#whatever the on the nose interpretation is of something in some way around it

[demilypyro]

There's a thought/theory/whatever I've long had about a specific pair of episodes from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine ever since I was a teen, and I'm putting this post out there to see if anybody else had the same thought.

I think Julian Bashir from Deep Space Nine, especially his plotline about having been genetically altered at a young age, is a commentary on neurodivergency.

Bashir is characterized as being highly intelligent, albeit lacking in social insight. He excels in academic matters but frequently finds himself floundering around women, being led by the nose by more charismatic people, and not picking up what other people are putting down. This alone would make him the average stereotypical TV depiction of an autistic person, but what I want to focus on is the episode that provides a canonical reason for these traits: the season 5 episode Doctor Bashir, I Presume.

In this episode it's revealed, or retconned really, that Bashir owes his intelligence to genetic tempering. Bashir originally suffered from a learning disability. He was not as intelligent as other children his age, falling far behind his peers, and his parents resorted to illegally altering his genes to "cure" that disability. As a result he instead became exceedingly intelligent. In essence, it took away a symptom that made his life more difficult, and traded it for one that made him more functional.

That episode on its own isn't a super strong nod towards autism. Though it does establish that Bashir is at least neurodivergent, it's more a discussion on eugenics and the theoretical ethics of removing disabilities through genetics. What I really want to focus on is the sort-of-sequel to this episode, and the only other episode that really focuses on these themes: the season 6 episode "Statistical Probabilities." In this episode, Bashir sets out to help other people who underwent genetic alteration, but for whom the treatments didn't go as well. The people he meets all display symptoms of one neurodivergency or another. One of them is very hyperactive and lacks empathy, another is very childlike despite being an old man, and another is entirely unresponsive.

For me, as someone who grew up in special education, I couldn't help but recognize some of the people I knew. To me, the metaphor was clear: "genetic alteration" was really just sci-fi talk for neurodivergency. Julian was the savant, the high-functioning autistic person who successfully integrated into society, because his neurodivergency gave him intelligence and insight that made him useful. And the others weren't as lucky, struggling to lead normal lives because their symptoms impeded their ability to function by themselves.

Bashir spends the episode trying to prove that the other genetically altered people have something to offer society, that there is a place for them. It felt very on the nose to me. But no one I've seen talk about this pair of episodes ever seemed to have taken from them what I took from them. I can't find anyone else online who interpreted the episodes the same way. Maybe my perspective is very particular, as someone who spent so much time in special education growing up, and who has personally struggled with finding a place where I can offer something to others. But idk. Am I seeing allegories that aren't there? What do yall think?

[loveinhawkins]

When Dustin bikes past Steve’s car, left abandoned and empty by the edge of the woods, for some reason the first thing that comes to his mind is a phone call from last summer.

July 5th 1985.

He’d picked up the phone before his mom could get to it, thank God, because Steve hadn’t bothered with any pleasantries, just said in a garbled rush, “Henderson, your house, is it—you’re safe, right?”

“I mean, I’ve not used the toaster yet,” Dustin said, eyeing the bagel he’d set out for breakfast, “but the house is still standing.”

“No but, like—” Steve snatched a breath, almost like he’d been running. “Like, no-one’s… y’know, watching you or anything?”

Then it hit Dustin: remembering Steve, finally somewhat lucid, muttering sheepishly, “Yeah, we might not wanna go to your house… Well, I might’ve told them your full name.”

Dustin took pity on him, answered sincerely. “No, we’re all good, Steve.”

He didn’t even tease about how, if the house was being watched, then Steve phoning him probably wasn’t the smartest move, because the line would’ve been tapped.

Maybe everything at Starcourt had sharpened his senses, because Dustin could now hear that Steve’s voice was slurred around the edges, like he’d just woken up, breathing harshly as if he’d ran to the phone; and he had a sudden image of Steve jolting awake, wincing from the gnarly bruises on his face, Dustin’s safety being his first thought.

Steve breathed out in a whoosh of relief. “Okay… good. Great. I’m, um. Gonna sleep. Yell if you need… I dunno. Something.”

And then he’d hung up before Dustin could work out how to say that he didn’t really mean it, when he complained about Steve not “resisting” whatever nightmare cocktail of drugs he’d had forced into him.

There was a little knot in his stomach for the rest of the day—a quiet mixture of panic and concern. The next time he saw Steve, he acted like he’d never made the phone call, so they never talked about it, and the knot faded away until Dustin almost convinced himself that it wasn’t there anymore.

But now, as he brakes then steers himself round to Steve’s car, the knot has returned—along with a little prickle of goosebumps that he usually only associates with any and all Upside Down shit. This isn’t quite a Code Red, he knows that, but he also knows that it’s…

It’s something.

The knot doubles in size when he peers into the car windows, sees that the keys have been left in the ignition. When he tries the door handle, it’s unlocked.

He bikes to the nearest payphone. He’s memorised Steve’s work schedule, knows that he’s not in today, that Robin has the late afternoon to closing shift.

He listens to his gut and dials Eddie’s number.

At first, Eddie thinks that Dustin’s calling him for a ride because his bike got a flat tire again. But as Dustin explains, he gets quieter and quieter until he’s just making anxious little hmm noises.

“I think I know where he’s gone,” Dustin adds, and Eddie’s sigh is a bit like Steve’s had been that morning he called, like he’s been holding his breath.

“Oh, thank God. You’d know better than anyone, Henderson.”

Dustin hangs up the phone after promising Eddie that he’ll stay by Steve’s car until he arrives.

He thinks about the relief in Eddie’s voice when he said he had a hunch about Steve’s whereabouts, like Dustin is the chosen one for understanding what makes Steve tick. Eddie’s joked about it before; he’d called it “sibling telepathy” when Dustin had silently communicated his popcorn order at the movies, and he’d nudged Steve in the ribs when Steve’s nose wrinkled meaning Gross, dude. Then Steve had huffed a laugh, nudging Dustin back. Okay, okay. I’ll pay for it, you little shit.

But Eddie gets Steve, too, Dustin thinks; that’s why he called him. And yeah, it’s different than the way Dustin understands Steve, but it’s significant enough for Eddie to make the cut of Steve Harrington Interpreters in Dustin’s mind.

Eddie’s van comes into view, and he actually uses his turn signal perfectly as he parks next to Steve’s car, like the panic has made him extra cautious.

“I’ll leave my bike here,” Dustin tells him as Eddie hops out.

Eddie’s lips turn into a thin line when he sees Steve’s keys. He nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll—okay.” He takes a breath, looks Dustin up and down. “Uh, I’ve got a coat if you need it, man.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, and Eddie at least smiles through his concern. It’s started to rain, that slow misty kind that clings to the skin, but Dustin reasons that he’ll be fine; he’ll be warm enough once he gets moving.

Eddie eyes the trees nervously. He jerks his head back to the van. “There’s—you need a flashlight? Just in case, um. Just in case?”

Dustin shakes his head. “It’s not that dark,” he says, not unkindly; Eddie kind of has a thing now for always having a flashlight on hand. Dustin can’t remember the last time he’s even come this close to the woods after March—his eyes keep darting down to the ground like he’s going to see vines there instead.

Eddie nods again, sighs. He checks his watch, then says, “Two hours tops, okay? And if it gets too dark and—just come back the way you came, even if you’ve not—” Eddie swallows. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dustin acts like he agrees and leaves his bike with Eddie—but there’s no way he’s gonna turn back, not without Steve.

He heads for the railroad tracks.

[adawngswife]

dating sean diaz hcs pt 3

sassy man apocalypse is real

- does that thing where he lights ur cig/joint/whatever like he did w lyla at the beginning w u ALL THE TIME. in fact he will purposely offer u one just so he can do it. he absolutely loves it and he has no idea why

- if ur not a smoker at all he thinks u coughing up a lung is cute in a weirdly endearing way! he pats ur back while laughing and urges u to try again bc he can be a bad influence at times LMAO

- whenever u guys sit together in class sean has a natural tendency to start doodling on ur arm. some days he just does one or two cute little drawings and other days hes a whole fucking tattoo artist. u walk around school with whole arm sleeves for the rest of the day

- “don’t move (y/n) im drawing the tentacles”

- “sean u said u were gonna draw a little rose…”

- he will look up rlly quick at u and goes back to drawing the kraken LMAO

- u draw like one little dot on his paper and u guys start fighting over it 😭 by the end of it theres 50 micopenises on his paper and u have a HUGE detailed penis on urs bc sean is extra asf

- sean loves messing with ur hair. after a while of dating he will just walk by u and ruffle ur hair at school. honestly, a part of him likes doing it and just fast walking away bc he can hear u complain in the distance LMAO

- hes weirdly into the unkempt look...

- bf air is real with him. if u wear makeup, u always leave his house with smeared lipstick and smudged eye makeup. not even bc u guys were getting down (sometimes) but just bc u guys are constantly play fighting

- u almost always text sean later saying how embarrassing that was and get mad at him for not telling u the whole time

- daniel, being a blunt kid, tries to say something abt u looking like a mess when ur about to leave and sean just slaps his hand over his mouth. daniel makes indistinguishable whining under his palm while sean ushers u out the door 😭 he chooses not to tell u bc he loves when u look like a mess, stray hairs and everything.

- despite u not liking it AT ALL he draws it in his journal later while kicking his feet LMAO

- sean is very prone to accidents. it doesnt help he loves risky activities (ex. skating) which causes lots of scrapes and bloody noses

- he likes when u wipe his nose with a tissue with a concerned face it has him feeling pampered asf.

- when u get close to his face with a swab and nag under ur breath abt him doing stupid shit he just goes “ur right it wont happen again” while trying to suppress a cheeky lil smile. he loves it when u care for him and act bossy/motherly in general 😭 does this imply the void karen left is very big and wide? maybe! he lacks self-awareness in this department tho.

- all he knows is gf take care of him = feeling like a snug bug in a rug

- hes a dork but also a gentleman so hell do backflips to hold the door for u and make sure u walk on the inner part of the sidewalk. when u refuse to listen he gets mad and forcefully drags/shoves u 😭

- i feel like u guys are such a night couple. sean just enjoys places better when its dark tbh. plus u guys are always up to weird antics so… u guys get to be as loud as u want and nobody is out to hear—and boy r u guys loud

- VOLUME UPP on ur guys favorite songs in some desolate area and screaming the lyrics in sean’s car is ur guys' THING. u guys start acting out the lyrics and dancing bc both of u feel so comfortable with each other

- the thing is u guys r always doing separate dance interpretations. chronic engagement in parallel play 😭

- except sean stops like a deer in headlights when he hears a crunch. sean is a scaredy cat tbh he def snapped his neck to look at where the noise came from. both of u guys slowly turn ur heads to each other and sean immediately starts the car. u call him a party pooper and hell just keep shaking his head instead of responding LMAOO

- "we're not staying here that's some white people shit (y/n)"

- considering sean grafittis, i feel its an almost given for him to know all the local abandoned places in seattle

- at first u were totally creeped out by the dark corners but sean made it a point to keep u safe and comfortable! sean was acting like a lil ninja and kept peeping around corners. the whole way there he awkwardly semi-rotated around u like a shield bc u couldnt decide whether being behind or in front of him was scarier LMAO

- he was also a lil smug bc he finally gets to the be the one whos not scared. he does the MOST to look cool in front of u

- “squatters better not snatch my girl around the corner…” u just look at sean in disgust 😭

- sean used to HATE the phrase “my girl” and thought it was so corny. he started using it ironically bc both of u guys thought it was funny and now he cant stop 😭

- when u guys got to his spot u were smacked in the face with all his VIBRANT beautiful work. u walked up to each of them like a museum exhibit and sean stood behind u rubbing the back of his neck all embarrassed

- sean does a little one dedicated to u! u watch his concentrated face; his furrowed eyebrows and occasional lip lick before he turns to u with a shy smile!!!! he gives u the spray can and guides ur hand to put a little smiley face + ur initial next to it

- since then, u guys always made it a small thing to leave ur marking everywhere. u guys r the couple that etch their initials into trees, benches, etc 😭😭😭 im sick.

- sean keeps a sharpie in his pocket just so u guys can do an impromptu grafitti sesh

- on nights where sean doesnt feel like seeing daniel u guys go to empty parking lots. he does little skate tricks while u sit there in his hoodie complaining about something and he exclusively replies in "right" and "mhm”

- u get annoyed thinking hes not listening and then he responds word for word what u said PLUS his interpretation 😭 shuts u right up

- sean acts like he doesnt love girl gossip but hes a closet chismoso. theres this little curious glint in his eyes whenever u starting talking more passionately and he stops skating just to sit next to u on the sidewalk w u and tune in

- ud be dropping hot gossip and sean would do dramatic ass facial expressions. his eyes would bulge out his head and his mouth would drop LMAO. he hollers “what??” after u drop big details too

- he doesnt like anyone u dont like and he supports u blindly ALL THE TIME. even when u backtrack and think u did something wrong he reassures u that ur right with a deadpanned face

- he lowkey a little instigator bc he always feeds ur delusions

- sean and u have like two screws in ur heads combined so when u guys call u just sit in silence and try the filters. literally all u can hear for half an hour is nose huffs from sean and screenshot clicks when u change to another filter

- u guys will start talking with ugly filters over ur face and sean's eyepatch and parrot filter starts glitching when he turns to tell daniel to get out of his room LMAOOO

- both of u guys are weird as hell bc the call will be going on for another five hours and sean will be in the kitchen with a horse head eating cereal. neither of u guys are questioning it at this point

- tbh u both can be kind of tmi with one another 😭 u guys say “eww” to each other so often but it doesnt stop either of u LMAO

- best friends who are also lovers is a must

also i associate steve lacy with sean sm like infrunami, SOME, bad habit, and Uuuu is what i envision when i write these hcs. when steve lacy was trending it was such a good era 😭😭 oh and also i associate los retros with sean heavy

[olderthannetfic]

You know what obnoxious thing I keep seeing in fandom I wish would stop? This absolute need some people seem to have for their ship to be Representation in some way. Shipping is just imagining scenarios between two characters! You don’t need it to be a Special reason or whatever? I have a ship that is popular and people make weird vague comments about how the fandom is racist because both of them are white and there are other ship options that have poc so the white ship being big is a reflection on how racist the fandom is but the thing is…

Look I’m going to be real with y’all the fandom is for the game Detroit: Become Human and let’s just say the two major black characters are basically stereotypes written by a neocon lib boomer in a story that itself is imho…let’s call it tone deaf and corny af rather than overtly racist but yeah. Black folks on twitter regularly mock this game for good reason. It is very much a boomer white man’s idea of the civil rights movement but with robots. The robots sing actual slave hymns. The main character is essentially a light-skinned Martin Luther King Jr (dubbed Markus Luthur King by blktwt lol) and the religious allegories of him as a savior figure are very on the nose. It is bad lol. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to explore the black characters but the fandom is full of young white people singing the praises of this writing while patting themselves on the back about it which is genuinely uncomfortable to be around. Just my 2 cents but the virtue signaling and insane policing around those two characters makes it unbearable to interact with their content it is deeply sanitized and you WILL get death threats if you attempt any nuance or are critical of the (kinda racist imo) way they were written in canon.

The worst part of this is that Markus has a popular ship with a character a lot of people read or interpret as a more soft or femme gay man and you know what zoomers hate? Femme gay men. So obviously this is made to be ‘problematic’ in some way because these people can’t just admit to being femmphobic/homophobic themselves.

Sometimes it’s easier to stick with the boring white characters in the background because they aren’t being closely guarded by stupid reactionary people who are used to flashing their favorite fictional poc characters as tokens of their own goodness and virtue.

--

The pinnacle of this game is that moment when the black lady lectures her son about why they need to run the robot underground railroad to Canada.

I watched some playthroughs. Unsurprisingly, I liked the buddy cops with the good development, not the cringey activism plot with too many foils and not enough development of any single relationship and not the the Women Care About Babies plot.

But if I were going to do something fannish with Markus, I'd write him having a fucked up relationship with his mentor's son post game—the surrogate son who thought the guy was great and the estranged son who knew he wasn't but who has also done a bunch of shitty stuff himself.

It's especially hilarious when tryhards think the problem is not enough people shipping Markus with North as if the slashers are going to be into 1. het and 2. yet another unnecessary traumatic sex stuff backstory for a lady.

Even worse, half the whining isn't even about that Nines fanon nonsense being more popular than Markus: it's about how Markus/Connor would be better than Hank/Connor because old people are ew.

Sorry, children, a lot of people are here to thirst for Clancy Brown and because they'll turn up for any Caves of Steel ripoff. Other Connor ships were never in the running.

[suguwuus]

Hii babe!! Omg I’ve been obsessed with your pajama pants book on wattpad for years I can’t believe I found your tumblr, ur my favourite Connor writer.

Anyway I figured I’d send an ask!! Maybe something with a daughter of Aphrodite reader? Could you do protective connor plss, I don’t rly mind the scenario whether it’s creepy guy or like in a battle or whatever.

Thanks so much!! 🩷🩷

HEYYY HII OMG thank u blushes kicks feet!!!

the damsel in distress trope is so outdated and children of aphrodite def have sparkly pink bejeweled weapons so this being set on the battlefield is crossed out of the list. also i dont like the ending but idk ??

edit: im sorry if this didnt meet your expectations of protective connor idk i feel like it's off or boring so feel free to ask for a redo or another one w this situation 😭😭😭😭 not sure if i interpreted ur req right but lmk if i did or if u have anything to say

wc: 1.7k words

contains: erm the general creep u meet while minding ur own business idfk that's literally it

"G'morning, beautiful." Connor smiles down at you as you wake up from your rest. How many hours was that? Three? Four? A few hours as your beauty rest was better than none, so you let that worry go and sucked it up.

"Morning, Connor," you replied, your voice as sweet and smooth as ever. Your resting place today was hidden between two dumpsters behind a convenience store. At first, the idea revolted all three of you on the quest, but the events that followed that night gave you no choice, and the smell would mask your scent from any monsters. Fortunately, you had your perfume balm on you, enchanted to last for days, so smearing the stuff under your noses was a big help to battle the stench of the dumpsters.

You laid a hand on your boyfriend's shoulder. "Feeling better?" After getting into a car crash last night, his body was probably sore. He pulled a muscle in his shoulder, too. His brother Travis was knocked unconscious, so after hauling him through streets, you two had no choice but to seek shelter somewhere hidden. You only found out, when the sun rose, that you were stationed behind a convenience store. Great. Those things were like playgrounds to the sons of Hermes.

Connor stood up and stretched, testing his shoulder. "Yes! Good as new. Man, I wish mortal stores had stuff flavored with something that tastes like ambrosia."

You gazed up at him, pleased with the state he was in now. "Glad to hear," you smiled.

"Wait, they do. I love salt and vinegar chips. Oh, man, I hope Travis finds some."

You wrinkled your nose, but at the mention of food, your stomach growled. Aside from doing your best to nurse the boys back to a decent state last night, you also took first watch. That, and exhausting all your fighting skills, left you hungry.

You rummaged in your bag for a bottle of water to start your day as Connor picked up his. There you found your plastic bag of half-finished ambrosia, a flask of nectar, your first aid kit, your last change of clean clothes, your hair clip that transformed into your celestial bronze crossbow with a beaded charm around the handle, a magic blow-drier for emergencies, and—there it was.

"Travis is inside. Let's go?" Connor held out a hand and helped you up from the ground, and the two of you walked into the convenience store. You caught a glimpse of Travis, but he didn't catch sight of you back. So instead you put your water back into your bag and headed for the bathroom.

There wasn't much work to do. Just a bit of dusting off your pants and a quick wash of your face and hands to feel clean. As always, you looked perfectly put together, roughed up but in a movie star way, thanks to being a daughter of Aphrodite. It was like those scratches and stray hairs framing your face were strategically placed by a personal makeup artist.

Zipping up your jacket in a way that complimented your figure and the rest of your outfit, you nudged the bathroom door closed with your foot on the way out. Neither of the boys were inside anymore. While you scanned the aisles for them, you felt a pair of eyes on you and turned towards the counter to see a toothy man wearing a puffer vest standing in line. "You lost, sweetheart?"

You didn't like how he looked you up and down. How you felt like you were being examined under his stare. You picked it up immediately, and it made your fists tighten. You simply shook your head, then made for the exit.

Travis and Connor were munching away at breakfast sandwiches and bagels. They handed you a sandwich of your choice and a bottle of yogurt drink and you ate it without complaint, the previous occurence quickly disappearing from your mind.

"Thanks," You mumbled, and then peeked into Travis's paper bag. It had even more sandwiches and snacks inside. Quickly, he wrapped them all up and stuffed them in his bag. "Snagged some extras on my way out." He grinned, satisfied with his work.

"Still headed for the next city hall, right?" He asked.

"Mhm." You took a folded up map out of your back pocket and opened it up. "There's a bus stop right there." You nodded in the general direction of the shed, tracing a manicured finger along the map.

You had to be honest, you were only doing that to look cool. Your dyslexia slowed you down in trying to look for your current location.

You followed Travis and Connor to the waiting shed, passing the map to the former. "Let me do that, love," Connor said as you sat down and began to open your yogurt drink. He took his seat beside you and opened your drink for you, passing it back along with a kiss. The gesture made your stomach flutter. No matter how many people would throw themselves at you and try to get your attention, nothing would ever beat the way Connor made you feel with his princess treatment.

However, your mood immediately soured when the guy from inside the convenience store appeared, sitting beside you and doing a little stretch. When he was done, he turned to you and smiled.

"You're a pretty one, you know that?"

The man's voice was gravelly and he sounded like he needed a drink. You kept your eyes on whatever you could stare at on the other side of the street. "Thank you," You replied.

"You here alone?"

"No," You replied, holding back the urge to grit your teeth. You started to tap your designer boots on the concrete, impatiently awaiting the bus.

"Hm. A doll like you shouldn't be here all by yourself."

You didn't reply. Internally, you gagged and made a face and cussed him out for having the audacity.

Connor tensed up beside you; you could feel it. You huffed and checked your nails, bored. Time seemed to go exceptionally slow while you were in this situation.

When you finally forced your head to turn to see why Connor was so pissed, you saw the guy literally ogling you, a smile on his face with dark eyes that seemed to bore into every bit of you they could find.

It was disgusting. You felt disgusting. Your skin crawled.

You crossed your arms over your torso and scowled, trying to seem as unappealing as possible. Desperate times call for desperate measures, or whatever the saying was. You put a hand on Connor's knee to reassure him that you could handle it, and switched on your meanest girl voice.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" You shot the guy your meanest girl glare. It worked, for a second, because the smile melted off his face.

Travis came along, pulling out a pouch where he kept fake ID's and documents in case you needed them. He settled beside Connor, who had draped an arm across your shoulders, and took off his sweater.

The man glanced up at him as he passed by, relentless with his questions. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"No, this is." You moved aside to show Connor. You didn't dare break eye contact with the man, you wanted to show that you weren't afraid.

The man's frown grew deeper. "Well!" He chuckled. "Lucky guy."

Connor cleared his throat beside you. You squeezed his knee, and as curious as you were to see how he looked (because he was hot when he was pissed) you flashed the creep your fakest smile, words laced with poison.

"Your mom never told you not to talk to strangers? It's dangerous, you know." He started to force a laugh, but you cut him off, continuing. "Stop talking, because I don't have any time to waste on you, dickhead."

There was a beat of silence as he processed your words. You cracked a smile and turned back to face the opposite side of the road, satisfied with yourself. But then you heard the rustle of that stupid puffer vest.

"Hey, now, sweetheart, don't be hard. You know, if you're here on vacation, I can tell you a few good places to visit, let me tell you—"

You had just settled your eyes back on your multiple bangles and bracelets when you heard a loud smack from where the man was sitting. Connor stood between you and him and your lips parted in surprise with how quick he was. His hand was raised and the man was clutching his own, face red and showing an expression of pain. You couldn't see Connor's face, since he had his back turned to you, but you could feel how tense the hand that was on your shoulder was.

The bus finally pulled over in front of you. Travis nudged you and Connor took your hand with a stiff one. "C'mon, Y/N, let's go," he said. You eagerly stood up, keeping his hand in yours, but he didn't move. Instead, he waited for the creep to board and when he did so, he looked over his shoulder to steal one last glance at you.

You raised up your middle finger at him, but to your surprise, Connor even gave him a shove further down the aisle as the two of you followed.

Connor and Travis made sure he was seated far, far back in the bus before settling into seats with you. Connor gave you the window seat and the three of you got comfortable, though Connor was still muttering curses under his breath. You sent Travis a thumbs up gesture when he looked at the two of you.

Connor didn't relax even after the bus set off, but he did kick his bag under the seat and take your hand back in his. He planted a kiss on your temple, then your hand. "You alright?"

You nodded. "Nothing I can't handle," You assured him. "Horrible morning, but it's fine."

"Bastard was about to touch you," He muttered, lips moving against the back of your hand. "No one touches my girl if she doesn't like it."

"Mhm." You gave his hand a squeeze back, just as you always do to let him know it's okay.

[happilychaengs]

Work for Love

a/n: this is a mess. you would think i wrote this drunk or smth but NO i just am losing my motivation after 1 day of trying to write this and i decided to rush and end it. also if you see like names like hirai yunjin or momo... just know that's on accident. i wrote this originally for momo and last minute replaced the names because i remembered i promised one twice fic and one lsfm fic so i might've missed some names, sorry

word count: 1,424

angst, fluff

huh yunjin x gender neutral reader

as her hair fell off her shoulders, her arms stretch out, letting that longing feeling of tightness go from her body. she clasps on her bra, puts on her silky, white shirt, and stares at the door, not leaving any room for interpretation.

she doesn't say anything. she doesn't do anything else. it's routine. it's either you say something first or nothing and today, you chose the former.

"what are we, yunjin?" your mouth is dry, the silk sheets comforting you from the sheering cold she leaves you with.

and you see the way her breath hitches at the question. it perplexes her, but even more so, she doesn't want the idea to even cross her mind. "we're co-workers. it's plain and simple."

you ball up parts of the sheets in your hands, "and yet what we have is not plain and simple."

her jaw clenches in response, her head turning ever so slightly to glance at you. and the way her eyes wander on you makes you believe this one topic was enough to topple the structure inside her head because if it didn't fit in perfectly with her life, she wouldn't know what to do. it was spontaneous, it was unplanned, and worst of all, it was uncontrollable.

"what do you want me to do, y/n?" her eyes falter in the face of you, her chest heaving that much more. "do you want me to uplift my career for you? do you want me to say that we have some unspoken thing between us because i won't."

"why, yunjin?" your voice wavers, "you know there's something there! you feel it!"

"so fucking what?" she shuts her eyes tight, taking a deep breath, "whatever we're feeling for each other isn't anything, y/n. it's relief from whatever hell we go through at work. it's nothing beyond the scope of work."

yunjin swallows the lump in her throat, her heart clenching tighter and tigther when she sees the light in your eyes dim. she quickly turns around, avoiding anything more with you as she picks up her phone.

"and speaking of which, "her phone dings as she quickly puts on the rest of her clothes. "i'm late. i'll see you at the conference."

-

your eyes meet again across the table during your meeting.

she's mindlessly tapping her ballpoint pen against the cold wooden table, eyes wandering across the way you lift your pen as you listen, jotting everything down that the new intern, kazuha, is talking about and she sees the way you occasionally steal a glance at her.

yunjin's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she shifts her glasses up her nose. she tries to refocus her attention on kazuha but it's all just becoming noise.

she doesn't have a single clue what she's talking about. what yunjin's more worried about is the shift in your relationship with her.

the damage's been done. it's irrevocable and yet a confused hope lingers in her heart but she burys it deeper within herself. it's a delicate thread, yearning for a sense of resolution and understanding.

kazuha bows and gives her thanks for listening, quickly ending her presentation and sitting back down and yunjin can't help but do the exact opposite.

she leaves as soon as the meeting ends, packing up her things and rushing out the door but she can't help but wonder if you're running after her. she wonders if you'll be there to make things right because in her eyes, you should've with the way your gaze keep making their way to hers and the strange way you made her feel, but as she glances behind her, there's a hallway devoid of your presence. you're not there.

and just a small part of her wishes you were.

-

you find yourself standing in place, your feet glued to the ground as your eyes wandered through the plexi glass and into the room where yunjin is, talking with one of the corporate bosses, sakura.

the walls serve as almost a reminder of the divide between the two of you. the window blinds are slightly ajar, revealing her and you don't know how or what wrong turn you took in your life to be here. hurt and confused.

was it even your fault?

or was it the sweet, provocative, and drunk huh yunjin knocking on your door at 2 on that random tuesday morning, planting her lips on yours and running her hands up your shirt?

nonethless, you shouldn't have fallen for her.

it was a meaningless grasp at love, one that obviously wasn't reciprocated. it was apparently purely work as she says. it was all she saw it as and maybe it was just a fatal flaw of yours to completely misunderstand her intentions.

sakura promptly leaves the room as yunjin opens up the blinds again, only to meet your gaze again and you see it.

in that fleeting moment, you see the way the ocean swims in her eyes but it's not anything like calm waters and its ebbing tide. there's a forboding, tumultuous storm overhead with feverent, mountainous waves crashing against the shore, leaving everything stranded and destroyed.

then the blinds close completely.

-

yunjin despises it.

she despises the feeling of regret gnawing at her very core every single time she sees you pass her by. she despises the way she left things and worst of all she despises how she wants to change that.

days of being consumed by her emotions turned into weeks of feeling like there could be something more with you. it consumed her every thought, blurring the lines between work and longing. every single boundary she's set breaks. the very foundation collapses and when it does, she breaks too.

two knocks on your door is all it really takes get your attention. your door opens ajar, your head peering through not long after. you see her through her large black hoodie covering her head and her obnoxiously big glasses, "... yunjin? what are you doing here?"

"can... can we talk?" her voice is weak. timid even. nothing like the yunjin you saw in your room not many weeks ago.

you feel a sudden pang of nervousness as you open the door fully for her to come in. "okay."

and honestly, yunjin knows your apartment by heart. she could walk through it all blindfolded even from how many times she's come for the sake of work but she stands to the side, waiting for you to almost guide her around. it's unfamiliar to her now, or at least the atmosphere is.

she hears the door shut as she stares at you, you in your red checkered pajama pants and your oversized acdc t-shirt that you got from her. "you... you kept it."

"yeah," you smile wryly, picking at the shirt's length, "it's nice." and it's all you really say. the two of you stand together in silence, the tension between the two of you almost palpable. yunjin begins to rock on the back of her heels, burying that feeling of nervousness inside her.

"so-" "i-"

your voices mask one another as the two of you begin to stammer over your words. you shy away as you quickly go to sit down on your couch, yunjin following you closely as she tells you to go first only for you to quickly refuse. "you go first."

"fine." she has a slight frown across her lips, the words already beginning to get lost. "then... i don't really know any other way to say this but... i'm sorry."

her hands begin to pick at the hem of her hoodie, her shifting in her seat, "i know what i said that night, about it, or us i guess, being completely about work," she takes a deep breath, "but you knew that was obviously a lie. there is something there - between us i mean, but i just..." she shrugs, "i just didn't want to say it because it'd mean so much more to me if i did and... i don't know if i could've handled any of that."

yunjin instinctively looks to you for a form of consolation, comfort, maybe even forgiveness and maybe, just maybe, she did something right in her past life. maybe she saved someone because right now, you were saving her.

"then... what are we, yunjin?" your lips curve into a small smile, "because i don't even know myself."

"i'm not even sure..." she smiles back, barely managing to say it aloud, "but we can figure it out together."

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

For a long time, Max was the only person who could speak fluent Billy Hargrove. She first learned out of necessity. Out of fear that if she didn’t interpret signals correctly, she’d be swept up in a storm of rage.

At some point, it became less about avoiding tantrums and more about… giving her brother space.

They haven’t lived under the same roof for the better part of a year now. Things are different. Things are better, even, but when she sees him stalking around the trailer with his shoulders tensed and eyebrows drawn together, she decides that maybe things aren’t all that different.

He’s not punching holes in walls or picking unnecessary fights, but his fuse still looks particularly short.

She stays sat between Lucas and Dustin on the sofa, neither of whom seem to have noticed her brother’s decline in mood, and continues munching on popcorn. Hopes that the volume of the tv and the sounds of crunching don’t awaken a bitter rage in him.

Eddie doesn’t seem to share her feelings when he bounds inside, letting the door clap on the frame behind him as he sweeps his hair back into a ponytail. Max winces at the noise and shrinks in her seat.

Readies herself for the familiar, inevitable sound of arguing from the kitchen.

Instead, she hears Eddie chuckle.

“Hey, sourpuss,” he says.

Despite the guarded stance that Billy takes, Eddie moves closer. Either because he’s too stupid to notice or simply doesn’t care. Maybe both.

Every warning signal and siren is going off in Max’s brain as Eddie reaches out. She watches Billy’s fists clench at his sides and how his jaw tightens as slender arms wrap around his shoulders.

She comes to terms with the fact that she’s probably about to watch Eddie die until Billy just… sags into the hug.

“Tough guy just needs some lovin’, huh?” Eddie teases.

He cradles the blond close, smiling when Billy nuzzles into the crook of his neck. Billy grumbles something incoherent. Sets his hands on Eddie’s waist and leans harder into him when the brunet cards a hand into his hair.

The display has Max reeling in her seat.

Maybe she’s lost her touch. Maybe she doesn’t speak Billy as well as she thought she did. The thought kind of bums her out, surprisingly.

Eddie traces his fingers lightly down Billy’s spine and provokes a shiver. Has him melting in a matter of seconds like he’s as good as putty in Eddie’s hands.

When Billy shifts against him and lays his head down on his shoulder, Max catches a glimpse of his expression. Sees how tired he suddenly looks.

It occurs to her then that maybe he never looked angry in the first place, just… tense.

It also occurs to her that she hasn’t lost understanding of her brother — she still knows him perfectly well. At least, the image of him in her head that she has from a year ago.

He’s speaking an entirely new language now.

A year ago, balled fists meant something was bound to be broken, whether it be a nose or a skateboard. Now it doesn’t seem to mean that at all.

Eddie seems convinced that he was never in any danger, judging by the way that he’s plastering kisses into messy curls.

That speaks for itself.

“Want me to make you a sandwich or something, moody?” Eddie coos. “I bet it would make you feel better.”

“‘M not moody,” Billy mumbles.

Eddie chuckles.

“Do you want the usual stuff on your sandwich?”

There’s a pause. Billy sighs, accepting defeat.

“Yeah…”

It’s like, in a matter of moments, Eddie has completely dismantled him. Like some kind of snake charmer or something. Alligator whisperer or what have you.

No swearing or arguing or popped neck veins in sight.

Max can’t hear whatever it is that Eddie whispers to him next, but it has the blond cracking a smile as he leans back. They share a kiss. Then another, and Billy is giggling when Eddie doesn’t let up after a few more pecs.

By the time they part, Billy’s face is flushed pink and he’s grinning like an idiot.

Eddie admires him for a moment before he marches over to the refrigerator, leaving him standing next to the counter. Softened like butter on a warm countertop.

Though Eddie Munson was the last guy Max expected to take on the title of Billy’s handler, she’s happy that he did.

On second thought, she’s glad that she isn’t the only one who speaks her brother’s language anymore.

She’s glad someone finally understands him.

[livyjh]

First of all you’re my new favorite page and second off if you don’t mind could you do #3 “please kiss me.” Maybe the reader wants more than Din holding their hand, or the soft caresses and the meaningfully hugs. Yes they love them but you just wanted to kiss the man you were in love with. Obliviously if you don’t like this idea just go for whatever you think xoxo

Omg thanks so much!! Yes I’d be happy to write this for you. I hope I interpreted this right, and I hope you like it!!!

Please Kiss Me

Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 1.1k

Can be found on ao3 here

Din Djarin Masterlist

Summary: you and Din have been together for awhile. You know he loves you, you just need some reassurance.

Warnings: helmetless Din Djarin, oral sex (f receiving), first kiss, large c*ck, unprotected p in v sex (let me know if I missed any)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You both knew why you did it. You were both lonely, touch starved travelers. Being around each other helped, obviously. But there was something about physical contact with him that really made your heart melt.

Lately, you’d been wondering where you stand with Din. What he truly feels for you.

He’d just collected a bounty on Coruscant and was putting you in hyperspace to Nevarro before he came down into the cargo hold.

You smile softly at him and lay back in the bed compartment. He crawls in next to you, his bulky armor taking up at least half the space of the compartment. It was a cozy but good fit.

You laid your head down, facing him, as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. Your breath shook and you felt tears pricking your eyes.

“What’s wrong, cyar’ika?” He notices your eyes welling up.

“Do you… do you love me, Din?” You look into his visor.

“Very much.” He breathes.

“Then, please… please kiss me.”

He stares at you for a second before nodding softly. He reaches up to lift his helmet slowly. You hear it decompress and then you can see his neck, his jaw, chin, lips. He paused there for only a second. He had facial hair, something you hadn’t really expected, but from what you could see it looked great. His jaw was sharp, lips full.

He continues taking off his helmet, finally revealing himself to you. You smile in disbelief, looking into his beautiful brown eyes.

He stares back at you and you know it’s true. He does love you.

He leans in slow, one hand cradling your jaw. And finally…

Finally.

He presses his lips to yours, his nose gently pushing against your cheek.

You shiver when he puts a hand on your waist to bring you closer. You moan softly and kiss him harder.

He reciprocates, lips parting to capture yours a little rougher. You throw a leg over his hips and he groans into your mouth, rolling forward against you.

“Are you-?” You swear you feel something against your thigh.

Din nods and you whine, kissing him again. He rolls onto his back and pulls you on top of him to straddle him.

“I love you.” You breathe out as you grind down against him.

“F- fuck… love you too.” He stutters, holding your hips.

“I need you.” You whimper as he bucks his hips against yours.

He swiftly holds your back as he flips you over so that he’s now on top of you. You start to pull off your shirt as he backs up and takes your pants and panties with him, tossing them behind himself.

You lay your shirt over his helmet next to your head. You were now naked for him, needy.

He crawls up between your legs, dipping his head down to kiss your vulva. You feel yourself get wetter at the touch. He runs his hands up your thighs, grabbing your hips and pulling you down against his mouth.

“Ah- Din!” You gasp, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his wavy hair.

He attaches his mouth to your clit as he expertly licks at it in circles.

“Fffuck.” Your legs quiver as pleasure builds inside you.

He slowly pushes a finger into your wetness until it’s all the way inside you. He pulls it back out and thrusts it back in. You arch up as your eyes roll back in your head.

Soon, he’s got two thick fingers inside you, working you open. His free hand is squeezing the fat of your thigh, keeping your legs open for him.

“D- Din… I’m gonna cum.” You look down at him, meeting his eyes.

He hums affirmatively against your clit, fingering you faster and faster until-

“Oh, fuck!” You gasp and pull Din’s hair as your orgasm washes over you and fills your body with electricity.

You would’ve squeezed your thighs around his head if it hadn’t been for his hand keeping you spread.

You watched him in slow motion as his face pulled back, his fingers pull out of your pussy and go straight into his mouth. He was fucking gorgeous like this.

He crawls back up the bed to you, kissing you softly. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, reaching down to cup his erection through his pants.

He rolls his hips forward for more friction against your hand before you’re reaching down with your other hand too, to get his buckle, button and zipper undone.

He helps you shove the front of his pants down until his cock springs free.

“Maker.” You gawk at it for a moment, he was big, and fuck, he was going to feel so good.

He kisses you hard, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth as he slowly pushes his hardness into your velvet center.

“Oh, my- fuck-“ you let out a moan as he fills you up.

Once he’s all the way inside, you can almost feel him in your stomach. It’s driving you mad how well he fit inside you.

“Feel so good, cyar’ika.” He breathes against your lips.

You nod and kiss him, rolling your hips as a signal for him to start moving. He took it, pulling out of you before pushing back in. He started with a slow pace until you were well adjusted, until your breathing had evened out a little.

He speeds up and starts getting you riled up again, kissing you repeatedly, quickly, passionately. You’re whining with each thrust in, gasping with each draw out.

You’re getting close again, and you can tell he is too, his hips beginning to stutter as he gets faster.

“Baby, I need-“ you start.

“I know, sweet girl. Almost there.” He grunts as he fucks you into the mattress, pressing his lips to your jaw.

Your eyes slip closed as you focus on keeping your orgasm at bay until he says so. When he starts rubbing your clit, you know that he’s ready.

“Fuck, fuck.” Din whines as he finishes inside of you, working faster on your clit.

You tip over the edge with him, pussy contracting around his thick cock. He fucked you through it, fingers and hips slowing until he stops and pulls out of you.

He lays down next to you, you’re facing each other, and he wraps an arm around you and pulls you in.

“I love you.” Din whispers against your forehead before planting a kiss.

You smile wide. “I love you, too.”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

To become an EMT was fairly intense training. The class only lasted a semester, but it was eight hours of class per week with nearly two thousand page textbooks, hours upon hours of clinicals, and the overarching dread that people would be relying on you for life and death situations when you passed.

To become a paramedic was even harder. A two year program heavy in pharmacology and cardiac rhythm interpretation, with so many new skills piled on that it was overwhelming most of the time.

To Hyrule it was all an adventure and an honor, though, one he readily accepted.

He hadn't been expecting to use such esteemed training to be combing a cow pasture in the middle of the night, though.

"This is your fault, by the way," Aurora grumbled. "I'm never holding over for a shift with you again."

"How is this my fault?" Hyrule questioned before yelping and jumping out of the way of what could have been a disastrous footstep into a pile of unsavoriness.

"Yesterday was a calm shift," Aurora pointed out as she also jumped around some cow chips. "Eleven calls in twenty-four hours. Nobody was dying and nobody was obnoxious. Today, we ran twenty-one calls, of which two were codes, one was a drunk person cussing everyone out except for the one person he thought was an angel, a person who was convinced their banana was possessed, and this."

"Somebody drove off the road and crashed through a wooden fence into the pasture and it's my fault?" Hyrule parsed out, jumping slightly when he walked unwittingly into a wet nose. The cow stared at him unblinkingly, munching aimlessly on whatever she'd grazed. "Excuse me," he huffed, ducking around her.

"The patient has to be long gone," Aurora sighed. "I'm willing to bet they were drunk and ran as soon as this happened. They wouldn't want a run-in with PD."

"Nobody wants a run-in with Impa," Hyrule snickered.

Despite tearing through a wooden fence, the car actually hadn't sustained too much. It was likely as Aurora suspected, though - a drunk driver who was uninjured enough to recognize Impa would chew them out and arrest them, and therefore opted for fleeing the scene.

"At least the cows weren't hurt," Aurora muttered, watching one stare at her. "We're definitely attracting a crowd, though."

As his partner chuckled, Hyrule noticed that they had, in fact, attracted quite the crowd. It seemed like the entire herd had gathered at this point, all staring pointedly at the paramedics while the police continued to sweep the area.

"Uh... hi," Hyrule waved awkwardly, and Aurora burst out laughing.

Turning, Hyrule watched his step carefully, avoiding both holes and manure, before he rammed unceremoniously into something, gasping and falling backwards into his partner.

"Rulie!" Aurora yelped as she caught him. "Are you okay?"

Hyrule grumbled, regaining his balance, his heart racing from embarrassment, and then he stared at what he'd crashed into.

The fence. He'd just... walked head first into the broken fence.

Hyrule snorted. Then he fell into hysterics, his gut aching from laughing so hard. Aurora stared at him a moment and then joined in.

"Keep this up and you'll be the patient," Aurora snorted, gasping for air. She turned to Impa. "Impa, I'm taking my partner home before he kills himself!"

Their serious friend shot them a look, taking in the sight of Hyrule, who was now sporting a small cut on his forehead from the splintered wood, though it clearly wasn't bothering him as he was wheezing and bent over.

"I don't even want to know," she sighed heavily. "The driver's long since fled the scene. You two can go in service."

Hyrule let Aurora guide him as both stumbled on to the road, still laughing loudly.

Two years of training for life-and-death emergencies only for Hyrule to create his own emergencies while aimlessly wandering a cow pasture. He supposed his instructors had been right when they'd mentioned one couldn't make up half the stuff they dealt with at work.

[deathisararemercy]

Sacrifice

Death x Reader

The center of town was where the real party was at. A small scaffold was set up in the plaza. White lilies were set in baskets around it in dazzling grandeur. On the scaffold was a grand table, set with a brilliant spread. Only one person was seated at it. Out of all the people in the town, they were the only person dressed head-to-toe in black. Muerte couldn’t see their face as a veil covered it, but he could tell their head was bent as they picked at their final meal. This year’s sacrifice.

A/N: I always write these when I'm sleepy, y'know? Not just the fics but also the author's notes in general. I think writing the notes are my favorite part. Do people even read these? Tweedledee-tweedledum- alright. Let's get into it, shall we? This is actually a lot cuter than what the title would suggest, but it also has such an ending with some different interpretations. This is a tiny tiny bit Halloween-y and out of season, but I swear I'll try to write something for Valentine's Day. That fic will definitely be cute and fluffy, I promise.

The fire was dying out.

Not that it mattered much anyway. He was Death; things like the cold, rain, or snow didn’t affect him. Building this campfire at the edge of the dark wood was wholly unnecessary. It was probably going to attract unwanted attention to himself. But watching the dancing sparks from the campfire was a nice distraction from seeing whatever it was that was going on in the town just down the hill. He could feel it in the air and the way the stars glared down at him. Muerte wrinkled his nose. The air smelled sour like rotten onions and inevitable death. But also lamb. He liked lamb.

He stomped out the dying embers of the fire and checked that the area was all nice and clean. The wind hummed a bit. He whistled in response. Satisfied, the wolf drew his hood and began the walk into town.

For what must have been a century now, the villagers of this village held a festival to “keep Death at bay” every year due to a horrible plague that once passed through the town. It had been an awful year with a poor harvest and horrible disease. Muerte could still remember the exhilarating smell of their constant fear. He never experienced anything like it; it was like walking through an electrifying haze for days that left him in a constant state of adrenaline. Despite that, he felt guilty each time he had to take a life during his stay. And there were many.

He was silent and solemn each time he arrived at someone’s deathbed, trying to be gentle. But the way the families screamed and begged, their wails and sobs as he grimly cut the cord tethering their loved ones’ spirits to the mortal realm, haunted him long after he left the town. The spirits had hated him too, pleading for him to send them back, just so they could live a little longer, just so they could say goodbye, and cursing him when he said he could not.

But Death is a promise, not a bargain to be made.

And the villagers had been terrified of El Lobo Muerte ever since.

Since then, each year, they’d put up torches that would burn all through the night and offer one person as a sacrifice, leaving them in the center of the largest field. One hundred years later, the festival was more of a celebration to keep away illness for the coming year and dress up in costume. Little decorations would be pasted up like wolves and skulls. Sickles would be painted red and hung up next to the fields of crops.

In reality, Muerte couldn't control when people died. He was just there to release the dead from the mortal realm and send them on their way to the spirit world. But it was cute, seeing the little paper skulls they pasted up, the decorated gourds, and- oh that smelled good. They were selling chopped pieces of lamb on skewers this year. His red eyes darted to the stall where they were selling them. A small crowd had gathered there. He’d come back and buy two later.

The center of town was where the real party was at. A small scaffold was set up in the plaza. White lilies were set in baskets around it in dazzling grandeur. On the scaffold was a grand table, set with a brilliant spread. Only one person was seated at it. Out of all the people in the town, they were the only person dressed head-to-toe in black. Muerte couldn’t see their face as a veil covered it, but he could tell their head was bent as they picked at their final meal.

This year’s sacrifice.

Muerte leaned against a stall, watching them try to take another bite of food before pushing away their plate. They grabbed a golden chalice and took a long drink.

“Steeling your nerves. Interesting.’’

“What?”

The wolf looked around. He was leaning right against another lamb stall. This one was selling mini-pies. The cook looked up at him in confusion, not fear. Well, it looked like even after just a century, no one bothered to tell anyone what Death looked like.

The wolf grinned, baring his teeth. “Oh, it’s nothing. Say,’’ he leaned down to take a peek at the wares. “Could I have two of those please?”

==x==x==

The procession began at eleven bells. The town suddenly fell silent and solemn as a committee of hooded figures approached the scaffold. The sacrifice trembled as they rose, whether it be from fear, fatigue, or drink Muerte didn’t know. When they reached the bottom of the scaffold, a bouquet of lilies was procured for them by one of the hooded figures. The figures then surrounded the sacrifice until Death could barely see the top of their head. And then, they began to walk.

The crowd parted silently as the hooded figures led the sacrifice out of the village, closing the gap as the procession left. Their pace was horribly slow, but they did need to fill up an hour of time. Muerte followed the procession from a distance.

When they reached the edge of town, where the crowds were thin, the light grew dim, and the stars seemed a bit brighter, one of the hooded figures spoke. “This is the final time you will step foot in this village. Once you leave the light, you are to be led into the dark. With your back to the light, you walk into the cold embrace of death in order for the light to continue to burn bright for all those you leave behind.”

With that, the sacrifice was blindfolded, their veil covered their face again, and their hands were bound. They linked arms with one of the hooded figures and the small procession continued to the village’s largest field. The moon was full and beautiful, and the winds hummed a little tune. The wolf whistled quietly in response.

Muerte walked softly and silently, undetected by the mortals. His eyes glowed red as he tried to see further in the dark. The figures were just leaving the sacrifice there. No final words, no last requests. The figures led them to the center of the field, cleared away except for a cut tree stump, on which they seated the sacrifice. Then they just…left.

Something in Muerte’s chest twisted, his lip curling in disgust as he watched them leave the poor sacrifice alone. In the distance, the village bell tower rang twelve bells. He could faintly hear the person hold their breath expectantly. That was his cue.

“Well, well,” the wolf smirked as he pushed away the crops and stood in the clearing. “If it isn’t this year’s little lamb.” The person stood up suddenly, hopelessly trying to see the wolf in the dark. “Relax,” he chuckled, “I’m not going to eat you.”

“But-”

“Here.” He swiftly removed their veil and blindfold. The wolf suddenly hesitated. Those terrified eyes were…prettier than he expected. If he looked at them any longer, he just might-

Muerte spun them around, grabbing their shoulder so that they wouldn’t trip and fall. Their body was small and warm beneath his cold paws and firm grip. Could he just think clearly for one-

He drew one of his sickles and slashed the rope binding their wrists together. The villager yelped at the sudden release before righting themself. They turned around, and Death focused on staring at the point just between their eyebrows. Their eyebrows knit together as they examined him in the moonlight. Adorable.

“Are you…Death?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. And you are?”

They hesitated before giving their name. “My, my, my. What a beautiful name.”

“It’s the same as any other name,” they scoffed. He could see the faintest flicker of a smile flash across their face.

“Well, it’s the name of the person this town foolishly gave up this year. So I think it’s fairly important. Lamb?”

“Yes?”

The wolf howled in laughter, echoing through the silent night. If there was another villager out there, they’d surely be terrified. Muerte reached under his poncho and pulled out the pies, wrapped up in cloth. “I was asking if you wanted a lamb pie, cordero.”

Their face reddened. They snatched one of the pies away and turned their back towards him. “I- I knew that! I was just saying ‘yes’ as in ‘yes! I’d like a pie!’ you stupid lobo.”

Muerte placed a hand on his chest, gasping. “You dare call Death a stupid wolf! You better watch what you say. You never know what will be your final words.” The villager cast a glance back over their shoulder, gaze meeting Death’s. The two of them laughed.

Muerte sat down on the ground next to the stump. The villager stared at the stump before deciding to sit on the ground next to the wolf. They each ate their pies in silence, chewing thoughtfully. The wolf finished first, licking his lips. “You all outdo yourselves every year. That was delicious.”

The villager smiled, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. “Thanks. We try to make it nice for you.”

Leaning his head on his hand, the wolf shrugged. “At this point, it’s less about me and just having a nice new year. But you know, I enjoy seeing all the cute costumes. A little kid dressed up like that Puss in Boots, running up to me with a stick sword.” His eyes narrowed suddenly, looking at the villager’s face. “Hang on.” They stiffened. He leaned in closer, close enough to smell them and feel them breathe. “You have something…right…there.” He gently wiped away a stray crumb of pie from their face.

“O-oh. Thank you!”

Was that pushing it? He narrowed his eyes again as he looked between that beautiful face and the crumb stuck to his fur. He licked his paw clean, eyes trained on the villager. Their face reddened again. He could feel them trembling a bit, though Muerte was fairly certain it wasn’t from fear.

“Say,” he began slowly, testing the words out, “Do you think I really eat people?”

They were startled and hurriedly responded, “No, of course not! At least…I hope not.”

“Well your prayers have been answered,” Muerte said, rising to his feet. The villager quickly followed. “I don’t really eat people. Neither does that Big Bad Wolf people tend to confuse me with.”

“But the others,” they said slowly, “the others from the previous years. What happened to them?”

The wolf shrugged. “I always bring food because I know they’ll barely be able to eat anything from the nerves. Then, I take them wherever they want to go, that isn’t this village.”

Their eyes widened. “You can do that?”

“Mm, yes. Granted, not everyone likes the way I travel. And the universe isn’t particularly keen on me doing this. But I don’t kill anyone. And they usually survive the trip.”

“‘Usually’?”

“I’m joking, cordero pequeño.” Muerte grinned. “So what will it be? Where would you like to go?”

The little lamb paused. “I…I don’t know.”

“Come on. You can go anywhere in the world. Just say the word.”

“I think I just want to be able to see you again.”

That took Death aback. He blinked rapidly. “What?”

“Was it weird? Sorry, I just- Listen. I want to see you again.” The mortal gestured around the field, ethereal under the moonlight. “I know I said I don’t think you eat people, but I also didn’t really expect to be alive past midnight. I don’t know where I want to go or what I want to do. But,” they added, stepping slowly towards the wolf, “now I think I want to get to know you more. You’re a pretty funny guy, Lobo Muerte.”

His heart fluttered in his chest. Well, mierda. The moonlight was caught in their hair, and they smelled sweet and full of life. Muerte bent down, reaching behind the stump to pick up the discarded bouquet of lilies. Quickly before it could wilt under his touch, he pressed one flower to the mortal’s chest. He smiled softly, tapping the tip of their nose. “We’ll find a place for you. And I'll be sure to visit before your time comes for real. I’d like to see you again too. Is that alright?”

They grinned. “Yes, of course.”

“Alright then.” The wolf unsheathed his scythes and thrust them upwards, cutting through the air. A shimmering door of light opened in front of the two. He smiled seeing the wonder on their face. “Let’s go.” And he whistled as they went.

[whump-4-ever]

Reformed, Part 2

Part 1 -> https://www.tumblr.com/whump-4-ever/732109179568930816/reformed-part-1

Part 3 -> https://www.tumblr.com/whump-4-ever/733802194445402112/reformed-part-3?source=share

Villain huffed out an exasperated sigh as they stared down at the phone in their palm, their thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button. After making the long trek back to their hideout (a very old, abandoned log cabin stashed deep in the wilderness, far from any civilization whatsoever), Villain had immediately settled Hero on their couch in the living room before wrapping them up in the coziest blankets they owned and lighting a decently-sized fire in the fireplace in hopes the heat would scare the hypothermia away and rouse them from their deep state of unconsciousness. Unfortunately, and to their dismay, it didn’t work, and they really didn’t know what else to do. They had next to no medical knowledge in regards to treating serious conditions, and they’d never had to look after anyone but themselves their whole life. That meant one thing and one thing only: if they truly wanted to help Hero, they would have to contact Hero’s team and inform them of the situation.

-

Villain, with their thumb still hovering over the ‘call’ button, ran their free hand through their hair (something they always did when they were nervous). “You owe me for this one,” Villain grunted, giving the unconscious Hero a half-hearted glare before tapping their phone screen. It was less than five seconds later when Caretaker answered.

-

“Where’s Hero?” Caretaker growled deeply. “If you’ve done something to them, I swear to God I’ll-“

-

“I haven’t done a damn thing!” Villain snapped in annoyance, cutting Caretaker off mid-sentence. “In fact, if not for me, Hero would probably be dead by now, having frozen to death or having been mauled by a wild animal.” This was exactly why they hadn’t wanted to make this call. Villain knew they’d be blamed for this, no matter what they said. “Look,” Villain took a deep breath to calm themselves before continuing, “Hero’s real sick, and I don’t know what’s wrong with them. Believe what you will, but I did not do this. I found them in a crumpled heap just a few miles from my hideout. They’re running a high fever and they’ve been out cold for several hours now. Whatever’s going on, it’s not looking good.”

-

There was the sound of multiple voices going back and forth in the background, as if in conversation, before Caretaker responded with, “I’m on my way right now. If this is some kind of trap, if you’ve hurt them in any way, shape, or form, I swear on my brother’s life that I’ll rip your intestines out and wrap them around your neck like a scarf.” There was the heavy weight of barely-contained fury in the air surrounding Caretaker’s words.

-

Villain closed their eyes and pinched the bridge of their nose, exhaling deeply in an attempt to convey their annoyance through the phone. “That’s very kind of you,” Villain mumbled, their tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just knock when you get here, and don’t forget to leave your attitude on the porch.” They hung up before Caretaker could say anything else.

-

“I really don’t know what you see in them, Hero,” Villain muttered as they flopped down into the recliner next to the couch. “I mean, Caretaker is damn good-looking, don’t get me wrong, but for fuck’s sake. I’ve never wanted a relationship bad enough to put up with that shit.” They chuckled lightly as they glanced over at Hero, watching their chest rise and fall in shallow, unsteady gasps. A shadow of concern crept into their chest at the sight, all signs of amusement having been replaced by what one could have interpreted as worry. If Caretaker didn’t get here soon, Hero may very well not get the help they needed in time. Villain didn’t particularly like them, but they didn’t want them to die, considering their past and everything Hero had done for Villain, just out of the purity of their heart. “You just hang on a little longer, alright?” Villain leaned over the edge of the chair until they could rest their hand on Hero’s arm, then they gave it a few gentle pats. “You may be the most annoying pain my ass I’ve ever met but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. It’s only fair that I return the favor.” Villain then got comfy in their seat, grabbing the remote off the arm of the chair and flicking the TV on once they were settled. They did their best to concentrate on the show they’d selected, but their eyes kept shifting back onto Hero every twenty seconds or so. “Please hurry,” They whispered.

-

Tags

@morning-star-whump

[lakesbian]

How do you think Alec and Blake would get along? Your choice of the circumstances of their meeting, whether it's Alec being subjected to The Horrors or Blake being subjected to whatever the fuck Bet has going on

okay i know blake well enough to answer this now. if we tossed him in bet there's no feasible way to force him to interact w/ alec so the significantly more fun option is going with the premise of: - alec is teleported into pact around blake's arrival at hillsglade house. he does not get to keep his power :( no tripping people allowed - the above facts aren't actually distressing or confusing to anyone, but other than that everything about alec's history & personality remains identical to in worm - everyone involved is aware that alec is on team blake & rose and he will be treated as such

anyway some really freaky awful shit would happen and alec would just be totally unperturbed about it while blake is shaking sniveling crying so blake and rose would conspiratorially whisper to each other like Okay There's Definitely Something Up With That Boy. Keep An Eye On That Strange Little Teenager. meanwhile alec is cross-legged on the couch cheerfully + obliviously sipping his hot cocoa (unlike blake he is not above powdered cocoa and tapwater in a house where the only other options are oatmeal, beans, or a sad moldy grilled cheese), nose-deep in a book about demons, infrequently sharing what he thinks are Cool Educational Helpful Fun Facts with them (it is the most nightmarish shit they have ever heard. ever).

furthermore it would not take very long for him to think well, i guess i should be a Pragmatic and Communicative Team Player by bringing up the demons so we can all get on the same page. surely, alec vasil says to himself, i can grasp the finer points of the ethical connotations of the matter and open convincing dialogue on this subject! which he would express to blake and rose suchly: "now, hear me out before you guys bite my head off, but would using the demons really be so bad? it's not like people aren't already dying every day, right? the world already sucks, we probably couldn't make it that much worse."

and then he would nod in satisfaction with himself like he just said something intelligent and quite patently true.

which blake and rose would, very understandably, interpret as meaning that there is something deeply wrong with him and if they don't intervene he will rapidly make it literally everyone else's problem. blake would 100% refuse to stop pressing him to swear that he Won't Use The Fucking Demons.

to which alec--a boy severely traumatized by being forced to do horrible things to other people against his will, who would Immediately imagine a Conquest scenario in vivid detail upon being asked to swear off demons--would promptly think "FUCK no, that's Asking For It." but then he would also be like. "even though they're being Dumb and Stupid. i, alec, will bravely nobly and humbly compromise in the interest of keeping the peace and indicating that i don't actually intend to use the demons i was just floating the idea like a totally regular person would." and his genius idea for a compromise to indicate that he didn't really intend to use the demons would be promising not to use the demons [insert alec calculating the maximum amount of time he thinks it can safely be assumed that they won't be forced by some circumstance or other to use the demons here] In The Next Week.

which would result in blake being like SO YOU WANT TO USE THE DEMONS RIGHT AFTER THE WEEK ENDS??? and you get the gist it would be an absolute comedy of alec being a freak and blake and rose furiously trying to keep the freak on a leash. the funniest part is that he really wouldn't use the demons unless there was no other option, he's already tied his own leash to a nearby fence, he's just entirely cavalier about the Idea and subsequently keeps giving blake persistent heart attacks over (relatively) nothing. he would realize pretty quickly that he's coming off wrong and genuinely attempt to course correct so that they'll quit fucking bothering him but he has zero frame of reference for how to make that course correction happen and would thus just be weird in a different direction. i could go on. in fact i Will. this will be an extended posting saga.

[ssaalexblake]

I'm curious about your opinion about 'a discussion' about the Doctor saying in Survivors of the Flux: "Earth has been shielded from the Flux, but it'll be vulnerable. It'll become a target. If the Flux is destroying the universe, if planets and stars are being wiped out, there will be displaced creatures who need a home. Somewhere to take over." Mostly due to how I've seen it being said to be the Doctor expressing anti-refugee sentiment, especially the usage of 'take over'.

i've sat on this one because it depends Entirely on how this ~discussion~ happened. Your grammatical choices in writing this ask do not fill me to the brim with confidence, however.

Anyway.

If we're having an on the level discussion on linguistics and phraseology where we talk about how innocuous turns of phrase like 'take over' (mice took over my loft once, it sucked) have been co-opted as very not innocent phrases, and how it would have been better if they'd made it verbally explicit that they meant a colonization like something along the lines of what the Sontarans literally already did in Liverpool a couple of episodes ago then... You know, I may even agree? I do think contextually it's clear what they're saying here but hell, might as well be on the nose. If people are gonna accuse the era of spelling everything out for people, they might as well have done so.

However, if we're being cunning enough to ignore all context available in both that A) this whole era is a criticism of treatment of refugees AND simultaneously even more so a scathing criticism of colonialism, all to genuinely spout that they'd suddenly, in one of the last couple of episodes, do a step-heel-turn and deliberately say fuck them refugees that are gonna come steal all our jobs or something then... I mourn our good friend, Nuance McNuance. Such a good guy. Miss him so much. Gone too soon.

This line did not happen in a vacuum and should not be considered like it did.

(this is bringing me Back to people who complained that war of the sontarans had inconsistent morals. No. Actually it was just giving the thumbs up to beating the shit out of violent colonizers and also saying to stop waging pointless stupid war and getting people killed for no reason other than ego. Oh the death of nuance.)

Anyway, like i said, it depends on how this was said. Discussing linguistics choices is a totally normal port of fandom call, but ignoring context both of the scene and era at large to Choose to interpret in such a way that contradicts the themes and morals of an entire era of the show is... Well. We'll highball and say it's uncharitable.

(and since when does the Doctor refer to somebody being Nice as a Creature??? If we're digging in linguistically already then that is. Not a thing.)

You know that post going around saying that a person saying they support something but doing so using "bad" language is Far better than the person who uses the up to date appropriate terms, but is supporting a fucked up message? How in such cases sentiment is where you look because that is Far more important than linguistic choices? Yeah. I'm still far more worried about the zygon two parter, thanks (but i'm not gonna talk about That one bc i'd have to watch it again and hell no).

They're talking about daleks, and cybermen, and sontarans, and whatever other species may make like the british empire and colonize. This is clear, frankly, to the point you don't Need to think about it.

The conversation is about phrasing, which could be improved but is not, you know, Horrifyingly dire as it's obvious what they meant.

Incidentally, due to context, if said line had been said in Moffat's era i'd be Way more leery because of some unfavourable context in his era.

And, to conclude;

In the words of Fred Jones in Scooby Doo, Monsters Unleashed

"I think coolsville sucks"

[undonerhapsodize]

Patience, Just for You

Part 2

BlueLock Kunigami Rensuke x g/n!reader TW: swearing, fluff, casual conversation, reader is a little odd, nice and considerate Kunigami Word Count: 7.8K

Summary: You meet Kunigami once more by chance, getting more acquainted with him in the process. His normalcy and friendliness makes you wonder, are the vibes you're getting warranted? Or are you making something from nothing at all.

Side Note: FINALLY. After A WHOLE YEAR- part 2 arrives. I’m SO sorry for how stupidly behind this is- it’s kind of ridiculous. But please stick around!! I plan to make updates on this fic more regular. Another note: I just wanna say I’m making the reader have a messy head on purpose. This could be interpreted as on the neurodivergent spectrum and/or as  mental illness. While I don’t think I could ever fully capture how it is to be not neurotypical into exact words from my own experience, hopefully the characteristics displayed will add more substance to the story while giving representation to those who experience the same unorganized headspace and spiritic thoughts the reader does. Any constructive criticism to how I portray this in writing is very welcome :) ENJOY

Previous Part

The grass beneath your feet was more stiff than before. The cold made it so: it’s moisture semi-frozen because of the lowered temperature. Crunching with each step, it collapsed under the weight of you. Routinely making your way up the slope of your eating spot, the hard ground of the incline leads up to its highest point: the top of the hill. The green seemed to make hissing sounds in objection to your intrusion, in a display of distaste to your arrival. 

The protesting sounds stopped when you did. Reusing the same motion as the day before, you patted the ground with your hand, checking for any unwanted moisture. Once again, there wasn’t any to be found. You placed your bag down, flat side parallel to how your back is soon to be. Crouching first, you ease into sitting on the cold grass, relaxing your back and leaning against the bag in order to provide at least some level of comfort that the iced hill definitely did not provide.

The weather hadn’t changed much from the previous day. The cold stayed put like a stubborn mule unwilling, unable to concede. You didn’t expect it to. Autumn had just begun. Day after day after day the chill would remain. From now until time took its course, it would stay, growing in strength with each passing week or so.

And this time, you planned. The jacket you wore now was thicker than yesterday’s. Layers of padding kept you from much of the chill’s bitterness. Though some parts endured the cold in its fullest, going unguarded against it. Your hands were one of those. Some of their feeling was lost to you, mostly numb and stiff from going unprotected against the weather. Whatever sensation they had left was not a pleasant one. It made you want to stuff your hands as deep into your pockets as possible, wanting to bring back the normality of warmth.

But you couldn’t do that. They were currently preoccupied with holding a familiar styrofoam container. The same from the day before.

Setting it into your lap, you allowed your arms to rise up and cross over your chest, your hands wedging themselves into the space in between the inside of your forearms and your sides. The temperature difference caused a shiver to erupt from your spine, the heated area not used to the new sensation. You hugged yourself tighter, willing the sharpness of your fingers to stop affecting you so.

After a short minute, you start to feel some of the life flow back into the extremities. Unfolding yourself, you reach for the container sitting in your lap. Hand clasping the lid and opening the tray, the smell of the warm food easily flowed through the air and to your nose. The stench of each article mixed together, creating the perfect storm of pleasantry. At least in your not-so-picky opinion. You would take what you could get. Without much hesitation or thought, you dug in, lifting whatever you chose into your mouth, the warmth of your lunch doing its part in warming you on this gray, autumn day.

Savoring the flavor, you shifted your gaze to the field in front of you. Observing from afar as you chewed, it was easily determined that the game going on before you was similar to what had been played before. Figures positioned in a recognizable pattern, the signature look was a giveaway. Football, once again. Focusing a little more, the imprecise features of the players vaguely matched those of yesterday. Only a few were mismatched. Other than that, every player was recurring.

Speaking of.

Instinctively, your eyes hopped from one body for another, quickly scanning each player for a particular set of looks. The forms went through a mental check off list, each failing in their own distinct way. That was until your eyes fell upon one in particular.

The familiar head of orange hair soon came into view: it wasn’t hard to find among the others. He wore a similar outfit as he did the day before, though with the addition of a hoodie of some kind. Looks like he had the same idea you did.

There he is.

Darting back and forth on the field he played, constantly giving chase to whomever was in possession of the ball. His eyes, from what you could see, were open and focused, always keeping track of where the object was, as well as keeping a mental note of where his teammates and opponents were at any given moment. His posture constantly switched from offense to defense, guarding whichever opposing member he was meant to be covering. 

You shouldn't be surprised, really. It fits. ‘Well known school football player playing football in school.’ Duh. Yet, it catches you anyway. Your mouth forms a tight line.

You were almost afraid of this. Though ‘afraid’ is probably not the word you would use to describe how you feel. More like- ‘hesitant’.

The mental image of encountering Kunigami again after yesterday’s incident made you cringe. You noticed that now you knew of his presence, the atmosphere changed in some nuanced, indistinguishable way due to your first encounter with him. It’s almost like the air itself shifted. You felt a brush of chilly air against your skin. You pulled your jacket tighter around your body in reaction. 

You thought about not coming back to this hillside for the sake of not wanting to be or feel awkward. It did take too much reasoning with yourself to decide not to. You’re not a coward. Most times. Besides, Kunigami never gave you a reason to avoid him. Not once. Who would you be to do so to him after he had been so… nice? Normal?

You were too stubborn to move spots, but too awkward to play things off as normal. Lord, can you get a break?

It’s not that you didn’t want to meet him again, it's just that… you would rather not. The chance alone put you sort-of on edge, changing the kind of headspace you were in. The feeling of the frigid air that was kept at bay with your jumbled thoughts was released, now once again a grating sensation of slight annoyance.

‘Weary’ should just be your middle name at this point.

You took a bite of your food, intentionally keeping your eyes mostly trained on the ground. However, you felt brave enough to peak up in certain instances, looking on to the commotion of the field when a sound would catch your attention. Honestly, it was intriguing, the way they all played together. You could tell there was a system there, somewhere. A structure to what Kunigami and his allies were shouting to each other at what looked to be at random. A method to the madness if you will. Not one you immediately recognized of course. Yet it was apparent by the way the players moved, where they moved, how they moved, and even how fast they moved, that there was some sort of plan.

You remained in your thoughts as you chewed. The blanket of hushed awareness you had hoped would come had not arrived. This usually happened. But the regularity of the moment didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable.

You wanted to find tranquility in your mind but struggled to truly find it. True tranquility, not what you told yourself was peace. To distract yourself, you took another bite of the plain-tasting food, focusing on the taste of whatever you had in your mouth. It worked for a second. You almost got it. Only a moment later to be taken right away with an intrusive thought. As another diversion, you attempted to watch in on the game before you, straining your ears to listen to the talking of the other students to find a score. That too, failed in its goal. Try and try as you might, you wouldn't settle. Worries from the everyday to the long term reverberated, keeping each one afloat with the strength of each other. Your thoughts kept buzzing around your head, like an annoying fly just waiting to be smacked from the sky. If only you had a fly swatter. Yet, sadly, you are, and have been, unarmed for a while now. 

Oh well. You sigh. I’ll cope.

And that you did. If you had to guess, you’d probably say you’re actually pretty decent at it all this point. 

You checked your phone a few times for the clock, even choosing to scroll mindlessly for a few minutes before slipping the device right back into your pocket from whence it came. You made an effort to not be on your phone during this time, you could be on twitter all you want later. No, when you were outside for this break, you wanted exactly that: a break. So you choose to take it, simple as that.

There wasn't much to think about as time ticked away. Not much to say as the game played on, and on. You ate in silence, alone. The seconds blurred to minutes as you finished your food, setting the tray aside when you thought you were satisfied. It only felt like a few moments outside on the prickly graying grass as the clock crept closer and closer. However, it dragged on noticeably longer this time. You could safely assume Kunigami was the reason. You would be a liar if you told someone you didn’t pay attention to him, specifically while on the field. You could recognize his voice by now without even looking at him by how he shouted to his teammates. You also noticed how he was on the field- like he was center stage. Like the game revolved around him as he controlled the ball for almost half of it. It was weird, how your eyes caught him on occasion while disregarding the other players. It was easy to chalk the phenomena up to circumstance. He was the only motherfucker you knew here, much less talk to. Also, he had the ball. Of course you would focus on him.

Before you knew it, the bell rang. Knowing the routine, you gathered your things, picking up your backpack first to sling onto your back, then your tray, holding it with a relaxed hand. You looked back at the field, just to see the game quickly stop, teams dissolving as the students made their way back into the school.

You felt odd leaving so soon. Out of place even, to move on. A weird feeling settled in your chest, like someone dropped a weight there and had forgotten it. You pondered the feeling for a moment, before shrugging it off to begin walking, knowing there’s not much to be done or explained. You know by now that questioning your feelings never leads to a straight answer, as weird as that is to think about.

Your descent down the hill was as per usual. Your steps were careful as they made their way down, watching for any slippery spots in the greenery. Your head was empty as you went, head cast downward, not needing to really look where you were going as your own muscle memory dragged you along. You subconsciously ran through a checklist of what you needed to do before going to class. The space around you grew louder as you approached the building, now in greater proximity to the students who were outside.

“Hey! Y/N!”

A shout from your side brings you back to the world around you, urging your head to face whatever, or whoever had hollered your name. Not expecting to be called, you’d imagine you were probably wearing a comically caught off-guard face, eyes blown out in shock. They searched the blacktop of widely strung-out, moving people, scanning for anyone who had already had their attention on you. 

That voice sounded familiar.

Seeing a commotion, you were automatically drawn to that, almost forgetting what you were doing. Though it all comes full circle when you recognize a face amongst the crowd.

About twenty feet away from you, Kunigami stood closely accompanied by what you would assume was one of his football buddies. From what you could see, his hand was raised high in an effort to wave at you, a clear effort to grab your attention. On his face, he wore a subtle deadpanning scowl. It was obvious he was trying to conceal it with a more pacified expression, but it really wasn’t working. It made you confused for a millisecond as to what he could be so blatantly displeased at before you noticed the grip the other student had on his arm. Kunigami strained slightly against the hold his friend had on him as the stranger visibly smiled and boyishly laughed aloud at something unknown to you. It wasn’t until Kunigami saw you were looking at him before he changed his look to something more pleasant, trying to ease the growing tension he was probably aware he was showing. His hand relaxed as well- lowering from above his head.

You didn’t have any time to think to wave back yourself before the jock clinging to the red-head started pulling hard on his arm. Kunigami seemingly decides to compromise, giving in to the excitement of the other. Turning and stumbling over his feet, Kunigami stepped into a walk with the other players. Before you knew it, the player in question started gaining some distance away from your form, shaking his arm out of the grip of the one who had his hold on him. He walked to another door that led inside the school with some of the other football players, turning to give one last look to you before permanently stepping in line with the other students.

You are left where you were standing: a halted figure amongst the ever moving crowd. Seemingly miraculously, the weight held in your gut disappeared, yet not an ounce of your bewilderment chose to leave in any way, shape, or form. It seemed to congeal in your mind, even as you took the memorized path back to your locker, stepping in time to be one with the crowd. It subsided over time, but never truly went away. Rather, it hid, ready and willing to rear its ugly head whenever the next opportunity arrived. You wanted to think it would never get the chance.

The air was stuffy.

It would be, with this many students packed into one gymnasium. The already poor circulation mixed with the massive amounts of teenagers’ and young adults’ body odor proved to be an unpleasant combination, because of course it was. And the space, obviously, certainly did not help, it being far too small to comfortably hold as many bodies as the school staff wanted it to hold.

It was also loud. Very loud. The vast majority of the voices in the gym did not give a single shit about staying moderately tame, much less even a little quiet. Hundreds of students lining the stands all around you, the open ceiling reverberated with the clamor, serving as the most annoying white noise in existence. The sounds of laughter, scolding, yelling, offense, and gossip, along with other noises you couldn’t even decipher, all morphed into one amalgamation of a racket that roared on, and on, wholly chaotic, and definitely grating. You swore you couldn’t even hear yourself think in this mess of an assembly.

Thankfully, you got a little lucky. You ended up sitting in an obscure corner of the auditorium: a place not as crowded as the rest of the large room. On the second set of stands from the ground, you hunched over, keen on making yourself somewhat small amongst the rowdy bunches of trade school students behind you.

As you scanned the auditorium, you were able to distinguish a couple things. One, this was an athletic event of some kind. It was clear by the congregation of generally fit and popular people on the gym floor, right in the center of attention for everyone to see. They separated in groups, supposedly by the sport they played. You wouldn’t be able to tell which were which if it weren’t for the rudimentary signs that the taller individuals waved above their heads. Two, it was going to be boring. That was apparent from the moment several older men in suits showed up. You slumped further down in your set at the realization, robotically taking out your phone to see how else you could fiddle with it today.

It's not that you legitimately disliked sports or those who played them. You would never judge anyone for putting their effort into something they cared about. And while you definitely did not fit in with the crowd, and a good portion of the athletes were not raised right and you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, they’re students all the same. Egotistical, maybe. With a dash of narcissism, duh. But they were people all the same.

It’s these recognition assemblies you really didn’t care for. They’re the most performative things in the world, and they serve no purpose other than to boost some egos and make content for the local newspaper. They were dumb, through and through. And it seemed the majority of the audience watching knew that, as the staff visibly struggled to calm the erratic students.

It didn’t take long for the assembly to finally start. Somehow, the organizers were able to get all the athletes together and calm, just enough for the guest speakers to introduce themselves, and begin their speeches of unending boredom. They spoke of the various teams’ accomplishments throughout the year, expressing how proud they were in their performance, effectively getting the sentimental portion out of the way. As you could assume, they went onto specifying titles, going over each groups’ success in detail.

It would be an accurate statement to say that you were uninterested. From where you sat, you could barely see the stage, your vision obscured by the surrounding students. Not to mention your natural gravitation to the exit, which definitely did not help, given the distance from the podium where the speakers planned on hanging out for the next forty minutes or so. You found yourself zoning out, almost in record time too. Not that you cared to listen. The quicker this goes, the faster you’re out of this sweaty auditorium. 

You feel a light tap on your shoulder. 

“Hey… Y/N?”

Nearly jumping out of your own skin, you whip your head around, hair thrashing with the shear force of the movement. You look toward the one who had called your name.

Though you truly didn’t know what to expect, you definitely did not expect a mop of tangerine-colored hair, along with a matching set of eyes that seemed awfully familiar.

With a hand raised, Kunigami stood from the edge of the bleachers from where you sat. Blinking a few times, his eyes darted to the podium from where the guest continued to speak, only to look back at you, opening his mouth to say simply and plainly…

“Hey uh, could I sit here?” He pointed to the empty spot beside you, the last available space from the edge, and closest to him.

You didn’t give much thought into your answer, having no real reason to decline his request. “Uh yea! Sure.”

Kunigami's lip curled up in a half-smile. It was genuine from what you could tell. 

Breathing out a thank you, he took a large step off of the floor, hoisting himself into the open seat with less clumsiness than you could ever manage. Scooting over, you made plenty of room for him to adjust and get comfortable, squeezing into yourself even more than before to make that happen.

Looking again at the event, Kunigami asked another, but slightly out of place question, “We’ve uh- started right?”

You rubbed your hands together, processing what he said before answering him clearly, “Yea, I think about like, five minutes ago?”

Kunigami nodded his head in approval, pulling out his phone to quickly check the time, only to put the device right back in the pocket from which it came. “Ah okay.” You could’ve sworn the ginger let out a puff of air, his shoulders deflating at the action. As odd as it was, you dropped it, but made note. 

The player was… imposing. He took up space, metaphorically and in actuality. Not through any fault of his of course. It was your mind that did this to you with its tendency to turn nothing into something.  Try as you might, its pattern of overthinking was persistent as the source of your downfall. As dramatic as that sounds. You force your attention away from your guest and to the speaker. He wasn’t entertaining by any means, certainly not. The old geizer drawled on and on about… something? You weren’t really paying attention, for Kunigami’s mere presence distracted you immensely.

The sound of countless clapping hands reeled you back to the present. Your fellow peers had erupted into a boystrosious applause, followed by a few hoots and hollers from the rowtier ones in the back. Zeroing back in on the podium, you knew it was brought on by the speaker, who had joined the audience in the clapping and was now turned to a group of male students. 

While you didn’t have much reason to care, something caught your eye anyway. You recognized the faces of the students. Just vaguely. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You wracked your brain for the answer as you recalled what you had subconsciously remembered by the man’s speech spoken just moments ago. I saw them from the field that day, didn’t I?

And with that, you put it together: it was the soccer team. Yet, that discovery had only brought up another question.

If the soccer team was there, then why is the star player sitting next to you?

You turn your head to look at him, confusion plastered all over. He was looking at the stage as well, with an expression you couldn’t read. If you had to take a guess, it was a rather calmer one, yet his brow was a little stressed. It threw you off. Deciding to be a little bold, you speak. 

“Um,” You begin. “Isn’t that the football team?”

Kunigami starts, turning his head to look at you. A moment passes before he responds. “Yeah that’s them.”

You continue, gesturing with your own double take at the group. They were receiving some sort of plaque, presented by the same old man as before, a showy smile displayed for all to see. “Shouldn’t you,” You pause to find the resolve to state the obvious. “Be with them?”

Kunigami’s eyes widened a fraction. They glance at the team, then back at you. Then to the team, then back at you. “Uh.” He says eloquently. “Yes?”

The carrot-top’s answer only confuses you more. “You’re on the team?” You ask it as a question, like you were searching for clarity in something that's already crystal. When he only stares back, you ask another. “Aren’t you… the guy?”

Kunigami blinked at that, expression morphing from what looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, to flat out perplexed. “The guy?” He parrots back, emphasizing the ‘the’ just as you said it. It’s not mocking in the slightest. It's very honest, almost innocently so.

Your mind scrambles for a better way to explain, not that you had one. “I mean…” You try, “Like,” Your hands rise from your lap, coming to rescue you from your stumbling. They move strangely, trying to form what you mean without the use of words. Ultimately, they fail. “I mean, the guy.”

Kunigami only looks. Thinking, still confused. His own hands come together, clasping one another as he leans over, hunching his back and supporting himself by resting his forearms on his legs. He speaks with raised brows. “You’re gonna have to help me here.”

You resist the urge to groan aloud. What really comes out is an agitated huff. You rack your brain for a synonym, coming up with one a second later. “The star?” You ask, kind of happy you found a substitute for your thoughts. “You’re the star of the team.”

At that, Kunigami’s eyes grow bigger. This time with a new emotion. It takes him darting his eyes away from you to decipher it. Flattery. The same he had shown before when he had paid for your lunch.

Is he embarrassed? Isn’t it the truth?

The one in question shakes his head. “No.” It’s soft how he says it, not very firm, yet still in a disagreeing tone. “I am not the star of the team.”

“So, what are you?” You go on to elaborate. “Like what it is called.”

What could barely be considered a smile makes its way on Kunigami’s face slowly, yet surely. His eyes show some amusement, though not the kind that makes someone feel as if they were being made fun of. Rather, he was enjoying himself. Sincerely. He looks back at you, blankly, with that hint of delight.

“I’m a forward.” He says plainly, though the face betrays his tone as he mentions the source of his joy. “That’s the position I play.”

You think for a moment. The label he named doesn’t sound familiar. “I mean… you’re called something else.” You pause to rearticulate your thoughts again, wringing your hands in your lap absentmindedly. “There’s another word for it.”

It doesn’t even take a full second before he replies. “Striker?”

“Yeah.” You say, recalling the term from how many times you’ve heard it over the intercom. 

“Then yeah, I guess.” He says, shrugging. “Though it's not a term actually used in the game.”

You hum, though more to yourself than anyone else. Oh okay. The new piece of knowledge doesn’t slip from you so easily. As trivial as it is, you thought it was an interesting fact. So you plan to remember it. Besides, it might become relevant later.

The crowd rang out in applause once more, for seemingly no reason at all. It barely registered; you had no clue what they were on about. Instead, your focus grows, fixating itself on Kunigami, as so does your confusion. Your question has yet to be answered. You ask again, the sentence slipping from your lips before you had a chance to reconsider. “So why aren’t you up there?”

Kunigami shifts, just a little, just to get more comfortable. He just blinks some more, showing absolutely no sign of any negative emotion at your question. He looks to the team, then back to you, again. Yet, because he doesn’t respond right away, and because of his movement, you automatically think of it as discomfort. You’re backtracking before you know it. Your mind begins to spiral, thinking, oh god I fucked up even though, clearly, you didn’t. You avert your eyes, and apologize. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. I-”

“I just don’t want to be up there.”

You stop, and look at him again. He’s calm, not rattled in the slightest by anything you’ve said in the past fifteen seconds. He wrings his hands a bit, and looks at his fingernails for a second, but otherwise, he just sits. 

He’s no fool. Kunigami can see how you were beginning to work yourself up, even if he can only view it from an outside perspective. He takes it in stride, and with a small smile and firm shake of his head, he addresses it. Simply.

“No need to apologize. It's a valid question.”

Now, it's your turn to blink. The sound of his voice sticks with you, his point driving itself home in the opening your insecurity created.  “Oh.” You say. You didn’t expect that response. You expected something more akin to being brushed off, or even ignored. Instead, he just, answered. Huh. “Okay.”

He chooses to continue. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his head. “I’m not a fan of this kinda stuff.” The clapping starts up once more. You look to the stage, wondering, what is it this time, only to see the football team begin to file off its steps. One student grasped the award tightly in his hand as he descended. He looked to be laughing with his friends, those of which you remember from before: when they had pulled Kunigami away from waving to you earlier in the week.

The redhead in question speaks again. You assume he’s aware he has your attention, even if you're not looking at him. “I don’t really see a purpose for it. It’s all for show anyway.”

You turn back to him. He’s already looking at you. For some reason, you notice something you hadn’t before. His eyes, though they were mostly an orange color, very similar to his hair, also had some brown in them. Just around the outer rim, where the shade of chocolate met the white of his pupil. You’re not sure why you can see it.

Instead of questioning it, you decide to reply to him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He says. His eyes don’t leave yours. “It’s a load of crap.”

You’re still curious. You decide to pry some more, just a little bit. “Do you not like crowds?”

“Crowds?” He repeats, eyes widening a bit at your surprise question. He answers after he takes a second to think. “Uh, not really? I mean, I tolerate them. I guess I like them as much as anyone else.” He tilts his head in a questioning manner after he finishes speaking.  “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing.” You dismissed, shaking your head. “I was just wondering.”

Kunigami hums, content to move on. He turns his head away and back toward the stage. By now, a new group of students had ascended it, perhaps for an award of their own.

A flicker of his own curiosity makes Kunigami want to ask the same back. So, he does. “Do you not like crowds?”

You’re not as caught off-guard this time. His statement gives you the confidence to laugh shortly. “Ha. No.” You tug your hands closer into your body, crossing your arms over your chest so you're hugging your torso. “I don’t.” 

Observing the movement, the striker can’t tell if you’ve done it consciously or not, since you don’t acknowledge it. A part of his brain connects your body language to what you’re saying. It's a part not connected to his inner monologue, so he doesn’t realize it, but he recognizes it nonetheless. Just internally. While it finds permanence, he continues as if he never made the observation. Which he sort of didn’t. Not truely.

Kunigami can’t help the twitch of his lip that compels its edge to go up. Otherwise, he responds, simply, plainly. With a hint of something neither he nor you realize is there. “Really?”

You’re oblivious to it. “Yeah.”

It’s silent after that. There’s no other reason to speak. The two of you continue to half-heartedly watch the assembly, now with a new understanding revealed: that you both don’t want to be here.

The solitude gives you a moment to process your conversation with the redhead. You didn’t expect it to go so, normal. Maybe you were the weird one here, but in all honesty, Kunigami was a jock. You’re not friends with jocks, at least not in any meaningful capacity. You’re not the kind of person who resonates with those kinds of people, at least the ones you knew of. It was foreign to you: how someone like him could act so, different in comparison to his peers. How he could just be a regular person.

You outwardly make a face. You want to slap yourself. “How could he just be a regular person?” What the hell are you talking about? Of course he’s a regular person. He’s a person, on the football team or not. It doesn’t matter if he’s quiet or a party animal. He didn’t appear to be away. His agreeable nature from your first meeting seemed to stem more from politeness than as a facet of his personality. Instead, he seemed on the calmer side, and is generally more internal.

But even if he wasn’t, it was none of your business. You have no idea why he keeps the company he does, nor why he’s even on the football team. You don’t know him, and that’s fine. As long as he’s not an asshole, that should be enough of a reason to be friendly back, just as he’s done to you.

A realization comes over you suddenly, and without warning. Unbeknownst to you, it's always been there. From the moment you met the player during that frigid recess. It was just waiting for the moment, the perfect moment where you would finally pull back the curtain to reveal its presence. It makes you stop your train of thought in its tracks. Not that it was going anywhere anyway.

Why is Kunigami so friendly to you, for no reason at all?

There’s a change of pace of commotion on the stage. A woman takes up a microphone. Her voice projects through the speakers built into the gymnasium. A dismissal is taking place quicker than you thought it would.

Quickly, she gives instructions on how to exit, delegating that those on the lower levels of the bleachers are to leave first, then those on the higher levels. This is to reduce the amount of chaos that will surely ensue after she gives the order, seeing as the gym was congested with as many people as the fucking titanic.

Even as she speaks, you know where this is going. As annoying as some of the staff can be, in instances like these, you feel bad for them. You watch it happen in slow-mo: she gives the “ok” and immediately, hundreds of students jump from their seats. Many around you rise too and begin to shuffle around. You stay put. So does Kunigami. The room rattles with the vibrations of countless shoes on the plastic of the bleachers. It’s a rumbling irritation, yet the sound is the least of your worries.

Try as she might, she cannot stop the hurricane of students who disregard their warnings and jump from their seats, their heads set on getting out of the packed auditorium. Her shouts of command fall on deaf ears as people descend, and walk casually past her. It's a funny sight: her beginning to fume as she continues to not be taken seriously as hundreds of students pass her by, and exit the gym. Surely by the next assembly you all will get another lecture on this.

You have two options, as you do every time you’re part of a massive crowd such as this, and everyone in it is trying to go to one place all at once. Either stay here, seated, watch the masses of people dissipate and risk being late for class, or you brave the congestion and suck it up to dive headfirst into the sea of sweaty, loud people. Neither option was appealing. It was usually a coin toss on which you picked. Sometimes it depends on your mood. Though you were not in a particularly bad one, you didn’t exactly want it to dampen over something as pointless as this.

While in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed that the striker beside you had begun to stand up. It was the ‘pop’ of his knee that snapped you from your reverie. He looked at you with a curious expression as he straightened himself, wondering to himself why you hadn’t made the move to leave as well. “Are you… staying here?”

It takes you a second to find a response casual enough to appear neurotypical. “Haha, nah. I'm just a bit slow.” You brush him off as you make to gather your things and stand, giving into the peer pressure the movement of clamoring bodies put onto you the moment they start to move toward the exit.

Though even as you begin to stand yourself, you couldn’t help but notice that Kunigami had not yet left. Instead he just stood there by your side, looking out into the sea of people at nobody in particular. It doesn’t take much for you to ask him why with a hint of your own assumption. “Are you waiting on me?”

“Yes.” He says, like it's obvious. He turns his head to see you properly and quirks a brow. “Why? You don’t mind, do you?”

You rush to straighten up at his confirmation. “A-ah no.” You’re frazzled. Just a little. “I-I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You slide your backpack onto your back, and adjust the straps. You find yourself doing the same: absentmindedly looking out into the crowd of peers from the slightly-elevated position you had on the bleachers, which has been steadily decreasing ever since the initial rush. “It’s just that,” you wonder, “I figured you’d already have gone off to class.”

Kunigami shaked his head at that. His semi-spiky head of hair jerks with it. “Nah, I’m in no rush.” He digs his hand into his pocket and fishes for his phone. Once again, he checks the time and puts the device right but where he found it. “Besides,” he says, blinking stoically. “You said you didn’t like crowds.”

Oh. “Oh.” 

You’re not so caught up in your thoughts this time to have him wait for a response. “Uh- yeah I, I guess you’re right.” What? For real? You’re certainly surprised that the football player beside you had remembered what you said, even if it was only from a matter of minutes ago. You’re even more surprised he had thought about it enough to take some sort of action: to consciously let it dictate his choice of staying behind with you, even if it influenced his decision only a little bit. It was strange to say the least. He was strange.

You see Kunigami turning to the side toward the opening in the bleachers from which he had stepped up from. He craned his head to look back at you. “Here.” He said, motioning with his head to the exit you would guess he already designated. “Just follow me, and I’ll take the lead.”

You nod, and with an ‘okay’ from you, Kunigami fully turns around to the edge of the bleachers, and you mentally prepare yourself to go through whatever task this was about to become.

Your red-headed acquaintance swiftly takes a big step down from the height in a matter of seconds. He never stumbles as he does it, almost gracefully letting gravity carry his weight, falling from the elevated platform. He takes another step forward, kind of forming a rhythm. He turns around right after, watching for you to follow with that same thoughtful expression.

And you do, albeit less organized as he did it. You jump from the bleachers in a similar fashion, yet instead of moving in a stride, your shoes ‘thunk’ against the wooden floor. Kunigami sees you land, and an apology is already falling from his lips. “Sorry- we probably should’ve gone down the stairs.”

You chuckle at his effort. “No it's alright.” You say, waving him off with a vague hand motion. “No worries.”

Kunigami breathes out. “Ha, good.” And with that he turns once more. “Let's go. I think the bell is about to ring.”

You agree, and step in line behind him as he makes his way towards the set of double doors that separated you all from the rest of the school. At first the journey was smooth, but as the two of you got closer to the narrow passage, the area became more and more congested with students who were, conveniently, also trying to make their way towards the same set of doors. You creep closer to Kunigami as the bodies from all around close in. Though none made any solid contact, occasionally one or two would brush against your arm or leg. Accidental, probably, but it didn’t make you happy nonetheless. But don’t get the wrong idea. You weren’t ‘scared’ uncomfortable, just ‘annoyed’ uncomfortable.

As your duo passed through the worst of it, right on the threshold of the metal doors, Kunigami looked back at you over his shoulder. He said nothing, though his apricot eyes asked a silent question with the look he gave, eyebrows raised upward in a way that made them wider, more open: ‘you good?’

The sentiment didn’t pass you by. You give a tight-lipped smile at his once again confusing concern. ‘Yeah’

He seems satisfied with that, choosing to turn back around so he can look where he is going. The edge of his lip curls as he does. Just a little bit.

By facing forward, he unintentionally left your eyes to naturally fall upon whatever took the place of his own, which just so happened to be his back. From where you were, your gaze rested on the expanse of the back of his shoulder, and further up to the nape of his neck. You had never paid much attention to this part of him before. You didn’t have a reason to. Yet now, due to circumstance, you can’t help but look a little closer.

He was built. You already knew that part- it wasn’t hard to tell. But now, you were closer than normal. Meaning, you could see more than normal. You could see where the muscle that wrapped around the back of his shoulder blade- where it rounded off the edge of it to a degree you hadn’t seen so close on anyone before. You could see where his shirt strained because of it. Though not much, his clothes fit him well, the fabric would once and a while become taunt while he moved his arms in ways that went against its limits. You could see where that same muscle crept up with back and to the tops of his shoulders, once again rounding and defining the hump. You could see the skin of his nape, tanned probably due to the countless hours of football training done outside. It was smooth and undisturbed by any scars or blemishes. You could see where the tissue connected with the tendon of his neck, and where that then traveled up to his… undercut? You hadn’t yet noticed that either. WOW. He looks good with that. It really complements his-

You force yourself to stop your own untamed thought midway. You blink rapidly. Your eyes widened at the sentence you were just about to let be completed. What the FUCK?

You’re appalled at yourself. And a little ashamed. What was that shit?? Get a damn GRIP. You don’t even know this guy. You blink some more, and shake your head the smallest bit. It wouldn’t even matter if you did!! I mean SURE he’s not bad looking, and his back his build like a brick shithouse, and maybe the buzz underneath only adds to the icing on the cak-

“You alright?”

The voice of the motherfucker in question makes you want to dig a hole right where you stood and perish. You’d fear he had somehow heard you if he wasn’t looking at you like you hadn’t said anything at all.

“You look a little dazed. I didn’t know you had such a hard time with large numbers of people.” He says it easily in his tenor, and without a hint of judgment. You caught onto his nicety, mentally grasping it as a lifeline to pull yourself from whatever spiral you were about to go down.

You let out a laugh that has to seem out of place. “Haha- Nono I’m okay. It didn’t bother me that much, I was err- uh thinking about something else.” The last part comes out somewhat stiff and quiet, and you choose to look away from the redhead to find something else to occupy your frontal lobe.

You soon discover that the two of you have covered a lot more ground than you originally thought. You were now in the commons, a little ways away from the main exit of the auditorium, around the main seating area. Across the way was the closed-up concession stand the two of you visited not so long ago. Most of your peers in the auditorium had already moved in the hallway and through the school, save for a few stragglers.

Kunigami hums, then shrugs. “If you say so.” For the third time that day, he pulls out his phone to check something. Probably the time. Again. He seems like the kinda guy who’d want to be punctual. Internally you’re thankful he had dropped his concern as quickly as he did. You did NOT wanna talk about it.

He looks up from the device to offer a easy-going grin to you, and slips it back into his pocket. “Well I’d better get going.” He starts, “Don’t wanna be late for class.”

You nod back and reply eloquently. “Uh yeah. Definitely.” 

At that, Kunigami nods to himself, and starts to turn on his heel, but not before bringing a hand up to give you a short wave. The same kind he had tried greeting you with early that week. His eyes shine with a serenity you can see clearly as he gives his departing words, again, a constant from your first meeting. “See ya later then, Y/N.”

And with that, and before you can say much at all aside from your own short little wave, he fully turns around to take long strides down the same hallway he had left from before, soon after pivoting down another hallway out of sight. One, if you were paying closer attention, you would recognize as the same secondary hallway as before, once again.

You watched him as he did, right from where you stood in the commons of the school. You remained like that for a few seconds before forcing your own legs to guide you down the opposite way, in the direction of your locker.

As you walk you’re preoccupied. Your fellow students are oblivious to your mental space as you keep to the right-hand side of the hallway, your head down as you mulled. Not that you’d ever want them to know. Many thoughts rattled around in your head as you approached your destination. Thoughts your second meeting, thoughts of your first, thoughts of him and his stupid back and his stupid concern, thoughts of how absurd this is all becoming-

Thoughts of how your patience was beginning to run out.

Taglist: @yuujiisann​  Its been so long so I didn’t know if you still wanted tagged but HERE YOU GO ANYWAY LOL

[turningtummyrubs]

Hii

I'm so glad you are taking requests again! I missed your writing. Can we please get something with your OCs Henry and Lucien? Maybe one of them is feeling really sick to his stomach at an event he tried to get out of but his parents didn't believe him. The other one is the only person who actually notices how unwell he is and tries to take care of him.

Thank you so much in advance if you decide to fill my silly little prompt!!

hi!! so i forgot to mention that i'm no longer really taking requests for my old OCs, just taking ideas to apply to whatever new OCs i choose. totally my fault for not specifying. BUT i still wanted to do something for this prompt, so here's a very (very) loose interpretation of the request with some random people i made up on the spot lol

———

Breathing in through his nose, Sanders hooks his fingers into the chain-link fence and rocks forward into the metal. The chill permeates his fever in a brief zap—dissipates, gobbled up and swallowed. He touches his tongue to the roof of his mouth and suppresses a low burp.

At the rhythmic pound of footsteps, he tilts his head and drawls, “If you leave school premises, you will not be allowed to return unless you repurchase tickets at the entryway of the south parking lot.”

The group of kids bumble forward. One girl, one of Sanders’ students, says, “Are you alright, Mr. Chao? You look…” The trail-off is rewarding, as is the sheepish look on her face.

“Yes, Priya, I’m fine. Move along.” He makes a curt shooing gesture. A boy laughs and grabs her arm. They stumble out into the street.

Sanders shuts his eyes, opens them again, then turns his attention to the gleaming square of the field, where students churn along booths of food and carnival attractions. He checks his watch. At 7:30, he’s meant to man the cornhole station. It’s 7:28.

Sighing, he straightens and makes his way over to the main event. This task mainly involves standing around watching teenagers swear and make jokes about objects and holes, which is what he does for another half an hour, until the low-level discomfort that’s been swelling in his abdomen reaches a crest and he’s forced to make a quick break for the bathroom.

There are porta-potties set up along the perimeter of the carnival, but Sanders will be damned if he takes a chance on one of those. Grabbing his key card from the back pocket of his pants, he taps it to the reader and slips into the dark empty school. The change in environment is refreshing—no more butter-thick air and screaming children—but it does little to detract from the pain in his gut.

He strides for the nearest staff bathroom and flinches back when, upon flinging open the door, he finds Rufus White, the freshman English teacher, pissing in the urinal. Eyes wide, Rufus yelps and zips up his pants in a clumsy rush. “Oh my god. Sandy, what the fuck.”

“Why didn’t you lock the door?” Sanders demands.

“No one else is supposed to be in here!”

“I wasn’t using one of those Godforsaken porta-potties!”

“Neither was I!”

“Jesus…” Sanders slides a hand across his forehead wearily. “Look, this didn’t happen. It’s fine. Get back to the carnival, please.”

Rufus looks at him funny. “I’m not penciled in for another twenty minutes.”

“Lucky you. Get out.”

“Are you okay?”

“Rufus.”

Rufus just continues staring at him until a soft wet rumble emerges from the caverns of Sanders’ belly. It echoes in the silent dimness of the bathroom. Rufus’s eyes move down, then back up again. “Oh, dude, you should’ve said.”

Sanders rolls his eyes and pushes past him, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. The toilet water is blue with disinfectant, and as he inhales, he catches an acerbic antiseptic whiff. His nose wrinkles.

To his chagrin, Rufus locks the door behind them and comes to crouch by Sanders’ side. Rubbing a hand up Sanders’ back, he says, “Do what you gotta do, man.”

“You don’t have to be here.”

Rufus doesn’t say anything, just staring at him with that big friendly face.

Sanders sighs heavily and leans forward, another unsettling noise rising up from his intestines. He palms the area and feels irregular vibrations—short rough bursts of matter moving through his system. Eyes fluttering shut, he stifles a burp into his forearm, then groans weakly.

“Are you gonna actually throw up or what?” Rufus asks.

Sanders levels him with a glare. “It doesn’t just happen.”

“It does for me.”

“That’s because when you throw up it’s because you’ve eaten three large pizzas and a loaf of garlic bread.”

“Well, what did you eat?”

“A—a corndog—oh fuck.” Sanders clambers forward and heaves into the toilet, the memory forcing it back up. Half of the slurry is thin as water, acidic, and the rest is composed of thick chunks of meat and soggy bread.

“There ya go,” Rufus says with a grin, thumping Sanders on the back. “You’re doing great.”

Between retches, Sanders reaches back and digs his nails into Rufus’s thigh. His head empties out and fills with static, like someone inserting a mass of bees into his skull via syringe. The bridge of his nose pulses with a dizzying ache.

Rufus makes a sympathetic noise and wraps an arm around Sanders from behind, tucking his hand up and into Sanders’ shirt and pressing on his lower belly. Two meaty fingers encircle Sanders’ navel, over and over—a slow warm slide. The tiniest addition of pressure has another gush of vomit splashing into the water, and Sanders squeezes his eyes shut further, curling imperceptibly around the contact.

Once he’s done puking, he flushes the toilet with a limp hand and remains slumped on the floor. The back of his throat is slick with oil and fat, and those greasy substances bloat up his belches, rendering them viscous as they spill from his mouth. He presses a thumb to the center of his forehead and inhales slowly.

“Still churning pretty bad,” Rufus murmurs, moving his hand from one section of Sanders’ stomach to another to another.

Sanders shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t know…” The top of Sanders’ belly remains tender and firm, but lower down, his clammy flesh moves noticeably against Rufus’s palm, swelling and rumbling in certain places before capsizing like a black hole. The gentle massage of any of these rumbles results in a spasmodic tightening of Sanders’ abdominal muscles, and then a similar ripple of mixed pain and relief on his face.

“I have to get back to—to cornhole,” Sanders murmurs, head lolling onto Rufus’s shoulder.

“They can find someone else.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, a fucking PTA mom or something.”

Exhaling a breathy laugh, Sanders relents.

[plzu]

Salted Caramel Latte - (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x f!barista!Reader)

part four ☕️

posting quickly before i disappear into the night to have HOT POT.... so apologies for any typos or w/e alsdjfl i read and re-read as i write but i stay missing things 🤷🏽‍♀️

Summary: You kiss Adrian. You keep kissing him, even after he stresses to you that he's super never killed anyone before. Like, ever.

Warnings: no real obvious ones this time around???, brief mention of serial killers (Dahmer), no Y/N, horny thots, allusion to bad relationship with parents, sad reader ???, lmk if i missed any & i'll add to the last :]]], not explicit/18+ YET...

Word Count: 3.6k+

So. You kissed Adrian Chase.

You… initiated the kiss, even. In the cramped space of his Sebring, surrounded by the soft sound of rain and the quiet static of radio station chatter. Seat belt straps biting uncomfortably into your bodies. Hands roving lostly with shaky determination. It tasted a little bit desperate. You were sticky from work--stray splashes of syrup and burnt milk marked you like battle scars. Noses bumped and there was the definite collision of teeth from the hasty carelessness.

And it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very, very long time.

This scares you.

See, Evergreen is dull. Even with masked vigilantes running about (after all, it was no Metropolis, and definitely nowhere near as bad as Gotham, crime-wise). Since returning, it is this dullness that you rely on, the way it buzzes over your skin a much needed reminder that you have to get out of here as soon as you can. Save up enough money, move out of your parent’s house again, and at least get as far out as Seattle. Some of your friends from high school live there now, so at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

But Adrian - he visits the cafe and brings with him a frenzied sort of vibrancy that can’t be ignored. His presence adds color to the otherwise dreary canvas of your life. It’s something you’ve found yourself looking forward to, daily, and you chastise yourself for it--after all, what’s the point in getting swept up in ephemeral happiness?

Sure, nursing a festering crush is one thing. Cradle it close to your chest and fondly imagine what it’d look like if you let it grow. But don’t ever let it see the light of the day. Especially when it’s only been, what? A week or so since he walked into your job and recognized you, and decided you were worth risking a caffeine addiction for. 

And, yet..! You kissed him anyway. Caught up in the placid proximity. Gobsmacked by his forthright, unabashed confession-(“I really want to spend more time with you.”)-there was nothing in the world you wanted more in that moment than to kiss Adrian Chase on the mouth.

As discussed, he picks you up the following day, before both your shifts at your respective jobs. Last night’s rain has long since stopped, but is still evident from the splash of passing cars and cool, gray autumn air. In the short walk from your front door to Adrian’s car, you have to decide whether you want to brush off the kiss and pretend it never happened, or if you should just give in and run giggling into his open, waiting arms-

Wait-

“Adrian, what are you doing? Get back in the car,” you demandingly hiss, arms flailing in a shoo-ing motion. 

He’s standing on the passenger side, as if ready and waiting to open the door for you. Upon noticing your frazzled and bewildered expression and animated hand gestures, the smile on his face turns crooked in confusion. He tilts his head. “What?”

“Before my parents see you! Don’t wait for me like this, all- all chivalrous, and gentlemanly, or whatever!”

Your expression turns pleading. Your neck is stiff with the effort it takes to not whip your head around to check over your shoulder, see if your mom or dad are peeking through the window. Someone doing you a favor to pick you up at your house is one thing- someone getting out of their car to wait for you? It sends a different message. One your family would easily interpret as intimate, pluck an assumption out of so they can nettle you with it later.

Something seems to click for Adrian, and his shoulders slump minutely in dejected understanding. You’re too distracted by your fretting brain to register the light dim from his eyes before he trudges around the front of the car back to the driver’s side. He did not open the door for you.

It’s only once you’ve heaped yourself into the passenger seat, door slammed shut, do you chance a peek back at the house. Seeing no movement at any of the windows, no subtle shifting of blinds, you exhale and  fasten your seatbelt.

“Sorry about that,” you start as Adrian settles into the car. “That’s probably not the best way to greet you when you’re doing me such a huge favor.” Your laugh is sheepish, smile apologetic when you glance over at him.

He just kind of shrugs in response, putting the car in drive. “Yeah, I get it. You’re embarrassed by me.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Look, I totally understand. Gut was that way, too.”

Shame heats your face as you listen, wide-eyed, to Adrian talk resignedly about being the Embarrassing Other that people don’t enjoy associating themselves with. You hadn’t even considered that would be his takeaway, too caught up in your own feelings. It seems obvious though, now- the boy who grew up nearly friendless. The annoying younger brother. An ostracized afterthought, the skinny nerd with glasses too big for his face and voice too high-pitched to be taken seriously as puberty overlooked him to instead lend itself to his peers.   

You scramble to interrupt. “Adrian, no, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.” He gives you a sideways glance, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he continues driving. “I… didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh,” he says. Like he doesn’t quite believe you yet.

“I just didn’t want my parents to see you and get the wrong impression.”

“What, that I’m more than just your Uber driver?” He smiles. Laughs, even, but something in his tone makes you flinch. 

Truthfully, you didn’t think Adrian had it in him to put bite in his words. Not directed at you, at least. But maybe that was presumptuous of you. You probably deserved it. Even so, tears prick stupidly at your eyes (something that has been happening quite a lot since moving back to Evergreen). He’s the one that even offered to do this in the first place! So you clear your throat and try to explain:

“I spend more time at work than at home, okay? If my parents saw you, they’d think you’re the real reason, and that I’ve been lying about working overtime.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand. Can’t you just talk to them?”

“I don’t expect you to,” you mutter, attempting to curl in on yourself. “‘Sides, we don’t really… talk.”

With no further explanation provided, Adrian prods. “Okay, well then… why are you working so much OT?”

You absently pull your bottom lip between your teeth. The truth is that coming back home makes you feel like a burden. Since returning, shame has barely allowed you to make eye contact with your parents. If you stay out of sight, maybe they’ll forget you’re even there. 

So you found a job at a cafe that needed an experienced barista to help manage their newly-opened store. You haggled for night shifts so that you’d have an excuse not to be home for dinner. Your bosses--a frugal, married couple that don’t want to spend too much on employees but still need to make sure they give people their due days off--reluctantly agreed to your terms but had to put their foot down and give you at least one day off a week.

You’re not about to unload all of that on Adrian, though; you tell him the partial truth instead.

“The quicker I make money, the faster I can move back out.” 

“Oh.”

“This car thing is gonna set me back, though,” you grumble, more to yourself.  

“Okay.” His voice is soft. Not entirely understanding, but soft. “Well, the drinks you make me are fucking delicious, so I’m sure you’ll get a raise in no time. Also, you’re so pretty so I bet the customers tip extra when you’re working. I see it happen at Fennel Fields all the time.”

This startles a laugh out of you. You had pieced together that Adrian has a habit of shamelessly saying whatever’s on his mind, filter be damned, but the outright compliment still surprises you. 

You don’t quite take in the way his eyes kind of soften at the sound of your laugh.

“I let Ashe and the others take all the tips,” you say. “Besides, you may think I’m pretty, but I can be kind of… accidentally… rude, sometimes. To customers.”

“I mean, you did offer me cocaine that one time-”

“It was a suggestion, and I was joking, Adrian-”

“But still, I don’t think you’re rude! You’re nice to me.”

You snort. “I’m rude to you, like, all the time. But also, I like you, so you get special treatment.”

Adrian all but beams. His smile stretches across his face and it makes his cheeks glow, drawing your attention to his pink cheekbones beneath his frames. You watch him as he faces the road through the windshield. Gosh, you wish you got to see his face last night. It must have been flushed from the brief make-out session, and you didn’t even get a chance to enjoy it.

Enjoy it.

You hold your hands in your lap, rubbing soothing circles against the palm of one with the thumb of the other, and chew thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek, ruminating over how fucking miserable you’ve been. How isolating it’s been these past few weeks, in the self-imposed prison of your childhood bedroom. Well- teenhood, really. Getting only snatches of joy from making the perfect foam for cappuccinos, honing your latte art, and in visits from one cute bespectacled man.

Maybe it was time to stop wallowing. Maybe it was time to allow yourself some happiness on purpose. 

When Adrian parks in front of The Evergreen Bean, you’re quick to undo your seatbelt. As he turns his head to face you, your palms cup his cheeks--you’re fully facing him, torso twisted, left leg mostly propped onto the seat and against the center console--and you search his pretty, startled green eyes (his face feels so soft and warm and nice)-

-and you pull him closer and press your lips to his and watch his eyes flutter shut, and yours follow suit, his posture relaxes and you both sigh into it-

And so you continue to kiss Adrian Chase.

********

The cafe is quiet today. There’s no line of customers, just a couple of people sitting in cafe with laptops or books or engaging in quiet chatter.

Adrian has time to kill before his shift starts, so he follows you into the cafe and is immediately lauded by the morning shift barista.

“Oh, Ashe, is this him? He is kind of cute, actually.” 

“Matty, behave,” you reprimand, going behind the bar to clock in.

Matty is around Ashe’s age, one of the shift supervisors at The Everbean Green that was more than happy to take on a majority of the morning shifts while you closed up shop. A morning person in every sense of the word, his exuberant, sunshine-y demeanor balanced out your more quiet, reserved personality at work. 

And currently, his and Ashe's attention are zeroed in on Adrian’s suspiciously swollen lips, which slowly break into a smile. “Wait, me? You think I’m cute?”

You bite back a smile as Ashe laughs and Matty affirms that yes, he finds Adrian cute, and you watch the compliment turn the tips of Adrian’s ears pink.

“Yeah, I’m loving the whole serial killer vibe,” Matty praises, resting heavily against the counter, chin propped up by his open palm. 

Adrian’s smile slips, eyes widening in panic, and you briefly consider punching Matty in the throat. “What? No, I’m not- I don’t- I’m not a serial killer. Why would you say that?”

“I’m not saying you're a serial killer, babe, but the glasses? The neat, combed over hair? The endearingly hideous sweater? Very Dahmer. I’m into it.”

“Well, I’m not a serial killer. Or any kind of killer, for that matter. I’ve- I’ve never killed anyone before and wouldn’t- wouldn’t even know how to. I mean, sure-”

“Okay, alright-” you cut Adrian’s stumbling defense off, coming to his rescue. “Matty, you can’t say things like that to him. He’s, like, super against breaking the law. Freaks out at the idea of it.”

Matty’s shoulders slump. “Oh, ew, really? Boring.” 

Losing interest, he returns his attention to shift supervising. Ashe teases him for his serial killer fetish. You drown them both out as you tie your apron behind your back.

Adrian looks- nervous? Shoulders tense, rigid. Like he still needs to justify that he’s not some kind of psycho killer. You try reeling him back in. 

“Adrian, hey, it’s cool. Just ignore Matty. Let me make you something new today, yeah?”

He distractedly concedes, so you turn your back on him and get to prepping his drink. When you turn back around, he’s leaning towards you over the counter, softly calling your name.

“You don’t-” he pauses to clear his throat, lowers his voice, and continues, “you don’t think I’m a murderer, or anything, do you?”

Even for Adrian, it’s kind of weird he’s being so adamant about this. Still, though- you brush off the uneasy feeling tickling the back of your mind with a snort. “Please, Adrian. I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Oh, no, I’ve definitely killed flies before,” he corrects, voice returning to a normal volume. “And spiders. But it’s not- those are fine. Not illegal or anything. I checked.”

This makes you genuinely giggle, and Adrian visibly relaxes at the sight, a smile returning to his face. Like your laughs are a balm for his nerves. The very thought makes you sheepishly avert your gaze, and finish up his drink.

“Here,” you say, popping the lid onto his latte, smooshing down the whipped cream (you know you give him soy milk, but it’s just some whipped cream. You gotta try the drink with the whip!) “A seasonally appropriate salted caramel latte. Hope you like it.”

“Ooh, goody!” he exclaims, and promptly burns his tongue on the first sip. “That’s-ow-it’s hot-”

“Yeah, no shit, it’s hot. I steamed the milk. You saw me do it-”

“I’m just so used to the iced ones. You always make me iced ones.”

You keep squabbling like that until a couple more customers enter the store, at which point you start shooing Adrian away. He points at his mouth before backing up. “Tongue still hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “And?”

“You gotta kiss it better."

Heat spikes through you, and your mouth twitches in amusement. “Get out.”

********

The plan is to wait for Adrian’s shift to end so he can give you a ride back home. He was worried about how late you’d get home, but you waved it off as an unforeseen upside of the whole situation. It provides an excuse to get home later, after your parents have definitely fallen deep asleep.

Restlessness overtakes you, however. On any other night, with a car of your own and the freedom to leave when you want, you wouldn’t mind just chilling by yourself in the cafe after close. But waiting for Adrian makes you antsy, and maybe you can blame it on the four shots of espresso you decided to drink last minute, but impatience crackles beneath your skin and you just really want to make your way towards Adrian. 

Impatience. Or the eagerness akin to a schoolgirl with a stupid little crush. 

Adrian said Fennel Fields was just down the street, so you make sure the back and front doors are securely locked and venture out into the chilly October night. 

Turns out “down the street” means trekking past some seedy bushes and weird shifting shadows and a small stretch of road that doesn’t feel very pedestrian-friendly. But you brave it anyway, because that’s what people with caffeine coursing through their nighttime veins do, right?

Maybe the PM coffee wasn’t that bright an idea, but, whatever.

You enter the restaurant, and the hostess that meets you at the front is nice and professional enough to ignore your labored breathing. 

(You may or may not have jogged the last leg of the way upon hearing the terrifying snap of a twig.)

“Hi, how many?” she asks, giving you a once over. “Or, are you here to pick up an order, or..?” 

“Oh, I’m not here to eat! I’m just waiting for Adrian.”

She tilts her head. “Who?”

You blink at her. “Adrian? Adrian… Chase? He works here..?” You scratch at your cheek, suddenly unsure. The sign outside was definitely a poorly-drawn graphic of a fork twirling a single strand of spaghetti, like Adrian said. 

Luckily, you spot him carrying a tub of dirty dishes between the rows of tables, and wave him down. When he notices, his face lights up with surprise and, distracted, his steps stumble and you watch him struggle to keep from toppling over. He marches over to you once he finally rights himself, glasses partially askew.

The hostess looks between you both--her glances towards you a little disbelieving--before finally going, “ohh, right. Sorry about that.” She slinks off with a shrug once Adrian reaches you.

Adrian puts the tub of dishes down on the podium where the menus sit. “What are you doing here?”

“How does your co-worker not know your name?” you ask at the same time, scrunching your face distastefully in the direction she disappeared to.

“Did you take an Uber, or something?” Adrian peers behind you out the storefront windows into the night, ignoring your question.

“No. You’re my Uber, remember?”

Adrian adjusts his glasses with quirk, jerky movements so the frames sit pretty on his nose again. He gives you a wide-eyed, disapproving look. Is he… angry with you? Like, for real?

“Uh, hey, maybe let me know next time?”

Pfft. “Are you serious? It was just a short walk.” A short, mildly horrifying walk. “What’s your problem?”

He does that thing where he puts his hands on his hips in disapproval, and you’re having a hard time taking him seriously. He looks so cute in his work uniform.

“There are some real creeps out at night.”

“Pssht, please, no worries. Vigilante would save me.” You grin up at him, laughing off his worries. 

Adrian gets flustered, raises his voice at you. “Yeah, well, he can’t be everywhere at once!”

Something in you falters. You reel in your enthusiasm, taking a quick glance around the remaining customers in the restaurant. People are looking. 

“Okay, Adrian, chill out,” you soothe, voice soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’ll send a text next time.”

Adrian nods, diffusing, taking a steadying breath that expands his chest beneath his tan-colored apron. To stop yourself from staring at the movement, you instead focus on the curls peeking from beneath his silly little work cap. An adoring smile graces your face as a result.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Your uniform’s cute, by the way.”

This melts whatever remaining worry was creasing Adrian’s brow. Replaces it with a smile. “Yeah? Thanks.” A pause. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?”

“Cross my heart.”

“That’s nice, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Hurry up and get out of work so I can kiss you again, dork.”

********

It’s a little past midnight when Adrian clocks out, and you drag him to the backseat of his Sebring. The parking lot is mostly empty. The lights from the streetlamps barely illuminate the space within, where you once again have Adrian’s lips pulled flush against yours.

It’s very easy to ignore the small, nagging part of your brain that’s worried this might be inappropriate, with your hands tangled in his messy hair and his hands grabbing feverishly where they can on your body. And his moans, God, he’s so noisy, appreciative sounds rumbling in his chest, filling the space between you.

This is fine, you tell yourself. This isn’t sex.

(The warm, syrupy feeling that pulses low in your abdomen kind of wants it to be sex, though.)

Your tongue slides eagerly against his lips, and he groans before breaking the kiss, his panting breaths earning themselves a sweet spot in your fluttering chest.

“Is this fine? Don’t I have to get you home? Your parents-”

“Please don’t bring up my parents when I’m trying to stick my tongue down your throat,” you say, lips skimming the skin of his cheek and trailing down against his jaw. He shivers against you.

“Sorry.” 

Your lips skirt lower to the enticing expanse of his neck. He somehow keeps talking.

“It’s just- with what you said earlier.”

“Mm,” you hum against him. His hands tighten their hold on your back and waist in response.

“Now I really am the reason you’re not home.”

“Adrian,” you murmur, sighing into the warm space of his neck. “I’m kind of trying really hard not to think about all of that stuff right now. Hence, this makeout session.”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just, I kind of get the feeling that-hhhffuck-!”

You cut him off with a delicious scrape of your teeth on the side of his neck, latching your lips to suck at the skin there. Adrian tenses up against you, breath hitching, becoming trapped in his throat.

You pull away from him, search his eyes in the darkness. “I’m sorry, was that too much? I probably should’ve asked permission first..”

“Honestly, at this point, you can probably do whatever you want to me forever,” he replies, breathless.

You erupt into triumphant giggles, and he descends upon your mouth and swallows the bubbling laughter. Adrian licks into your parted lips. And everything that plagues you stops mattering so much.