, I’ve got to go.’ She groans, and Ian figures it’s probably for the best. Someone’s bound to be home soon and he knows there will be a lot of questions if he’s found all teary eyed in the kitchen.

‘Okay’ It’s all he can manage.

‘I love you, and I’m happy for you.’ She says, ‘Tell Mickey I’m happy for him too’

‘I will.’ He replies, ‘I love you’

There’s a shuffle, then the line clicks and goes dead.

He hangs against the counter, cradling the phone in both hands, cradling the connection with his sister. He realises she didn’t even ask him anything about prison, or the fact Mickey’s out too. He wonders how much his other siblings talk to her, does Lip keep up with her regularly? It’s hard to imagine with him having to balance everything with Fred.

His phone chimes, he glances down.

3:39pm: MICKEY

‘picked out the tuxes. gonna look so fuckin good.’

God, if fifteen year old Ian Gallagher could see him now. He shoots off a reply.

3:40pm:

‘can’t wait’

And he can’t.

[your-anxious-nightmare]

If I...

Summary: Remus and Logan are an unlikely pair, but nothing could keep them apart, not even if someone committed the ultimate crime. (Based on If I Killed Someone For You by Alec Benjamin) Word Count: 1982 WARNINGS: Blood mention, Death mentions, Murder mentions, Abuse mentions.  Tags: @sandersidess (you posted that this^ was the perfect song for them so I thought it best I tag you.) @bouquet-of-existentialism (the best beta ever)

"Would you love me more if I killed someone for you?" Remus whispered, head leant in Logan's lap as his eyes stared unfocused towards the TV. Logan's hand stilled, fingers tangled in Remus' curls. 

"Excuse me?" 

"I said we should watch murder conspiracies." Remus rolled over, smiling up at his best friend with that slightly demented glint in his dark brown eyes. Logan squinted slightly, before letting a light laugh escape his lips. He grabbed the remote and handed it to the man in his lap, watching as he opened youtube and started up their favourite spooky playlist. 

Remus and Logan were the most unlikely pair. Logan was smart, sophisticated. He dressed in button-down shirts and carried a satchel and always had a charger for any device. 

Remus was nothing alike that. He wore ripped jeans and bleach-stained t-shirts with combat boots that were as old as he was. His phone was forever below 20% and he never had a jacket. Anyone you asked would vouch he didn't even know what a hairbrush was.  

But somehow, over their years of high school and college in the same classes, they had become two peas in a pod. They knew more about each other's lives than they did about their own, spent countless nights crying in each other's arms. It was a surprise to many but you couldn't separate them no matter what. 

Remus was known to be a little on the twisted side of life. He was always discussing the horribly gory details of history, or making sick jokes. He had given Logan a rabbit's foot keyring for Christmas one year and it wouldn't have shocked the bespectacled man if he had severed the limb himself. 

So it wasn't worrying when things like murder or death were brought up in conversation.

"I just wish he would listen! There is no need to talk over me when I am nearing the end of a sentence; I'm about to be quiet in expectance of a response if he would just wait." 

"I'll kill him for you." 

"You will do no such thing, you have three papers due in two days and we have a presentation next week, I am not doing all the work for you because you ended up in prison." 

There were times when Remus would zone out, where walls would become the sole focus of his energy or chairs would offend his entire being. He would flinch at sirens or duck his head around police. Logan had always thought it was because of his childhood but as the years passed, he began to wonder if it was something more. 

"Logan?" The man turned to look at his friend, tears streaming down his cheeks as his hands clench the torn hoodie. 

"I'm okay, Rem," Logan spoke, voice eerily calm around the now dried split in his lip. A bruise began to darken on his forehead and his breaths were shallow; whether from the silent sobs clawing up his throat or the punches that had been landed against his ribs, Remus couldn't tell. At that moment, he knew Logan should never look that broken again. 

"It's okay to not be okay, Lo." Remus stepped closer, hand outstretched to grasp the fabric from his friend's hands, slowly pulling it away to place it on the counter beside them. "It'll be okay Logan, he can't hurt you here. I won't let him hurt you again." The walls shattered as Logan fell into Remus' arms, tears immediately soaking through to his taller friends shoulder. Remus ran a hand through his now unruly hair, rubbing the man’s back and silently vowing to protect him against all odds. 

It was a cold winter night, the rain pounded against the windows and trees outside created shadows that even Logan found difficult to rationalise. Remus had gone out that morning and was yet to return, to even text and say where he was or how long he would be. It wasn't like him to vanish, and it certainly wasn't like Logan to sit at the counter watching the clock as he drank far too much coffee. 

The door shook with a loud and desperate knock, Logan’s heart jumping out of his chest at the sudden noise. Was it the wind? Is it a murderer? No, of course not, he reasons, it's Remus finally coming back to his flat for an extremely late dinner. He took a breath to calm his heart as another knock sounded at the door. 

"Remus? Where have you been?" Logan asked as he pulled it open, immediately bettered by the wind. The man in front of him looked nothing like the friend he'd known for years. His eyes lacked the usual gleam of mischief, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. 

"I need a place to hide. I've got to talk to you and I promise I won't lie this time. You're the only person that will understand please just let me in." Remus stammered, lip trembling from either fear or the cold- Logan couldn't tell. 

"Rem, what's going on? You were meant to be back for lunch and never turned up, then dinner and you did not text even to say you would be late. And now you've arrived spouting 'I'm sorry's and that you need to hide? Remus, talk to me." Logan grabbed the man's hand, spinning him to a stop from his pacing of the living room. 

"I did something." He whispered, running a hand through his wet locks, eyes filling with tears as he looked at Logan. 

"Sit down." Logan pushed him towards the couch, ignoring that he'll damage the fabric with the water that runs down his body. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, leaving him briefly to make tea before returning to sit next to his shaking friend. "Tell me what happened." 

"He hurt you. I couldn't- he couldn't. He didn’t even fight back," he was whispering and sputtering his thoughts out. His hands wrapped around his favourite mug, one that had shattered when Logan moved in and he'd glued back together with glitter glue. 

"Did you get in an altercation with someone?" Logan's mind reeled, eyes tracing his pale skin for any sign of injury. 

"He was there and- I didn't know- and he said bad things Lo-Lo. Bad bad things. I don't know what happened but then he was on the ground and I couldn't stop. I didn't want too, you have to understand that. I didn't want to do it- it just happened." 

"Remus," Logan whispered, something clicked in his mind and heart. He slowly placed his own mug on the table, hands shaking as they covered Remus'. "Did you find Hayden?" The name sent a flinch down both men's spines, Logan's because the man beat him when they split up, and Remus... "Remus, what happened?" 

"He was, he was at the cafe, our cafe. He was with his friends, the people he calls friends, talking about you. He said bad things Lo-Lo, really bad things. And I followed him home and knocked on the door. I think I blacked out, but I was on top of him and there was blood, so much blood." 

"Remus." He didn’t want to pull his hands away, but if what Remus was saying was true, the hands he was holding were the same hands used to kill Logan’s abusive ex-boyfriend. "Did you kill Hayden?" 

"It was an accident." Remus looked up at Logan, tears cascading down his cheeks. A single sob escaped his throat, shaking his body so hard the tea in the mug splashed over the side, staining the blanket still curled around him.

"I believe you." He didn't know why he said it. Logan knew, in every sense of the terms, Remus was a murderer. He had killed a man with his bare hands. "Remus, I believe it was an accident, but you have to be honest with me okay?" Remus nodded, letting go of the mug so Logan could place it on the table, fingers lacing with his. 

"Tell me where he is." Remus recounted the story, how he sat back and realized what he'd done, spent an hour in tears then started to clean the scene. He explained how he'd wiped down everything he touched, vacuumed the floor and thrown out the old bag. Logan didn't ask, and Remus didn't tell, but they both knew the body had been removed from the scene. 

"Did anyone see you go there?" Remus shrugged, eyes widening with fear. 

"I don't want to go prison Logan, I can't get locked away. What if they saw, what if they know it was me?" 

"You will not get locked up Remus, I will not let that happen." Logan pulled him close, wrapping his arms tight around the pale man, mind racing with all the possibilities. The body could be discovered, Remus could be found out, Logan could be a suspect himself. They would have to change Remus's appearance just in case, his signature messy brown hair with the single grey streak would be too easy to recognise if anything came to light. 

"We will deal with this more tomorrow, for now, I think it best we sleep. It's been a long night for both of us." Logan helped Remus up, taking him to his bedroom and giving him a change of clothes before pulling him into the bed, both of them holding onto each other as if the world was about to end. 

When day broke, Logan left to the shops to buy hair dye, returning to find Remus having shaved his moustache and the stubble on his jaw already. They sit in the bathroom for hours, Logan slowly bleaching the curls before putting green over the top, Remus's favourite colour and a choice that anyone around them would completely expect. Remus found his old glasses, removing the contacts he so loved and resigning to look like a messy, translucent version of his best friend. 

"Logan, what if they say I'm on the loose? Will you turn me in?" Remus asked, curled up once again in Logan's lap, head rested on his shoulder as his fingers played in the brushed out curls. 

"Never." 

"What if I'm on the news?" 

"You won't be." 

"But Logan-"

"No. It is not going to happen. Remus, I'm not letting him take away the last thing I have left. He was the reason my parents don't speak to me, he was the reason I broke my leg two years ago. He will not be the reason my best friend is ripped away from me." 

"Do you love me?" Remus sat up onto his knees next to Logan, with eyes wide behind his thick glasses. His hands rest on Logan's shoulders, fingers brushing the dark skin that stretched the back of his neck. 

"Of course I do. You are my best friend." Logan smiled lightly, removing one hand to intertwine their fingers, tapping morse code for 'Always' into the back of his hand. 

"No, that's not what I mean. You're willing to hide a murderer in your house, a killer, a maniac. No one in their right mind would do that unless they truly cared for that person. So why are you willing too?" 

"Because I care about you, Remus. I do not know if it is love, but you are the only person that has stuck by me all this time. I know it is not an ideal situation and I know we could both end up in a terrible position but you are all I have left. You did it to protect me, and so I will protect you." 

Remus and Logan were an odd pair, they were polar opposites. But together, they could face the world. They would hide from sirens and wash away blood, never telling a soul what had happened that night.

[camgirlsurvivalguide]

Camgirl 101 - 2019 Edition (The Absolute tl;dr)

I wrote the first “Camgirl 101″ nearly 6 years ago - wild to think that so much time has gone by! So much has changed about this industry, and yet in many ways, so much has stayed the same. Since my initial “How 2 Cam” post is a tad outdated at this point, and since I have the time to kill typing away on tumblr dot com today, I figured I’d do an abbreviated, updated 2019 edition of the basics of the basics of webcam modelling, as well as my top tips and tricks to making the most out of your initial push as a camgirl.

What site should I cam on? The site I cam on is MyFreeCams, but there are other popular sites out there, such as Chaturbate and Nood (just to name two of many, many more). I would suggest sticking to sites that have been established for a while to be on the safe side, as many new sites are opening, but not all actually attract much in the way of traffic. MyFreeCams is female-only, where Chaturbate allows males and trans performers as well. Nood is a higher quality streaming platform, but you’ll need to be OBS savvy before starting, so it’s better for people who already know what they’re doing, at least to some degree.

Because I work exclusively on MFC (and have been doing so for the better part of six years), the advise I give is specifically about MFC. While most general advise can be extended to other platforms, things like payment processing and technical support I know nothing about outside of MFC. 

What do I need to get started as a cam model? You’ll need a steady internet connection, a webcam, some sort of a lighting source, and yourself. You do not need fancy equipment, a perfect cam space, a complicated profile or an ungodly amount of self confidence to get started - while these things can help, they’re not required, and are things you can amass over time as you become more established.

How do I make money? Camgirls on MFC make money in tokens. One token = $0.05USD earned by a model. You make money by persuading paying patrons, known as Premium Members, to tip you tokens. Payments are processed on the 1st and 16th of each month, and can be sent to you via cheque, wire transfer, or through third parties. I advise you choose cheque or wire transfer, because third party payment processors have been notoriously unreliable over the years. For US models, you can also have your income direct deposited. For international models (aka anyone outside the US), you’ll either need to ‘make payout’ for a wire transfer, which is earn a minimum of 20,000 tokens ($1000USD), or you can opt for a cheque in the mail for free after earning a minimum of 400 tokens ($20).

Camgirls do not get paid hourly. All earnings come from tips. 

What can I do to encourage people to tip or talk? Generally speaking, you entertain. Camgirls entertain by engaging in conversation, showing off their bodies, stripping, and doing live masturbation or sex performances, in addition to selling homemade content, whether in the form of videos and photos, or over apps like snapchat. The best way to increase your odds of making money is to make people like you. For this, you’ll need social skills, physical attractiveness, patience, and business savvy. While it may seem simple, this process is incredibly dynamic and complex; for this reason, I (nor anyone else) can tell you with any guarantee how to make money. My best advice is to read this blog for inspiration, watch cam models to see how others are doing it, and then most importantly, try it yourself. There is only so much you can learn by watching and asking questions: the rest you will have to figure out as you go. 

Do I have to show my face? Yes. You cannot wear a mask, or hide your face; it’s against the Terms of Service of the site, and you can’t build relationships with human beings when you have a bag on your head. That’s just not how it works.

Do I have to get naked or masturbate? No! You don’t. While these things are definitely the norm on the site, there is no rule that says you have to get naked on MFC. You can literally log on and just stare at the camera, unmoving, silently, for hours on end if you want - no one will stop you - it just obviously wouldn’t be particularly entertaining, and would be unlikely to make you much money. If you choose not to strip, or choose to restrict your stripping to certain environments (only in private, only with certain people, only at certain price points), you’ll have to figure out how to entertain in other ways. I would like to highlight that this is not only something non-explicit models have to figure out: the best of the best on the site do far, far more than just strip. Sexuality is part of it, but not the whole story.

How often should I cam, and for how long? The most successful models on MFC tend to rely mostly on the support of their repeat customers, known as ‘regulars’, for the bulk of their income. Making regulars is an important part of camming, because members who return again and again build a relationship with you, and those who have supported in the past are more likely to support again in the future (a psychological concept known as the ‘foot in the door’ phenomenon). Rooms that have groups of returning regulars are also more attractive in a community aspect, because the members aren’t only returning for the model for a sense of togetherness and familiarity, they’re also there to talk with their other member friends. 

In order to build a base of regulars, you should aim to cam relatively consistently, and at somewhat similar time slots. There are no real “best times” to cam - the best times to log on are times where you can expect yourself to be the most consistent over the long term. This way, people know where and when to find you. As far as how long your cam shows should be, this is up to you for the most part. I prefer to cam between 3 and 4 hours at a time.

What is camscore? Camscore is a rating system that is based off of tokens earned per hour. Every new model starts with a camscore of 1000, and depending on how many tokens she makes each hour, her camscore will either raise or drop. The goal is to make as many tokens as you can an hour so that you can raise your camscore - this will sort your icon higher up on the main page, making it more likely that random passerby’s will see your room and hopefully enter it. While camscore is important, it isn’t the only way that members find model’s rooms. For the first six hours of broadcast time (NOT account life: broadcast time, as in time actually live streaming), models are given a ‘new model’ badge on their icons, which can attract members to check out the room. While ‘sort by camscore’ is the default settings for members, they can also choose to sort by other styles, meaning a low camscore isn’t always a low placement on the page. Lastly, models can use social media to boost their visibility. All that said, a low camscore can make things increasingly difficult and frustrating for a model; please read here for more details on overcoming low visibility:

http://camgirlsurvivalguide.tumblr.com/post/169514561900/how-to-overcome-low-visibility

Will camming hurt my chances of getting a vanilla job? Depends on the job. There is always a chance that the people you know will find out that you cam. The best things you can do are weigh your options carefully before starting, geoblock any areas that you don’t want watching you (you can block regions from accessing your cam, but this doesn’t protect against VPNs, and doesn’t stop people from taking screenshots or recordings of your streams and uploading to other unblocked sites), and take caution not to use the same photos connected to your real name as you do for camming - but there is no way to ultimately protect yourself from the stigma of sex work. Facial recognition software is becoming more accurate each and every month, and I feel that soon, programs like google image reverse search will be able to quickly and easily pull up any and all profiles connected to certain faces; take that as you will. 

Do camgirls pay taxes? Yes. You are in charge of your own business, including filing and paying your own taxes. This is different in each country/region, but it’s a good idea to save 30% of everything you earn for tax purposes. Hire a tax accountant to do it for you properly so you don’t get audited.

Do you have any additional tips to share? Why yes! Yes I do. Here are some miscellaneous shit knowledge that I’ve picked up over time. Enjoy.

- I cam using a mac. Before I cam, I’ll often take 10 to 15 cute selfies using the photobooth app, which I then quickly edit using VSCO cam on my phone. I upload these to an album on my MFC Share (the content hosting ‘store’ page that MFC has) so I can sell these cute photos to people for cheap. Often I’ll make a monthly selfie album that I upload photos to as the month progresses, which encourages members who purchase it early in the month to keep checking back for more photos. It’s a good way to hype myself up and feel cute before cam, while also creating content to sell that fosters the building of my regular base. 

- Also with respect to camming and my mac, if I do something sexy on cam, like a strip tease or a bath show, I’ll hit record on my photobooth app while I’m streaming to record my webcam’s output. I can then edit this footage after I log off cam to sell for cheap, or to give to members who contributed toward my goal or something. 

- It’s good practice to reply to all offline tips. While I might not reply to video or photoset sales through MFC share all the time (sometimes my inbox gets super busy), it is important not to let offline tips go unnoticed. Appreciating people’s tips makes them want to tip again. Ignoring them makes them not want to return. 

- Do not just sit on your phone when you’re bored on cam. Get up, dance around, show off your body, talk to yourself about nothing. You’re not there to be entertained (although it’s fun when you are, of course) - you’re there to be entertaining. Shake off the anxiety and shake ya butt instead.

[erasethedarkness]

Day 11  |   Present Mixup

Summary: As you got home, you asked Aizawa over the phone if he and Eri would spend Christmas Eve night with you. He didn't give you a direct answer. You took a bath and then slept, accidentally sleeping through most of the day, waking up about 12 hours later. Your house wasn't as you left it, so you cautiously exited your room- finding no one until you returned from checking the kitchen and spotted Aizawa and Eri asleep on the couch. When they woke up, you three enjoyed Christmas Eve together, staying up past midnight so the little girl could open a single gift, the night full of pleasant surprises that made your heart ache with joy.

Note: Here’s the second to last chapter of the 12 Days of Christmas series! The last chapter will be posted before the end of the month! 

“Hey, Shouta?”

“What is it, (Y/N)?” he answered you over the phone.

“I know it’s a big favor to ask but … would you and Eri spend the night tonight? Please?” White noise masked the silence that fell after your question as you held your breath and waited for a response. You knew it was a lot to ask. Keeping the little girl safe was one of the most important things to Aizawa, and asking him to let her spend a night outside of the protective and guarded security of U.A. was a tall request. But maybe, just maybe, because you would both be there, it would be okay.

“...Why?” he finally asked, warily. This was the first time you asked for Eri to stay the night after all.

“Well… it’s Christmas Eve..” you began slowly, picking your words carefully. “It’d be sweet to stay up until midnight together and let Eri open one of her gifts before we all went to sleep. Then we could wake up for Christmas morning together. There’s an apple cinnamon pancake recipe I’ve been sitting on just for her, and I thought… now would be the best time.”

Once again things were quiet. You paced back and forth in front of your house, tracing the walkway between your zen gardens. The black sand and rocks came together in dark streams that conformed around obsidian boulders and swirled in blank spaces as sunlight crept into the sky and diluted the darkness with the coming day.

“Christmas is really important to you, isn’t it?” His voice made it sound more like a realization than a question. Truth be told, he’d never seen someone so invested in this holiday. It just wasn’t as big of a deal in Japan, and especially not to the people whose company he kept.

“Heh.. yeah..” you sighed a bit. “Christmas was one of the few times my family would actually get together. We’re all really busy- most of us are active pro heroes. I guess… I guess I want to spend it with you and Eri because it makes me feel like even though I’m not spending it with my family, I’m still spending it with the ones that matter most to me here.” A longer, softer exhale followed- it was almost bitter. “Now that I say it outloud, I see how selfish I’m being. I’m sorry,” you added a soft chuckle to try to lighten things up. “It’s not a big deal though! Just coming over tomorrow is more than enough for me.”

“I’ll see what we can do,” he answered after a bit. You couldn’t really pick up on a change in tone and weren’t really sure what think. He let your words hang as if he was still processing them. “(Y/N), you should get some sleep. You just got back from patrol, right?” Aizawa asked, as if he just realized the time.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I just got home and was watching the sunrise while we talked. I’ll get some rest soon.”

“Good.”

For a moment, you two were quiet. You had walked up to your door and just kind of stopped, standing there, awkwardly on the phone. These silences began to happen a bit more lately as you two reached the end of a conversation, as if you weren’t really sure how to say goodbye.

“Alright. I’m.. gonna take a bath and then sleep. I’ll talk to you later. Goodnight. Err. Morning. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah. Get some rest. Goodnight, (Y/N).” He hung up shortly after saying your name, leaving you with the silence of the day.

You sighed deeply as you lowered your phone from your cheek, holding it as you closed your eyes for a moment. A soft pressure brushed against your ankle and shin, startling you at first. Once you looked down, you saw Abyss’s bright yellow eyes, and three kittens coming up the steps to follow him. It always struck you as odd that he cared for these kittens; you didn’t often see male cats caretaking in the wild. But maybe they were somewhat domesticated by whoever lived here prior. They all looked so different, so you assumed they weren’t his, but they followed him around like they were. He placed his paws on your leg and gently brushed for your attention.

“You know.. Every time I try to pick you up and bring you inside, you refuse. But you sure like hanging around. All four of you are just like that. It’s not like I’d separate you,” you chuckled softly, opening the door and stepping inside. Since you’d be right back, you left the door open as you went to the kitchen to get food for them. When you returned, they were lined up at the entrance, refusing to step in but sitting patiently and staring inside. A smile pressed onto your lips as you stepped over them and placed the plate of mixed food down. They turned around and followed, gathering around in a circle and sharing their breakfast as you left them to take your bath and then get some much needed sleep.

It was a good thing you finished all of your preparations ahead of time, because you slept most of Christmas Eve away. You didn’t mean to, but by the time you woke up, it was dark out again. The clock read 20:36 (8:36pm), informing you that you slept for nearly a solid twelve hours. With a low groan, you sluggishly sat up, your entire body feeling heavy. It’d been a long time since you slept that much. Hell, it’d been a long time since you slept over five hours. As you sat in the darkness of your room, lethargically blinking in the dark silence, you suddenly realized that your door was closed, and there was a light on beyond it.

You never slept with your door closed, and the light was brighter than what was given off by the Christmas tree.

Your brows furrowed as you pocketed your phone and quietly went to the door, pressing your ear to it. A commercial was playing, meaning that someone had the T.V. on. Slowly and silently you opened your door and crept out of the bedroom to see who was there. As you came up behind the couch and didn’t see or hear anyone, you began to look around you more cautiously. It seemed like no one was there. You stopped in the middle of the hallway, looking behind you before scanning from left to right. No one.

The kitchen was the next place you decided to check, remaining silent and stealthy. This was just too weird. It was calm and seemed safe, but … things weren’t as you left them. You sighed softly and turned around, walking back into the living room, only to stop in your tracks.

A smile pressed onto your lips. Aizawa was asleep on the couch with Eri curled on top of him. One arm was wrapped around her, the other hanging off the side, and they were wearing matching pajamas. In an instant, your phone was out. You made sure it was on silent and that the flash was off before snapping a picture of the cutest scene. For a moment, you just stood there, gazing at the pair with a simple grin on your lips. All of your worries and suspicions dissipated as you realized that Aizawa must have closed your door so that you could get as much rest as you needed, while he and Eri relaxed together and kept from disturbing you.

You walked over to them and kneeled beside the couch, genty taking the hand that hung off it. Your touch immediately woke Aizawa, his eyes opening as he remained composed so he didn’t wake Eri. He turned his head and looked at you, your smiling face calming him from the small startle. His hand gently squeezed yours as you brought his knuckles to your lips for a gentle kiss, your eyes closing only to look up at him when they opened again. Meeting your eyes, he smiled gently and lifted his hand to your cheek, drawing you in for a soft and sweet kiss.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked in a soft whisper, Eri still resting peacefully on his chest.

“I did,” you answered just as gently with a small nod. “Thank you for letting me rest so long… and for coming tonight.” The smile on your lips was faint but deeply sincere as you squeezed his hand again. “But how did you get in..?” Even though you programmed your gate to read his fingerprints, he didn’t have a key to your place.

“Hm?” he sighed softly, his hand on Eri idly beginning to stroke her hair as she slept on him. “You must have been exhausted- you forgot to close your door. Abyss and the kittens were sleeping in front of it when we got here. We gave them treats for protecting you,” he teased gently.

But his words shocked you. Did you really forget to close the door? And the cats just stayed and slept in front of it? Seeing the surprise and concern on your face, he stroked your cheek and drew your attention back to him. “It’s alright, (Y/N). We checked everything- every room, every corner. All is safe.” Your hand came up to his and you nodded, turning your face to kiss his palm before he withdrew it from you.

Although you two were speaking softly, Eri stirred and slowly opened her red eyes, seeing your lips pressed against Aizawa’s hand. She yawned and stretched, curling back up on his chest. You both looked to her; a kiss pressed to the top of her head from her living pillow as you brought your hand to her cheek and brushed her hair back behind her ear. “Good morning, sleepy head,” you teased her affectionately.

“Is it morning?!” she gasped, sitting up excitedly and making your partner go “oof” under his breath. Your brows lifted as a surprised expression flashed onto your face.

“Not yet, Eri.” Aizawa’s soft voice responded to her before you could, his hand rubbing her back as the excitement toned down. You were relieved when she didn’t seem upset or bothered.

“You’re so silly, (Y/N)-san. Did sleeping all day make you think it was morning?”

You chuckled and nodded, smiling with amusement. “It did! I was surprised that it was already dark out when I woke up. You and Aizawa-san were so quiet that I didn’t even know you arrived.” Playfully, you booped her nose. “It’s a good thing you got a nap in, because we’re gonna stay up late tonight.”

“We are?!” she gasped with wide eyes. You couldn’t help but giggle as you nodded again.

“Mmhm! We’re gonna stay up until it turns into Christmas so you can open one of your presents before we sleep for being so sweet and good.” Her eyes lit up at the promise of getting to open a present, and then she looked to Aizawa, your gaze following hers. You hadn’t noticed before, but he was smiling as you two talked. Something about it brought a soft blush onto your cheeks as you averted your eyes back to the girl in matching pink and purple kitty pajamas with him.

Eri leaned forward, hugging her guardian around the neck and not-so-quietly whispering, “Can I tell her?”

You tilted your head, looking at the two with a small hint of suspicion.

“Tell me what…?”

Both of them stared at you before looking at each other, Aizawa pretending to think hard on whether or not to tell you. “I don’t know, Eri… Don’t you think it’d be better to surprise her?”

“But I wanna tell her..! Pleeaaaase, Aizawa-san?”

“She’ll find out in a few hours anyway though,” he responded, more to tease you than Eri.

“Then it shouldn’t matter if I tell her now! Right, (Y/N)-san?”

At this point, you just wanted in on the secret. “Absolutely, Eri. That’s exactly why you should tell me now instead of making me wait!” Your response made him laugh, and your heart jumped, making your blush just a bit deeper.

“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered like this. You’re even blushing. It makes me want to keep it a secret a little longer.” When he pointed it out, you pouted and turned your face away, your cheeks reddening just a bit more. At least he just assumed that the blush was because you wanted to know what was going on.

“Egh, you’re so mean,” you moped- only making him chuckle again. He sat up with Eri and gently stroked the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair. Your eyes closed at this touch, the frown fading as your lips just barely pursed in delight at his tough. With a sigh, you looked back at them, met by two sweet and smiling faces that you couldn’t help but smile back at.

“Eri, why don’t you show (Y/N) instead of telling her?”

Without missing a beat, the young girl hopped off of Aizawa and took your hand, pulling you to the other room. You stumbled to your feet and followed after her, bent over as she held your hand. As you looked over your shoulder, you saw a small grin on his face just before he stretched, getting up to follow. Eri led you all the way to the Christmas tree where she let go of your hand, turned around with both arms stretched out and a proud, accomplished smile on her face.

“Tadaaaa!!”

You looked at her quizzically, your eyes drifting from her ecstatic face to the tree. Her hands came down and behind her back as she turned around to look at the tree with you, rocking on the heels of her feet and humming excitedly, waiting for you to notice. Aizawa’s hand gently pressed to your lower back before sliding around your waist as he hugged you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder and watching you. It only took you a few seconds to notice the change, but to them it felt like you never would. As your eyes lowered down the tree, you stepped back, pressing into your boyfriend just a bit more as he held you, refusing to back.

“What… You guys..” Your words were soft as you finally looked back to them. A smile curled onto those lips you wanted to kiss as affectionate arms left you. He moved to stand with Eri, taking in the expression on your face with her. They both looked so pleased with themselves.

Beneath the Christmas tree, the presents had proliferated, several new gifts mixed in under the tree in different wrapping paper. Some of them were pristinely wrapped while others were messier and more frantic, and they had tags with your name on them. Your eyebrows came together as you took in the gesture.

“I.. “ You began to speak but trailed off, at a loss for words. It took a while, but you finally sighed a breath that helped ground you in your appreciation. “You two are way too sweet, y’know that?” Eri giggled happily as you hugged her and Aizawa gave you a small peck on your forehead when you hugged him as well. “Thank you. Really. But… you didn’t have to. I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“We know,” he answered gently, pulling you in so your shoulder rested against his chest.

“We wanted to, (Y/N)-san! You’re always so nice and happy and making us smile! We wanted to make you smile too!”

Eri’s words melted your heart and you stepped away from the hero beside you to pick her up. You supported her on your arm, holding her against you as you returned to Aizawa’s side, his hand sliding to where it was before. Gently, you kissed her forehead before giving your partner a small nuzzle against his neck.

“You didn’t have to do this to make me smile. Just being here tonight with me is more than enough to make my heart happy.”

“Well…” she trailed off, trying to think of a response, looking up to Aizawa in the process. He smiled down at her and gave her hair a tousle before resting his cheek against your head, looking back to the tree. His eyes took in the ornaments, looking over the ones that had pictures framed in them.

“This is your first Christmas away from your family, isn’t it, (Y/N)?” he asked gently, eyes lingering on a family picture that was in a small, ceramic frame decorated with snowflakes. His question caught you off guard and you lifted your head from his shoulder, your eyes looking to the same picture he was. You’d looked at it so many times since the decorations were put up. It was last year’s family Christmas photo.

“Yeah..” you acknowledged softly. It was something you tried not to think about often. Realizing how sad you sounded, you cleared your throat and pushed a smile onto your lips. “Yeah, but it’s not that big of a deal,” you tried to cover up. They both saw right through you though.

“You’re contradicting yourself.” He subtly reminded you about what you’d said to him on the phone earlier.

“Yeah, it’s okay, (Y/N)-san! We’ll be your family!”

Your heart seemed to stop at Eri’s declaration. The surprise must’ve been evident on your face, because Eri suddenly looked concerned.

“Unless- uh- you don’t want us to be! Uh- I’m- I’m sorry!” Her apology snapped you out of that frozen moment, and you shook your head, smiling sweetly and sincerely.

“What? Don’t be silly, Eri,” you reassured her, nuzzling her cheek with your nose and giving it a kiss. “I can’t think of a family I’d like better than you two.” Saying that outloud was simultaneously relieving and nerve racking. Your cheeks burned with a deep blush, so you very intentionally avoided looking at Aizawa, doting on Eri instead and giving her ticklish nuzzles and cheek kisses and even a raspberry which made her squeal and laugh. As you diverted your attention, you felt a soft hand against the back of your neck, brushing away your hair before he kissed you softly there. No words followed.

To coax midnight along faster, you put on Christmas movies as the three of you cuddled together on the couch, sipping hot cocoa and snacking on a berry assortment you prepared. Sliced strawberries were mixed with raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries for a healthy snack since Christmas season was so heavily doused in sweets- candies and cookies being among some of the most popular gifts and snacks. Eri sat between you two, Aizawa’s arm slung over the back of the couch so that his hand rested against the nape of your neck, his thumb caressing it in gentle strokes.

At the end of The Ugly Duckling’s Christmas Wish, you and Eri were both crying, elated that the duckling was actually a swan and reunited with his proper family while the little girl was reunited with her loving parents. You both held each other, your arm behind her as your hand stroked her hair and you leaned against her, the two of you pressing into the only one who kept themselves together. His hand went from your neck to your shoulder, holding you close as young girl hugged his chest and you rested your head back against him.

“Really, you two… It was a happy ending. Why the tears?” he chuckled, taken by the way you two earnestly cried.

“We’re just- we’re just so happy for them,” you answered through sniffles, wiping your tears away.

The irony wasn’t lost on Aizawa as the two of you were so affected by sweet stories of family. It made sense to him. He knew you missed yours, and Eri never had a proper one to even know the meaning or significance of family. Even though he wasn’t particularly close to his- he still had one and they were on good terms. Being a hero and teacher was just more important than those ties at the moment. But somehow, they weren’t more important than these ones. The realization stole his bemused smile away, his face returning to its general seriousness. Something… was actually more important to him than being a hero and a teacher.

“Come now… that’s enough,” he reassured you both. “Look, it’s after midnight.”

You gasped, lifting your head to look at the clock on the TV. Sure enough, it was 12:07.

“Merry Christmas!” you exclaimed brightly, the tears quickly ceasing. After wiping your face, you gave them both a kiss on the cheek before placing the berry bowl on the coffee table with the empty cups of hot cocoa, hopping up just after. “Eri, let’s go pick out a gift to open!” They followed your lead, getting up and accompanying you back to the Christmas Tree.

You stood back with Aizawa, arms crossed behind each other’s backs as you tended to do whenever you two watched Eri from behind. The little girl was sitting on her legs, looking at the wrapped boxes, making out her name on some and Aizawa’s on others. After a minute of serious contemplation, she finally picked one out. To your surprise, she brought a gift out for you as well- one that was from both of them.

“(Y/N)-san, we want you to open this one tonight, too!” she announced, holding up the package to you.

“What? Really?” You looked from her to Aizawa as you took the gift, feeling how soft it was in the process. A small nod followed by a sweet kiss to your forehead was the only response you got from the man. “Well… if I’m going to open a gift, too, then why don’t you pick out one for Aizawa-san to open as well? We can all open one present tonight,” you suggested with a smile. Eri nodded with a happy “okay!” and picked out a present for Aizawa, handing it to him.

“Alright, you first, Eri,” you guided as the three of you sat down by the Christmas tree. She began to pull at the seams of your wrapping, the paper getting torn off in the process. In a few short seconds, you were able to see the back of a picture frame, and suddenly your eyes widened, your body becoming a little rigid. The girl was so engrossed in opening the present that she didn’t notice- but someone else did. A gentle hand came to the back of your arm, a concerned look on his face. You blinked and pushed away the obvious shock, turning to smile at Aizawa before returning your attention to Eri, who finished unwrapping the present. She unfolded the bifold picture frame, opening it like a book, and immediately squealed with joy. It was too late now to do anything about it.

Inside were two pictures. On the left was a black and white photo of Aizawa kneeling in front of your house, holding the edge of his capture weapon between his fingers as he waved it before Abyss and the three kittens who sat in captivation. Mirroring it was a vibrant color photo of him and Yamada holding her hands as they led the way into Yoshimaen Amusement Park, the silhouette of smiles on their faces as they were just barely looking at each other.

You looked from her to Aizawa and caught the content smile on his lips as his eyes were cast on the unfolded pictures on her lap. He looked … peacefully happy. There was a calm deepness in that smile that stole your heart, even if it wasn’t directed at you. Noticing your stare, he turned to you and reached out to cup your cheek and draw you over to him. Following his hand, you leaned forward and heard him whisper in your ear before kissing your jaw. “It’s alright; I’d rather have one with pictures of us,” he reassured you, realizing the photos were for him. Your cheeks grew red at his words, and speechlessly you gazed at him, the smile on your lips giving away your joy and appreciation.

“THEY’RE SO CUTE!!!” Eri exclaimed as she hugged the folding picture frame to her chest with a big smile, finally looking up at you. You looked back to her and couldn’t help but smile with a soft giggle. “I love it so much! I can’t wait to put it next to my bed! Thank you, (Y/N)-san!”

“I’m so happy to hear that.” Your voice wavered with the small laugh her excitement pulled out of you.

“Shouta, you should open yours. I want to go last.”

“Hm? Oh, sure.”  

Eri put her picture frame down in front of her and leaned over to watch Aizawa pull on tape pieces, the paper unfolding as the adhesives were removed and revealing a gift box. He set it down and pulled the lid off to reveal a charcoal v-neck with Abyss’s face printed on it and the words “CAT DAD” printed underneath. You giggled watching the way he stared at the shirt with his near-impossible to read expression. He pulled the shirt out and held it up, eventually smirking with amusement.

“Oh!! Oh, oh! Turn it around, Aizawa-san!” Eri happily demanded, bouncing in her spot. Following her suggestion, Aizawa turned the shirt around and chortled. On the back of the shirt were the faces of the three kittens that always followed Abyss. He folded the shirt back up and placed it in the box again, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek.

“Thank you, (Y/N). It’s precious. Now, your turn.”

A small blush blossomed on your cheeks when he kissed you, but then you nodded and opened your gift. You gasped as you saw the pink and purple, peeling the wrapping paper way. Before you even finished opening the gift, you placed it in your lap, laughing- borderline happy crying- completely slayed by how precious and cute they were.

“I can’t believe you guys,” you sighed joyously between your giggles. You lifted up the shirt of the matching pajama set they bought you, a broad, toothy smile on your face. Without wasting a second, you pulled the shirt on over your pajamas and looked to them- their happiness as obvious at their grins. “Oh! Oh, I have an idea!” You got up onto your knees and shuffled so that you had your back to the tree.

“Eri, come over here, and Shouta, get on the other side of her.”

It took a little bit of direction, but you managed to get your boyfriend to kneel behind Eri’s right side as you were behind her left, both of you framing the white-haired angel as you held your phone out in selfie mode. It took a little bit of moving around, but finally everything was framed just right- you could see everyone’s face and the fact that you were all wearing the same pajamas, as well as the Christmas tree in back. With the smallest flick of your thumb, you took your first picture ever with them. And it was followed by a second one- where you caught Aizawa and Eri’s surprised expressions as you kissed Aizawa’s cheek, and then another as you both kissed Eri’s cheeks. It wasn’t long before you were all laughing, making faces at the phone as you documented your first Christmas together.

After the excitement wound down and the wrapping paper thrown away, you picked Eri up and brought her to the bedroom. She was already falling asleep and it was just past 01:00. As you tucked her in, your partner climbed into bed on the opposite side, and you joined them after turning off the light, leaving the door open so the soft glow of the Christmas tree could be seen. You both framed the child and hugged her with an arm, the backs of your hands brushing against each others’ stomachs as you laid on your sides. For a moment, you two gazed at each other, then slowly leaned in to kiss, trying not to disturb the sleeping child.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N),” he whispered against your lips. “ I…”

Your eyes met his. In the dim light, you could see there was so much processing behind them. Tightness gripped your chest, your stomach knotting up. Without thinking, you pressed your lips to his, as if to tell him it was okay, and he didn’t need to say anything more.

“Merry Christmas, Shouta.”

[katzuyas]

Towards Fiddler’s Green [20/?]

Victor's prayer halts when the midday sun begins to burn his bowed neck. He doesn't want to leave Yuuri alone, but he must, if he wants Yuuri to survive the night. Overexposure to the sun can make his blood turn or give rot enough time to feed on his wound. Victor must build a shelter before nightfall, or else Yuuri's body may grow cold enough in the night to never feel the warmth of day again.

He leaves Yuuri on the beach after pressing a kiss to his temple with trembling lips.

He isn't gone for long. Maybe an hour. Maybe less. But when he arrives back, it feels like he's seeing Yuuri for the first time in days. Yuuri's skin is still terrifyingly pale, but now it begins to redden, too. Victor touches Yuuri's cheek with the back of his hand, and sure enough – Yuuri is burning up. Life-taking fever is getting hold of him.

Victor drops everything he brought with him and, before he begins building the shelter, he dips one of his shirts into the basin of fresh water he's made over the days of his stay on the island. He wrings the fabric and folds it to first wipe Yuuri's face with to somewhat cool it, and then to rest on his forehead. It's the only thing he can do. That, and gently dabbing Yuuris parched lips with another cloth.

It takes him the entire day to build a shelter from both the sun and the nightly chill. The winds at the beach are warm even at night, but to a body fighting against the odds like Yuuri's is anything could be perilous. Victor sits at his side the entire time, unable to sleep, to eat. His only concern is changing the paste on Yuuri's wound and wiping his feverish body with fresh, cool water.

Nightfall catches him like that, and even the moon doesn't change it. The small hut made of branches tied with vines and covered with large leaves is only big enough to fit them both. Victor sits next to Yuuri, but when the day turns to night, the shivers begin. Yuuri needs warmth, Victor knows, so he throws the dirty, bloodied robe over him. But that is hardly enough. Yuuri continues to shudder, and Victor's heart squeezes in his chest at the pure helplessness he feels.

He starts a fire, as big as he can make it without worrying about burning down their hut. It's still not enough. Wasting no time, he lies next to Yuuri and holds him close. His own body is the only source of direct heat that he can warm Yuuri up with. Small gasps and whimpers leave Yuuri's dry lips as he fights against the fever wrecking his body, and Victor swallows his own fear, his tears.

This, he thinks, is even worse than watching Yuuri fight that monster has been. Victor is as helpless as he was then. All he can do is hold Yuuri and pray for his recovery, which he does all night through. By the mercy of gods, Yuuri will live, but during the long hours of the night, when Yuuri trembles in his arms, when he whimpers and cries, and Victor cries silently from the fear and the worry, it takes all of his heart to believe that all will be well.

The morning can't come soon enough.

He doesn't sleep a wink that night. When the morning light sneaks between the leaves on the roof of their hut, Victor is as awake as he was before: wide-eyed with fear. The fever hasn't broken yet.

He stands up to bring more water for Yuuri, but he never gets to the stream. He doesn't even cross the line of trees. Because there, on the brightening horizon, Victor spots a ship. It's white sails are turned towards him as if their goal was this exact island and fear strikes Victor in the heart first.

Who are they? What are they doing here? What do they want?

He stands there, frozen, for quite a moment. But while the fear runs its course, his logical mind begins to work as well. If there are people on board, they must have a medic with them. Or, if not that, then at least someone learned in treating wounds. Someone who can help Yuuri better than Victor with his limited resources. If the captain agrees to take them aboard, maybe Yuuri will recover. Maybe, maybe there is still hope left to carry him through this.

Could this be an answer to all of Victor's desperate prayers?

Victor's breath rushes past his lips like the waves rush onto the beach sand. His eyes turn from the ship, with its white sails and an impressive three-canvas mast, to where a dinghy makes its way towards the island, buoying on the waves. Whoever is in it must see Victor standing there, or maybe it's the fire they spotted in the night, or maybe the hut on the beach from the crow's nest, but they row the dinghy towards the beach where Victor has set camp.

In case anything goes awry, Victor returns to Yuuri's side. He checks his forehead, his cheeks, his neck, but he's still burning with fever. Victor takes a shaky breath, clenches his knife in hand, and grits his teeth. He stands guard until the men in the dinghy pull up to the shore. Then he lifts his knife and waits for them to approach.

"We mean no harm," one of them says, keeping his hands in the open. It could soothe Victor's worries, if not for his companions still resting their hands on the hilts of their swords behind his back. "We saw the flame and we stopped here. Are you shipwrecked?"

"Whose banners do you fly?" Victor asks without answering the man's questions.

"High Highness, prince Jean-Jacques of the Royal House Leroy."

At the words, Victor looks up to squint at the ship. From this far it's hard to see the colours of the banners above the ship's mast, but he thinks he sees the royal blue and purple of the Leroys. It could be something else just as well, though.

"The prince," Victor says, turning back to the men, "if you sail under him, you surely know which hand he favours?"

The man frowns, but answers: "His left, of course."

And Victor breathes freely.

He'd met the prince only once before, thankfully, but he'd noted that detail. Today, he's more than glad for it. He lowers his knife, deciding to trust the prince's good heart and the good heart of his men.

"I am prince Victor of the Royal House Nikiforov," he introduces himself. A little of the truth, and a little of a lie, he thinks as he speaks next: "My husband and I have been caught in a storm. The ship and the crew have all perished. We barely managed to come ashore, but my husband has been wounded. I managed to close the wound as best as I could, but if you have a medic on board, it would mean a lot to me to have him take a look."

The men bow to him, and the one at the front answers: "Of course, your highness. Is he able to move or should we help?"

Relief flooding his heart, Victor nods. "Please."

And when the men bring Yuuri out, Victor's vision darkens, it swims, and he doesn't fall only thanks to the strong arm of the first mate who holds him up. Together, they enter the dinghy, where Victor rests his hand on Yuuri's chest, closes his eyes, and offers prayer to whichever deity has smiled upon them on this day.

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[dammitadolfnomorecake]

DOTW 29 - Full

It was now the fifth day of their holiday and they off exploring the coast line in rented sedan. Zeke's ashes were in Eren's lap where the omega had been playing with the box they were in for the whole trip. Heading along the coast, they were driving towards where the terrain turned from the smooth beaches and into the steep cliffs. It would have been so much easier if Eren had just scattered the ashes at the waters edge, but his boyfriend didn't want people swimming through Zeke's remains, and when he'd put it that way, it was kind of gross. The idea of bits of Zeke washing onto the beach, and sticking in the sand... that was just, a whole lot of messed up. Having checked the tour guides and attraction pamphlets for the area, he'd found a spot called "The Blowholes". Shaped by thousands of years of erosion, small holes had formed in the cliffs, meaning when a strong wave hit, the water would be forced up the hole in a shooting stream. Even if it wasn't the best place to scatter Zeke, it should still be pretty interesting. After that, he'd planned on taking Eren to see the natural hot water spring, the finally a drive through the plantations. Living in the city, the kid probably hadn't ever really given any thought to where the food they ate came from. Parking at The Blowholes, Levi eyed the masses of tourists. Steel fencing had been erected to keep them off the cliff, but that meant nothing to most people these days. They were happy to die if meant a chance at an amazing selfie. Climbing from the car, Zeke was left on the front passenger seat, while Eren jogged over to his side "What is this place?" "You'll see soon" No sooner had the words come out his mouth, a stream of water shot through one of the holes, leaving a rainbow in its wake "Oh my god! Did you see that?!" "Yep" "Levi! That is so cool! I need photos" He'd thought that meant photos of the water, not photos of them together while Eren tried to get the rainbow behind them. It felt like it took a hundred shots for Eren to get one he was happy with, though he did get plenty of kisses to the cheek during it all, so it wasn't all terrible. Since telling Eren about Isabel and Farlan, the omega hadn't shied away once. He'd caught him sitting on the balcony smoking a single cigarette in Isabel's memory, and had sat down to listen while he rattled on about some story from when they were young. Even if it'd been 15 years, it felt like only yesterday that they met. The memories flowing back so easily. Almost too easily. By the end of it all, he was sure he'd never talked that much in his life. Walking down along the fence line, the stopped so Eren could take photos of the tourist information board, with all the do's and don't's. That everyone else was happily ignoring. Finding out there was small war memorial just a little further along the road, Eren didn't even have a chance to ask if they could go, before he was saying yes. This was why holidays were bad. He couldn't say no to Eren at the best of times. A 20 minute drive down a rough gravel road wasn't his idea of fun, not with all the dust kicked up by the traffic. Then Eren saw two horses wandering through the low scrub on the road side, so they'd had to stop so he could take photos, clearly disappointed when the pair didn't come closer. At the war memorial, Eren took another hundred odd photos. It was a steep climb from the small dirt carpark, but was nice in its own way. Like most war memorials, it had a huge anchor, as well as neat marble wall panels naming the soldiers who'd died in the last great conflict with Marley. Eren seemed to be especially proud when he found and L. Ackerman, and an E. Yeager on the lists. Declaring that in another life they'd been soldiers and it had been a tragic love story of two star-crossed lovers. He was 90 percent sure Eren didn't know what it meant, but didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm. Urged to stand next to his "name", it was slightly spooky when a random Gull swooped down to land atop the panel. It's red rimmed eyes staring right into his before it cawed and flew away. He'd just been slipping back into thinking about Isabel. After taking a photo of Eren next to "his name", they headed back down to the car. Eren pausing to pick a bright pink flower off one of the numerous sprawling succulent plants surrounding the walkway. The natural springs was a half an hour drive back along the main road, and then another 5 minutes down a dirt one. The sight over grown with weeds and reeds, while the smell of Sulfur had him wrinkling his nose. Taking photos of everything, Eren nearly lost his phone as he tried to get a good photo of the water flowing from the rust pipe system installed to once water stock. Of course they couldn't drink hot water, so it instead fed off into a concrete tank to cool. By running it through a series of concrete channels, the surface area of the water was increased, allowing for a wider surface to cool at once. Or that's what the sign said in much more technical terms. Even if it might have seemed boring to some, Eren seem really excited to be learning about new things. He had no idea that erosion could form things like The Blowholes, that Paradis had even been at war with Marley, or that natural springs actually existed and his books weren't lying. With the next stop being the plantations, they stopped off at a banana plantation, where Eren ditched him for the huge aviaries of all kinds of birds. Unlike almost all the other plantations in the area, this one was open for public visits and tours... He didn't love yours, and he loved them even less by the end of it. He had fucking filthy rotten bits of banana stuck to the bottom of his shoes. His toes curling as his feet tried to escape the filth. With it being nearly lunch time, they grabbed lunch there. Eren being the little shit that he was, and eating a banana so provocatively, he'd popped a boner of it. The things Eren could do with a banana and his plump pink lips was better than soft core porn, and all he'd done was eat the damn thing. They'd also picked up a few small souvenirs there. A key chain bottle opener for both Moblit and Hanji, while Erwin got banana, the whole where the bananas banana would be if he had one. For Eren they'd picked out a dorky looking snow globe. The banana inside dressed as snow man which made absolutely no sense... yet Eren thought it was cute, and that was enough for him to be handing over his debit card. * Eren was enjoying their drive. There was so much to see outside of the concrete of Shinganshima. Everything was so green and bright. And completely fascinating. Time was running out to find a place to lay Zeke at rest, but after Levi had been so open with him, his attention had mostly been on making sure Levi was doing ok with everything. It felt good and scary at the same time. He felt even closer to Levi. Like he understood why he did what he did, and it was fucking scary. He didn't want to see Levi that scared or upset all over again. He didn't want his boyfriend to suffer alone anymore. Turning off the main road, Eren had no clue what was happening. Wild scrub along both sides of the road seemed to thicken until a small carpark appeared on the right side. Pulling into the carpark, Eren looked to his right. There was a small wooden bridge leading over what seemed to be a river. Tall weeping trees draped over the sides of the river, giving it the impression that no body had been in here in years "Want to go take a look? The bridge has to lead somewhere" "You don't mind?" "How often do we see nature like this?" Levi hated nature. The man definitely out of his element on the beach, though he tolerated it enough for them to wade around in the water. Unlike him, Levi could swim and Eren could watch him swimming around all day. It was the first time he'd seen Levi in any kind of shorts other than the boxers he wore over his boxer briefs in the summer. He loved watching the way Levi's muscles and rippled. A blush settling on his face as he grew aroused from the sight of his sexy alpha dripping wet. The only reason Levi would suggest the walk is because he knew Eren wanted to go. Leaving Zeke's ashes on the passenger seat, Eren scrambled out the car. The place was silent, even with the few ducks floating on the river. Jogging over to the bridge, he leant against the aged rails, once painted red but now faded to back to wood in places. Coming up behind him, Levi wrapped his arms around him, kissing his shoulder "What do think?" "It's pretty. Where do you think the river goes?" "Out to the ocean. I think it's connected to the same river that runs through Shinganshima" "It's so quiet... it feels like we're the only people in the world" "I think I could live with that" Turning his head, Eren kissed Levi's forehead awkwardly "I think you'd get bored pretty quickly" "I don't... this place is kind of nice" "Mmm. Do you want to follow the path?" "Did you get enough photos of the ducks?" "I haven't taken any yet" Levi felt his front pocket, pulling his phone out for him "I know you'll regret it if you don't" How did he manage to scored himself the best alpha in the world? Snapping a couple of photos of the ducks, then squealing when he realised there ducklings, Levi patiently waited for him "Can we take a few together?" "If you want to?" "I do... I don't ever want to forget this. Being here with you" "Who would have thought you'd be so sappy?" "I'm an omega, it comes with the dynamic" "We both know you're not your dynamic" Eren snorted. He was very much a slave to his dynamic, no matter what he did. Even now, he was slicking at the feeling of being in his boyfriends arms "Maybe..." Turning in Levi's arms, he stole a kiss. Levi, squeezing his arse in response to the stolen kiss. Mewing, he broke the kiss "That's not fair" "What's the point of having a boyfriend with such a fine arse, if I can't grope you" "If you keep groping me, I can't be blamed for my actions" "What are you going to do? Kiss me?" "Exactly" "I'm so scared" "You better be..." Kissing Levi again, his boyfriend ground up against him. The pair of them very much in their own world until the ducks behind them quacked and splashed loud enough for Eren to break the kiss with a sigh. He wanted to be with Levi physically, but needed just a little longer. It was moments like this that sucked the most. Maybe if they'd been a normal couple, Levi would have bent him over and fucked him right there... fuck... his cheeks reddened as he caught a whiff of his own aroused scent. He wished Levi was like every other alpha he'd met, the ones who couldn't read or even smell his scent. But he also wouldn't change a single think about the man "You look like you shat yourself, brat" "What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?" "No?" Rolling his eyes, he forced Levi to turn around, and leaned down to place his chin on Levi's shoulder "Shut up and smile for me" Levi scowled at the camera, Eren unable to hide his smile "You're not smiling" "Because you're a shit" "Mmm... probably. Now smile" Instead of smiling, Levi kissed his cheek. With his thumb over the camera button, he ended up with like 50 copies of the photo. Not that he minded "I like this one" "Eren, I've been meaning to ask. I know you were scared of leaving a paper trail, when you were with Zeke. But can I make a photo of us my online profile photo?" "You... want to use a photo with me in it?" "With your permission... you're my boyfriend. I want to show the world" Eren swallowed down the scream of happiness. Levi's ear was right near his mouth "I... are you sure? I'm not the special..." "You're my boyfriend. I want the world to know you're mine" Oh fuck... he squealed right into Levi's ear. But after a confession like that, he couldn't stop himself "Yes!" "Oi. Fuck. That was my ear" "Sorry. I tried not to... but..." "You got excited?" "Yeah..." "It's alright. And I won't change a thing without your permission" "Levi, do you think I could make an account?" "You want to make an account? On what?" "I don't know... I just. Want to know more about you" "All you have to do is ask. I'm honestly not on social media all that much. But Hanji and Erwin are. And Moblit" "If I make it an account, does everyone see it?" "Why don't be take a look when we get back to the room?" "Mmm. Ok. Exploring first?" "Alright, lets go exploring" The gravel path leading from the bridge lead up to a look out. The river cutting through the dense scrub before. It was... it took his breath away. He had no idea what the plants surrounding him where, but they were beautiful... wiping at his face, he knew this was the place. This tiny place where no one came, and the environment hadn't been ruined by concrete and roads "Everything ok?" "Here... I want to scatter his ashes here" Levi took half a step back, but then his alpha grabbed his hand, forcing him to face him as his hand came up to cup his cheek "Are you sure?" "It's beautiful... and so peaceful. I hope wherever he is, he's at peace. That's the only thing I want... him to rest peacefully. He didn't have a happy life, and his... he deserves peace" "And you're sure?" "Yeah... Levi, do you think the river leads out to the ocean?" "It does" "I think it'd be nice if he could see all this, before seeing the ocean... if I died, I think I'd like to rest in a place like this" Levi's face softened, he sighed softly "Alright. But I don't want to think of you dying" "I'm not going anywhere... I couldn't leave you to find a better omega" "I couldn't find a better one... maybe one who's less of a brat" "It's not my fault I'm a brat" "No. I'm just a dirty old man" "A sexy old man" Levi huffed at him "I'm sorry. You're the only dirty old man I could ever want" "That's better" "I... I really care about you Levi. I've never met anyone like you before. You're so gentle to me, and so kind. I don't want another alpha. Any other alpha... you're all that I could ever want" "Eren..." "I know I'm young. And you're probably going to say that I might change my mind, but I won't. You make me so happy" "I was going to say, I have no intention of sharing you" "That's even better" Levi rose on his tiptoes to kiss his forehead "Lets go get Zeke" Levi asked him if he wanted to say some words before scattering Zeke's ashes. He didn't know how to sum up the time he'd spent with Zeke. He didn't know how to thank Zeke for taking him in. For helping him find his voice again, and for saving him from the hell his life had been. He didn't know how to thank Zeke for holding him when he screamed or cried, or for all the times his brother cleaned him up. How to thank him for all the times he changed his bed sheets for him after losing control of his bodily functions, not used to having access to the toilet anymore. He didn't know how to thank him for teaching him how to dance. For giving him a way to express what he was feeling in a way that wasn't screaming or breaking things. When he'd first got out of hospital, the rehabilitation therapist had suggested yoga and gentle stretches to help him build his strength back up. Zeke had told him that. But looking at everything, it seemed a boring way to go. His brother said he'd never smiled when he'd first taken him in, so Zeke had looked into forms of rehab. Settling in dancing. Exotic dancing might not have been what Zeke was thinking, but his brother didn't stop him. He'd taught him what he needed to get by. How to talk. How to walk. How to do... everything. How was he supposed to thank Zeke for everything he did? And how was he supposed to apologise for being the one to cause his death? For all the times he disappointed him. For all the times he was bad omega who deserved to be hit. He missed him. He missed him so much... climbing down the side of the clay river bank, Eren sniffled as he opened the box. Zeke's ashes sealed in the bag inside. He wasn't sure he could do this. He didn't want to let him go. He didn't want to lose him, forever. But he wanted him to rest in peace... and leaving him in the bottom of the wardrobe wasn't ok. Taking the weight of the box in his hands, Eren nodded his thanks. His hands shaking like crazy as he lifted the bag out. It wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be. Not nearly heavy enough to be them remains of a whole human person. His brother hadn't exactly been small. How did a living, breathing person turn into this? They'd said his body was too decomposed or something for him to see him. If Levi had been listening, he could have explained it to him. But if Levi had listened, he would have known he wasn't telling them everything. The questions he'd ask would be dangerous... "Eren, if you're not up to this..." "I do... this is the right place. I know it is" "Ok..." Opening the bag, Eren took a handful of ashes. His anger flaring over his brother being taken from him. He'd been the last of his family and now he was this. The ashes felt weightless in his hand. Holding the handful of ash above the water, he let out a sob as he forced his fingers to uncurl. He tried to say "Thank you" to Zeke. That he loved him. That he missed him. That he needed him and that he was sorry. Nothing came out. Everything on his lips falling silently between the sobs. This was it. Zeke would be gone forever. Finally free of his duties of looking after him... Small handful after small handful was sprinkled on the water, until the bag was empty. Running his hand through the water, Zeke's ashes were already sinking. His knees going weak as he forced himself not to fish his brother back out the river. Catching him, Levi lifted him off his feet. The box ending up in his lap as his boyfriend nuzzled into him "You did so good. I'm sure Zeke knows everything you wanted to say. And I'm sure he's happy to be laid to rest here" He wanted to go home. Or at least back to the hotel room. He hated the place for taking his brother him from him, and he loved it for being the perfect place for him to rest. It Zeke had been alive, he was sure he'd like it. It was so pretty that you couldn't help but like it. So upset that he felt sick, Levi noticed. He carried him out the river, slipping on the bank and never complaining. With his head on Levi's shoulder, his eyes were glued on the spot where Zeke was now. Finding the tiniest bit of his voice, he whispered "Thank you for loving me" If Levi heard, he didn't say. His boyfriend carrying him over to the passenger side. Being a low sitting sedan, it wasn't quite as easy to lower him in. Eren climbing out Levi's hold without saying anything. He couldn't stop crying, and his taxed mind couldn't thank his boyfriend. He just didn't have the mental energy to do anything but be miserable. Levi took all over in his stride. His boyfriend took his shoes and socks off for him, dd his seatbelt, covered him with his jacket from the back seat and kissed him softly "I'm going to drive us home now. Or do you want to stay a little longer?" If they stayed, he was sure he'd go crazy. That he'd throw himself in the water and beg to die. To be with him. He was supposed to die with him... he was never supposed to be with Levi. With a pitiful look on his face, he looked to Levi "Ok. Give me a moment" It really did seem to take a forever for Levi to climb into the sedan after closing the door for him. Throwing his phone up onto the dash, Levi then placed his hand on his leg "I looked at the sign. This place is called Ymir's Pool. So you know" He hadn't even thought about that. He'd just dumped Zeke... in a place he didn't know the name of... What kind of person did that make him? The river wasn't that deep, the sun reaching to the bottoms of it. Once the sun set, it'd be so cold. Hanji had explained that bodies were kept cold in the morgue. His brother locked away in a cold box for months, before being scattered in a river that would turn just as cold. Closing his eyes, his thoughts went to Zeke laying at the bottom of the river. Trapped under all that water with no hope for escape. At some point he'd fallen asleep on the way back to the hotel. The thought of Zeke being cold had taken such a hold on his fragile mind that he'd dreamed a nightmare of his brother trapped under the water drowning. His mouth open, screaming as his hands reached for him. Bubbles were all he could see. Bubbles from Zeke's soundless screams. When Levi woke him, his heart was racing so fast that he feel the thudding in his head. His boyfriend looked at him so sadly. He didn't have any words to comfort Levi. To make things right. It wasn't until Levi went to help him from the car that he found he'd scratched his arms again. The scabbing wounds bleeding beneath his sleeves. He couldn't deal with this. He'd never felt like he was right now. He'd known it was the perfect place to lay Zeke to rest when he'd seen the view. His brother would make the journey to the ocean without him... and Eren would return home. Leaving him behind. If anyone was being left, he should have been it. Everyone left him, and every time his world shattered into thousands of pieces. The pain was raw, like the open wounds on his arms. It was the kind of pain he'd take a million times, to prevent anyone feeling it even just once. * Levi knew saying goodbye had broken Eren's heart. The omega's scent was painful, to both him and his alpha. It seemed to coat his tongue and leave a bad taste in his mouth. He'd hoped laying Zeke to rest would relieved the burden Eren carried on his shoulders. His boyfriend had chosen the place to say goodbye, but now he wondered if it was too soon. Eren might be long and lanky, not instinctively rousing the desire to protect from most alphas, yet he knew that was was far from the truth. His boyfriend was small, scared and fragile. Some days he oozed a confidence that blew him off his feet, but that was an act. It was the kind of confidence Eren wished for himself. Levi tried to see beyond, and most times he did, but this Eren in front of him... this was the Eren he'd seen when they'd first met. The broke boy who jumped and flinched at shadows. Saying goodbye to Zeke had brought him back to the surface. With clothes stained in filthy river stink, Levi took Eren through to the bathroom. Sitting him down in the bath, Eren barely seemed to notice as he stripped him down to his underwear. Checking to make sure the kid wasn't using a pad, he then turned the taps on and poured in way too much vanilla bodywash. Eren was in shock, his body cool and clammy to the touch. He needed to get him warmed back up. Moving to move away from his boyfriend, Eren reached out and took his hand. The touch was weak, Eren's hand would have slid from his if he hadn't curled his fingers slightly "Do you want me to stay?" There was a small tug on his hand "If I'm staying, I need to get out these filthy clothes" The river water had been fucking disgusting. His skin tried to shrink away from his equally revolting clothes. He never, ever, would have set foot in it if it wasn't for Eren. Both his and the kids sneakers were ruined by swamp mud from the bottom of the river. He'd binned both pairs in the rubbish bin of the hotel's car park, while Eren's was in his hold. With his legs loosely wrapped around his waist and his face against his shoulder, he was sure Eren hadn't even noticed them gone. They both had another pair of sneakers packed, and if Eren really liked them, he would buy him another pair. Letting Eren make the next move, his hand jerked back from Levi's with a soft whine "I'm just going to strip off. I'll keep my underwear on" He really wanted to take a fucking shower, for at least an hour and a half. But the water was already pouring into the bathtub, so redirecting it to either of the shower heads would result in poor pressure. Taking a couple of steps out of Eren's reach, he peeled his jeans off, wincing at the stink that came wafting back up from the source being disturbed. Next came his shirt. Eren letting out a kind of grunt as the garment hit the floor "Do you want me to leave?" Closing his eyes, Eren slid forward in the tub. His knees coming up to his chest as he wrapped his arms around them. With the bath being so big, there was barely three inches in the bottom of it "What do you need from me? What can I do to help?" Eren moved the thumb and pointer fingers of his right hand, turning them out slightly. Staring at it, it was the "ay" incident all over again. He thought it meant that Eren wanted him to stay, but without words, he didn't know "You want me to stay" His boyfriend didn't respond. What was he supposed to do now? If Eren wanted him to stay, he would. He looked scared and vulnerable... getting a new idea, he took a deep breath before stepping closer to the tub again. Stepping over the side, he sank down behind Eren and pulled him up between his legs. Instead of pulling away, or tensing, Eren slumped back against him. So this was what the omega wanted? His boyfriend to hold him. He could do this. There was nothing sexy about being in a bath in your underwear. Nor was there anything sexy about the smells of distressed omega, confused and agitated alpha, and river water. Using his toes to pull the plug out, he drained the bath of the river water mix, before sliding back into place. Being such a large bath, it was going to take a while before it filled. In his arms, Eren was still freezing cold with shock. Goosebumps covered his boyfriend skin. Rubbing Eren's arms, Eren whined softly against him. The whine slightly different as it was the sound of an omega in distress, calling for their alpha to soothe them. He was Eren's alpha, but they weren't bonded. He couldn't soothe Eren's fears completely like a bonded alpha could, and there was no way he was going to bond with Eren so soon into their relationship. Even if the omega said he was all he could want, and even if the urge to mark and claim him was strong, Eren needed time. The vibrant omega was still so young. He didn't want to limit his options or his future. Eren might be it for him. He was completely invested in him, and wanted a future with him, but one day, Eren might not feel the same way. And though he wanted to keep Eren by his side forever, he wouldn't force him to stay or make him feel obligated to with his mark, if he found someone he loved more than him. It took nearly half an hour to fill the bathtub just over half way. Eren was still whining softly for comfort, while Levi was nuzzling into his cheek in an attempt to provide it. He knew omegas purred when needing to calm themselves, but Eren wasn't purring like he'd seen him do so many times before. It made him wonder if Eren had finally given up his sad purr, now only choosing to purr when purely content and happy. Each omegas purr was slightly different, some not purring at all. Yet he was sure if he could get Eren purring, it would help calm his racing heart. It'd been a few hours since scattering Zeke, including the drive back, if Eren didn't calm down soon, he risked going into heat, and that would only make his boyfriend feel even worse. Plus, taking Eren on a plane while in heat was just not possible. Even if it was one of his semi-heats, the smell alone was enough to drive any alpha wild. Or at least him, as he seemed to be the only alpha in the world that picked it up. For his friends, they had to be up close to tell, basically touching his boyfriend. For him. Nope. He liked to think it was because Eren was "made" for him, despite the reality that it was a side effect from the trauma he'd suffered as a kid. Sitting Eren up in front of him, his boyfriend whined again. Starting with Eren's shoulders, he began to massage while keeping his lips near Eren's nape. It was a dirty trick. The napes of most people were incredibly sensitive, to touch there was only allowed by the person themselves or their mate. With gently kisses to the area, Eren mewed for him, his own nature turning against him as it calmed and tried to get more attention for the spot. Continuing to kiss, he alternated with mouthing until Eren was simply mewing and panting. The sadness in his scent had turned to arousal, which was kind of flirting with danger, but much more easy for him to bring Eren out of. Wrapping an arm around Eren's waist, he pulled him back up against him, resting his chin on his shoulder as his boyfriend slowly calmed his breathing back down to normal, the finally evened out as he fell asleep against him. With both himself and Eren washed down completely, something that he hoped his boyfriend wouldn't realise involved stripping him of his underwear, he carried Eren out to their bed where he finished drying him off, before dressing him in his underwear and the sweats he used for pyjamas. Next came dressing Eren's arms back up. Some of the scratches were definitely going to scar. Eren might use vitamin E cream for his scars, but it wasn't an overnight fix. It'd take weeks, and months for them to fade from such a deep and angry pink. Once that was done there was only one thing left to do, and that was to climb into bed with omega. Manhandle him so they were laying tangled up together, Eren's still damp hair was tickling his chest. Isabel's and Farlan's funerals had hit him hard. The same emotions he'd struggled through were now hitting his boyfriend much harder than they'd hit him. At least he got to see both of his friends bodies before their burial, while all Eren got was a pile of ashes. It had to fucking hurt, which is probably why Eren couldn't say what he'd wanted to. He'd have to until tomorrow to ask Eren if he wanted to go back to the spot and say a proper goodbye. He probably should have offered some kind of words as Eren scattered the ashes, but he had no love in his heart for Zeke. He'd used and manipulated Eren's good nature and natural desire to help and protect what he held dear, and fucked the omega right over. He'd turned him against the people who loved him, while Eren was blinded to it all by the love for his brother. Hanji called him a few hours later. Outside the balcony doors, the world was bathed in oranges and red from the sunset. He would have liked to have been able to take the call outside, but Eren had a firm hold on him. Making sure he didn't disturb his boyfriend, he swiped his thumb across the screen, before laying it down on his ear "Levi! Can you hear me?!" Fuck. Why did she have to yell?! "Keep your voice down, Eren's sleeping" "Oooooh, late night? Did you two finally do it again?! I hope you were careful and used protection" "No..." "Levi! Seriously!" "Shut up. We didn't have a light night. Eren scattered Zeke's ashes today, then had a bit of a meltdown" "My poor honey. Where did you scatter him? At the beach?" "No, we found a spot along the river that Eren liked. It hit him super hard" "Of course it did. He had to say goodbye today. Is he in heat? I can probably arrange time off to drive down if he is?" "No. Not the moment. I couldn't pull him out of like usual, so it's probably for the best he's sleeping right now" "Make sure you give him lots of love for me" "Not happening. Why are you disturbing my holiday?" "Oh! Oh... that's right. I had to take Titan over to Erwin's. He's fine, but when I got there today, there was a note on the door about the noise. I think the poor boy misses his humans" "So he's ok?" "Yeah. Just a bit lonely. He even came up to me for pats" "Desperate times call for desperate measures" "Rude! Hey, I know Eren's probably feeling really down, but you should take him out tonight" "What do you mean take him out? He isn't going to want to be in a crowd" "I mean just take him out dancing or something..." "Hanji, he's really not up for dancing" "He loves dancing. It'll help take his mind off everything. Or take him out for a nice dinner. If he stays inside, he's only going to get more depressed" "I think I know how to make my boyfriend feel better" "I'm not saying you don't, but..." "Hanji, I've got it handled. I'm going before he wakes up" "Fiiiine. I only called to see how my honey was, and to let you know about Titan" Ending the call, Levi looked down at Eren's hair. Maybe Hanji was right.... Maybe instead of cuddling, Eren needed a distraction.