#scary: “-also they REEK. have you ever washed any of these?”

[kuntprodukt]

CELEBRITY SKIN

Leon Kennedy x female reader | MDNI!! 18+ | dead dove do not eat, incest, dad-daughter incest, rape/noncon sex, female reader, Leon is washed up rockstar, implied heavily and A LOT drug abuse/alcoholism, intoxication, vaginal sex, fingering, unsafe sex, creampie, anal play(brief attempt), piss(reader pisses herself), overstimulation, puke (mentioned, not sexual), deadbeat dad, he is icky, degradation.

summary: Hate is too strong, love is locked in the little box under your bed with keys you threw out - doesn’t mean it is absent. He is cool, not enough to deserve real love. Something tells you he doesn’t understand it too. “What do you love, Leon?” Alcohol, substances, music, strings etching into his calluses and a good pussy - his answer is not about love, but preferences. That’s what he likes. You don’t like your dad. That's the right way to say it.  

notes: no way im going to proofread all those 6k words and pray to see every mistake.... same rule: if you see mistakes then you are wrong and ignore them, + english isnt my first language. i feel like this is a little bit incosistent mess, but!!! whatever! also quoted "softer, softest" by hole. reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of interractions are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs

You remember the cold floor against your knees, still aching after falling off your bicycle a day before, even the light brown bandage is not able to stick to your skin - a bad habit, scratching it behind your mom’s gaze. Your eyes are full of interest studying vinyl covers and CDs - in both of them your dad is staring at you. Mostly your mom hoarded those, different posters with his bandmates from old magazines, but Leon always stood out. You remember your dad pinching your cheeks, crouching down and the bitter smell with acidic hints coming from him. He reeked with something your nose hated, wrinkling up, trying to push him back just to meet his irritated expression. His fingers were rough after years of playing guitar, calloused and lacking softness in them. You should have been grateful, your mom scolded you, dad didn’t have much free time. 

You remember your mom’s laps, sitting there as her fingers gently open the cd case, a light crack from the plastic and the smell of it. The reflection of you both on the disc, before she placed it in the slit of the recorder, disappearing in the squared black item you were so afraid to play with; too many buttons, too scary to mess with. She told you she is lucky to even be with him, to share a place with him even if it is empty with a cold bed waiting for him most of the time. Your mom was the biggest groupie, at least among the ones you knew - your classmates were crazy about Leon too, but it was a fleeting crush before disappointment hit them. 

Rockstar. Dad rockstar, not the most famous fact weirdly enough. Paparazzi have never bothered you and your mom, nor has he tried to appear with you in public. On billboards, on the magazines wherever you go there was him. Blue eyes following yours in the shops, with big striking red words: “LEON KENNEDY BARES HIS SOUL!!! What women can catch his heart?” or "New rock king, Leon Kennedy strikes again: who is that woman in red?". At some point, you saw your dad more on the glistening unpacked magazines in kiosks, on the screen of old TV illuminating with blue light your fascinated face late at night, one of main reasons you slept bad, trying to get more about your own dad or the posters in your room, but rarely ever in person. 

It comes with some sort of privilege, not expensive jewelry or good vacations in some cool hotel next to the ocean, but without any questions being able to walk backstage to see your dad was enough for you. Usually he knew about that in advance - a day or week before. Spreading a smile at your sight and your mom. You remember glancing through the gap of the door, that night you got away from your mom, losing her in the crowd just to see him - a surprise, but it ended up as one for you instead. Your dad kissing some young groupie on his lap, he pressed back on the black leather couch, this wasn’t a mistake on his part, the excuse you heard later was bullshit, as the sight of his hands gripping her ass and her nude back were imprinted in your mind - told a louder story than any gossip.

Next memory is your mom, sobbing in the empty bedroom late at night. A common occurrence, as a child you never noticed that - maybe she hid it well or you didn't wake up so often at night. Standing behind the door to hear bitterness in her tears, unwillingly passing the same sentiment. The fog in your memory faded to realize your dad's presence is lacking. Even his affection was forced, there was nothing in his playful pinch or the boop on your nose, even a light chuckle after a pet name held nothing but an act. 

The last betrayal came from your mom. Empty, dull looking apartment, you have never noticed how lifeless this place is, even on bright days your memories of this place are tinted with grey, the color of cloudy weather like it was always supposed to rain but it never did. Little paper note on the table without a ring - you expected one, forgetting he has never married her nor there was a ring. Maybe that’s for the better, marriage kills women. Pretty delicate handwritten text adorns on the paper.

“I hope you die from an overdose, you don't love anyone other than drugs, alcohol and your stupid, failed carrier!!”

She left your dad, finally. She left you too, not so finally. A child is an extension of one parent or both of them, a bitter reminder of your mom’s mistake? Even if her caress was gentle and full of love, even in videos she recorded with little you - clear trembling voice after another disappointment from Leon, red eyes after sobbing, but always with you, taking care. And you believed you were not a child anymore, 18 years old was a big number. 

Since today, the place was supposed to be lonely, cradling you in its cold embrace as Leon is never present as much as she or you wanted. So, the loud jiggle of keys. Clink! The turning and the sound of the door opening pulled you out of your mind, unsteady footsteps not even similar to your mom. Leon. You feel like you were standing here for eternity, meeting his gaze is unusual - like catching Santa Claus placing gifts as a kid, which you have never had. His appearance is still ruffled, hair falling in front of his eyes just to be brushed away in rough movement, squinting at you briefly before recognizing and confusion washes over him. Cologne mixed with alcohol, a hint of sweet, floral one from fucking one of few remaining groupies. 

You feel like you have just caught your husband cheating, dick deep inside some pretty bimbo bitch’s hole - instead Leon is your dad. 

Leon didn’t comment on that, squinting again as he read, while your own gaze stared at him with a hope to see something. Anger? Regret? Maybe realization he lost something valuable? That he loved you after all? Leon shrugs, nodding to the note. 

“She left?” He asks, not even trying to be decent. To pick it up, to read it, to realize how big he fucked up. Is he high? Drunk? Or all substances have already eaten his brain? The note is all written straightforwardly, clearly his cells are eaten by every drug coursing in his bloodstream - at this moment, even for a short one a wish passes through like a falling star, a hope for overdose to hit him right now. 

“Seems so” is the only answer that comes out, stunned to process how surreal this feels - straight out of Lynch movies, weird feeling in your chest, the surroundings look more surreal, dislocated and you don’t want to leave the room. 

“She forgot to add women too”

“What?”

“You don't love anyone other than drugs, alcohol and your stupid, failed carrier” He glances down, not hiding a smirk on his lips, about to say some funny joke. “I love women too.”

…

The gossip killed his fame and reputation, your dad told you this while being drunk on the couch, slurred words not even trying to look you in the eyes. In your honest opinion Leon was the one to kill it. Alcohol, drugs and age don’t go well forever, some are fortunate and more tolerable but a never ending cycle of scandals do irreparable damage. You know your dad, he is impossible when his mind is fogged on some of the stuff. Coke, molly, whiskey or vodka. Maybe everything mixed, maybe worse - you are no expert, everything has always led to him being some kind of mess. Pissing himself or throwing up all night loudly, depriving you of sleep. Even worse - ending up in the hospital after an unnatural amount of drugs in his blood. 

In a second, a thought about your dad flashes. What’s about him? Hate is too strong, love is locked in the little box under your bed with keys you threw out - doesn’t mean it is absent. He is cool, not enough to deserve real love. Something tells you he doesn’t understand it too. “What do you love, Leon?” Alcohol, closing eyes on the couch after pregabalin hits, heightening other substances, music, strings etching into his calluses and a good pussy - his answer is not about love, but preferences. That’s what he likes. You don’t like your dad. That's the right way to say it. 

“What do you know about fun?” Again, same story, for god’s sake. You ignore his attempt to talk - waste of time. Another try to brag how experienced he is, how many substances were in his nose or in his system in general like you are some sort of dumb impressive girl or a groupie. It is impressive when you are 18, in a way; “holy shit, how have you not died yet?” You heard those stories plenty of times, you saw it and had to deal with his mess for free - they get repetitive. To quote him, at your age he got his dick wet every weekend, if the week was not going well. It was the past, the rockstar one but now all you can see is a washed up musician with an ego of a star. 

No reaction, it irks him in the wrong way. Who the fuck are you? Loser daughter of his, no way you got a man hard even once - the most you’d have is some dumb guy knuckles deep in his car and Leon still has a hard time believing that. Leon nudges you, his finger pokes your waist before leaning closer. A sad hint in his features. Another second and he is going to pout to look believably upset. “It’s my birthday”

“No, it is not” You raise your eyebrow. Actually, you don’t know when his birthday is. Leon has never told you and his drunk or high appearance was not something out of ordinary - a normal Friday night, rather Saturday morning. Drinking more or less doesn’t matter much, all days are no different from celebrations - you still can’t stand it. This is probably another attempt to get under your skin, like he always does when he is sober. Or need a drink. Leon tugs your cheek with two fingers, briefly succumbing to this urge until you don't push his hand away, rejecting his touch. You are not a child. 

“Uh-huh, it is” He mocks your tone, the corner of his lips tenses briefly - evaluating you. 

“Since when?” 

“Since today, don’t be a bitch” Leon pauses meaningfully, raising an eyebrow. “No one likes bitchy girls”

You don’t need him to like you. Your dad died back in the backstage room with a groupie on his lap. Eyeing him again, you can’t ever be sure with this man. He adores messing with you for fun, sobriety doesn’t give a man a lot of hobbies. But right now Leon looks believable. Your dad is not the best actor, you think, maybe he can have some other hidden talents. 

“Do I need to buy something?” You ask and even briefly you notice a flash of excitement in his gaze. Like he won a lotto. Even kids don't get so excited for their birthday party. A “tsk” follows.

“Oh no-no, no way” Leon shakes his head, placing his arm in front of you and creating a ‘small’ obstacle. “Let me deal with this. Show you how to party, what to drink.” 

Your distrustful gaze tells him a lot. Is he real? Should you even trust him? He’d probably get drunk and leave you alone - and this gives you hope and bruises his ego even slightly, not something new with living with him. “I am a pro” 

Not so reassuring.

…

Series of different whiskey bottles on the table, looking like some chaotic statistic - one is lower, then it is higher and it repeats. You don’t really understand if those are expensive ones or cheaper, the only one you are aware of is Jack Daniels. That’s a lot, really, expecting one bottle, two at most, but there are more than enough for a group - you are not going to drink all this. 

“Come now, share a little drink with your dad” Leon pats the spot next to him, spreading his legs, a nightmare to have him in public transport. There are already two glasses of whiskey, one of them waiting for you alone. The couch dips slightly with your weight, his knee slightly brushes against yours, forcing you to clench your legs together even tighter, giving him more space to keep his spread.

The reflection in the whiskey, your hand moves and little waves of alcohol spreads making your face uneven. You are not sure if this is even right to do, at the same time you are at home, safer than around jerks at some party, even if your dad sucks. It burns in your throat, the brown liquid slips down with a hard gulp just to leave some weird aftertaste on your tongue. Leon was eyeing you, ready to shove it down in case you decided to spit it out. No waste in his house! Your glass gets refilled quickly, ready to fill it again and again - at the same time, you feel his hand bringing your own closer to your lips, inviting you to keep drinking. All while his glass looks deepless, infinite, in a way it is still not finished, even though your gaze doesn’t really focus on his drink so it is hard to judge if your sentiment is correct - still, maybe he just throws whiskey in his mouth like it usually happens every day. 

“...You don’t–” Your eyes set on the full glass of whiskey on the table, is it yours? Can you be sure it is his? Leon looks at you with a smirk, satisfied with how everything goes - not even trying to hide it right now, you are so pliant in his guidance. “Drink?”

“Don’t be silly, I've been drinking too.” No, he hasn't, two glasses were the most he has ever drunk this evening.

“Ah!” You hum, the brain processes everything with a big delay. Words roll on your tongue, but nothing comes out - and if it does, you imagined this. Leon eyes your face briefly, maybe the first time he ever stared at you longer than a minute which is still a lot for him. The curves of your lips that hosts beads of whiskey, urging him to catch them as he usually did with groupies in the past. Nostalgic.

“You don’t look like me at all” Leon mutters out with a frown. The doubt of you being his daughter always tormented him - just not too much to care about the paternity test. Even if you are 100% his, he wouldn’t try to be a good dad - the time has passed and he doesn’t care about it enough. Never did.

“What?” 

“Come here, let me see that pretty face” He grins, his own words sound amusing to him, watching your expression ease with every second passed, just like old times. “Perhaps my vision fails me.”

You fell for it. Leon’s hand grips hard your jaw, his thumb caresses your cheek and it feels weird - after many years of his absent presence you feel like a little girl again, waiting for him to pinch your cheeks in between his fingers, to cling to his leg while he’d shred one of his favorite riffs or even solo, always fascinated to stare at his fingers jumping to one string to another just to coax a melody. His lips crush on yours instead, swallowing hard the saliva pooled in your mouth your mind clears even briefly. What the fuck? 

You have kissed a few guys at parties before, invited out of pity just to stay in the corner, ignored, awkward until a guy decided to get you - easy target, desperate and they are not far away from the truth, in the end always leading to a bad car sex with them not being able to recognize your clit. But Leon kisses you differently than those boys, his grip is secure on you, there is no way to get out of this - like a collar settles on your neck, tightly but in the form of his hand. You don’t close your eyes, too shocked at the feeling of his dry lips. Your dad’s lips. He looks unbothered, focused on it. First, with utmost care you had never felt from your dad, it gets pushed aside as Leon gets used to your useless state, easy to kiss you as he wants. Weird, that’s your dad. Your dad kisses you. Alcohol dumbens you, briefly trying to rummage through reasons to excuse him, but this confuses you even further and all you can hear is heart rate beating in your ears, tasting even more alcohol on your lips before he sucks your bottom lip - a way to force his tongue in. 

“Open it” a light slap on your cheek seeing your eyes blurs with the unfocus. Of course it worked, at least Leon gets what he wants. Your lips part in a gasp, blinking as his tongue delves in your mouth. Saliva pools more, now the taste overwhelms your buds to the brim, his tongue feels slick rolling against yours, like passing an invisible candy. You feel your ears burn with shame, you suck at this more likely, but Leon seems unfazed at this as the kiss deepens with more grunts coming out of him against your lips. You don’t understand why your tongue tries to keep up with his now, your hand tries to reach for his wrist. To slap it, to dig your fingers in it - anything to show you want to get out of this. 

Your body feels heavy - any movement you are capable of now is useless, as alcohol messes up with the perception of whatever is happening. It gets worse, heavier like stones were tied to your legs before you got thrown in the water. His hand creeps lower, gripping one of your ass cheeks, fingers dip into the fat, slowly kneading until you feel a pressure over the tight ring of your hole. Your body flinches, lightly but not enough to push him away, enough to break the kiss. Leon is not worried, no way you will be able to do anything. “Has anyone ever touched you here?”

You don’t remember. Actually your mind is full of fog, trying to find anything to stitch together for an answer, but for Leon you just stare like a dumb bitch, not giving him an answer other than a weak grunt. Probably not, college guys are not brave enough to try anal - all cool on text, big dick, promises to destroy your holes, just to lead you in their mom’s car and rub your labia before the most mediocre, dry sex, at best. 

“Mm? No?” You shake your head, this doesn’t stop him as his finger presses harder, thumbing at it slowly, observing your eyes widen, hips shift to distance yourself from him - useless. Your body is not yours, all you can hear is his voice waiting for an answer and heartbeat in your ears.  “Not even a little bit?”

His finger keeps skirting over the muscle, nudging it to slip his finger inside. It is hard to form sentences, even harder to think because your head is full of feathers. And it is already overwhelming, the idea of more makes your stomach tense. And if he decides to fuck your ass? Your heart jumps in your chest, maybe imagining this, filled with different contrasting feelings. One is fear, you can’t push him away, your eyes have a hard time focusing on his face, alcohol is dawning on your chest like a sleep paralysis and second one is your clit throbbing for need to be ignored -  just to be used like some object. By your dad. This is wrong, this is alcohol talking. Your hips buck slightly into his hand, unaware his cock jolts in his jeans. 

“N-no” Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours, some stranger’s. His eyes sparkle in pleasure, watching how your expression twists in fear and confusion as his fingertip circles against your hole now, still maintaining the pressure. Trying to relax, so you’d give in finally. “...it hurts” 

“Come on, just a tip?” Leon frowns as you shake your head again, frantically this time. A light pout on his lips as he decides to let this be. He thumbs over your hole for the last time, before withdrawing to hold your thigh. “Then next time.”

His hand caresses your skin, like a lullaby to soothe you from what he tried to do, to be nicer to your drunk state - gullible, more than he was back in time, lesson was learned a long time ago after his heart got shattered. Your skin feels soft underneath his palm, a cotton blanket that is addicting to touch every time, with every caress his hand creeps higher, at the same time your body relaxes at every second. Your chest falls down as your breathing returns to normal pace, exhaling. Tension slowly leaves, fogging everything. You need your dad’s sweetness, even if you don’t realize it. And your dad gets what he needs. Calloused fingers part your cunt, applying pressure on the clit that made you flinch and open your eyes. When did he remove your shorts? He is all over you, with the same hungry look you’ve seen from other men. They all have the same look, pupils dilated jumping from your face to your tits, then to your legs - men are not the smartest creatures, all identical too. Blood rushes into your ears, you feel every thumping sound of it. You try to push him, but alcohol messes up your strength perception. It feels like your entire energy was put to push him off, just to see him being here. Not moving even for an inch. 

“You are wet, fuck” Leon grunts, sliding his fingers in your hole. Feeling them disappear in your folds and you can’t help but flinch, the burning stretch at the lack of adjustment makes your jaw tense. It clenches at rough intrusion and you feel air knock out of your lungs for a moment. You shake your head and Leon grins, your denial is fun, giving more space to play with you. “This cunt is wetter than any groupies.” 

You want to close your eyes, not to stare at him - a bad dream, nightmare, you can’t believe your cunt gushes around his fingers so needily. Wet sounds of him pumping your hole, Maybe you are imagining this, alcohol is not the best lube - only making you drier, usually. Or those are guys you had. Leon’s fingers curl up against your wall, pressing as he finds that sweet star-hitting spongy spot - every pussy loves that and the pressure coaxes your eyes widen with a shaky whimper. “Da-ad–”

“Those bitches were desperate-desperate to be bottomed by your daddy, you know?” His fingers rut relentlessly into you, your stomach pools in more warmth that isn't supposed to be, quick pace coaxing out more sounds you never knew were possible. Your teeth sink into your lip, trying to worm out of this. Blood rushes down, feeling burning warmth spreading from your clit up. Leon chuckles, shoving you harder against the couch with his weight. “Tsk, ungrateful like your slut mom.”

It is overwhelming, gushing more around his rough pumping fingers. The pace is steady, easy with the amount of slick your cunt gives. Not feeling anymore that burning stretch, leaking like some needy bitch. Every nerve in your body starts to burn up, pushing away the thought of your dad fucking drugging you and fingering your pussy. Actually, you aren't sure there were even drugs in the glasses - you just want to put more blame on him. Leon is not inexperienced in sex, even if his main interest was his own pleasure he knows the signs of approaching orgasm. No way you are going to cum first and not him, that isn’t in his interest, right now you are not better than a groupie in his arms. He pulls back his hand, leaving you empty, cutting out the sweet wave of orgasm. It is disappointing, shame hits you at the realization you wanted to cum on your dad’s fingers. Oh, fuck. Can’t get worse. 

“You are not allowed to finish yet.” He mutters with a raspy voice, eyeing his soaked fingers. Slowly spreading out just to watch the glistening strings connecting them. God, he missed that.

You feel your body getting lighter than before, there is still the feeling of suffocating and dying if you don't keep your breathing in check. Eyes are always about to close, it is hard to keep yourself awake, moving your head gives you the sensation of a quick camera flick - in reality, you didn’t even shake it. At the same time you should expect nausea, the urge to throw up and a twisting stomach. Time feels inconsistent, at some point you sure it has passed 3 hours already, but catching a glimpse of the clock tells you can’t trust your feelings. But this worry fades away as his cock presses against your wet, sensitive folds. Ignored by him, flesh-to-flesh so hot your hips buck up to rub yourself weakly. When did he unzip his pants? You miss most of the noises, actions - his movements register in your brain too late. One moment you think he is kissing you, now you are confused when his dick got so close to you. For Leon this is nostalgic, standing over your pliant state on the couch is not so different from fun he had with groupies, if not even identical. Dumb look on your face trying to recollect yourself just to fail miserably, a weak whimper escapes from your parted lips, like you are on some good crack right now all lost in it and legs spread just for him to get his dick wet - not his first rodeo, every bitch he had, they all looked like you. 

His hips jerk, his cock slides across your puffy, wet folds smearing his flesh with your arousal. He wants to be slow, indulging in every single inch of you before even notching his tip. His cock twitches, bumping against your clit and your back arches into him more.  Your cunt is already warm, burning hot after being so close to cum - thanks to his fingers. A warmth spreads in his chest, pride. It is not hard to get laid even nowadays, still it is much rarer than in the past. But after this? Leon is sure his dick is going to get wet more often, daughter should help him. And you will in his opinion, in case of contrary nothing drugs can’t fix. 

Leon is not patient, he has never been one - one of reasons condoms were a rare occurrence in his wallet, never sure if they aren’t spoiled and if they are that is not his worry. He can overthink after sex, before consuming whiskey. Realizing nothing is so bad as he thinks - hey, his pull out game is not so terrible, Leon believes. Guiding his leaking tip to notch in your hole, it glistens after smearing your arousal across the flesh. And at contact your body clenches - begging him to slam his hip, to bury himself in you finally. Leon wants that too. A push is enough to see his cock disappear in your folds - sliding inside so perfectly, feeling how your walls stretch around his cock accommodating to the intrusion, the warmth of your cunt is welcoming, like the best thing after drugs. Sucking him in so sweetly after every inch sinks into you. Your walls clenched around him, quick to adjust to the curve of his dick that presses so nicely on your g-spot. 

“A bi-i-ig stretch!” That supposed to be a warning before he slides in, to prepare you - instead the timing was wrong. Would be useless, you are no different than any groupies from the past - tell them anything and their brain wouldn’t even process that with the amount of alcohol. It heightens pleasure, but not the thinking process, even worse if you are a dumb bitch - for Leon you are. You blink fast, his cock filling your cunt to the brim, hard and with no other way to feel the emptiness. Almost overwhelming, to tears if you didn’t start already. Leon would have commented if that was the case. 

“Fuck…” You. It doesn’t come out, it remains on the tip of your tongue.Talking is hard. 

“Oh, come on,” Leon bucks his hips, punctuating his words just to see your eyes widen. “I’m already doing that.”

A low grunt, his head dips down to nibble the flesh of your neck - sensitive, scratching you with the light stubble on his face. It is hard to focus on something one, his dick throbs within you, like you were born to have him inside your pussy - never vice versa, he is your dad. His hips slam, your body arches into him, his cock grinds every time hitting deep inside your pussy, to the brim - to the point you feel it so deep you overthink it is in your throat for a moment. Anatomically impossible, maybe it is puke. Fuck, you wish it is not. Thoughts fade as your clit even briefly gets the sweet friction every time his pubic bone presses - coaxing more moans out of you.

His orgasm approaches quickly, one would think it is too quick - he’d blame age first, then maybe tell man’s pleasure is on pedestal. Why would he bother with someone’s pleasure if alcohol gives him whiskey dick. His balls tighten with every slap, the sounds of flesh-hitting, your moans all that invite him to be rougher, to bully your cunt and not caring about stingy redness forming. Every slam inside you, grinding up against the sweet spot just to drag it.  Your body shudders eventually, all teasing, edging didn’t disappear fortunately or not - cumming on your dad’s dick is not the best achievement, it sickens you, fills you with the urge to scrub his touch away. Your walls spasm harder around him as a new wave of hard, pleasant shockwaves dumb every bad thought in the head. 

“Cum.” Your teeth sink in your lower lip after murmuring weakly. Your hands try to dig into his arms, to hold yourself just to end up in a weak grip, sliding down to keep resting uselessly. “Gonna cum— dad!”

It’s a song to his ears - sweet, kicking him back in the past, all groupies identical to each other. They are young, they have legs, they have breasts and hips to hold, more importantly a hole - you have this too, unlike them your eyes are not full of scaring adoration. You don’t look into his eyes as much as they did. And he likes that. Leon noses your jaw, biting the skin of your neck harder than you ever felt, filling his taste buds with mild iron taste and forcing a squeal, light thrashing that fades away after another slam. Your pussy spasms, more fluid gushes easing strokes. It slides nicely, more freedom to bully your clenching hole. You want this to stop, your vision blurs and tries to keep focused - hard, like a kick in your head as Leon shoves his dick deeper. Overwhelmed, guilty, ashamed but arching and wiggling underneath at the non-stop pounding. 

You try to push him away - useless. Another attempt, another hard shove that hits air out of you. He needs his fill, you are not leaving. Your lips open weakly, begging to stop in a breathless whimper. A pressure in your bladder, an uncomfortable press intensifying with every thrust, every hit to the gummy spot making it worse. Too full, too overwhelmed. Your breathing gets even heavier trying to push him off again - useless, everything you try is. Still the irrational panic is present, something is going to happen, you don’t know what. Your pussy clenches harder around him, tightly than ever, trying to stop the upcoming mess, before his pace stops at one last thrust. Deep inside, messy grinding for the last time. The weight of his body presses on you, grunting against your neck leaving no escape. Thick ropes of cum spurt inside you, for a moment everything feels too real - his sperm is warm, sticky and there is too much. And it hits you again. Your legs tremble, trying to push yourself away weakly, but his weight blocks you. Crushes you like a punch in your abdominal. Not the one he expects at least, feeling stuttering spurts drenching his front and the couch underneath you both. 

“Did you just…” Leon leans back, looking down at your pussy filled with his cock. Brow knitted together trying to understand what the fuck just happened. Young girls are nasty, his dick experienced almost everything; puke after a dumb one thought she’d be able to give him a good deepthroat - in some cases he was the one forcing it deeper. Or coke off his dick, a blonde girl eating ice cream before sucking him off - too many, list goes on and he won’t remember everything sincerely. Words don't come out, a little bit shocking as he tries to reminisce in the past just to find something similar: Did you just squirt? Or is that piss?

And you look confused, even more than him. First, unaware of what happened accompanied with lightness in your bladder. Goosebumps wash over your skin, your body sticks together with uncomfortable wetness. You wish it was just a slick with his cum oozing out of your hole, you fucking wish your body didn’t betray you further than this. Leon presses harder against you, his wrist is on your neck, slowly suffocating with pressure. A squeal escapes, not understanding what you did wrong this time. “S–stop!”

“Your daddy made you squirt, what a nasty whore” Leon grins, watching realization slowly settle. “Or you just pissed yourself, grown up pee girl. Pee girl gets a belt. ”

Leon keeps you like this, watching your face go redder and redder with every second before easing the pressure. His soft cock slips out easily from your already leaking hole.  It delves on you, even more when the warmth of his body withdraws completely.

“Fucking mess” Leon grunts. Barely intelligible, you can hear that.  It is a mess, you made this mess - not him. His footsteps slowly dissipate in the loud bam! The calming, muffled sound of water dripping comes from the bathroom. He is showering. You are alone and alcohol doesn’t help. A wave of nausea, it fades just to return in the same violent intensity. 

Dirtiness and shame wash over you. Your body is not yours, like a big wound in your chest that will leave a black, bleeding scar. This is wrong, this shouldn’t have brought you pleasure, you should have been more defiant, kicked him off you, to bite his lip - anything. Dull pain flashes through your body. Sometimes it is okay to kill yourself - no, it is not, you are being dramatic. You still feel his touch, his dick like phantom pain. It does hurt too, he did take something from you. Awkwardly, curling up with your knees close to your chest, arms wrap around them to bring you some sort of peace, like a dog remaining on the couch.

You don’t like your dad.

…

Insomnia torments you, the sound coming out of the streets gives nothing but fear. You still feel out of your shell, even if he hasn't shown up since forever. You think he is dead, buried in some trash can - the end your dad deserves. Every news gives you hope to see his face, not in some scandals or to show nostalgia to the ex-rock king - too see the sweet word, death. 

So close to fall asleep, so close to avoid the bitter black hole growing in your chest every night. Loud noise, forcing you to flinch. You wish it was a bulgar, maybe it is. You’d give him your dad’s guitar, if it was not already sold. You don’t think so, a treasure of his fame, success - something to brag about, remains to gratify his fragile ego. He is home. Another trashing, something falls and a loud “Fuck”, then silence. You can’t live like this anymore. Getting out of a warm bed, the blanket won’t shield you from the blues of this place. Peeking out of the corner, you can’t really see what has fallen but you can clearly see your dad. On the couch. 

Leon looks like a mess, ruffled hair all over his eyes, laying on the couch. He smells awful, unfamiliar now. Maybe you just missed it - not possible. The smell reminds you of death, not so cool as he was in your child's eyes. Now, much cooler is dead. You pour the water in the glass, no way he is going away with this bullshit, you want to see him drown, to be hurt like you were all these days. Quick motion and chilly tap water splashes on him. Easy sober up method! Watching him shudder and flinch, blue eyes filled with confusion, darting around as his hands run through his hair, slickening it back. It eases the emptiness he left. You feel better. 

“What the fuck?” Leon mutters, wet fabric clings to his body, almost see through. Following wetness, it guides you to his jeans. A big damp patch. 

“You made a mess, again” Lie comes out easily. Not really, there is a drop of truth - that’s his fault. He hums, lips corners tense again as if he wants to say something. He is drunk, not helping with the thought process - slower, dumber. Like you were.

“Did I…” Leon inquiries for a moment, then a pause. Piss myself?

“Yea, of course” You nod, your hand hides the glass behind you. “Looks like the Apple doesn't fall far from the tree” 

[thefishywizard]

Rouge-like tendencies, courtesy of grandpa

[teary-eyedpet]

But being alone is also so scary. It's nice to feel so cherished and loved. I know he would always be there when I need help. He encourages me to do hard things and provides perspective I don't often see. And I'm certain he does love ME for my autistic traits and weird therian bullshit included. I don't know if he'll really ever come to understand those things as deeply as I feel them, or as much as I'd like him to, but i don't believe there's anyone I can expect that from

I feel like these are all the base things you need to have a "good functional relationship." So I have difficulty removing myself from him! There's also a ton I really don't like though, and we've been together for almost 4 years now and there's patterns I don't see changing.

When it comes to living together I feel like I'm always doing more, and when there's tasks outside of unloading the dishwasher, or vacuuming, it's done half assed. I have to ask him to take care of himself, like brush his teeth, or brush his hair. His hygiene has never been great. There's never been a time where I'm near his genitals and it didn't smell off. I have no idea if he just doesn't wash well (which is likely), or if i just have an aversion to the smells that come with sex. Ive only dated and been sexually active with one other person, and i didn't really fuck with the smell then either, but at the time I had not transitioned and i was so dang attracted to them that it didn't really matter.

The sex is non-existent. The times when we do interact with each other sexually it's always the same thing. I sit on his face, he'll touch me a little bit, he gets off, and I'm not really into the whole thing that much so I just kinda move on. I can count how many times I've climaxed over our whole relationship on one hand. The reasonable side of me wants to consider that having an orgasm after transitioning is just more difficult, but Im starting to think it's not an issue with me, it might be that I'm just not that attracted to him. I also have to consider that my own relationship with my genitals is pretty rough, as I don't really have any desire to use them, or have them touched, but i would really like to be touched anywhere else.

Like, he just might be bad at sex, and the whole experience kinda just reeks of straightness. Ive asked him to touch me in other places, but his hands always go directly for tits, dick or ass, and never really spends anytime kissing anything. It's so nice to have hands on my waste, or my thighs. Or to feel lips on my neck or any inch of my skin for that matter. I remember telling him that I really don't like the feeling of having my dick jacked off, for lack of a better phrase. Unless there's lube involved, and with some proper foreplay, but he just kept doing it every. time. I got really upset with him and he hasn't done it since, but that was nearly 3 years into the relationship.

Clearly I'm a pet-play blog, and for those that are versed in kink probably have a good idea of what i want just by hearing those words. It's not that I'm not receiving what i really want, he just doesn't seem to have any imagination when it comes to sex. And that's where the "reeking of straightness" comes in. Sure I'll wear a collar for him, and I LOVE to bark but that seems to be just about where it ends when it comes to that. I know it turns him on, but there's nothing beyond that. There's no exploration, there's no getting into the role, and it's just disappointing. I'd really like to experience at some point a dom that understands pet space, and why that's so important, but i cant really seem to get him on board with exploring any sort of interest in that stuff. It just comes down to that he likes it because I like. Which is nice and sweet, but i wish there was an effort to understand it.

I have issues with the amount of patience he has as well. I pride myself as someone who has vast amounts of patience, and i think that clashes with what i think to be how very little patience he has. He acts quickly and sometimes irrationally, sometimes for reasons as simple as he's hangry. It really frustrates me because a lot of the time it's so beyond non issue to me that it's not worth giving energy, it's better just to wait a moment and assess what's around me.

I'm very gentle in everything I do, because I'm incredibly sensitive. In a very physical and emotional way. I think i do a good job of reining it in when i need to. The way i naturally move through the world and interact with my environment is soft. Often I'll go to place my hand on him and it irritates him because it's a shocking sensory experience for him. Which i completely understand. Sometimes I can feel like ghost tickling your arm hairs, and i can understand how that can surprising if you're not expecting it. But it happens so often it honestly feels like rejection. My way loving just isn't conducive with his sensory experience, and i think the opposite is true as well. The way he grabs onto to me feels like I'm being jerked around and way too sudden (it doesnt hurt mind you), but a sudden grip, or a whole weight of a hand placed on my shoulder or head can be too much at times.

The thing the gets me though is I know for certain a lot of the issues I'm having with him are just symptoms of depression. I feel like everything I've said can be traced back to that issue. I don't think he's lazy, or anything like that. I think he's just depressed! And he has been for a long time! I don't want to leave him because of that, that feels awful. When i consider myself though I know I'm already a lot to take care of, especially after coming to terms with being autistic, and taking the steps to figure out how I need to structure my life to support myself. Which means I can't take care of him as well. I can't be asking him to take care of himself, and wake him up in the mornings, and all these other little things I do to help him. Taking care of yourself is already so difficult with the expectations everyone has to live up to. I haven't slept in my own bed for at least a week now, because his snoring keeps me up, and that's just one way I'm putting him before me when I really shouldn't.

I just don't want to hurt him. I know separating is going to be like ripping his heart out and stomping on it. I care for him so much even the thought of hurting him brings me to tears. After 4 years together, for him, it's going to be "all for what." I know I'm the best he's had. I'm not trying to have an ego about it, I just know I have a patience not many can offer, and often to my own detriment. I know that I'm good at loving because I'm deliberate and considerate. If I break up with him I know it will come as a shock. The thing im dreading the most is that we live together, and it's not like he's making enough to get up and leave. I really regret letting him move in with me. I was already having these thoughts back then. I wish i would've had the back bone to cut it off there.

It's all so much more complicated now. Just sitting here writing anonymously about my partner is clearly indicative that I need to rip this band aid off and move on, but it's just so fucking scary and i hate hurting people so fucking much.

I just really wish people didn't get so attached to me. I wish everyone was more comfortable with people moving in and out of our lives. I really believe nothing lasts forever. That's not supposed to be some doomer take. I see it as acceptance. That all good things end so that new good things can begin.

If you read this you weren't supposed to but thanks anyway. I just needed to scream this at the wall.

Google, how do I break up with someone without leaving a wound. Google how do I make someone stop loving me. Google please help me

[squid-rp]

So... remember when I said I wanted to make playlists for my characters while stuck at work? WELL... today is the day of results, staring with Cora. See cut below for playlist and a few drabbles that are inspired but may yet change as more info about the world comes out.

TW: Language... both in the playlist and out of it. I'm not kidding when I said Cora needs a swear jar, and some of her song choices definitely uh... reflect that.

DRABBLES:

Cora might not have been a proper witch or warlock, but she knew full and well what storms were, because she saw them in people. She saw it in her mother’s eyes when her parents thought she had been asleep -- the woman’s lips turning to a snarl as she deftly dodged another bottle thrown at her head and the sloppy slur of a yell to get out. Cora knew that sometimes storms collided and one usually gave way to another. Her mother gave way to her father and fled into the night, leaving her alone with a bitter man festering in all of his losses and resentful of what he felt he deserved but could not have. Had it not been for her grandmother, Cora knew she would have felt that wrath turned on herself more severely than sour glances and whiskey touched words. Lavinia Carrington was a storm of her own. She lacked the wild snarl and harsh words that her daughter used so frequently, but her eyes were fixed and focused like the rumble of thunder on the horizon. Steven Mills could barely look up from his kingdom of half-drunken bottles to acknowledge the woman on his doorstep. He did blink lamely at the statuesque woman in his living room who deigned to stand above his recliner like some sort of fairytale queen. She wore a tailored dress, but no crown, although her fading red hair was enough to tell him exactly who she was. “Fuck you want?” Steven managed, but he knew, and although she didn’t know what exactly, Cora knew too. Later, she would ruefully recall that nobody had asked her, but why would they? She was just a slip of a thing hiding against a door frame back then -- eager for a peak of something strange but terrified of being caught. “I refuse to let my legacy nourish itself on whiskey and regrets. That child is mine and she will be great, or she will be nothing at all.” There was no room for argument.

---

Cora had always been a girl who liked to know things. Her mother was a faint shadow in her memories, but sometimes she would recall her mother telling her stories at night -- stories of little girls and the wolves that gobbled them up for their curiosity. Curiosity, her grandmother said, was a useful tool. Curiosity was usually the first step towards folly and the lesson of hurting, which would give away to the much more useful trait of ambition. Cora no longer spent nights being lulled to sleep by scary stories of wolves gobbling up girls. Those weren’t useful tales anymore, especially since nobody was coming to save her. Cora hadn’t exactly shaken curiosity, but she tempered it with caution, and her only ambition was to stay one step ahead of her grandmother -- to learn to be more powerful if only to save herself and others who might be in the bitter hag’s way. But the lesson of hurting had turned to a lesson of haunting, and the most haunting thing Cora learned was that she would never stop looking over her shoulder, even in the crowds of New York.

---

If there was one thing Cora learned since running away, it was that she was always going to be underestimated by people who didn’t know what the hell she was. That was fine on most days. It was easier to traipse around on the sly and have a semblance of a life if people just saw her at face value: small, petite, porcelain skin, a light dusting of freckles, doll eyes, clothes that barely fit. A fragile thing with such a foul mouth. And sometimes it was that mouth that got her into trouble, and the invitation to “fuck around and find out” resulted in a right hook that was far meaner than it had any right to be. Sometimes meanness wasn’t enough, though. There were times Cora limped along home, ribs aching, teeth stained with blood and eyes bruised purple, but she’d be damned if she saw something that bothered her without speaking up. She didn’t run away to hold anything in anymore.

---

It didn’t matter how well she hid: eventually one of her grandmother’s followers would find her. It didn’t matter if she washed her hair out so that it lost its coppery sheen or crafted an identity that was the greatest great or the lowest of the low. Someone always found her, and how could they not? She was an unbound Ephemeral, and a grasping threat to boot, even if she claimed to just want to live. She ran first. Cora ran from jobs. She left homes with nothing but the clothes on her back. She lost her pursuers in subway trains or by dodging into an Uber and -- once -- jumping off a bridge into a freezing river that had her shivering for what felt like weeks. She finally dug her heels in and fought back in Arizona, and when her pursuer was flat on his back in the sand, Cora stood over him while a dust devil raged through the desert. She thought of her grandmother. She thought of those sharp blue eyes, the steel in the woman’s demeanor, and everything she had taken and would continue to take. It would have been easy to kill the man in the dirt. It would have been easy to kill him and leave him to rot in the desert for the coyotes to pick his bones clean. It would have sent a clear message, and it would have been a warning for those who would come after. But it would have been something she would have done, and more than anything, Cora did not want to be her. So she knocked the man out and left him in the desert to make his way to safety once he woke up. By then, she’d be on the way to elsewhere to try and make her way on her own terms. Despite how she had been raised, and despite all of her grooming, Cora was not her, and she never would be. Not if she had anything to say about it.

---

It could not be said that Cora was skilled in Origami as she only knew how to make one shape. She tried to learn others over the years -- the owl, the fan, the boat, the flower -- but her fingers fell into the familiar habits of the crane as if she were being guided along on a string right on back to home. Cora had so few memories of her mother. She had no pictures -- they had been burned at her grandmother’s behest -- and no mementos or trinkets to remind her of the woman who had given her life and then had abandoned her. She remembered stories told in the dark, but the years had distorted the voice that told them. The memories of a face -- the cut of a nose, and the curl of a lip -- had blurred to a void that could have been everything and nothing all at once. What Cora couldn’t forget was muscle memory, and her fingers gracefully folded smooth paper to form a head and wings until another colorful paper crane joined the small army threatening to burst out of her shoebox apartment. “One thousand gets a wish,” the woman murmured as she set the newest crane atop the bundle of blankets that comprised her bed and looked out the window towards the looming city and all its lights. She doubted she would ever get what she wanted. After all, other people wanted, and when it came to her, they only wanted what she could do and who she could be. They never really wanted her for her. It didn’t stop her from reaching for another sheaf of paper and trying again.

TLDR: Pretty sure Cora's grandma (who in my head is super old and reeks of sandalwood and dismissiveness) is the head of a Gramarye coven elsewhere. Cora was meant to take up the mantle or... something else more nefarious but yeeted instead and is hiding out in New York until she can figure out wtf to do. AGAIN, this could change depending on revealed site lore and also the fact that I might see another bright and shiny idea and go crow.

[mintyamphibian]

Treasure Hunt

  Her bare feet trailed across the fresh, lush, grass, cracking the small twigs in her way, without even so much as flinching, as she excitedly ran with arms extended behind her, soaking in the warm sun. 

  "Come on, come on!" - Her tiny and full freckled face lit up in an eager smile as she looked behind her to the other girl, who, in contrast, walked with slow and timid steps. 

  The little freckled one bounced in place in an impatient wait, with an impatient smile. 

  Her friend walked shyly with her dress grazing on the dirt and grass. 

  As soon as she got to the point where her friend bounced in wait, the process repeated. The freckled one guided the other, running a few steps ahead, braids floating freely in the wind and then waiting for the other little girl to catch up. 

  It took a while but eventually, the pair stopped their tracks under a big and bulky tree, tall and wide, with its massive roots curling into the soil. 

  The entire atmosphere had changed. The lush limes and warm yellow tint across the view had changed the deeper they had gone, replaced by dusky dark greens and navy shadows. 

  "It's here, isn't it?! " - the freckled child turned to her friend with a loud and proud grin. 

  In return, she got a slow but firm nod from the pale, misty-eyed girl. Without any sound, the girl sat upon the moist dirt letting her dress drape over her legs and the floor, uncaring about its cleanliness. 

  Her lips parted with no sound, mouthing to the freckled one a single word - "dig." - And she showed her a clumsy and crooked but innocent smile. 

  The small one nodded back, lowering herself and beginning the task at hand, trying to keep her dangling braids out of the way. 

This was their thing. 

  The damp dirt got under her tiny nails, stained her small kiddy hands which never stopped moving in their determined digging, clawing at the dirt and mud. 

  She never once glanced at the other girl, she was completely focused on her duty. 

  And there it was. A little white shard., rough and funny shaped. 

She felt like an archaeologist, a historian, There was a rush of pride and admiration. 

  "This one is small!" 

  Another lovely smile. 

  And the long-haired, long dress girl nodded but didn't say a word. 

  "Is tomorrow's bigger? 

  The girl shook her head and her long dark haired swayed with it. 

  And the freckled one bit her lip in thought.

  "Hmmm… the first one was the coolest yet! Are they all this small? "

  Another shake of the head. 

  "I hope the big ones are soon!" 

  The two children smiled at each other. 

  She dusted off the small irregular shard on her little dress and tucked it in her pocket, amidst the grey rocks she'd picked earlier. 

  "Is that all today?"- She bounced from side to side on one foot as she wiped her dirty hands on the fabric of her outfit, even across the embroidered letters spelling "Victoria".

  The other girl nodded once more, causing the small freckled Victoria to brush her tongue against the gap of her teeth - "can I visit you later?" 

  The silent child shook her head vehemently.

  It caused a huff from the impatient little girl-" you always say no! When can I visit you?"

  But all the other did was shrug and mouth -"Later."

  And Victoria's eyes first widened, then squinted - "But you said I couldn't!" - She giggled - "You're confusing!" 

  The silent girl's expression remained unchanged, she got up as well, adjusting her dress with no attempt of cleaning it

  She mouthed - "More later."

  Despite the annoyed huff and kiddish pout, Victoria relented - "Alright!" - And swayed on her feet, left, right, left, right - "My mummy's gonna get mad I dirtied my dress again! She says it's very hard to wash! ...She also says not to come here even though I told her I came to play with a friend because it's dark and dangerous but I'm a big girl …I haven't shown her the treasures because my mum isn't much of a historian like you and me!...And you said to not. "

  The other girl listened, blinking with an unchanging face as she did so, agreeing at the end with a slow nod.

  "You're lucky your mummy lets you get your dresses all dirty like that! Do you think I can meet her, your mummy?

  A slow shake of the head. 

  Victoria bounced back. -" Not even when I visit you? More later?"

  For once the other girl tilted her head in deep thought, which resulted in a shrug. 

  Victoria pouted with half-lidded eyes, looking deep into the girl's misty ones. The dark-haired lass turned her head away. 

  Victoria knew she didn't like it when her eyes were stared at. 

  She was weird but fun. 

  Her friend was confusing but fun!

  "You're confusing!" 

  The silent girl did not react. 

  "So you have to go?" 

  She then nodded. 

  "Ok!" - Victoria said waving at her friend. 

  They went opposite ways. 

  They lived in opposite places. 

  Victoria went to the lush limes and warm yellow where they'd come from in an energetic sprint and the dark-haired little girl walked in slow steps, further into the murky greens of their destination. 

  Of course, they had to play there! It's where Beth's house was! The only word she'd ever heard the girl say in her tiny and shy voice was her name. 

But Victoria knew Beth lived there, she'd asked! 

Well more like guessed...And she got a nod in return. 

  It was a quick run home. As soon her little hand grabbed the golden doorknob she opened the wooden front door that let out a creak. 

  "Mummy, mummy! I'm home!" - Victoria announced in her childish tone.

  Soon her mother rushed to her, like mother like daughter. The same freckled face and sunny smile. A joint warm hug. 

  Her mum gave the best hugs.

  "Victoria! You're all muddy! Were you playing in the woods again?" - her voice wasn't all that sunny now, it just reeked of concern.

  "Sorry mummy!" - The freckled child apologised with a not so remorseful giggle. 

  "You know I've told you not to play in the woods! I'll have to ground you like this!" 

  That did the trick - "Nooo! I was just playing with Beth!" - Her mothers face turned rigid like stone. 

  Mummy didn't like Beth. Victoria didn't know why but she always said not to play with her. 

  But what of it? Beth was fun! And nice! They had loads of fun together! 

  Her mother's eyes met hers. Serious, cold,...she didn't like mummy With those eyes and hands gripped tightly on her shoulders. 

  "Honey… I've told you before. I don't want you playing with…. Beth. I get a bad feeling from it. You two should not be playing there." 

  The child protested-" But Beth lives there!"

  Her mum's face turned even more frigid, her eyes shined with an emotion Victoria couldn't quite put her finger on but she swore the hands gripped on her shoulders, trembled.

"I know she does." 

  Was she scared? 

  Victoria wasn't scared. 

  She stared at her mum in confusion, tilting her head slightly.

  Then her mum sighed heavily - "Alright…go on we'll talk about this later ...I'll heat up a bath." 

  As soon as she was free Victoria ran into her room, bare soles tapping against the wooden floor. 

  Her hands buried in the pocket of her dress, fumbling through the rocks.    

  Then her tiny fingers grasped the small irregular shard. 

  For a second her mind jumped to showing her mum the cool treasure, even if her mum wasn't a historian like her but she soon remembered Beth's face when once she'd suggested it, shaking her head violently, with bulging eyes, full of fear. 

  She didn't get it, mummy wasn't scary but… She did as Beth wished. 

  So instead she took the small rough shard out and wiped it against her dress once more and stared at it. 

  What a small one this time. 

  Opening the wooden drawer she looked at her collection. It really, was the smallest one yet, she stored it carefully amidst the other treasures and pretty fabrics and took her favourite out. 

  Bigger and round, she traced its contours with her childish fingers. 

  Two circles. 

  A triangle.

  Funny zig zags.

  Rough and off-white, the dirt still climbed onto its crevices. It was just a little bigger than her head. So this was what was inside of there... 

  Beth had said - "skull" - this one, this one was her favourite, of all the treasures Beth had led her too, and the first one as well. 

  She stored it again, making sure to fit it under the fabrics. Mummy couldn't see this one, that was the one that got Beth to shake her head like that. 

  She didn't want her mum to take it away, so, for now, it stayed there, with all the other treasures. 

  She wondered what tomorrow's was. She hoped it was cooler somehow. 

[fair-itself]

So I'm getting really into horror games

I finished the Silent Hill series, which was kind of a rollercoaster - started strong, took a nosedive, then finished on P.T., which was a goddamn masterpiece, but then you get slapped in the face with the reality that Silent Hills got canceled and I needed to lie down and let the sorrow wash over me for like a solid twenty minutes.

ANYWAY, I needed something else to play so I moved on to Little Nightmares, which as far as I'm concerned is a perfect game. You play as a mysterious, tiny figure clad in a face-obscuring yellow raincoat who must escape from an enormous vessel designed for a gruesome purpose that gets wilder and weirder as you progress. There's no dialogue or text whatsoever, it's gorgeously animated, and it plays like one of those disturbing classic fairy tales where you don't really know who to root for. I spent the entire thing viscerally appalled and delighted at the same time. It was basically the best thing ever.

After that I decided a dramatic tone shift was in order and started SOMA, a sci-fi horror story about what it really means to be human, and like...okay, here's the thing: the whole Matrix thing, y'know, the humanity-in-virtual-reality thing, "to what extent are the body and the consciousness linked," all that jazz. It's not that those aren't important philosophical questions, because I'm sure they are. It's just that I personally kinda don't give a shit?

Because here's the thing, right? The human brain is a wad of fat that spends the entire span of its existence encased in a pitch black prison of fluid and bone, and yet somehow, over eons, it has developed the ability to not only percieve its environment, but contemplate its perceptions, and contemplate ITSELF, and then make art about those contemplations, which can then be percieved and contemplated by other brains from within their own skull-prisons. That, to me, is already so fucking bonkers that I guess I just don't see why the added layer of abstraction that is "what if computers" makes it inherently somehow more crazy just because we did computers on purpose. You know?

Anyway, I wanted to give that setup to explain that in spite of all that, and in spite of the fact that the actual gameplay itself is kind of clunky bullshit, I loved SOMA. Loved it. It wasn't technically perfect like Little Nightmares - far from it. The good stuff, that being the actual plot, was frequently interrupted by boring stealth sections that reeked of frustration and pointlessness. It was made by the same team that did perennial horror gaming classic Amnesia: The Dark Descent, and at times it was painfully obvious that somebody in the room was determined to shoehorn the successful aspects of Amnesia into SOMA, no matter what happened to the flow of the thing. And the flow does suffer, greatly. But I still loved it, because the story is SO solid. The plot of this game, when it works, is a sparkling gem of a thing that left me with my jaw hanging open on multiple occasions. This game made me cry. It forced all the air out of my lungs like I'd been physically punched. It develops a beautiful, realistic relationship between starkly imperfect characters that feel fully-realized in a way I've never experienced in a video game, and then it uses what it's built to rip your heart out and stomp on it. It makes you believe fiercely in the task the protagonist assigns himself, even though, at the end of a doomed human race's lifespan, he basically takes it on to have something to do other rot slowly at the bottom of the ocean. Do I care about the philosophical implications of uploading people into virtual reality now? Eh, not really! But I cared a lot about it for the duration of SOMA! This game is the solution for everyone who's sick of bog standard apocalyptic sci-fi. Please suffer through the stupid scary robot sections and give it a try.

And finally, since I enjoyed SOMA so much, I decided to give the aforementioned Amnesia: The Dark Descent a try. I've seen this game crop up on lots of lists of the best and scariest horror games of all time. It pioneered a technique that comes up in a lot of horror games, that being the concept of sanity and the breakdown thereof, represented by visual and auditory hallucinations that plague the player character. You know those stealth sections that I mentioned being so boring in SOMA? Amnesia does those right, melding hiding and running from monsters you have no way to fight seamlessly into the plot - that being amnesiac Daniel's quest through a spooky castle in 1839 to find and kill allegedly evil occultist Alexander, and also, y'know, figure out who he is and why he wants to kill this dude in the first place.

As for my personal opinion of the game? ...It was okay! I mean, yeah, it was spooky wandering around a drafty castle plagued with malevolent, otherwordly forces, and it was scary as shit seeing monsters shamble through the mist in the distance and running like fuck to find a barrel to hide behind so they don't slice your spongy English ass open from stem to stern. Your quest to piece the mystery together bit by bit was well-executed, and the historically realistic details about torture and grim science experiments were appropriately disturbing.

But...I don't know. The feeling of isolation is important in horror, but not only not having any other characters to get to know, but knowing virtually nothing about the player character himself, AND only having one setting to explore, that being basically the same gray, dimly-lit castle that you get in every other work of historical fiction? It just wasn't that engaging for me! I think it was a well-executed work that was important to the genre, don't get me wrong, but if I'm gonna sit all the way through something where no one who isn't a white man shows up even once the entire time, it better blow my friggin' mind.

So yeah, that's what I've been up to lately. I'm probably gonna play Layers of Fear next, but I'm taking recommendations!

[thedarklightwithinus]

Here to Help

A/N; Haven't written in ages!!! My first GoT piece... Kinda proud. This will be a two parter!

Summary; Y/N tries to rescue Sansa from a life she never wanted.

Characters; You, Sansa Stark, Myranda, Theon Greyjoy.

Words; 2.1K

Requested; Nah.

It was only common sense that the door would be locked. What with the many failed escape attempts and the sheer bliss of being able to keep someone against their will; It was slightly obvious that Ramsay would have the door locked. However, he had forgotten something very crucial. The door was left unattended with no one around to watch as his younger sister picked the lock with an embroidery needle.

Y/N Snow knelt in front of the door, her head against it as she listened to the sounds from within the lock. This wasn't the first lock she had picked and Y/N was almost certain it wouldn't be her last. The only difference between picking the lock on this door and all the others was that she wasn't trying to steal anything... Unless you call helping Sansa Stark escape from her brother's clutches stealing.

Being a bastard left Y/N with very little roles in her life. It wasn't as bad when she was little as she had Ramsay who was in the same boat. However, once their father had legitimized her brother, he had all but cast her into the shadows. One thing Ramsay and Roose forgot was Y/N's nature to do the right thing. 

Which was why she was going to risk her life in order the help Sansa escape. She wasn't one to wait around and do nothing. However, she knew her brother better than anyone in Westeros. If she was to flee, he would track her down and drag her back kicking and screaming. Luckily for her, her plans were brought forward when Ramsay had left Winterfell.

The lock clicked causing a grin to spread on Y/N face as she stood fully and pushed the door open. Her grin was quickly washed off her face when she noticed Sansa stood before her, a cork screw in her hand looking just as shocked as she felt.

"It alright." Y/N muttered, holding her hands in front of her as she looked around to insure no one was watching. "I am here to help."

"Help?" Sansa questioned, trying her best to pretend she was confused. "What could I possibly need help with?"

Y/N sighed deeply, into the room and out of the doorway in order to remain unseen. "I know you do not wish to be here. I know you have been trying to leave for a while. This is the only chance you are going to get and I urge you to take it." She whispered harshly, holding her hand out. Sansa stared at Y/N with a slight raised brow. Y/N could clearly see the apprehension on her face and if she was being honest, she didn’t blame her. "Trust me... Please?”

Sansa slipped her hand into Y/N's and she nodded firmly. "I trust you."

Y/N was quick to send her a smile, grasping her hand tightly and pulling her from the room. She walked at a fast pace, preferring not to draw any attention to the pair by running. As she lead the way down the stairs, she pulled her hood up around her head in order to be more discrete, Sansa followed suit.

It struck Y/N harshly as she entered the courtyard with Sansa on how she was meant to get out of Winterfell without anyone paying them any mind. A quick glance towards the entrance gates told her that it wasn't an option.

She tugged on Sansa's hand in order to pull her closer. "Ramsay would not let me wonder the grounds. I need to know if there is another way out and I need to know now."

"Yes." Sansa muttered, frantically looking around as though she could feel every eye on her. "But I know them to be guarded."

Y/N swore under her breath as she took a look around as she noticed most of the men shouting and running around. As a soft snow flake landed on her cheek, a sudden idea popped into her head. She did a half turn and looked up at one of the highest towers Winterfell had to offer.

"This way." Y/N whispered, pulling Sansa along once more as the two entered the tower through a side door.

The spiral staircase looked as though it went on for ages and though she tried not to think about just how high up she was, she found it difficult to as she moved upwards step by step. Sansa's grip on Y/N's hand had tightened considerably. Y/N didn't know if it was from how cold it was or if she was genially scared.

"We need more men out front!"

Y/N stopped suddenly as she heard the frantic yells coming from above. Sansa forced herself to a stop in order to not knock her over as the two-looked upwards towards the stone steps. The frantic noise of shoes hitting the stone above them could be heard growing louder and louder.

As the men grew closer, Y/N's heart began to pick up speed. She had a sudden urge to hit herself for thinking her plan could ever work. However, she quickly reminded herself that she had all but forced Sansa to trust her. This wasn't just her at stake here.

"Quick! Quick!" Y/N whispered frantically, all but running but the steps towards the men as she noticed a door a few steps upwards.

She pushed it open, thankful to find it unlocked as she pulled Sansa harshly through it before closing it and leaned against the door. In a matter of seconds, she could hear the men pass the door and continue on down the stairs.

"This was a mistake." Y/N muttered to herself, breathing deeply through her nose as she looked towards Sansa. "This is not going to work."

"It has to work." Sansa said, stepping towards Y/N. "You have gotten me this far, we can do this together but only together."

Y/N stared at Sansa with a slight raise of her brow. She took in the words deeply as she looked beyond Sansa to see that the pair had come out onto a walkway beside one of the walls of Winterfell. If she had her bearing right, the pair were towards the back wall, far from the gate.

“Together... We can do this." Y/N said, a fierce nod leaving her as she grabbed Sansa's hand once more and pulled her off to the left.  

"Where are we going, the gates are this way." Sansa frantically whispered as Y/N continued to pull her along.

”The gates are of no use to us if my brother and his army are coming back that way." Y/N muttered, turning a corner as she looked back at Sansa. "We cannot get out that way, we would be foolish to tr-"

"How right you are." Y/N could see the horror on Sansa's face as she looked over her shoulder. Y/N spun to face forward as her jaw began to lock. "Bastard... My Lady." Myranda greeted, an arrow loaded as she pointed it from Sansa to Y/N.

"Myranda." Y/N said, her voice dripping with hatred. "I'll advise you one to stand aside."

"I've come to escort the Lady of Winterfell back to her chambers." Myranda said with a huge smile on her face. "Her chambers that you have broken into."

"Do as she says, please." Theon muttered from behind Myranda.

Y/N looked from Theon to Myranda to Sansa and back to Theon. It took her barely any time to realize that Sansa had put her faith in to wrong person as Theon had clearly been the one to rat her out to Myranda.

"If my knowledge is correct, Myranda," Y/N began, placing herself in front of Sansa as she narrowed her eyes at the girl. "A Lady is higher than a common whore. The Lady of Winterfell wants to leave with me and my brothers whore will not stop us."

"True you are, Y/N. However, a common whore, as you so kindly put it is still higher than a bastard." Myranda said, pointing her arrow at Y/N chest as she took a step forward. "You can leave, I'd like to see how long it takes for Ramsay to hunt you down. The Lady is staying."

"Sansa is not stupid." Y/N said, raising a brow as she pointed off towards the gate. "She knows what Ramsay is, what he'll do to her."

Myranda's smile didn't falter. She merely pointed her arrow over her shoulder at Sansa before pointing it back at Y/N chest. The air was silent as the four of them stood mere feet apart. Theon continued to stare at the ground.

"If I'm going to die," Sansa spoke up, her voice drifting through the air. "Let it happen while there's still some of me left."

Myranda's eyes widened slightly, a small grin over taking her face as she forced it back. "Die?" She lowered her bow, fixing her gaze at Sansa. "Who said anything about dying? You can't die. Your father was Warden of the North. Ramsay needs you."

Y/N heard the slight gasp in her ear as Sansa gripped her hand tightly, the fear seeping from her. Though she knew of Ramsay's goals, it was scary to hear it being spoken of out loud.

"Though I suppose he doesn't need all of you." Myranda continued, raising her bow once again as Y/N tried to keep her body in front of Sansa. It proved difficult, however, because Sansa was slightly taller than her. "Just the parts he'll use to make his heir, until you've given him a boy or two and he's finished using them."

"Do you honestly think Ramsay will keep you around for much longer?" Y/N asked, watching cautiously as Myranda's gaze never once left Sansa's form. "Because no matter what you think, I may be a bastard, but he still values me much more than you. Blood's still blood."

Whether it be from anger or sheer annoyance, Myranda moved her hand more firmly over the bow as she went to release the arrow. Y/N squeezed her eyes tightly as she heard the arrow being released. Her eyes snapped open, however, when she heard Myranda's yell of shock. "Reek- Stop!"

Y/N took a glance behind her and Sansa who was also looking behind her at the arrow which now lay on the floor mere inches from the pair. Another yell brought Y/N out of her trance as she snapped her eyes towards Theon who was looking over the wooden planks.

She followed his gaze and winced as she heard Myranda's body hit the cold stone floor a good few feet down. Y/N noticed the blood beginning to gather around Myranda as she took a glance around, insuring no one had seen.

Y/N was stood between Theon and Sansa as the three of them stared at Myranda's body in both shock and slight disgust. A few moments passed before the three were brought out of there trances as a horn was blown loudly from one of the watch towers. "Open the gate!"

"He's coming back." Y/N whispered, grabbing Sansa's hand once again and pulling her from the ledge. "Are you coming?" She shot as Theon who stared blankly at her before looking towards the gate and nodding frantically.

"How are we going to get out?" Sansa asked, loudly.

"We go over!" Y/N yelled back, releasing her hand as she climbed up onto the wall and stood on the very top.

"We won't survive!" Sansa said, climbing up beside her as she looked over the wall. "The drop is too high!"

"The snow is thick!" Y/N said, grabbing her hand once more as she held her other out to Theon who followed the two's steps and climbed up beside her. "It's our only choice... Try to jump further out, we won't hit the wall that way!"

Y/N squeezed the pairs hands tightly as she took a last glance behind her before pushing herself from the wall, feeling Theon and Sansa follow her lead.  

PART TWO

[overcaffeinated-creative]

Solus Vetra, Modern AU

Title: I have the Best Work Stories Ever

Rating: T

Characters: Unnamed New Guy, Solus Vetra, Pre Vizsla, Akaan Kast

Summary: A new guy gives a first person run down of the wildest day in his blossoming Kyr’tsad career. Solus shows off what makes her a total badass. Assume they’re operating within an American HQ.

Notes: This was inspired by the introduction scene of Natasha in Iron Man 2. You know the one. There’s a lampshade for it.

Being the New Guy always sucked. If there is someone to be blamed for something going wrong it will be you. Food and coffee runs also became your job without your approval. The really sadistic bastards made up things for you to find on wild snipe hunts to supposedly find. No one cared if you have known each other half your damned lives (looking at you, Conner, who has shared my room for ever family thing since birth) because you are Fresh Meat. If leaving out key information could result in something funny they just had to do it. Because all that matters in the end is there’s a new di’kut around HQ to be tormented until the next batch arrives.

Take for example, no one telling me that Vizsla’s personal assistant was one of those vode. Basic warnings were given (because they’re all shebs but they’re not intentionally malicious shebs) about how things ran. Careful with the loud noises if her name is highlighted red on our intra-communication network, don’t mind the black Husky in the service vest (his name is Sen and they openly argue with each other), and the sweet black and silver Cadillac CTS V in the parking lot is hers. It was to be given a wide berth and never, ever startle her when she’s getting in or out. Things can (and do) go sideways with sparks.

Getting to their sheb quality was no one ever braced me for what she looks like. See, Solus Vetra is one of those bathed-in-the-blood-of-the-Ka’ra, born-in-a-fiery-burst-reeking-of-Mandokarla, my-loyalty-is-only-to-the-true-Manda’lor names. Anyone who knows their history knows Aliit Vetra was one of those old school families; as in ancient old school. The kind that is (still) dripping money, are very proud of being Mandalorian, and who have the past to make Renaissance Borgia look tame and never got caught doing any of it. So, this petite, smoking hot, white haired, Asian chick was not who I pegged for Solus Vetra. (In fact, I found out my pick for Solus Vetra out of seeing the Higher Ups was actually Bo-Katan Kryze...a different level of Traditionalist asskicker but not the PA) Every single time I had seen Vetra she was dressed to the nines, wearing labels even I know mean Wealth, and darting around with her face buried in a tablet and wearing this tweaked Google Glass display. Basically, I would have bought her as one of the Duchess’ people before Vizsla’s...well ever. There was too much Silicon Valley Tech Start Up in her look.

Assuming makes an ass out of you and me as the saying went.

Near a month into my tenure with the company was when the Day of Reckoning all went down. In the span of three hours she went from Pepper Potts with her unruly boss and love of art to Natasha Romanoff with everything you would expect of the world’s best spy. (Seriously, I want to know if we have a Black Widow Program and if that’s where we found her. Because she is scary.) First, came The Argument with the Boss that would have made a lesser man piss himself. Few hours later, she popped up in the gym sparking The Beat Down to her vocal heckler. It cemented her as Certified Badass in my mind and shot her to the top of my “Never Ever Fuck With” List.

The Argument was held in an adjacent meeting room to the fourth floor supply closet at 10:23 AM. I was down there looking for this weirdly specific ink cartridge for our satanic printer when this feeling of doom washed over me. I swear the room dropped ten degrees while clicking suddenly picked up. It was like gearing up for a boss fight in the wrong area of a video game. You just knew shit was about to go down and it was not going to go in your favor at all. Instead of some kind of insectoid monster making the noise it was the rapid fire click of $1200 USD, real python pumps (I got curious enough to Google how much her red soled kicks cost and the answer is more than my rent) beating down on the tile floor with a Purpose.

I have to say a Smart Man would have waited for the danger to pass and ran away. This is where I say I am not a smart man. Di’kut is the right title for me because I stayed to eavesdrop...and maybe a little (a lot) of stunned silence freezing me into place. See, she cornered ‘Alor in the recently emptied meeting room with this chilled civility. I heard the door close with this crisp professionalism (how is that even possible?) before she started reaming him. 

It turned out Vetra was a Smart Person because she had a lot of languages to yell in. I lost track of the clearly individual ones after the five mark. Whatever he did (I speak English and Mando’a with some passable Spanish to her rapid fire Everything) it had to have been bad if she was suicidal enough for this. Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows Vizsla can be a giant kad when he feels like and he always feels like it. When he started yelling back I had the kneejerk reaction to go help her. Again, Vetra is Small and I am a Dumbass. Before I could move, her voice shot up a couple more decibels in the angriest (and I had Dred Priest overseeing part of my training) Mando’a to have ever been uttered. Then it was drop a pin and hear it echo for eternity silent.

Conner sent three texts while I was holding my post (and my breath) behind several stacks of xerox paper. Just to keep him from blowing my cover I shot back it was taking a while to dig around and he left me alone. It was a good thing because without their yelling-and with my luck-I would have gotten busted. Until this, I would have picked getting busted by Vetra...every time really. I knew what she looked like smiling in a good mood without someone dying. A’lor only smiled when things were going to shit for someone else. Now...now it was way harder. Since she had the gett’se to get in the Manda’lor’s face and live. But, he was not only a giant kad but one who could survive her wrath. I had no winning options except to hope for a mercy kill from a heart attack or something.

My internal strife stopped when I heard them pass by the closet door and they were...laughing? What in the hell had I missed falling down that rabbit hole? Twenty minutes ago she threatened to cut his gett’se off and parade them around with the stick he kept up his ass. Now, they were friends? What kind of fucking magic did he just pull? Could I learn it? Holy Shit. Pre Vizsla knew how to laugh? Without murder and chaos raining down around him? What kind of magic did she have?

Keeping it on the safe side I waited another ten minutes to return to my desk.

Witnessing The Beat Down was one of the best things to happen in my twenty years of living. Seriously, it came straight out of a movie it was so unbelievably awe-inspiring to see. Angels sang, the lights of the heavens shined down, and I watched the best ass kicking to have ever went down this year and possibly ever. A little digging around and the offer of enough uj cake even got me a full on video of the event. It makes the bad days better in twenty-five seconds.

Everything kicked off when I stopped by our gym when my shift ended at one. The shellshock from overhearing The Argument kept my head shoved pretty firmly up my ass. (I mean, that had to go down in some kind of history right? PA owns Manda’lor with words alone. It was going down in my history.) Conner picked up on something being off enough to leave my ink cartridgeless ass alone. I think he assumed I walked in something I shouldn’t see. Namely that nympho from Recruitment climbing some of the ground team guys...again. Why in the hell he was into men who could pass for hockey goalies, missing teeth and all, I would never know...fucking Canadian.

Somewhere between changing into workout gear and returning to the main room Vetra had shown up. Okay. I mean, I guess anyone could work out here and she was a Vetra? I had to assume she had at least basic self defense training. That had always been a huge part of the Mando Culture, especially with the Traditionalists. On second glance, I saw she was still in her outfit of the day. She even had her tablet with the intention of getting Kast to sign something. That made way more sense. Yeah, she would square off verbally with her boss but this would not be a verbal battle. Knowing how to defend herself was important; throwing the ground forces around moved away from that. It went more into the, “This is going to horribly wrong. Why are you brushing up the Basics with them?” because they could break her.

Remember, how I said I’m a dumbass and not to make assumptions? This is a good time to remember that I am one because I made the same mistake twice.

But, so was Akaan Kast.

See, Akaan Kast was a cycle ahead of me in training with a reputation for being both a bully and a show off. He thought because he was directly assigned to a company in HQ he was a Big Deal. “Kasts are always around the most powerful," he liked to brag, “Because we are the most powerful and recognize our own.” However, that did not get him an invitation into the Nite Owls or the A’lor’s personal company. Both ate him alive even if he refused to acknowledge it. (If I toasted the gods for that good fortune a few different nights no one had to know.) He also had this Thing for trying to impress Traditionalist girls. (Don’t ask me what it was because I tuned it out every time he tried to pontificate on the subject.) Plus, Priest liked the guy and that is all anyone needs to know.

Point was Kast was being up to his usual antics and Vetra was taking None of It. Everything in her body language screamed “Predator ready to maul a man’s face off” masked behind this stone cold smile. Picturing her with pinned back ears and bared fangs looked too right. All she wanted was him to sign something on her tablet but he was being Difficult. The last man who made her life Difficult was chewed up and spit out with words alone. This was going to be funny as hell to witness.

“Kast, sign,” she huffed while jabbing the tablet into his chest. “Then we both can get back to our jobs.”

“You can call me Akaan and I’ll call you Solus,” he started off in complete ignorance. Except not. He clearly knew he was riling her up. “What if we trade instead? You get a true combat lesson then I’ll sign.”

“Kast, do you damn job. Sign now. That’s an order.”

“Can you really give orders as a personal assistant? Thought you job was to fetch coffee and answer phones.”

All eyes were sneaking glances at them by this point but no one was stepping in. I was a little confused. Some of these people had to have been around when Vetra first come through. Some of them even looked amused at her being hassled. I knew Kyr’tsad had a Reputation but I thought taking care of their own was part of it. Letting Kast be a kad to their own wasn’t taking care of her.

“If I’m echoing an order of the Manda’lor I can.”

“Just a fifteen minute lesson? It's been a while since you've been out in the field. Wanna make sure you can keep that pretty little head on.” I gagged at this point. How disgusting could someone be? How could he thing this was even going to work in his favor? Was she supposed to be impressed with his only okay muscles and terrible (Ba’buir would call it Americanized) attitude? Did he really think insults would work?

“Fine.”

Anyone who has ever met another human being knows fine is past “Fuck You” on the Scale of Responses. But, Kast looked pleased with himself while Vetra pointedly left most of her belongings on a bench. Which was a lot of belonging to just be moving around the office. Tablet, Goggle Glass, ear piece, earrings, watch, bracelet, shoes, cell phone, suit jacket, and top shirt? I guess if I paid that much (I had no idea the real price but I could only imagine) for a button up I would avoid getting it dirty too. Course I’d never pay who knows how much for a shirt no matter how soft it was.

I edged closer to their makeshift ring to see what was going down. Fantastic choice on my part. See, Kast made some off-handed comment about the cutesy tattoo he could see through her undershirt. He asked what it was prompting her to offer a clear view; a colorful Barn Owl nestled on her hip. Here, Barn Owls had a special meaning because they were only for the Nite Owls. The Nite Owls, being Kryze’s personal team of unmatched Spec Ops ghosts who could probably destabilize an entire first world country over night or something ridiculous. So, Huge Deal.

I put several fragments of thoughts together all at once; Kast did not. He asked why she had that Mark of Honor. Made some vague comment about why it was important “just a personal assistant” could not just wear it around. As the cherry on top he even tried to lecture her on the rules and demanded it be removed. I could detect the jealousy in his voice. He wanted one of those tattoos and would never get one.

Have you ever seen a six foot, three inch wall of could have been Alabama linebacker get his ass handed to him by about five feet and some change of definitely could be a model? I just did. It. Was. Awesome.

Before he could finish his spiel she had him on the ground. Not with dirty shots, simple but effective basics, or even an unexpectedly lucky flail. Hell no. It was like watching absolute poetry in motion. A twist of the hand in front of her face, launching her body up and over his arm to flip him forward, with his neck trapped between her thighs and his arm pinned. That held down hand looked like it was really hurting with the way she had it twisted. Everything Solus Vetra did in that moment was built to show the fuck off. When I said Natasha Romanoff I meant it.

He tapped out and she waited a few seconds longer before releasing him to gracefully rise. “Your lesson got my suit dirty. I’ll have payroll deduct the dry cleaning costs from your next check. Providing there is one of course.” In a flash she popped back up while he remained sprawled in an undignified heap. Hands on her hips, red lips pulled into a feral smile she looked down at him, “I’m the Alii'alor of Vetra and a Nite Owl within Kyr’tsad. I earned my colors and you have earned nothing. You challenged both my honor and my authority. Good luck explaining that one to A’lor.”

I have no idea if I am in love or if I am going to be scared for my life from here on out...maybe both...definitely both. At least, Kyr’tsad is fun to work for if it is a hot mess.

[dc-x-readers]

He Calls Me Kitty (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Where this came from? Good question. It popped into my head last night and I knew I needed to write it. This one is probably going to be a chaptered fic, but I’m not sure if it will be romance or friend ship yet.

Trigger warnings: Violence, mentions of death, really vague mentions of rape, and swearing

Part Two

Being able to shape shift from one animal to another could be really cool, you learned that from experience. When your parents were still alive you would shift to your (hair color) haired cat. It was a fun party trick which you did only with your loving family. You were treasured for being ‘extraordinary’ and special child. It was a fun relaxing life as a human kitten hybrid.

Being able to shapeshift into a cat could also be very useful, a lesson you learned from a different experience. After your parents perished you needed to fend for yourself, sometimes strangers were more kind to a kitten starved and thin that a little child in tattered clothes begging for food to survive. Other times being a cat meant you could twist around in small spaces and reach hard to get food when you needed it.

Being able to shapeshift into a cat could also really suck, an experience you are learning right now.

A huge scary man was following your human self, you knew he wanted to hurt you, and you were terrified, so you ran. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his lumbering steps grew louder the more you ran away. After a series of twists and turns in an effort to lose the man who was easily gaining area on you, you rushed into a dead end, your heart beat fast, and all you wanted to do was scream, but you knew nobody in this neighbourhood would care. So instead of doing what your human body instinctively told you to do, you shifted into your cat form, not thinking about how the scary man could see you fall into the body of a cat.

“Change back!” The man roared, he wanted to hurt you so badly, but he couldn’t not when a small delicate cat.

You started to scamper away, figuring that without the human body to play with he was done with you, you were not expecting a swift kick to the side. You were flung backwards, and let out a strangled mew in surprise. The man clearly was not done with you tonight, and this might be your end.

The alcohol breath washed over you again, and he stepped closer to you, you wanted to move, but your cat body was more fragile than that of your human. The kick had broken something, probably your leg judging by the white hot pain which flared through it, and you were unable to stand even if you wanted to. “I said change back you stupid -” The man shouted his foot poised above you to crush your other leg.

“TT” the sound came from behind you, and you whimpered at the thought of a savior.

“Hurting a poor defenseless kitten. How dare you!” the voice shouted, and the man turned around in shock.

“Robin? Don’t you have criminals to catch?” The man asked, and you felt surprise ripple through your body. The Robin was here to save you? You were a nothing, a street rat-well street cat- and here was a hero ready to save you.

“You are the real villain tonight.” Robin said letting out a roar and attacking the man who stood above you. The fight was quick, wit Robin, the pint sized eight year old, beating the older more muscled man to a pulp. You tried to limp away from the violence, as much as you looked up to the preteen hero of the streets, you trusted no human, least of all one who covers his face with a mask.

When Robin was finished with your attacker he turned to where you had been, only to see you slowly dragging yourself away with your good paws. Robin came to you, and picked you up with more care than you expected from a child who had just ferociously torn that man apart.

“You’re coming home with me little one.” Robin said, and you let out a strangled mewl, you didn’t want to go home with anyone one. You were content with your life on the street. Sure it was unreliable, but no person would ever get attached, no person would leave you again.

Robin didn’t understand your protest, and just carried you over to the batmobile, carefully taking off his cloak and wrapping you in it before depositing you gently in the passenger seat. You waited for him to get in the back, maybe radio in for batman to drive him home, but instead Robin sat in the driver’s seat and started to speed off.

What was this kid doing? You wondered, because he looked to be about your human age, but if he could drive that was a whole nother story.

Robin drove around town before entering the batcave. You watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as he masterfully parked the car in a well designed cave. Before he exited the vehicle he pulled of his mask with a sigh, and you stared at him amazed. Without the mask the boy wonder looked even younger than he did with it. He was probably eight or nine, your age.

Robin picked you up with the utmost care, and carried you out of the batmobile, you wanted to tell him that you were a human. You wanted for him to let you go so you could return to your life on the streets, but you didn’t trust anyone with your cat secret.

“Damian.” A hard voice said. You turned your head trying to see who was talking. When your cat eyes finally caught sight of the speaker you felt them widen in surprise. Bruce Wayne.

Of course you knew Bruce Wayne, he would visit the homeless shelter you frequent and act like he cared about all the starving children. He would even write a cheque to the place, but then he would leave. Just like all people do.

“What have I told you about taking the Batmobile out?” Bruce Wayne asked, and the Robin holding you- Damian- sighed.

“I couldn’t sleep father. So I went out to fight some crime.” Damian explained. Father? So the Robin and the Bat were father and son, i was a weird development.

“On a school night?” Bruce countered everso fatherly. He then took a look at you, still wrapped in the cape of his son, pathetic and small with a broken leg that throbbed like hell. “What have I told you about animals damian? I don’t want anymore in the house.”

“But father, she is hurt. This is the last one, I promise.” Damian spoke at the same time as you mewled pathetically, asking to be let go. Damian didn’t let you go, and Bruce just rolled his eyes.

“Go to bed Damian, we’ll talk more tomorrow.” Bruce sighed, and Damian smiled in success before climbing the stairs to the main manor.

You were floored with how beautiful the house was, but Damian didn’t let you stop to appreciate it. He kept walking until he reached a goodly sized bedroom and set you down on his bed. In an instant he was wrapping your leg tightly with bandages, and you whined pitifully. Damian hushed you with a gentle word before continuing his work. Once he deemed your bandages good enough he left the room entirely. You wanted to get out in that second, but worried if you changed back he would find you and kill you. This Robin had quite a reputation.

Not even five minutes later Damian returned with a saucer of milk, and he placed it by the door. You eyed him carefully.

“TT.” Damian huffed, “Drink it, you’ll feel better.”

You slowly, ever so slowly, jumped off the bed, careful to not let your injured leg take any pressure, and crawled to the milk. It tasted good. It was the first real meal you had in awhile. After you were finished Damian went to his bed, he gently patted the spot beside him, but you weren’t about to sleep in the same bed as a boy. Even if you were in cat form and he was none the wiser of your abilities to shift, it was indecent and you refused. Instead you curled up under his desk. Damian stared at you for a few minutes before huffing and closing his eyes.

You knew you needed to get out of this house, but you also knew you couldn’t do it with Damian in the room sleeping next to you. You resolved yourself, tomorrow while he was at school you would sneak away. For now, you needed rest.

[parkjmini]

fam(ily) - five | pkjm

parent!au: park jimin A single father of twins show you the true meaning of family and what it takes to love like a parent, even if they aren’t your own. word count: 5,972 genre: fluff//angst warnings: explicit language

one | two | three | four | five | the end

[A/N]: Sorry it took so long to updated. I started school recently and im taking several AP classes so its hard for me to write often. im so thankful for everyone reading this series, and how much attention it has gotten every since the first chapter, i hope everyone still sticks around for the end (: i also apologize for any typos bc i haven’t proofread 

Jimin was texting you nonstop, asking if you’ve spotted them. The baby blue was switched out with a dark, navy. Tiny specks dotted the night drop. Minseo was yelling her sister’s name with all her breath. Your throat was raw from screaming for them.

A strange feeling overcame you. A rush of fear and anxiety mixed together and washed over your entire system. Tears were welling, blurring your vision. There were just too much bushes, too many plants. Nothing resembled two small children. 

Losing them felt like something was robbed from you. You had no where to look and everywhere you did look, there was nothing, only dark blue skies and rows of leaves. Minseo heard your whimpers and wrapped her arms around your neck. 

“Ms.(Y/N), I’m sorry for making you cry.” Her tiny voice filled your left ear. You patted her back and shook her head. Children were so pure. They weren’t exposed to anything that would deem harmful to them. They weren’t ruined by the scary world.

“Monkey, are you cold?” You managed to sniff, your throat aching.

“No, because you keep me warm.” She smiled. Even in the worst types of situations, she was able to make you smile. 

they’re not in the trees, or the center, or the field. (Y/N), how could this have happened?

we can’t start blaming ourselves right now, Jimin. Come to the garden, i need you.

Your jumbled mind refused to let you think straight. The feeling was so foreign, nothing like you’ve ever felt. It surpassed the anxiousness of losing your keys or your phone. You lost something that meant practically everything to you. 

You loved the twins with all your heart. They weren’t hard to love. Minseo and Minjoo were the two kindest souls you’ve ever met. They had beautiful smiles that had your knees weak. They rarely fought and they treated you with such respect and pampered you with wholesome love.

Besides Jimin, they were your happiness. They needed to be protected and you wanted to be the one to do that for them. They deserved to be happy and you promised yourself that you’d never let their smiles fade. It was a small oath you made to yourself over the course of the months. You were there for them when they needed you.

Traveling deeper into the garden, you heard wailing. Minseo’s head popped up and she pointed to where it was coming from. You ran, with every ounce of energy you had left. Screaming for them, you heard the sobs get louder.

Using your free arm, you pushed back bushes and removed pots of flowers. Minjoo and Jihoon were cuddled up next to one another with streams of waterfalls falling from their shut eyes. 

“Oh Monkey..” You cooed and set Minseo down. She hurried to pick up her sister, who was covered in dirt. You helped Jihoon up from the ground and dusted him off.

There was a part of you that wanted to scold them for running off on their own, but their crying states reassured you that they had learned their lesson. You were just relived and overjoyed that you found them again. They were safe.

You brought them close to your chest and let them destroy your pastel dress. Hearing them cry made your heart hurt. Small tears stained your face and you rubbed their shaking backs.

Minseo lead the way and held onto Jihoon’s hand. He had stopped sobbing after they were found again. However, Minjoo would not stop bawling her eyes out. She felt horrible, knowing that she caused such trouble. She was also grateful that you were her hero and saved her from the scary garden. 

Jimin was sprinting from the path and immediately hugged you, with Minjoo still in your arms. He kissed the top of her head repeatedly, brushing the dirt that was caught in her strands. You handed her over to the distressed father and he closed his eyes to embraced her. 

“Daddy!” Minjoo cried louder.

He was squeezing her tightly, making sure she was actually existent. “I love you so much, JooJoo. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He whispered into her ear and she clung onto his shirt.

“I’m sorry. Jihoon and I were playing hide and seek and we didn’t know how big the garden was. We got lost. I was afraid that you’d never be able to find me again.” She mumbled, hiccuping between every sentence.

“It’s okay, my pumpkin. All that matters now is that you’re safe.” His eyes opened to see your worry expression dissipate. You shied away from his gaze and wiped the last tears that fell.

“Daddy, you’re so strong. You were the only one who didn’t cry.” Minseo noted and Jimin remained staring at you.

He took your hand and ran his thumbs against your knuckles. “Ms.(Y/N) cried too?” Minjoo turned around in his arms to look at you.

“A little bit. We were worried about you two, JooJoo!” Minseo jumped, her small body talking for her. 

“I’m sorry, Ms.(Y/N), for making you cry.” The two children apologized and an ashamed frown appeared on their faces.

“It’s okay.” There was nothing more you could say. You were calm now and it didn’t make sense as why you reacted the way you did.

“She must’ve been more worried and spooked than I was.” Jimin commented. “Thank you and I’m sorry about your dress… and this entire date.” 

You dusted off any excess dirt, “don’t even sweat it, Jimin. I’m only thrilled that they’re safe now. Nothing can top that feeling of relief.” 

“Spoken like a true parent.” He smiled and you laughed it off. You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by that. “Let’s go home. It’s been a long day.” He sighed and Minseo grabbed your hand. She hurried you over to the vehicle, not wanting you to stay out any longer in the chilly night.

“Since when were you two dating?” Jungkook interrogated Jimin in the lounge room. He was brewing another batch of coffee and Jimin was enjoying his lunch on the couch.

Jimin rose a brow, “we aren’t dating, at least not officially.” 

“Are you still in high school? Does it really matter if things are official, she’s someone you’re seeing.” Jungkook mixed his creamer with the dark, black liquid. 

Jimin wondered what to exactly call you. You two see each other on multiple occasions and went out with one another. Nonetheless, he’s never explicitly asked you to be his. You both knew you had feelings for one another, and wanted to keep seeing each other. Fear was honestly the only hesitation Jimin was facing.

He was afraid of becoming too serious and if you weren’t comfortable with that. You were still young and he shouldn’t restrict you to a family. He remembered how his life changed drastically when the twins were born. He was no longer a free-spirited kid who partied every night. He had to look for a stable job to pay for the girls’ diapers and finish school as fast as possible. 

Jimin was up juggling studying for his midterms and making sure the twins were fed. He knew the stress and burden it could cause. You were in school and living out your early twenties. He didn’t want to rob that from you. He knew you would think it would be fine, but he experienced it. Even though he wouldn’t give up the twins for anything in the world, he still missed the small things. He didn’t want you to miss those things.

“Yeah, but it’s complicated.” Jimin made room for Jungkook to join him.

“Is it only complicated because of the twins? How do they like her?”

His face gleamed at the chance to talk about you and his girls. That was one of his favorite topics. “They love her. Sometimes more than me. She takes really good care of them. She means a lot to them, I can tell. It’s like they’re attached.“ 

“Okay, so what’s the complication?” Jungkook didn’t understand why Jimin was being so hesitant. It wasn’t a secret that Jimin was head over heels for you, any fool could tell.

“She’s young. I don’t want to take those years away from her. She should be traveling, hooking up with guys from college, going to raves. I don’t know — living her life! Not being stuck in a serious relationship with a dad of twins.” He sighed and Jungkook saw the sadness reeking from Jimin’s clothes.

“Not everyone was like us in college. It’s not like she was doing any of that prior to meeting you, all she does is work. Also, you never asked if she’s okay with it.” Jimin ran his hand through his hair and loosened his tie.

“I know she’ll say she’s fine with it because that’s the kind of person she is. The sweetest soul I know. Did I tell you we lost JooJoo a couple of weeks ago when we took them out with us?”

“Jimin, you lost your kid?!” Taehyung walked through and planted himself on the opposite cushion.

“She was playing hide and seek with her friend and disappeared into that garden by that one park.” He explained, watching Taehyung steal some of his food. 

“She was more worried than I was, crying her eyes out over my missing daughter. She looked beautiful that day too, she had this dress on and the kids ruined it with dirt from the garden. You know what she said?”

“That it was fine, as long as they were safe?” Jungkook responded.

Jimin nodded, “exactly. So how can I tell her what I want knowing that she’d put me before herself?”

“That sounds complicated.” Taehyung inputted.

“See. It’s complicated. I just enjoy her company and I don’t want to rush to label us as official. That makes things serious and as much as I want that, I wouldn’t do that to her.” Jimin snatched his lunch from Taehyung’s hungry grip.

“I’m only saying you might as well be. You more than enjoy her company. You’re madly in love with her.” Jungkook teased.

“I’ll admit I like her, a lot. Love is pushing it. She means so much to me and I feel like it’s because she entered my life so unexpectedly.”

“I know. I remember when you told us that she’s actually the teacher assistant to the twins’ teacher, I was so confused, mainly because I knew her from the club. It’s almost like fate.” Taehyung got up to search the cabinets for office snacks. 

Jungkook said, “how long have you’ve known her? It feels like forever.”

“We met five months ago. I’ve been seeing her for the past three months. It’s been a while. It was a long time of daily morning drop off talks, where we’d get so shy trying to keep up a conversation. I thought about her so much to the point where I started seeing her in my dreams too.” Jimin could go on and on about you. He didn’t get embarrassed because he wasn’t ashamed of what he felt. He was a grown man who finally fell for someone after trapping his feelings for several long years.

“I haven’t seen you like this since the twins were born.” Taehyung munched on chips and leaned over the lounge counter. Jungkook nodded, agreeing with him. 

“I haven’t felt like this since the twins were born. The last girl I genuinely liked was six years ago.“ 

“She’s the one, isn’t she?” Jungkook asked and Taehyung stared at Jimin for his answers.

Jimin pondered, wondering if you were his one. He thought about you and how you never failed to make him happy. You had an ability to keep him calm. He never told you, but he didn’t freak out as much as he thought he would when he lost Minjoo. It was because of you. Just being there kept him sane. 

It must’ve been a while before Jimin finally answered, “she’s the one.”

“There is actually a big reason as to why we called you all out here for dinner tonight.” Jen announced to everyone sitting at the big dinner table. You had accompanied Jimin to Jen’s dinner. Apparently, she had begged Jimin to bring you along and you couldn’t say no to him.

You sat next to him and twins were at his other side. They tossed around their seat and played with the restaurant’s fancy table cloth. You thought it was going to be a simple dinner, but when you arrived, you saw about ten other people.

Jimin said it was a lot of Jen’s and her boyfriend’s close friends. Everyone seemed to know Minseo and Minjoo. They were both very well mannered and greeted everyone that approached them. Jimin knew a majority of their friends, while you confusingly clung to his side.

He introduced you by your name, never specifying what you were to him. Everyone kept asking if you were his girlfriend, and Jimin only shrugged. It wasn’t a direct answer.

“We’re getting married.” Jen and her boyfriend said in unison. They showed their identical rings and the white smiles glittered under the dim restaurant lights. 

“No way! Congratulations you two!” Everyone cheered and started raising their champagne glasses: a toast for the couple’s engagement. 

“I knew something was fishy.” Jimin commented and the girls excitedly ran up to hug her. “Congratulations Jen.” 

“Actually Jimin, can I speak to you for a moment?” Jen’s eyes darted suspiciously around the table. Jimin nodded and followed her outside.

Once Jimin was gone, everyone started to interrogate you. 

“How long have you two been together?” 

“Have do you feel about him having kids?”

“What do you do for a living?”

“How old are you?”

“Are you his girlfriend?”

You weren’t sure how to answer any of them. Jimin had never discussed anything about labels. You two went on dates and liked each other a lot, however he never made things official. You weren’t waiting for him to ask, you would do it in a heartbeat to make things clear. You weren’t sure if he wanted that. 

Jimin had become an adult at a young age. He was very mature and had a family to take care of. You didn’t know if you were more than just pass time to him. He meant the world to you and your first priority was to never hurt him. He treated you well, but there was still that stigma of meeting men from the club.

Of course, you didn’t expect to see him after that night. Nonetheless, you didn’t know if he wanted you. You were okay with being a simple friend or someone to keep him company, it was anything to keep him happy. He deserved to be happy.

Just when you were about to clarify that you were friends, Minseo beat you to it. "She’s our Daddy’s favorite person in the world.”

“Oh really?” People were chatting among themselves.

“No Monkey. You and your sister are his most favorite in the world. Not me.” Your palms turned warm and slick with sweat. You weren’t necessarily trying to deny your feelings for him, you merely grew shy.

“Daddy likes you a lot, even more than me and sissy.” Minjoo commented, adding more fuel to everyone’s gossip. Even if you weren’t sure if it was true, it still made your heart run and leap all over. It was still hard to believe Jimin liked you, in any way.

You two weren’t the same age and worked two completely separate jobs. He lived a different life from yours. You felt a little under experienced for him, like you should be putting in more effort than you were now. You weren’t good at relationships, and often blamed yourself for many of their endings.

You shook your head at the girls’ silly comments and sipped the expensive bubbly liquid. "You’re shy, it’s normal. You don’t have to answer any of our ridiculous questions. We were just surprised to finally see Jimin with someone. It was always him and the twins.”

You’ve thought about Jimin’s past relationships and grew curious as to the different women in his life. He didn’t speak of it. Ever. Maybe it was because his late wife meant that much to him. He was a loyal man, and it was probably extremely hard for him to cope with meeting someone new.

“Yeah, after Stacey died and the twins entered his life, I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend.” Another person added.

“Bless his heart, honestly, for taking care of them and Jen because he really didn’t have to.”

“I mean Stacey was one of his best friends, he felt responsible.” Everyone was talking among themselves now about Jimin. You sat there, silently, and absorbing all the newfound information about him. It was strange. Jimin didn’t go into depth about his life or his past. He seemed closed off or lived in the now. 

There was always an elephant in the room — the twins. The curiosity about their whereabouts or their past intrigued you. Jimin never mentioned his wife, assuming her name was Stacey, or how things ended up the way it did. You didn’t want to be rude and ask him a bunch of uncomfortable questions, but the questions remained. How did things end up like it did?

“He hasn’t been with someone for what? Six years? You’re the first in a while.” Someone nodded towards you.

“Jimin use to be wild. He’d have girls left and right at him. He was that older upperclassmen that everyone wanted to be friends with or sleep with. Jimin was so different than how he is now. He’s always been sweet and kindhearted, but he’s matured a lot. I remember when the entire campus knew he had twins, everyone freaked out. He stopped all that crazy drinking and partying. He didn’t hook up with random girls anymore. He studied and got out of college to get a job immediately.” That was shocking to you.

Jimin was no doubt attractive and well-built, but you didn’t expect him to be the type of college boy you’d see at the club on a Friday night. The piercing images of fraternities or kids getting turned up at your work scarred you. They were all annoying and ignorant, so you couldn’t imagine Jimin like that. He was put together when you met him, he merely looked like someone who had a bad day at work. The idea of him constantly hooking up with girls made you slightly insecure.

You were in college, but you didn’t participate in that type of lifestyle. College was about having fun for the last four years before you become an adult. You were envious from time to time seeing everyone your age having a great time while you mixed their drinks. You weren’t outstandingly pretty or made yourself seem that way. Yours and Jimin’s life seem to be even more different than before.

Then the real question stood: does he even want to be in a relationship with you?

Jimin came back after a while, his face long and weary. Jen looked off putting as well. Whatever it was it was bad news. Jimin tried to be uplifting, but you could tell it was hard.

He felt your concerning eyes watching him and he held your thigh underneath the table. He whispered, "I’ll tell you later.”

You nodded, feeling guilty that you begged him with your stare. “You don’t have to.”

He turned to smile at you, weakly. “I want to. It somewhat involves you.” A million possibilities filled your mind. You? How were you involved?

Jimin must’ve seen your worried expression, because he gave you a little squeeze to bring you back down from your whirling head. “It’s going to be fine.” He kissed your cheek. Someone down the table made a whistle noise and cheered him on. Everyone was doing the same.

“We should toast to Jimin’s new girlfriend too. After an entire six years, he’s found someone.” People began raising their glasses and cheering. You weren’t sure how to react, so you let Jimin orchestrate the situation.

“Everyone, you don’t have to. Stop making this all weird for her. She’s going to leave me by the end of tonight.” His dazzling smile shined as someone handed him a glass.

“Come on, Jimin. It’s a huge thing. It’s a small toast to recognize your relationship.”

“We’re not in a relationship.” You were so overwhelmed, you blurted out the first thing you could think of. Everyone’s faces started to settle and people were distraught. Jimin’s hand retreated from your thigh and he set down the glass. The atmosphere was suffocating and intense. You weren’t sure how anything you could’ve said would make it better.

“I mean– we’re seeing each other. But we’re not official. I’m not his girlfriend.” You continued and you wanted to stop yourself. Maybe it was the alcohol talking. People talked to one another, chatter increasing. It was extremely embarrassing for both you and Jimin. An instant regret washed over you when you saw Jimin shift in his seat, uncomfortably.

“Well, sorry that we assumed anything.“ Someone tried to laugh it off, but the air was still stiff and people were still uneasy. 

In the car, Jimin didn’t speak much. The twins fell asleep during the ride, so it was filled with tense silence.

"Jimin, I’m sorry about what I said. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I— was lost— overwhelmed with everything. They were asking me questions that I couldn’t answer.” His grip relaxed on the steering wheel and he peeked over at you.

“Don’t apologize. You’re right. You’re not my girlfriend. Sorry if I made it seem like you were — to them, I mean. We never talked about what this was, but it made sense as to what you said.” Jimin spoke in a softer manner. His tone was smooth and it was almost like a lullaby.

“I feel bad about it because I like you, I really do and I know you like me too. I don’t know what to call us.” You sighed, frustrated for being such an idiot. Jimin grabbed your hand and held it on top of the middle console.

“You don’t need to worry about that all. I like you, that’s all that matters.” It was as if his words and his touch removed all the horrible feelings you felt a second ago. A magic touch, something only Jimin acquired.

Jimin needed you more than ever. This was finally your opportunity to be there for him. He told you what had happened a week after the dinner. Jen had pulled him over to tell him that she was moving. 

Jen was moving to London because her fiance had a new job offering, a glorious offer that he couldn’t past up. They planned that after the wedding, they were going to live together in the new country. That meant leaving the twins and Jimin. 

She had been helping Jimin the twins’ entire lives. She was his extra pair of hands when he was too busy to pick them up from school or if he needed someone to babysit. Jen was there for him and the girls. She told him that she could no longer tend to them like how she use to. That put Jimin in a difficult spot. 

Minjoo and Minseo were both still young and barely started elementary school. He wasn’t sure how he could possibly take care of them alone. That was when Jen offered you. You entered their lives now, practically a part of their happy family. Jimin could lean on you if he needed anything. 

He said that it was bizarre and completely unfair to you. You weren’t obligated to the family and had other responsibilities in your life. You had a job that required to work difficult hours at night right after a day job. He could only see you during the weekends.

It was a lot to ask of you because the job at the club restricted you from living your life. Before Jimin and the girls, you didn’t have much to live for. You went to school and school meant money, so you worked. You didn’t care if you didn’t have time for friends or family. Your education and forming your future was your top priority to the point where you’d stoop so low for it.

Things have changed though. Maybe the family was a blessing in disguise. Maybe it was time to change. You had something to live for now. You had something that wasn’t in your own control. It was always you that you needed to worry about. You had to only take care of yourself. 

You were willing to be there for them. Jimin underestimated how much they meant to you. If they needed you, then you’ll be there for them. Your only problems were probably finding a new job that fits a lighter schedule and having to face Wes.

Wes had no clue about you and Jimin, not that he’d care much. However, he was possessive and you weren’t sure how he’d react to you quitting. He’d still try to hook up with you, and you’ve let him once or twice every two weeks. 

But you didn’t feel comfortable with that anymore, especially now that you’re seeing Jimin, who didn’t know you were sleeping with Wes. It felt wrong sneaking around behind his back, so you had to end things are fast as possible. 

“How’s my favorite bartender?” Wes ran his hands down your waist. You stiffen and patted your wet hands on your uniform.

“I’m fine.” You awkwardly turned to face him, a strained smile on your face. You’ve decided that you’ll let him have you for one more night, so he wouldn’t get too mad at you.

“Where’s my kiss?” He gripped the back of your neck and you whimpered at his force.

“I-I’m at the front bar right now. I don’t think it’s right to be intimate, Wes.” You stammered, scared that he’d break your neck.

“When do I give a shit if people see? I’m the boss around here, (Y/N). I decide if you lose your job. Do you have a boy toy here that you’re afraid to see you kissing another man?” Wes had grew suspicious over the course of the months. You’ve never explicitly mentioned Jimin, but it was obvious you were hiding someone.

You shook your head, and Wes pushed your face into his. You scrunched up your face, not kissing him back. You hated kissing him. A kiss was an intimate thing that people shared and Wes ruined that for you.

Suddenly, you heard a loud crash at your side. A glass broke at your foot. Wes pulled away and you faced the culprit that threw the cup. It was Jen.

She stood over the counter, repulsed and inflamed. Her tiny body boiled as she yelled at you from the top of her lungs, “how dare you!? How could you do this to Jimin or the girls? You are a thoughtless whore. I can’t believe I thought for even a moment to trust you with their love. You played us all, (Y/N), bravo. Jimin doesn’t deserve to be played by someone like you.”

Wes let go of your waist and observed while leaning against the work station. You were too shocked to registered what was happening. “Jen.. please, let me explain..”

“I don’t need you to explain anything. What I saw was enough for me to make my final verdict. You are no longer allowed to see them. Stay the fuck away from my family. I refuse to let Jimin fall in love with someone just for her to hurt him like this. He’s suffered enough in his life, he’s a great guy. You are not the person I thought you were. I thought that I could leave them in your hands, that I actually liked you. I was so wrong. You’re trash.” Her voice was loud and clear, ringing in your ears. Streams were running down her face and a few of her friends watched from behind her, stunned at the scene.

Before you knew it, tears were falling down your face as well. You stood there motionless. “It-Its- a misunderstanding.”

“Save it, (Y/N). Just stay the fuck away from us. You never belonged in the first place. Did you actually think that you could fill the shoes of their mother? You don’t know a single thing about a family. Stop trying to stick yourself in somewhere you don’t fucking belong.” That stung you. Every word she said hurt like a dagger. You were pouring blood from your open wounds. 

She was right. You never belonged in their family. How dare you interject in their lives like that? How could you burden Jimin with all your worries and think about treating the girls like your own? You didn’t know how to love a family.

Jen berated on, “you don’t have to pretend to like Jimin anymore or that you care for the twins. I thought of you as family. Unbelievable. I don’t know what sick game you play, but you don’t have to do this anymore. Don’t you dare try to contact Jimin, or I will expose all of this to him.” 

You had no defense, no words for yourself. You broke the first rule you had for yourself. You hurt Jimin. You should’ve known better, that you couldn’t hold onto things for long. You didn’t think for anyone besides yourself.

Jen rushed off, her friends following her. Wes crossed his arms and ducked low to face you. “So I was right. You do have a boy toy. Amazing.” He was being sarcastic with his last compliment. You cried, ashamed of who you were. 

Wes shook his head and walked off. A customer was calling for your attention. You’d almost forgot you were still at work, so you wiped up your tears to serve him.

Wes let you off for the next two weeks because of how wrecked you were. He was afraid that you would scare off customers and that he didn’t want to see a slacker at work. You had no effort to work anyways. The life was sucked out of your entire body.

You avoided him like how Jen told you to. You stayed away. Jimin would not stop texting or calling you, even after you decided to call things off. He’d come to your apartment, knocking and calling after you. You didn’t answer, instead you cried in your bed at the sound of his voice.

You missed him. 

Kim told you not to show up at school either, judging by how things went down. She said that Jimin asked about you every morning and the girls would cry every time they didn’t see you. It was heartbreaking. You couldn’t explain yourself.

Jen hated your guts. She had every right to. Kim tried to console you that it wasn’t your fault and that Jimin would understand. But you pleaded her not to say anything to him. You knew it would bring him great pain knowing that Wes gets to kiss and touch you in ways that Jimin hasn’t even.

You thought about them everyday and you sobbed every night. You were filled with defeat and sadness. You blamed yourself for everything. Your selfish acts left you with a mess. You were so greedy to be loved by someone who wasn’t an asshole, who knew how to treasure your time.

After the years that Wes has been treating you like shit, you only wanted to be loved. Was it wrong for you to want such a simple thing? However, in this case, if things went bad, you didn’t just hurt one person. You hurt a group. If you hurt Jimin, it meant that you hurt the twins as well.

You were an idiot to think that you could waltz into their family and fit in. They were living happily before you and now they were miserable. You let them get too attached before they could realize that you were a horrible, selfish person.

The more you were alone, the more time you had to reflect about why Jimin never made things official between the two of you. It made sense. Jimin probably sensed that something was wrong with you. He felt uneasy and didn’t want to invest his time fully into a relationship with you. He couldn’t trust you.

He never spoke of his past or strange things that occurred because he didn’t think he could confide in you. He caught onto your ugly heart before you could stop it from showing. 

Jimin had never been so confused in his life. He wasn’t sure why you weren’t talking to him or why you suddenly wanted to stop seeing him. He thought the feelings were mutual, he made it clear. 

However, there was still that chance that you didn’t like him as much as he liked you. He couldn’t get that scene out of his head. The night of Jen’s dinner when you told everyone that you two weren’t dating, how you weren’t his girlfriend. Maybe you didn’t like him that much. 

It tore him to bits and pieces and he felt like a fool for falling so hard for you. He probably pressured you too much to see him, or you felt bad for a single father of twins. Whatever it was, it destroyed him. 

His frail heart wouldn’t give up on you though. He checked up on you regularly, even if you didn’t want to see him. He needed to know how you were doing or if you were eating. He missed you too much to stop caring.

“Just give it up, Jimin. She doesn’t want to see you.” Kim explained over and over every morning.

“Please, Ms. Kim. I only need to know if she’s okay.” 

“She’s fine.” Kim seemed doubtful, but she was the only one Jimin could rely on. “If you want to know how she is, call her yourself.”

“She won’t answer any of my texts or calls. I visit her but she doesn’t answer. I’ve taken it as she doesn’t want me to bother her anymore. She wants nothing to do with me because I probably was responsible for it. You’re the only one I could ask to know how she is.” Jimin’s hair was messy and his appearance wasn’t the same as it use to be.

Kim knew that it wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t break your trust. She couldn’t do anything for Jimin, but to lie that you were okay. “Get over her, Jimin. It’s only for the best.” 

The twins were having a hard time as well. Jimin heard them crying almost every night, wondering where you ran off to. They were disheartened that you abandoned them, like how their real mother did. Jimin knew that wasn’t your intent. You loved the twins.

Everything was all over the place. Jimin felt like a dog chasing after a goose, crashing into a tree every four seconds. You were the one, someone he thought it would take him years to meet. He was growing impatient every year, but there you were. 

You gleamed in every spotlight and made him dizzy. You made him feel jittery, like when he had too many cups of the office’s coffee. Something about you made him thankful to the heavens that you two could finally be together.

Jungkook and Taehyung wouldn’t leave his side, knowing his conditions weren’t good. They were great friends, but Jimin didn’t have enough heart to appreciate them. He could only think about his aching heart and the emptiness that accompanied him after you left. 

[A/N]: alot of things happened in this chapter so i hope it wasn’t hard to process!! the series is slowly coming to an end, and i have to warn that i will not be able to update as frequent as i use to. im not sure if i need to take a short hiatus, but if i do, it would probably be after this chapter. i hope you guys don’t blame me bc i know how irritating it is not being able to have an update for your favorite stories. ill try my best!! thank you all for reading so far and i hope you all continue to support this series !! 

[reivenesque]

Point Break 2015 Fic: Reaching the Breaking Point (Bodhi/Johnny)

Sequel to Breaking Point (ao3)

Bodhi was given a second chance that he didn’t deserve, but it was one fateful article that turned his whole world completely on its head and maybe gave him a reason to accept that second chance that he didn’t really want. Maybe it was his chance to finally make things right and prove to himself that he really did deserve this new life with this person who meant everything to him (10k words)  

Bodhi x Johnny Utah. Whump/Hurt/Comfort. Permanent injury. Paralysed!Johnny. First kiss.

Bodhi can feel Johnny’s entire body stiffen up as they’re standing so close together. He’s holding Johnny’s entire weight in his arms but it doesn’t feel like a burden at all. Carefully he takes one step backwards after another, until he can feel the cool sea water wash over his feet. Johnny hasn’t moved or spoken. He’s not even sure if the other man is currently breathing, but he can feel the thumping of his heart against his own chest and it feels soothing.

“Trust me, Johnny. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says even though Johnny hasn’t said a word. Not again, but those last words go unspoken.

After a beat he hears Johnny’s voice in his ear. “I do.” And a feeling of pride at the other man’s trust and confidence in him washes over him like the waves lapping at his knees.

He was in Peru at the time; a whole other world away on another continent and another time zone, working in a quaint little corner lot coffee shop of all places. It was absolutely the last place he thought he’d ever find himself, brewing overpriced frilly lattes for adolescents and hipsters and young people, too absorbed by the technology at their fingertips; noses buried in their phones and their laptops, unconcerned with the rest of their lives passing them by and the gift of youth they were wasting on disinterest and complacency.

They should be out there, engaging in life, appreciating the beauty of Mother Nature and all the amazing things she had to offer. But instead they spend half their lives indoors, sequestered away from interaction with the rest of the earth’s living creatures, living imaginary lives from behind the screens of their mobile devices.

It’s just by chance that he happens upon the news article; walking past a student after delivering her latte. She has her laptop open and an English news article on the front page with an official picture of the familiar face in the dark blue dress suit and eyes that are too blue staring back at him. His eyes zoom in immediately on the word ‘shot’ in the article that all of a sudden feels like it’s in a different language altogether. He doesn’t realize when his step quickens and he disappears into the backroom, ignoring the calls of his co-workers calling him to deliver drinks to the awaiting customers.

He feels his heartbeat thumping in his chest when his shaking fingers scramble for his own phone. He must have read that wrong; looked at the picture and somehow projected the familiar face from the deep recesses of his memories onto that of a complete stranger—that was a more logical explanation, right? Or a more wistful one. This couldn’t be real.

Even when he lost everyone, he still had Utah. Even when they were apart, even after all this time, he found reassurance in knowing that he was out there somewhere; living his life and catching bad guys and whatever else those fancy FBI agents did on the job.

How long has it even been since he’s looked upon that face and the mop of blond hair; way too blond and way to eye catching? That’s the only reason why he always found himself unable to look away. At least that’s what he told himself. That’s also the only reason why he let him in even when the guy reeked of cop and why he pulled him out of the water when every instinct in him told him to just let him drown. Death was a part of life after all. Just as Roach had said; they were all going to die, the only question was how.

Instead this persistent guy with the too innocent face and the too blond hair dropped in on his wave despite the odds and almost lost his life because of it. If he died, it would have just been the natural order of things; no one’s fault but his own. But somehow Bodhi felt a pull toward this stranger; to this guy he’d never seen before in his life but somehow seemed unsettlingly familiar. He found himself in the water before his brain could even register what he was about to do.

But he saved him, despite Roach’s disapproval; brought him onto their yacht and dumped him on one of the seats to regain consciousness and sober up from almost dying.

Everything that came after was like something out of a grim fairy tale; complete with the evil stepmother and the poisoned apple. He was the evil stepmother on the inside and Utah turned out to be his poisoned apple.

But he’s looking at the news article and the words aren’t making any sense, but it’s the painful face from a time in his life he’d rather forget staring up at him almost accusingly.

Shot in the line of duty. Seriously injured. Survival uncertain.

He replays those three sentences over and over in his head and it makes less and less sense each time he does. But uncertain means alive at the very least and he latches onto that small bit of hope. He doesn’t remember taking off his apron and tossing the tray to the side, hearing it making a racket as it clatters to the floor. He doesn’t remember walking out the back door of the coffee shop or walking down the back road towards the small hole in the wall apartment he was renting. He doesn’t remember putting one foot ahead of the other or when he reaches the mouth of the alley. He doesn’t remember breaking into a sprint for the last three blocks leading to his apartment until he feels his feet moving too fast and the wind starts whipping into his face.

He doesn’t even know what he plans on doing or how he’s going to get back. He doesn’t know if it’s even safe for him to go back there, to go see Utah. He doesn’t know if Utah is even alive right now but all he knows is he needs to get there, he needs to get back. Everyone he knew and ever loved died a scary and lonely death; something he expected to do himself when he paddled out into the behemoth of a wave rushing terrifyingly and imposingly fast towards him. But somehow he’d avoided death, or maybe death had rejected him instead. Perhaps even death had found him unworthy.

He’d spend the last few years travelling the world, trying to make sense of his life, at his second chance at life and why he’d been afforded the honour when there were so many other people more deserving of it.

Someone like Ozaki.

Maybe it was Her gift to him for completing the eight.

But he’s on a plane before he realizes it. Using up all the funds he’d saved through the years working odd jobs here and there to support himself, to survive, all while spending his nights staring up at the blackness of the starry sky asking the heavens why?

Why did he survive? Why is he still alive? What did he do to deserve it?

He thinks of Utah and the memory of his face and his smile and he thinks that being alive meant he still has a chance to see him again.

But now Utah might be dying, if he’s not already dead, and he’s sitting on the plane flying out hoping that at the very least he’d get the chance to see his face one last time and be able to say goodbye.

It’s been two days since he first caught a glimpse of Utah’s face on the front page of the news website and almost three since the actual shooting. He’s standing outside the looming building in the city he hasn’t stepped foot in for decades.

Trying to get information on Utah would seem to be the biggest obstacle, he is an FBI agent after all, and from his experience dealing with the Feds or any kind of law enforcement agency, he suspects that they wouldn’t be too willing to just hand out information to just any Tom, Dick or Harry, much less someone who looks like him and isn’t family.

The mention of family reminds him of the token he keeps close, something he’d found during one of their chases along the way and something he’d kept close to him as a memento of the person who’d punched his way into Bodhi’s inner circle of friends and became so much more.

The moment he steps up to the hospital receptionist, a thought occurs to him; a memory of a conversation from once upon a time ago, told from across a small bonfire near the peak of an icy mountaintop.

It’s not Utah, Bodhi remembers him saying. That’s just a nickname. He wracks his brain for snippets of the conversation; he distinctly remembers Utah mentioning it once in passing; that name, his name; something too ordinary and average and something that didn’t fit him at all. Not like Utah. Not the way that nickname suited him to a T.

“Bringer,” he nearly exclaims in her face when the name comes to him like a flash of lightning across the sky. “Agent John Bringer,” he says with much more control after he manages to reel himself back, brandishing the golden badge like it came completely natural to him. “I just received news that he was shot. He’s my—uh, was my former partner.”

The receptionist is hesitant for a while and for a moment Bodhi thinks she’s somehow managed to see through his fib.

He tries not to visibly exhale when she directs him to the ICU on the fifth floor. He thanks her, using every bit of charm he could muster trying not to look as awkward as he felt and trying to not flinch whenever he catches a glimpse of his reflection on a shiny surface. It’s unnerving seeing himself that way; his hair short and slicked back. His hand itches to reach up to brush back the wayward bangs that were no longer. No beard and wearing a smart dark blue suit without the tie. He’s pretty sure Utah himself wouldn’t recognize him if he were standing right in his line of sight. But it was a necessity. More than three years had passed since the Cortes Bank and he’s pretty sure at this point even the FBI has finally moved on. Especially considering the entire world thinks he’s dead. But a person can never be too careful or let their guard down so easily.

He did that when he welcomed Utah into their group and look where that lead him.

The ICU is eerily calm. No real sounds of chatter or meaningless conversation, just the muffled backdrop noises and the sounds of life support machines in the background. He keeps an eye out for anyone that looks like they might be an FBI agent or any sort of government agent. Flashing the badge again gets him directed easily enough towards the third room down the hall where a couple of nurses are making their exit.

He flashes them a smile when they pass before he comes to a stop just short of the entrance.

Bodhi couldn’t even begin to imagine how bad he’d look until he actually laid eyes on him.

Flanked on either side by a myriad of machines emitting an assortment of different beeping and hissing sounds; dozens of crisscrossing lines leading towards and away from the still figure, woefully unconscious under the crisp white blanket.

Bodhi never thought he’d ever have to see Utah so hurt. He never thought he’d ever have to see anyone so hurt.

Utah is just…completely absent. It’s nothing like looking at someone asleep or seeing someone unconscious; the nurses said he was in a coma and up until this point, Bodhi never truly understood what that would actually indicate. He could never grasp the severity of what that meant; seeing someone he cared about in that state until he was looking at him with his own two eyes.

Utah doesn’t actually look any worse for wear; no obvious bruises or apparent broken bones, no lacerations or stitches. It was just him, the same face and the same long blond hair splayed out on his pillow. He’d look like he was just asleep if everything about him didn’t seem totally vacant and just—not there. And if not for the life support machines and the ventilator and the breathing tube keeping him alive.

He thought he felt powerless when watching someone he cared about die. It was quick and there was absolutely nothing he could do. But this was a different kind of helplessness; looking at someone he cared about dying and not being able to do anything about it.

He takes Utah’s hand in his. His skin is cold to the touch, unlike the times in the past, in memories Bodhi pulls out from the deep recesses of his mind, feeling the warm, strong shoulder in his grasp. He looks at Utah’s slack face, partially obscured by the tape holding his breathing tube in place and reaches over to run his fingers through the long mane of blond hair, brushing the wayward strands away from his forehead.

“Utah?” he tries, calling the name softly but receives no response. He wasn’t actually expecting one. “Johnny?” he tries again.

Utah just sleeps on, unperturbed.

Bodhi uses his cover to convince the medical people to let him stay. In the two days he’d been there not once did he run into anyone coming to visit Utah and he can’t help but feel relieved and at the same time both sorry and angry for his friend.

His cover was as Utah’s—or rather, Agent Bringer’s old partner who was currently undercover on a case and it would be best for his mission and everyone involved that no one was informed of his presence.

He fell into the law enforcement role too smoothly than he was truly comfortable with.

He stays through the night at Utah’s bedside, watching his chest rise and fall with every hiss of the ventilator; holding his hand and talking to him slowly, trying to assure him that he’s there. That someone is there. That he isn’t alone.

In the daytime he makes his presence sparse; only entering when the room is completely void of people, personnel or otherwise.

Eventually Utah begins to stir, but he doesn’t actually wake up, and Bodhi can only watch in apprehension from his side. He wakes up only once during that terrible week; bleary, glazed eyes looking around, unfocused and weak. He seems to be looking for something, or someone, but it didn’t seem like he found what he was looking for before his eyes slip shut again and he drifts back into unconsciousness.

Once Utah finally regains consciousness, now free of the breathing tube and most of the machines that had been keeping him alive, Bodhi makes himself even more scarce. More agents start coming by for whatever reason and Bodhi stays as far as he can from Utah’s room without actually leaving the hospital. At night when Utah has finally drifted off into a fitful slumber and Bodhi knows there’s no risk of him jolting awake because of all the medicine being pumped into him. He stays with him then, through the entire night and until the sun rises and the flurry of activity starts back up in the ICU.

He avoids thinking about it, what the nurses had told him, what he overhears the doctors discussing with each other when they think he’s out of earshot.

The bullet severed his spinal cord, they say, like it’s supposed to explain everything.

Why? Why did this happen? Why did this happen to Utah? He was a good man. He’s still a good man.

Bodhi went out of his way to chase death and every single time he walked away unscathed but now Utah is most likely paralysed because of reasons beyond his control and there was absolutely nothing he could do to help him.

One day he drives out into the house he owns sitting lonesome by the beachside surrounded by white gold sand and the clear blue ocean only meters away. The house had been a beacon of hope in a way a long time ago, back when life didn’t seem so bleak. When he had Chowder there as the voice of reason, Roach backing him up no matter what it was about and Grommet snickering in the background.

He didn’t want the house when it was given to him. All it was was a reminder of happier times and fonder memories not tainted by tragic losses and death.

He could still see the severity of Samsara’s eye roll in the back of his mind and all of a sudden he’s overwhelmed by a crippling feeling of loss. They’re all gone now. It’s only Bodhi left to walk across the creaking floorboards, across the living room to stand morosely by the sliding glass doors leading out to the porch, overlooking the endless sandy beach stretched out into the distance.

He reminds himself that he isn’t alone, not really. Utah is still around. He’s alive—not kicking though—and the reality of that fact comes crashing down on him. He wonders what Utah is doing right now. It was later in the afternoon so he was probably already done with physical therapy. He was probably back in his room, brooding silently by the window. Not that Bodhi could find any reason to blame him.

On more than one occasion Bodhi found himself wanting to step out of the shadows, step up into Utah’s line of sight and tell him that he wasn’t alone, because he can see those thoughts hovering around in his head like a dark cloud.

But the truth was that he just wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t ready to make his presence known or to stand there looking down at Utah knowing that this was the way it was going to be from now on; the simple act of looking someone straight in the eye and locking gazes with a person on an even level was something he’d always taken for granted. He wasn’t ready to see the devastation in that gaze and the crack in his soul from up close. He just wasn’t ready.

The house is too far from the hospital to make frequent trips back to settle everything he needed to settle and complete everything he needed to complete. So he works relentlessly the few days he goes there before making the long drive back to the city and to the hospital to keep Utah company from afar.

The thought of Utah finally getting discharged seemed like something unattainable just a few months ago, but seeing him excited in his own reserved way, invokes the same kind of happiness inside himself.

Months of planning. Months of hiding and lurking in the shadows. Months of watching Utah slowly deteriorate from the inside out was finally coming to ahead and the moment he stepped through the familiar threshold of the hospital room he can hear his own heart beating inside his chest. Utah isn’t looking at him and it feels like a small favour because he’d be able to do this on his own terms.

Utah’s reaction was—unexpected to say the least. He expected relief, maybe a little happiness and a lot of anger. But what he wasn’t expecting was the tears. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Utah cry, not before the shooting, even though he came close to it when Chowder died, not when Samsara died in his arms. Not after the shooting. Not even once through the whole ordeal no matter how painful it was or how devastated he was on the inside. So to see it now from so close; to feel the tears soaking into his shirt and to feel the arm circling his chest and latching onto the material of his shirt so desperately, it’s unnerving. He tries to keep his head; he tries to keep cool because if ever there was a time for him to be the strong one, it absolutely was right at that moment.

Utah needed him right now; maybe more than Bodhi really expected him to when he decided to come, but seeing the broken man before him; broken not just spiritually, but also physically and in a much more permanent way. Bodhi promised himself that he was going to be the person Utah needed because just like him, Utah didn’t have anyone else in his life.

The instinct came just naturally; like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary or something he hadn’t done a thousand times before. That was just the level of comfort he felt around Utah. He didn’t realize that the street might not have gone both ways in that matter.

Truthfully he hadn’t even given it much thought and he wasn’t even actually thinking about it when he stooped down beside Utah when they were by the car and reached for his arm. It wasn’t a big deal to him, Utah needed help and he had the ability to help him. In hindsight he realized how selfish he’d been. It wasn’t about him, nothing about the situation; Utah’s situation was about him. It was about Utah and he should have realized that and respected that since he’d preached respect so many times in the past. But like with everything else in his life, he talked himself out of it and Utah—no, Johnny, hesitantly accepted that help. He understood his friend’s reluctance and had the shoe been on the other foot, he doesn’t think he would have been able to deal with it with as much poise as Johnny had.

He can see shame in Johnny’s reaction and far be it for him to tell someone else what to feel or how to act; he can only dictate his own path and his own feelings and the way he saw it, it was an honour that Johnny accepted his help, that he let Bodhi help him. He hoped that Johnny didn’t see it as an obligation on either of their parts. The only thing he wanted to do was ease some of the burden Johnny had been carrying alone on his shoulders. If that meant having to carry Johnny to help ease his burden, then so be it. In a way, it was him giving back, or rather; begin making amends for straying from Ozaki’s path.

He realized now how misguided he’d been while traversing his path and because of that Mother Nature chose to take away everything he held dear as compensation.

Ozaki would have liked him.

Johnny.

From the first moment Bodhi laid eyes on the blond man, looking so uncertain and lost. So—disconnected; neither reaction the result of his current predicament, Bodhi saw a glimpse of himself from the past before Ozaki saved him.

From that moment he vowed that he would do everything he could to try save this person the same way he had been saved. That was his way of giving back and he thought he’d succeeded that moment on the side of the snowy mountain watching Johnny descent down the cliff’s edge. Gone was the hesitance and the fear and the disconnect. For the first time he thinks that he was finally looking at the real Johnny Utah and he was absolutely beautiful.

He finds himself glancing over at the silent figure at his side, staring morosely out the window at the scenery rushing past.

He was still beautiful.

The conversation during the drive is relaxed and unhurried. It was something they both needed; a bit of a breather after everything that’s happened, not just in the last four months, but since that moment on the boat out on the turbulent ocean when Bodhi realized he hadn’t failed with Johnny after all.

He didn’t know how long they were on the road. It was like time was standing still and rushing past all at the same time; but he noticed Johnny’s tense body language and the way he tried to hide the wince. There really was nowhere practical to stop on the road they were on; but the light of the day was slowly receding, plunging the whole area and the deserted road into the darkness. It was just them and the muffled roaring of the car engine rumbling with an echo against the cliff side rocks and Bodhi decided to pull over near the edge where the cliff sloped sharply and there was a sizeable plot of land between the roads and the deadly incline beyond the rails.

This time Bodhi doesn’t assume anything before he walks around the car to Johnny’s side, pushing the wheelchair in front of him. Johnny is already half out of the car when Bodhi gets there but he doesn’t make a move or say anything. He watches the other man intently, waiting for him to make the first move or to say something; to say that it’s okay. Johnny doesn’t say anything verbally, only through his body language that Bodhi understands like he’s been speaking it forever. Johnny still seems uncomfortable, not that he has reasons to feel otherwise, but at the very least he seems to realize that Bodhi was only there for him and that he was willing to deal with everything, the good and the bad that came along with it.

The subtle flirting comes almost second nature, not that he’s ever been a big flirt. But being around the other man, even during those short two weeks they were actually acquainted in the beginning, it felt natural; like they’d known each other for a much longer time. There was something about Johnny that put him at ease, just his presence that felt familiar, even comforting.

It feels like they actually fall into some sort of rhythm by the time Bodhi helps Johnny into his chair and for the first time, Bodhi doesn’t feel the discomfort radiating off of the other man the way it had been before.

They watch the sunset in a companionable silence and stay for a little while longer after it disappears from sight.

Johnny tries to hide his pain but Bodhi as usual can see straight through him. So they stop at the very first place that has even a whiff of food; Bodhi going in to get some essentials while Johnny keeps the car engine running while parked by the front entrance. After both of them have finished whatever microwaved imitation beef product that was the only thing Bodhi could find that looked half edible and Johnny’s taken his more than half dozen different pills with a bottle of refreshingly cool water, they continue on their way.

Bodhi glances over at Johnny from time to time. They’ve descended into a comfortable sort of silence driving down the dark, deserted road into a future rife with uncertainties. Johnny doesn’t glance back but Bodhi isn’t offended. The other man looks like he’s fighting a tough battle against sleep; leaning heavily against the back of the seat, his head resting against the headrest and his eyes gazing unblinking at a spot outside his window. His eyelids keep drooping and he keeps on forcing them back open.

Without thinking about it, Bodhi reaches over to grasp his shoulder. “Sleep,” he says, or rather instructs. Instead of fighting him on it like he’d been with his own waning consciousness, Johnny seems like he’d been waiting for Bodhi to say that exact word because not thirty seconds later, his eyes are closed and his breathing evens out and he finally steps into the warm embrace of sleep.  

Bodhi drives through the night as Johnny sleeps on undisturbed. They don’t stop again for the rest of the journey. Bodhi isn’t hungry and he doesn’t have to use the restroom and he isn’t willing to disturb Johnny to ask him because it’s the first time in four months of watching the other man while he slept that his sleep isn’t plagued by crippling nightmares. They pass just one car on the road and the remainder of the drive is done in otherwise complete darkness and isolation.

It’s still hours before dawn by the time they arrive at their destination after almost six hours of driving and Bodhi is exhausted. He isn’t even sure how he managed the drive the handful of times he made the journey through the course of those four months. But they made it safely and without trouble and Johnny didn’t stir even once.

He can feel and hear the popping sounds of his contracted joints when he steps out of the car and stretches; inhaling the cool ocean breeze that rustles the leaves in the distance that feels refreshing against his skin.

With a glance at Johnny’s still sleeping figure in the passenger seat, slightly curled into himself facing away from the driver seat, Bodhi gently closes the driver side door without arousing him from his slumber and strides up the walkway.

The house is blanketed in darkness when he enters, only the glow from the moonlight high above in the midnight sky shining through the glass plated windows leading out towards the veranda, allows him to navigate around the sparse furniture in the living room towards the main power box by the kitchen wall in the far corner. He flips all the switches to allow electricity to flow in through the power lines and the moment he does that, he’s almost blinded by the stream of light that explodes inside the confined space. It takes him a moment to regain his bearings and adjust the lighting accordingly; as in more ‘being able to see shit so that he doesn’t walk into it shin first’ and less ‘indoor lighthouse’.

When he returns to the car, not ten minutes later, he finds Johnny still deeply asleep and he’s almost reluctant to wake the guy from such a comfortable rest.

It takes him thirty seconds to come to a decision before he leans down; gently circling Johnny’s right arm around his shoulder and gathering his legs and his back in the crook of his elbows; nearly the exact image of yesterday afternoon when they were leaving the hospital, only this time with Johnny’s head lolling limply onto his shoulder. He kicks  the car door close without jolting the sleeping man in his arms too much, before trekking across the walkway silently, in through the front door, across the living room; his shoes clomping noisily on the waxed wooden flooring under his feet, and into the bedroom at the far end of the hall.

He lowers Johnny down onto the mattress, takes off his shoes and tucks him in under the fleece blanket folded up on the side and only then does he feel like he can finally exhale. Not so much from the walk into the house with the other man in his arms, but from everything that’s happened over the last twelve hours or so.

He walks out for a moment to grab Johnny’s wheelchair out of the car, lock the front door and check to make sure everything is in order before returning to the room. After making sure the wheelchair was set up next to the bed within reach so that Johnny wouldn’t have any trouble to get to it when he needed to, Bodhi walks around the bed to the sofa pushed up against the wall facing the bed and drops heavily onto the cushions; allowing his limbs to sprawl almost unceremoniously across the length and just leans back to watch the rise and fall of Johnny’s chest as he sleeps.

He remembers an almost too distant memory, finding himself in an almost similar position watching the same man burrowed under half a dozen pillows sleeping on the deck of the ridiculously over-priced yacht. Watching as the light of the rising sun cast an ethereal glow across his face and making his blonde hair shine up almost like a halo. It felt like a lifetime ago because in a way, it was. His life. Johnny’s life. Hopefully their life together from today on.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep until he experiences the sensation of waking up; feeling the heat of the morning sunrise warming up his face. A glance at Johnny shows the man still asleep and for a moment Bodhi wonders if there is reason to be worried about his deep sleep, but glancing up and down at the still figure shows no reason to be concerned so he decides to let him sleep a little longer and leaves the room for the kitchen to make himself a much needed cup of coffee. Something strong. Preferably with a shot of alcohol, maybe two. On second thought, maybe he’d forget the coffee all together and just have the alcohol instead.

The atmosphere outside the window is calm and relaxing. It’s the reason why he loved that place so much and why he’d decided on it even when he promised himself that he wouldn’t step foot in that house or on that property after Ozaki died and his decision only reinforced when Samsara followed him not long after.

But being in the house at that moment with the sun shining and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore lulling him like a calm serenade; coupled with the presence of the man still sleeping in the room down the hall, somehow it all just felt right.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there in silence looking out at nothing in the distance and he doesn’t notice the movement out of the corner of his eyes or the sound of wheels creaking on the floorboard until he hears the voice calling his name; finding Johnny looking at him from the hallway beside the kitchen when he turns around.

“Hey. Good morning.”

“Morning,” Johnny greets back almost hesitantly as he moves closer, all while looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings and the house he’d never seen before. “Where are we?”

Bodhi takes a sip of the coffee in his hand, the scorching heat of the liquid oddly soothing when it goes down his throat. “Home,” he says, locking eyes with Johnny; obviously the man doesn’t find his answer all that reassuring because his brows furrow in confusion and annoyance. So Bodhi adds, “Ozaki built this house a long time ago with his own two hands. He never got to live in it.”

That sobers Johnny almost immediately when he approaches and lets out a soft, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure it’s okay—”

“It’s more than okay,” Bodhi interrupts, deep down knowing what the question was going to be without Johnny having to finish asking it. “I never wanted this house. It just held too much bittersweet memories of happier times and memories that never had a chance to be made. But everything’s different now.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny says. Bodhi hates when he apologizes for things that aren’t his fault or things he never even had any control over. But he’s come to accept it as part of Johnny that he’d never be able to fix. He realizes that he wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. It was what made Johnny, Johnny.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says; grabbing a spare cup, the coffeepot and pushes himself away from the countertop he’d been leaning against, beckoning Johnny to join him at the dinner table just a few feet away, pulling out one of the chairs and pushing it to the side to make room for Johnny’s wheelchair. “How was your rest?”

“Restful,” Johnny says and Bodhi chuckles. “Did you drive the whole night?”

Bodhi just nods affirmatively. “I didn’t want to wake you to ask if you needed to stop for anything or to use the restroom,” he says and hopes it doesn’t come across as awkward as it felt.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy to be anywhere but that hospital.”

They lapse into a companionable silence after that to just enjoy their morning coffee. It was one of the reasons why Bodhi enjoyed being in Johnny’s company, especially when it was just the two of them; conversation never felt forced or stilted or like it was an obligation. They talked when there were things to talk about, but when there weren’t, the silence spoke just as much in their place.

“Not that I don’t appreciate—all this,” he motions to his surroundings. “But there’s still the issue about my things, back at my place. It’s nothing immediately important but I’ve grown pretty fond of my stuff.”

Bodhi grins fondly at him. “You underestimate my planning capability, Utah.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Obviously you haven’t had time to fully explore the house, but I think you’ll find all your monetary possessions safe and accounted for.”

Johnny is silent when their eyes meet. “I have so many questions right now which I’m not even going to ask, man. I’ll just take your word for it.”

“You do that,” he replies as he finishes the last sip of coffee in his cup and gets to his feet. “So—tour?”

He walks beside Johnny as they traverse the single story layout of the gorgeously crafted wooden house, pointing out the master bedroom Johnny had exited and the two other guest bedrooms a little further down and across the hall from it. The kitchen area is open, separated from the living room by a marble top counter and the dining table a few feet away. The living room itself has two large L-shaped sofas, flanking a ridiculously furry tan coloured carpet right in the middle and across from the large LCD screen TV mounted on the wall. The furthest wall on the right has a large glass screen sliding door that opens into the free air veranda just outside and the white beachy sands and the ocean not thirty feet away.

The moment they step out into the bright sunlight and get hit by the smell of the familiar ocean breeze, Bodhi can see Johnny physically relax. The difference is tangible like being outside immediately calmed his frayed nerves and the perpetual tension in his shoulders. He remembers a time when neither of those were things he’d associate with Johnny Utah, but that time feels like a thousand years ago.

“It’s amazing,” he says and Bodhi doesn’t need to answer to convey his agreement.

The outside truly was a sight to behold. Their house sat just shy of the actual ocean, on the shore between the beach and the small sandy road surrounded by greenery they had to pass on the drive over. There weren’t any other houses or people for miles either way, just the house, them, and the calming presence of Mother Nature always keeping a watchful eye.

There was one last thing he wanted to show Johnny, something he really wanted the guy to see to let him know that he was serious about this.

He gestures towards the handles of the wheelchair, waiting for Johnny to give the okay before he circles around him to take the reins and leads him towards the far end of the veranda where he’d taken apart a section of the wooden rails and built a ramp that lead directly down to the ocean.

He knows Johnny can tell that the addition was made recently because the difference in colouring between the weathered wood that had been there for years as opposed to the ramp which wooden tone was still vibrant and still smelled like freshly cut timber.

They venture down to the seashore together and Bodhi can barely tear his gaze away from Johnny’s face; the almost wondrous expression he has on his face as he looked at the foamy water lapping the front wheels of his chair. It’s a gorgeous sight to behold but also bittersweet at the same time.

Bodhi thinks of the man who’d been so unafraid of the steep, rock-strewn drop on that snow covered mountain and the reverence in his voice when he said, ‘But it’s also perfect.’ He thinks of his utter fearlessness when he didn’t stop at the second cliff when everyone else had been too afraid. Roach had called him broken, but Bodhi thought that was the closest he’d seen Johnny come to being whole.

He didn’t give up on Johnny back then, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“We should get a dog,” Bodhi says, attracting a questioning look. “One of those service dogs maybe. I’ve always liked Dogo Argentinos.”

Johnny is silent before he turns back to look out at the vast ocean that lay before him.

Bodhi almost has to strain to listen when he speaks and the question comes out as more of a whisper than an actual query.

“Why?”

“Well, dogs always make good companions; unless you prefer cats. But I don’t think they’d—”

“Not about the dog, Bodhi. Why—this? All of this? The house, the drive here; you being at the hospital, you being back here—just, why? Why are you doing all this?”

Bodhi feels his insides drop at the question. It’s not that he isn’t prepared for it; he had four months to try and figure it out himself and he’s not even sure he succeeded in doing that. Why indeed.

“Because—” he starts, testing out the word not knowing whether the rest of it was going to roll off his tongue as smoothly as he wants. “Because you’re all I have left.”

Johnny is silent. Bodhi doesn’t know whether it’s because he accepted the answer or because he doesn’t. But he speaks again, his voice soft and understanding when he says, “You’re all I have left too,” and Bodhi allows the relieved smile to spread across his face. “By the way, you’re kind of like the human version of a Dogo Argentino actually.”

Bodhi laughs and Johnny laughs along with him.

Bodhi cooks for them that night. It’s nothing fancy, just some meat with a side of vegetables. But sitting across from the man who’s plagued his thoughts for the past four years while they were apart, watching him enjoy the food he cooked and seeing the way he seems almost relaxed for the first time, Bodhi thinks it’s the best meal he’s ever eaten. All in all, he thinks they’re off to a pretty good beginning.

“I want to go down to the beach,” Johnny says suddenly when he’s gathered up the dishes and placed them in the sink while Bodhi watches him from the dining table.

They’d both changed into a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt after coming back from the beach that afternoon. It felt disrespectful to be wearing jeans or slacks in such close proximity to the ocean.

“Okay.”

Johnny lets him take the reins again when they walk out onto the veranda; the light switch by the sliding door turns on the spotlights that illuminate the whole beach front area of the house and the shoreline it stretches out towards. The sky is pitch black in the distance, illuminated only by the smattering of stars spread out like bits of glitter dust in space.

The ocean is calm; the sea surface tranquil, only rippling under Bodhi’s feet when he steps into the water.

His body moves of its own accord when he pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it over to the dry sand when he walks up to Johnny; his gait determined and purposeful.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructs.

Johnny is taken aback by the request but complies almost hesitantly before Bodhi takes the shirt out of his hands and tosses it to the side where his own shirt lies. He holds both his hands out to Johnny when he steps up to stand in front of him. Johnny looks between his outstretched hands and his face a few times confusedly.

“Bodhi—” he starts, his tone tired, if not a little broken.

“Johnny, just—trust me. Please.”

Eventually the blond relents and reluctantly grabs Bodhi’s hands with both of his and tries not to flinch back when he suddenly bends down to circle Johnny’s arms around his neck; his free arms now circling Johnny around the waist, firmly and securely. Johnny half burrows his face in the crook of Bodhi’s neck when he feels himself being lifted up out of his wheelchair and suppresses the shudder that runs through his body at the painful familiarity of being upright again. He’s clinging onto Bodhi’s neck with as much strength he can muster but he doesn’t feel unsecured with the man’s strong arms around his torso.

Bodhi can feel Johnny’s entire body stiffen up as they’re standing so close together. He’s holding Johnny’s entire weight in his arms but it doesn’t feel like a burden at all. Carefully he takes one step backwards after another, until he can feel the cool sea water wash over his feet. Johnny hasn’t moved or spoken. He’s not even sure if the other man is currently breathing, but he can feel the thumping of his heart against his own chest and it feels soothing.

“Trust me, Johnny. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says even though Johnny hasn’t said a word. Not again, but those last words go unspoken.

After a beat he hears Johnny’s voice in his ear. “I do.” And a feeling of pride at the other man’s trust and confidence in him washes over him like the waves lapping at his knees.

It isn’t until they’re a few meters out and nearly chest deep in the salty sea water that Bodhi releases the tight hold he has around Johnny but not fully letting go. Johnny follows his movement a little more reluctantly.

He can sense the nervousness radiating off Johnny and the anxious furrow of his brows when their faces are far enough apart that he can see the other man’ expression. Johnny’s still holding onto his shoulder with one hand while the other one treads water near his arm.

“You okay?” he asks when Johnny keeps silent.

“Yeah,” Johnny replies, looking at his free hand playing around with the seawater; cupping a handful of it and watching fascinatedly as it slowly trickles out from between his fingers. “Just…thinking.”

“About what?” he asks again, unable to tear his gaze away from the gorgeous sight before his eyes and the man who’s made such a big impact on his life in the most unexpected ways.

Johnny gives his reply some thought before he speaks again. “Just life. My life—how I never thought I’d end up in this position. I guess you never think something like this will happen to you until it does,” he says, his tone bittersweet and his eyes sad. “Thinking about the sea and—truthfully, I never thought I’d ever be able to do something like this again. It’s kind of funny how life can fuck you up.” He looks up at Bodhi when he finishes talking, looking him straight in the eyes, almost like he’s staring him right down to the soul. “Thinking about you.”

“Only good things I hope,” Bodhi says light-heartedly, though it feels like his heart’s suddenly started pounding in his chest.

“The best,” Johnny replies seriously, reaching up to circle both arms around Bodhi’s shoulders and his neck once again, pulling himself closer, or pulling Bodhi closer to himself, you couldn’t really tell, but closing the distance between their bodies until there’s none.

It’s a bizarre sensation, the feeling of two hearts beating almost in unison in so close a proximity.

Bodhi swallows the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He can’t bring himself to blink; concerned that he’d miss even a split second of the moment and the sight of Johnny’s gorgeous eyes staring straight into his. Their noses are a hair width apart and Bodhi can almost smell the sweetness of Johnny’s breath when he exhales.

Bodhi’s done many things in his life, initiated most of it while everyone just scurries after him in the background. Only a handful of people have ever stood side by side with him because they didn’t deserve to be in a lesser position. Only one person constantly walked ahead of everyone, with him always reaching out, always hoping to even get to brush his fingers on the material of his coattails billowing behind him like a cape.

Roach, Chowder, Grommet and Samsara; they were always there by his side, propping him up higher and following him faithfully to the end.

Ozaki is always and will always be the shadow he’s chasing after knowing that he’d never be able to catch up.

Everyone else was just a fleeting moment and a minor detail.

And then there’s the man before him.

The shoulder length blonde hair that always made him feel like he wanted to run his fingers through the silky soft strands and the blue eyes that always shone with a sincerity and intensity that Bodhi only ever saw reflected in a mirror.

Bodhi never let anyone else dictate the direction and the path his life would take, he never has and it wasn’t until he met Johnny that fateful day out on the ocean that he realized he didn’t want to travel that road alone any more.

It only felt right for their first meeting to be out on the great wide sea undertaking one of the world’s most insurmountable tasks. And then to find themselves four years on in the exact same position but under terribly different circumstances and as two completely changed men but knowing that whatever it was they both felt that fateful day, somehow it had stood the test of time.

Bodhi was never one to sit back and let someone else take the reins. But when Johnny leans in closer to him, his nose brushing against Bodhi’s and his arms tightening around Bodhi’s neck; the surrounding suddenly becomes too quiet and too intense and all of a sudden Johnny is too close.

But in the split second before his lips come crashing down on Bodhi’s, Bodhi can only think that he isn’t close enough.

The kiss is intense and wild, with a raw sort of ferocity and a hunger neither of them have ever felt before.

Bodhi grasps desperately at Johnny’s back, feeling his fingernails digging fervently into the skin and he can feel Johnny latching onto him just as enthusiastically in return.

The water ripples and splashes violently around them as they move around. Bodhi feels himself taking a step back as Johnny’s lips keep coming at him with a passion he doesn’t think he’s ever seen in the other man before, not even when they were flying through the skies, headed either towards glory or death. Not even when they were descending down the icy slopes and he was looking at Johnny’s back ahead of him, almost disappearing out of sight.

He doesn’t know how long it is before they finally pull away panting, but they stay in the embrace. Johnny’s face is flushed, his eyes almost glazed over and his parted lips red and plump and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t look much better.

Nothing moves and neither of them make a sound beside the lapping sound of the water slapping against their bodies.

“Bodhi—” Johnny starts, but Bodhi silences him with an additional kiss square on the lips without waiting for him to finish his sentence.

He pulls Johnny back into the embrace; his arms crossed behind Johnny’s back as he reaches up to grasp him on the shoulder, holding him securely in the embrace.

The words leave his lips before he could even give them a second thought and he’s glad he isn’t looking at his face to see his startled reaction when he says, “I love you.”

He can feel Johnny still and his heart plummets into his gut for a split second before he feels Johnny’s arms readjust to hold on more securely around his shoulders and he hears the words being whispered into his ear.

“I love you too.”

Bodhi doesn’t know how long they stay out there in the water in each other’s embrace. At the very least, it’s long enough for him to feel the wrinkling of his fingertips when he rubs them together.

As if he was reading his mind, Johnny pulls back first; loosening his arms around Bodhi’s neck and pushing himself back, keeping Bodhi at arm’s length with both hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for coming back and for being there. Thank you for—everything and giving me back a life. My life.”

Bodhi gazes at him intently after he finishes speaking, just trying to absorb every single second of that moment and etching the memory of it and of Johnny’s face into his mind.

“It’s my honour to do all that,” he says and that was all that needed to be said.

Johnny leans in for another kiss and Bodhi’s only too happy to comply.

The walk back up to dry land is done in comfortable silence; Bodhi lifting Johnny up into his arms when the water becomes too shallow. Johnny still isn’t a hundred percent at ease and Bodhi doesn’t think that he’ll ever truly be. But for his part, he feels himself sinking into this role with more ease than he thought. He didn’t see himself as caregiver or playing doctor, just like he didn’t see Johnny as helpless or somehow less of a person. He just couldn’t do things the same way other people could, which didn’t mean that he wouldn’t find a way to do the same things just as well if not better, considering who he was and who he still is.

He knows that Johnny will eventually find a way to be okay with everything, to be okay with himself again and all he wants is to be there to help him along the way.

They’re dripping wet and leaving sodden, sandy trails on the floor when they enter and it’s the cheeky juvenile grin Johnny has on his face when he looks at the tracks they’re both leaving behind that causes Bodhi to burst out into an unexpected laugh.

“Dibs on the shower,” Johnny says with a toothy grin.

“That’s not fair. You tricked me into laughing.”

“I guess you saw straight through me there.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Bodhi says, letting his eyes convey the unspoken meaning of his words.

“You know,” Johnny starts as he’s turning his chair around, “Considering the size of this place, I’m guessing the bathroom wouldn’t be overly small either.” This time it’s Johnny who lets his eyes convey the unspoken meaning of that sentence.

Once again, Bodhi is only too happy to comply.

It isn’t until they’re in the bedroom later that night that Bodhi finally finds a moment to reflect on what happened and the ramifications of it. He’s standing inside the walk-in closet and had been staring stupidly at the clothes hanging in front of him for the past fifteen minutes.

Everything about this was new; the house, the closet, the living space; the man waiting for him in the bedroom and the sheer normality of everything. He doesn’t remember the last time he settled down in one spot for this long and with the actual intention of staying.

In the end he grabs the first item in reach which is a pair of black sweats and a plain black singlet, pulling both on before finally walking back out into the bedroom to find Johnny surveying him amusedly while sitting leaning against the headboard of the bed, and his legs stretched out in front of him and his wheelchair parked close next to the bed. He’s dressed in contrasting colours to Bodhi in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, a smirk blossoming on his face when his eyes fall on Bodhi.

“Took you that long to decide on the outfit? Or did you have to settle?” he asks, and Bodhi can’t help but smile at the familiar sardonic tone in Johnny’s voice again.

“Well, I do have someone I want to impress now,” he replies and he tries not to be too smug when Johnny doesn’t seem to be able to find the words to reply.

He takes those few short steps over to the bed and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “Johnny,” he starts, inhaling deeply as he eyes the man across from him. “This—all of this is new to the both of us. So—if you’re…not sure, it’s okay. We both need time to get used to—everything.”

Johnny looks like he’s seriously contemplating Bodhi’s words. But there’s not even a hint of hesitation in his voice when he answers. “No. It’s—I want you here. I just don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay,” Bodhi says, allowing himself a smile as he crawls across the mattress and plants himself on his side next to Johnny before the other man lays down on his back to join him.

The living room is dark and the rest of the house is silent; the only source of light is from the standing lamps on either side of the bed, illuminating the entire master bedroom and casting a glow on the silhouette of Johnny’s face. Subconsciously he stretches across the distance between them to rest his arm on Johnny’s stomach, his fingers tracing indistinct patterns onto the exposed skin on Johnny’s stomach from where his shirt has inadvertently ridden up. “Ready for bed?”

Johnny covers Bodhi’s hand with his own, intertwining their fingers together while stroking the back of his hand with his thumb. “Are you?”

“I am now.”

Bodhi doesn’t fall asleep immediately after they both lapse into silence. The side lamps have been switched off and the only source of light is the rays from the moon shining in through the glass window.

He looks over at Johnny who seems to have fallen deeply asleep the moment his head hit the pillow and he can’t help but flashback to the last four months.

The fateful incident that set everything in motion. Sitting helplessly by that bedside in the ICU, watching his friend, someone he’d come to care so much about fighting for his life; watching the machines breathe for him and keeping him alive; hoping against hope that he’d stay alive and that there was enough of Johnny in there to want to be alive.

Hearing that word coming out of the doctor’s mouth had been devastating.

Paralysed.

That’s what he’d said and Bodhi wasn’t sure if he was hearing him right.  

But then Johnny woke up from the coma, and it was both a time to celebrate and one of the most heart-breaking moments Bodhi has ever had to experience. But Johnny didn’t cry, not even once and Bodhi took his own cue from that.

But Johnny’s actually here now; his breathing even and his eyes closed and his consciousness lost in the land of sleep. Bodhi’s fingers find the jagged edges of the scar on his stomach, extending from the middle of his upper chest straight down to his belly button; long and grotesque and a constant reminder of everything he’d been through and everything he still had to deal with going forward. But he was alive and that was all that mattered.

Johnny stirs a little when Bodhi’s finger hits a particularly sensitive spot but it doesn’t rouse him from his slumber.

Bodhi continues watching the man sleep, all the way through the night and into the morning like habit, until he can sense the rise of the sun in the horizon. He’s still staring when Johnny finally stirs and his eyes crack open before he turns his head to the right to find Bodhi already gazing intently at him.

Johnny’s smile alone is worth all the tasks in the world and when he opens his mouth to greet Bodhi with a raspy, “Good morning,” and his hand finds Bodhi’s own still resting comfortably on his chest; Bodhi thinks that he has so much to give back to make up for everything he has right now, right in that moment.

He doesn’t need nirvana or enlightenment; he already has everything he ever needed right here.

He leans over to kiss Johnny once on the mouth and pulls back to relish in the sight of the gorgeous smile that curls his lips.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“That was because I love you,” Bodhi says and the look on Johnny’s face alone is worth all the treasures in the world.

The end.

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

20 things you need to survive life in a college dorm

Whether you're a wide-eyed freshman or an experienced senior, moving into a residence hall is stressful. No matter how many times our parents reminded us to pack more than one towel, we still always managed to forget.

Since no one wants to admit to mom or dad that they were right all along (because you're an adult and you can do adult things by yourself!), these are the essentials you'll need to reassure them that you'll be just fine on your own.

SEE ALSO: Looking for love on campus: Best dating apps for college students

Welcome to almost-adulthood.

1. A shower caddy

Image: Amazon/Attmu

No one wants to have to carry all of their hair care products, soaps, and razors from one room to another without the help of a bag to store it all in. Save yourself the inconvenience and grab a mesh caddy like the Attmu Mesh Shower Caddy. If you're feeling colorful you can get a set of 3 Plastic Tote Caddie Baskets in red, blue, and green.

2. A anti-bed bug mattress protector

Image: Amazon/Hospitology Products

Hopefully most of us will never suffer through a bed bug infestation, but it's always better to be safe than sorry. In the event of tragedy, a mattress cover like Hospitology Products Sleep Defense Mattress Encasement will protect your bed from bed bugs and water damage. You don't need any unexpected visitors disrupting the little sleep you'll get in college.

3. A mini fridge 

Image: Amazon/RCA

You'll definitely want to have your own space to store food and snacks. You can get a small fridge, like the RCA Mini Fridge, to avoid the whole, "Who ate my..." argument with roommates.

5. Flip-flops for communal bathrooms

Image: Amazon/Felistar

Okay. Having a communal bathroom isn't the worst living arrangement ever, but it’s definitely an adjustment. If you're placed in a residence hall with a communal bathroom, you'll absolutely need something to protect your feet from whatever could be lurking on the shower floor. Any pair of flip-flops will do. The ones shown above are Felistar Unisex Sandals.

6. Power strips 

Image: Amazon/Kensington

You can never have enough outlets, especially if you’re sharing a room with someone else. If you want to be fancy, SWEON Bed Risers actually come with power outlets and USB Ports on them. But if you want to keep it simple and cheap, a regular, yet colorful Kensington SmartSockets power strip works well, too.

7. Utensils

Image: Amazon/Utopia Kitchen

Whether you'll have a kitchen or not, utensils are a must. A set like the Stainless Steel Flatware Set by Utopia Kitchen lets you eat your ramen noodles and mac-and-cheese without any hassle.

8. A handheld vacuum 

Image: Amazon/Back+Decker

It's when you're finally on your own that you realize how much dust you're capable of creating. A broom and dustpan can only do so much, so a small, hand-held vacuum like the Black+Decker Dustbuster Cordless Hand Vacuum will be your best friend during cleaning sprees.

9. A desk lamp 

Image: Amazon/Damuly

Without a doubt, you’re going to be up late at night doing work, either at the library or in your dorm room. If you end up pulling an all-nighter in your room, you'll be grateful to have stylish source of light. The Damuly LED Desk Lamp is controlled with your touch and changes colors.

10. A shower curtain

Image: AmazonBasics

If you're truly lucky, you'll have your own private bathroom — or you'll be asked to share it with just a few others, and so you might need to bring a shower curtain. The Grey Stripe AmazonBasics Shower Curtain apparently resists mildew, which is pretty necessary for a bathroom used by multiple people.

11. Hangers

Image: Amazon/Anglink

You don’t fold dresses, buttons-down, or slacks and stuff them in a drawer— instead, you hang them in a closet like the adult you (almost) are. Avoid wrinkles and save precious drawer space by getting a 20-piece set, like these Anglink Velvet Hangers. Why velvet? Your clothes are less likely to slip and fall to the floor because the material has more grip.

12. A hamper

Image: Handry Laundry

No one wants to see your dirty underwear out on the floor. Hampers are therefore an absolute must. A lightweight one like the Mesh Popup Laundry Hamper will hold all your dirty clothes, and can even folds up for easy portability. 

13. A laundry bag 

Image: Amazon/Milaca

When I was a freshman, I witnessed someone make three trips from their room to the laundry and room in order to wash one load of clothing. This happened because they didn't have a bag and carried everything by hand. Don’t be that person. A washable one like the MILACA Nylon Laundry Bag will make your life much easier.

14. A shoe organizer 

Image: Amazon/Simple Houseware

Chances are you probably have a ton of shoes. Don't worry though— a shoe organizer like the Simple Houseware Over the Door Hanging Shoe Organizer has pockets that great for storing shoes and other objects of your choosing. Plus, it'll save you room.

16. A fan 

Image: Amazon/Genesis

Central air is a luxury — so chances are you won't have it during your four years of college. If that’s the case, a small fan like the Genesis 6-Inch Clip-On Fan can be a decent substitute on unbearably hot days. (But really, where’s the AC?)

17. An air freshener

Image: amazon/Glade

A room that smells nice is impactful, especially when entertaining guests. No one should ever have to spend time in a dorm room that reeks of unidentifiable odors. Do yourself — and your friends — a favor and get an air freshener, like the Glade PlugIn Oil Air Freshener. It's worth the couple bucks of investment.

18. A Swiffer mop

Image: Amazon/Swiffer

How did we function as a society without the Swiffer? It can mop, it can sweep, it can even trick children into cleaning the house. You need one.

19. Towels

Image: AmazonBasics

If you’re going to shower and be a functional human being, towels are a definite necessity. Get a big set of fluffy ones, like the 6-Piece Towel and Washcloth set.

20. A good attitude 

Just be nice. Moving into a dorm is stressful enough as it is, and the adjustments that come after saying goodbye to your parents can be scary and emotional. Make it easy for everyone involved, and don't forget to dust.

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