I might always love you. There might always be this piece at the bottom of my heart that the rain never stops trying to weigh down. That I can’t cut out. That I can’t feed to the ocean, no matter how much poetic sense it makes. So I take my body down to the river, and I float up towards the sky. In this story, I’m the dead fish. There is no heaven. There’s just this bright light. And my head like fog. What’s left of my heart looks like a cherry pit. Discarded on the sidewalk. You’re side-stepping around it. You are backlit by headlights. I am banshee screaming. The bright light is swallowing you whole. I know there’s a poem here, but I can’t see it.
Rising 669m above sea level, Lion’s Peak provides a dramatic backdrop for Cape Town, and is part of the Table Mountain National Park. Historic graves and shrines can be found along the lower slopes of the mountain. As well as offering amazing views of Cape Town, this is a great vantage point to view the Atlantic Ocean. The peak is a popular take off point for hang-gliders and para-gliders.
that adhd feel when u never know what’s going on…. ever
it’s either that or dissociating maybe but 99% of the time i never feel actually Present and i nearly was late for work bc i forgot i started early today… why is it so hard to keep track of normal damn things like when u start work and not be in a constant state of head fog
Sidon/Reader Summary: Reader is afflicted with emotions they yet to comprehend. An unlikely advocate helps the reader with their issues. Word count: 1866
There was no way to ignore this feeling, it felt like you were soaring, but being pulled under water at the same time. Harebrained, finger tips always tingling, throat dryer then the Gerudo Desert, and with knees so wobbly you were afraid one step would do you in, it sometimes it felt like you had too much air, but also never enough. There were days you found yourself in a haze, eyes glazed over. Other times, your heart pounded so deep it you couldn’t tell if you were ascending, or about to die of a heart attack.
Bewildered; the first time someone used the word, I nearly laughed aloud. There was a group of varied students sitting across the lawn, grouped together in the shade of a tree, all decked out in weird jewelry and with circles around their eyes, hurried pen ink on their wrists. I was at a picnic bench, sitting with my friends from lab, working on some report or something. There was a lull in the conversation, and the hushed voices, filled with awe, scattered across the grass of the lawn towards us. I was looking absentmindedly at my phone, and when I heard the strange phrase, I burst out laughing. Their voices were so quiet, almost afraid, and like so much else at this school, I didn’t take it into account. I instantly lumped them in with the other students, overly superstitious and quiet, clinging to their iron and their salt like this was some episode of Supernatural. The first time I heard bewildered, I laughed.
The second time, it was coming from the mouth of my Hall Advisor, in the longest informational lecture I’d gotten that year. I was sitting on a couch in the overly cramped common room, squished in-between two of my closest friends from bio lab, and we were already bored and over dramatically rolling our eyes at one another before it even began. They were talking firmly, as if they believed in everything they were saying, reminding us very sternly of the “advice” from the beginning of the year. Every year. It was about the third or fourth time I’d heard this lecture, despite not having been here that many years. Sometimes, I wondered if the weirdness would ever end, and just leave me to do my labs and lose my mind in peace. “Don’t go out late at night, if you have to, make sure you stay on the path.” Well, duh. I looked to my right, and met the eyes of my lab partner, who was just perishing of boredom. I could tell she wanted to be on her phone, but we’d managed to be polite this far, so maybe we could make it to the end of the meeting. Our HA would appreciate it. “Don’t go near the woods. We’ve had way more kids get bewildered this year, it’s not normal and you all really need to step it up.” I snickered. The friend to my left said something under eir breath, and my other friend suppressed a laugh, and we tried, really hard. Our HA didn’t appreciate it. They stared us down for a moment, while some other students clutched their iron necklaces or slipped hands into pockets, making fists around what was probably salt, if I knew this floor well enough. I elbowed my lab partner in the side, and she shut up, em quickly following suit. Shockingly, we managed the rest of the meeting, finally slipping out and snickering, finally sharing all of the snide comments that had built up the whole time. Other students walked out glumly, faces pale, shoulders slumped.
Warnings- Teeny tiny bit of swearing. Hospital setting from the start.
A/N- Sooooooooo…this is it. I can’t begin to describe how thankful I am that you guys have not only read the nonsense that comes out of my brain but actually enjoyed it too! This series will be special to me as it was the first thing I’d written and published but I’m deep in the fic hole now and happy that you’re all here with me!
brittana hiatus challenge → 14. favorite brittana kiss This. Kiss. Can I just say that Heather Morris looks like the world’s greatest kisser? My god! Anyways, not only is this kiss filled with sexual tension but simply an epiphany. I think Brittany realized that her life means nothing if she doesn’t get to share it with Santana. Even though her math skills could take her very far and she still has huge opportunities at MIT, none of that matters without Santana. Santana was the one that believed in her from the beginning and helped her believe in herself. Santana tells Brittany that she should be out having a life and dating and that’s when it clicks in Brittany’s head that she doesn’t want anyone else. She wants Santana.
One of my favorite parts of the kiss is that even though Santana is dating someone, she allows Brittany to kiss her. She makes no attempt to stop her. She lets it happen. It’s only after Brittany tries to deepen the kiss that she pulls away but that had nothing to do with Dani and everything to do with fear. She doesn’t want to just jump right in with Brittany again and everything get messed up like last time. She still loves Brittany and wants to be with her but there’s so many things that need to be figured out before they could proceed. Not to mention, Brittany literally takes her breathe away leaving her head in a fog of love and fear. I also want to mention that it’s actually Santana who connects their lips first. Even though Brittany was the one leaning in to kiss her, if you look closely, it’s Santana that closes the gap. There was no hesitation in this kiss. It was natural. It was like the stars aligned once again and they were back where they belong.
A/N: The other Kobayashi-san fic I wrote today, in addition to Valentine. But this one is very different and has an entirely different tone. Sort of a continuation from what happened at the end of episode 1, but in the current point of the series. Dragon angst and fluff. Enjoy.
The sound of her name rouses her from a deep slumber. As she blinks her eyes open, Kobayashi finds herself in her room in total darkness. A glance at her alarm clock tells her it’s just past 3 in the morning.
Moaning slightly, she squints at the person at her bedside who is peering up at her with wide eyes.
“Kanna-chan?” she mumbles. “What is it?”
This is a first. Since they’d moved into their new apartment where Kanna and Tohru shared a room, the little dragon had never come to wake Kobayashi in the middle of the night. She didn’t think there was anything that could scare Kanna, and if there was, surely Tohru could handle it much better than Kobayashi herself could.
Kobayashi is just trying to clear her head from the residual fog that sleep leaves behind when Kanna gives her answer.
Kobayashi opens her eyes a little wider, and slowly pushes herself up from her pillow.
“What do you mean? What about her?”
Kanna scuffs her bare feet against the floor nervously.
A fluffy Hannibal :3 as fluffy as he can be without it being weird that is XD maybe one in which reader is going out with Hannibal and it’s great until she walks in on him killing someone in his murder suit, she flips out, he drugs her and then what happens is up to you XD
Ugh, I love Hannibal waaaaaay more than I should considering, y’know, he’s a cannibalistic serial killer… I’m always nervous writing about Hannibal because I’m scared of characterising him incorrectly; feels like an insult to do that. But after months of procrastination, I just have to sit and write the thing that scares me. Hannibal wouldn’t mind, I hope. But anyways, uhm, @thranduilsperkybutt helped me out so much with this. If you don’t follow them, you really should. Everything they write is flawless and almost taken from canon. Thank you, lovely! ❤
Your shift was almost over, thankfully. You just had to print out some files and leave them in your outbox for Monday.
As you were walking down the corridor to the printing room, you heard shuffling and a series of grunts coming from the Director’s office. Thinking it may have just been the Director working out in his office, as he kept a punching bag in the corner, you thought nothing of it, walking past without glancing inside and continuing on your errand.
As you reached the printer, scanning your aged ID card and carrying out your errand, you were initially unaware of the sudden lack of background noise. Indeed, as you began to notice the quiet ringing in your ears, the silence became deafening.
Something was wrong. There was ice in your gut and though you couldn’t say why, you felt compelled in equal measures to investigate and run away. There was no telling which of the two compulsions was stronger.
Slipping your heels off because really, they were death traps, you padded quietly down the corridor, back the way you came. You reached the office and there was very little sound, just quiet squelches and the odd squeak, as though two things very much attached to one another were now being ripped apart forcibly.
Curiosity getting the better of you, you curled your hand around the door frame and peered around, looking into the expanse of the office. All you saw at first glance was the sight of a familiar broad back, clad in a plastic suit, leaning over the desk chair, occasionally grunting with the physical exertion.
There was a metallic tang in the air, and you gagged. You knew what was before you, what your five senses were registering, but you didn’t want to believe it. How could you believe it?
The imposing figure turned then, and your heart dropped into your stomach, bile rising up into your throat as you recognised the perpetrator.
His eyes… Never before had you seen your partner look at you, look at anyone, like that. He was, for lack of a better word, unfeeling. There was no emotion in his eyes. Hannibal Lecter had the eyes of a shark, now. He was facing you directly, his predatory eyes meeting yours unflinchingly.
You didn’t recognise the man stood in front of you.
And the man behind him, he - your eyes widened, your breath caught in your throat and all sense of logic left you immediately. The room was spinning and you couldn’t think or see straight. You felt the need to run, to run, far away and never once look back.
His throat had been cut deeply, exposing white bone, which had an ugly contrast with the sheer amount of blood and the ravaged flesh around it. You knew what those grotesque noises had been - Hannibal, cutting and tearing into tissue, his hands grabbing and pulling apart sinew and bone, the crunches and pops, like a chicken leg when you twist the cartilage and break it apart. It had been raw, animalistic, and yet perfectly carried out… What Hannibal had done, he had done well, and you knew all at once that Hannibal had killed before.
When you’d walked in, interrupting him, Hannibal had been settling the head against the plush backrest of the desk chair, adding the finishing touches to his murder.
Your eyes didn’t want to leave the sight of the remains of the Director and yet you couldn’t look away fast enough. You struggled to breathe, to think straight, to realise that you should call for help, for back-up, to take Hannibal down.
As your eyes settled back on the man you no longer knew, your chest heaving, your starved lungs craving oxygen, a part of you instantly knew where you had seen that look before, in the eyes of those featured in your criminology textbooks. Hannibal’s eyes were cold, calculating, and you realised somewhere in your mind that you were the next puzzle that had to be solved. You hoped that your romantic ties to the man, the beast, before you, would be your grounds for mercy, but if he could do this to the Director, then there was no telling what he’d do to you.
He took a step towards you, his face unreadable, his eyes cold and foreboding, and then other step, careful and measured. Whereas before you had wanted nothing more than to run, now you found yourself quite rooted to the spot. Something flashed across his face so quickly that you couldn’t identify it. He sped up, never faltering, never falling, just quick and steady, and he reached you so quickly that you didn’t even have the time to scream.
There was a very sudden movement, something in his hand, and then a sharp sting in your neck, and you succumbed to the darkness which now clouded your vision.
You came back into yourself slowly, your head fogged by whatever Hannibal had drugged you with, your movements slow. You didn’t know how you’d gotten here or even why you were here.
You looked around the room, taking in your surroundings. Recognition pulsed through you - you’d spent several nights here before in the past, when Hannibal had been too much of a gentleman to let you drive home in the middle of the night. You relaxed then, only to jolt up as you realised belatedly that the door was effectively blocked by Hannibal leaning up against it, not a hair out of place.
He was watching you closely, the way that a lion watches a gazelle that is perilously close to the pride. You knew then that, one wrong move, and he’d likely kill you or sedate you again. You were also at a crossroads - you could either… accept this side of Hannibal and stay alive, or you could make a run for it. You knew that the former option would likely result in your death, because Hannibal would just drag you right back to this place, and then you may never make it out alive.
During this, Hannibal had been watching you, closely. He could almost see the cogs turning in your mind as to which option you were likely to take, and he knew you well enough to know that a part of you had already chosen. The rest of you just had to come to terms with and accept it.
“Well, what are you going to do?” The way he said it made it seem like you had a choice here, but you’d had enough training to know that you really didn’t.
You had no choice.
It was stay and live, or leave and die. Simple as that, with no possibility of compromise.
“Why did you drug me?” Your voice was quiet, scratchy, and Hannibal looked towards your bedside cabinet, which had a glass of water sat atop it. You took it and drank gratefully, swallowing as you waited for his answer. You hoped that he’d tell you the truth now that you had discovered his biggest and deadliest secret.
“You were being irrational. Now look at how calm you are.”
You nodded carefully, your mind working overtime to try to rationalise and justify all of this.
Hannibal lingered in the doorway for another moment or two before he made his way towards you, his body language open and relaxing, now. The man before you was your Hannibal, not the man in the Director’s office. You couldn’t help the fond smile that found its way onto your face as those familiar dark brown eyes met yours, filled with something you wanted to be warm affection.
He smoothed your hair down with a single hand, which moved down to cup your chin. You leaned into his touch like a cat, and he smiled, leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. Then, Hannibal turned and left the room, shutting the door with a firm snap behind him.
This ended abruptly because I’ve spent two hours on this and I’ve had enough of it, plus I don’t think you’d really address the issue, it’d be one of those things that just never gets acknowledged. I could be wrong, though. Anyways, I had my mum read through this because I’m nervous about posting it. Hope you like it.
prompt : " that's not what i meant and you know it " & " it's you, it's always been you " ( you can mix them together or separate)
I didn’t know where I was going with this when I wrote it, but I think I like it haha. Hope you do too!!
Background: Living the life as a Serpent has split Betty and Jughead apart in the worst ways possible. Jughead was sent to complete a task for the gang that put Polly in danger and because of that, Betty has distanced herself from him to the point where they barely even speak anymore. As a result, Jughead is a little lost.
A/N: This is supposed to mirror the trailer scene in a way, but the angstier side of things lol. The song I listened to while writing this was I Need My Girl by the National.
I thought about it once, what it would have been like if I were to find that one person who made my heart ache with the prospect of unspoken promises and tongue-tied innocence. I never let myself think about that sort of thing - you know, the thing that might, on the unfathomable spectrum between luck and fate, lead to potential happiness.
But looking at her - sparkling crystals for eyes and a veil of hair so golden that you would have thought you were looking at an angel wearing her halo - it was hard not to fall head first into the void of naive uncertainty and hope that came with the burden of falling in love. I was lost in everything that she was the second I stepped into that Blue and Gold office that day. And from that point on, there was no going back. I needed her. I needed her more than I’ve needed anyone in my life, and that scared me more than any chill-inducing nightmare of ghost story ever could.
I realize now that I was selfish to feel this way. I was selfish to put her in the position of loving me. Because loving me the way she did, she was doomed from the second she kissed me back that day I crawled through her bedroom window. And her life has been damaged ever since.
Betty shut the computer screen with a painful click, Jughead’s words still lingering behind her eyelids as she leaned back onto the beat-up couch in his father’s trailer, breathing in the scent of built-up dust and the pine scented air freshener plugged into the wall closest to the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?”
Standing from her spot on the couch and spinning around to face a stoic-faced Jughead, Betty noticed his too-long hair and disheveled appearance that was clouded by the classic leather jacket he had worn like a badge of honor for the past few weeks, and silently wondered how this was the same gentle, vulnerable boy she had fallen in love with all those months ago.
“I heard you were suspended from school,” Betty told him, her voice suddenly seeming too meek and unsure of itself for the way his eyes were boring into hers - hard and insistent, like he was trying to push her away with just one glance. “Jug, starting a fire in the boy’s locker room? That’s not you anymore. I thought you were past all that.”
“’All that’ is who I am, Betty,” Jughead shot back, his features sharp and intense in the moonlit trailer as he took a bounding step in her direction. “It’s who I’ve always been. You should have figured that out the day I was taken in for questioning for the murder of Jason Blossom, maybe it would have saved us both a little pain and heartache.”
“I wouldn’t take back a second of our time together, Jughead,” Betty said without hesitation, reaching out a tentative hand and placing it on a leather-clad shoulder. “You were the first boy I ever loved.”
“Please,” Jughead scoffed, jerking his arm away from her touch as he crossed the trailer to stand in the center of the living area. “We both know that’s a lie. You were head over heels for our ginger-haired football god of a best friend since we were innocent tykes making mud pies on the playground.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Betty mumbled, tucking a strand of pin-straight golden blonde hair behind her ear and drawing her eyebrows together as a wave of hurt and confusion overtook her expression. “You and I both know that what I felt for Archie never even came close to what I felt for you. What I still feel.”
Taking a brave step forward to close the gap between them, Betty tugged on Jughead’s chin to tilt it downwards to meet her eyes.
“I loved Archie, sure, the way a sister loves a brother or a friend loves a friend they’ve known their entire life.” Betty’s eyes were shining wildly in the dimly lit room, locked in on his gaze so that she was sure that he was hearing every word that she was telling him. “But I was never in love with him.”
Jughead could feel the walls beginning to crumble underneath the weight of her stare. He could feel her words beginning to resonate deep within himself. But he knew they couldn’t be true. He knew she deserved better.
“It’s not like it matters now,” Jughead mumbled, backing away from her touch once more and making his way into the kitchen, his fingertips grazing the countertop where they nearly made love before everything changed between them. “Everything’s too screwed up to ever be repaired enough for things to find their way back to what they used to be. We’re too far gone.”
“However far away you think we might be from who we were and how we used to be together, I need you to know that I’m always going to be there for you,” Betty told him. “And I will never be too far away to love you, every version of you, good or bad.”
“How?” Jughead gaped at her, his head swimming with so many conflicting thoughts and emotions, that he was unable to fathom anything she was saying. “How could you possibly love someone like me? Someone so broken and unsure and lost. Why would you choose to love me when you could easily go back to loving someone like Archie? It’s the way things should have been from the start. I know it, he knows it, and I think that deep down a part of you knows it too.”
“Don’t you get it?” Betty whirled around to face him, her cheeks flushing a red-hot scarlet as the anger began to bubble up inside her. “It’s you, Jughead. It’s always been you and it always will be you. No matter what happens, no matter how hard you push me away I will always love you. Always. And if letting me love you was selfish, then I’m the luckiest girl in the world because it was probably the most selfless thing you could have done.”
“I’m no good for you,” he whispered, his eyes prickling with hot tears as he felt his bottom lip quiver and the barrier holding him back from giving into her completely, on the verge of crashing down. “I’m toxic in the worst ways possible and one day it’s going to eat away at the very best parts of you. The parts that made me fall in love with you. I don’t think I could live with myself if that were the case.”
“I don’t care, Juggie,” Betty whispered, her hands reaching up to caress his cheeks, holding onto them desperately as if letting go of them would cause him to disappear altogether. “You have my heart, my soul, my everything. I told you once a long time ago that I know who you are and that hasn’t changed. You are Jughead Jones. And I am Betty Cooper. And we belong together.”
In one swift motion, Jughead hoisted Betty up onto the counter, just as he had the first time they were alone together in this exact same spot, his lips pressing into hers as they urgently moved from her cheeks to her neck and lingering on her collarbone. Without wasting any time, Jughead’s hand slid up the silky smooth skin of her thighs, nudging her legs open with his hips as his fingers creeped up to rest just above the elastic band of her underwear. Betty’s head slammed back onto the cabinet, biting back a moan as Jughead’s hand slid in between her legs, his fingers already exploring the wet-hot flesh that-
As fate would have it, the banging on the trailer door caused the couple to pull apart for the second time that they had been in this position. If it had been anyone but Veronica on the other side of that door, they would have continued - Jughead’s hands remaining exactly where they were, moving only to explore her body more intimately. But the urgent tone to her voice and the frantic pounding on the hard surface of the trailer caused Betty to hop off the counter, pulling her skirt down and crossing the room to swing open the door.
“It’s Polly,” Veronica breathed, her eyes wide with panic as she tried to catch her breath. “She went into labor about twenty minutes ago, but no one could get ahold of you.”
“Is she okay?” Betty asked, her heart beating a million miles a minute and her pink cheeks flushing a pale white as fear gripped every inch of her body.
“There were… complications,” Veronica stuttered, her voice quiet and uncertain and so unlike her own as she met her friend’s gaze with sympathetic eyes. “It’s not good, Betty. Come on, we have to hurry!”
Veronica led the way back down the path leading up to the Jones’ trailer, Betty following closely behind before stopping suddenly and looking behind her shoulder to wait for the one person who she wanted standing next to her through something like this.
“I’m here, Bets,” he assured her, lacing his fingers through hers as he hurried to catch up to their quick pace. “I’m here.”
Uncertainties lingered all around them. Were Polly and her babies going to be okay? Were Jughead and Betty going to be able to work past who they’ve been for the past few months and find their way back to who they used to be? But with all these questions echoing in the back of their minds and floating above their heads like early morning fog blanketing an abandoned field, Betty knew one thing for certain: Jughead would always be a permanent fixture in her life. No matter what life threw at them or where they ended up, it would always be Jughead by her side. And in that moment, that was enough to keep her from falling to pieces and disappearing altogether.
Characters: Jesse McCree, Gender Neutral Reader, Gabriel Reyes/Reaper
Relationship: Jesse McCree x Reader
Word Count: 1757
Summary: You are a pencil pusher for Blackwatch, and can’t help but appreciate the field agents on base. Particularly one. The cowboy caught your attention from day one and he decides to make a move on you.
Tags: Reyes being that asshole dad who makes fun of his son for kissing someone
Anon: Hey, would you
do a sub!Jerome x dom!Reader? Every Jerome fic I’ve found has had him as a
dominant and the reader as a sub. I would love a twist on that. Smut is
perfectly fine but with some cute fluff mixed in. Thanks, love.
Oh god. I secretly
wanted someone to request this lmao I am a beacon of sin.
Jerome Valeska x Reader
Warnings: Smut, Dom!Reader, Sub!Jerome, wrist binding, slapping,
language. Go to church.
Awww, this is such a cute prompt! I sometimes don’t know what I like more: Yurio being super excited about winning, or Yurio being chill about it because he knew he was going to win. Either way, I’m proud of our smol son :3 I completed a request similar to this one with Otabek, and that can be read here. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request <3
You sit in your chair behind the sea of photographers and reporters, craning your neck just to get a glimpse of your boyfriend—the skater who just broke Viktor Nikiforov’s five-year winning streak. You haven’t really had the chance to properly congratulate Yuri yet, since he was basically bombarded with reporters, his coach, and the other skaters—not to mention the medal presentation ceremony was almost immediately after he found out he won. Now this press conference is becoming a bit long, and you’re getting antsy waiting to tell your boyfriend how proud you are with a kiss to his cheek.
You rest your head in your hand with your elbow against your knee and pout, just wanting to spend the rest of the evening with Yuri. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to relax at the thought of spending the night in Barcelona with Yuri. You’ll greet him with a hug and a deep, passionate kiss to the lips as a congratulation for winning the Grand Prix Final, then take him out for a stroll on the streets; your stomach growls when you think about taking him to an expensive restaurant for a late dinner and dessert.
“Hey, (Y/N), wake up.” The familiar voice causes you to jump. “It’s time to go.”
Your eyes snap open, and you see Yuri wearing his warm up jacket and standing in front of you. You’re suddenly very aware of the layer of sweat on your body and how heavy your eyelids feel. You blink a few times to try to shake off the drowsiness and to clear your head from the confused fog that’s come over you.
“Yuri?” you say, but your voice sounds a bit raspy. “What—“
“You feel asleep during the conference, kitten,” he sighs, offering you a hand to stand up. You take it, feeling a bit wobbly on your feet. You look around and see that everyone is gone. All of the people in the room had left, leaving you and Yuri alone. “All anyone cared about was me winning as my debut in the senior division. Like was it that much of a damn surprise? I fucking won that medal because I’m good; that’s no secret.”
It takes a moment, but it hits you that you still haven’t congratulated Yuri properly. “Yuri, you won!” It scares him when you yell, but excitement takes over you as you throw your arms around his neck. He loses his balance and you tackle him to the ground with your hug. “I’m so proud of you, Yuri!” You lean down and plant the movie-worthy kiss you’ve been waiting for on his lips.
“(Y/N), what the fuck—“ Yuri fights you at first, but he soon wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you back.
Your makeup session lasts a bit, but Yuri fears someone will walk in and witness your display of affection. After you both stand up, you tuck Yuri’s hair behind his ear with a big smile on your face.
“Let’s go celebrate!” you say, grabbing your boyfriend’s hands and squeezing them. Your face feels tight from smiling so much, but you can’t help yourself. “Anything you have in mind?”
“Let’s start with dinner,” Yuri mutters, beginning to guide you from the building and into the streets of Barcelona. “I’m fucking starving.”
“You can stop worrying,” Robert says over the sound of the shower, slipping into the bathroom, “She’s fed and off to bed, still a total pain in the arse, but fine.”
Aaron doesn’t look up. There’s blood dried brown between the creases of his knuckles, shower tray marbled pink where he scrubbed his neck clean. He can still hear the noise she made, flying over the handle bars. Adam and his fucking quad bike.
“I know it bled a lot but Paddy says they were right, her leg doesn’t need stitches,” Robert’s saying, arms folded as leans back against the sink.
Aaron ignores him. He knows she’s fine, would never have let himself get shipped off for a shower otherwise. It doesn’t help.
He shuts the water off, doesn’t protest when Robert steps in to wrap a towel around his shoulders. He’s dripping all over the floor but at least the water’s clear now.
“I told her not to do anything stupid,” he says.
“You also told her to go and bother Adam,” Robert points out. “You can’t have it both ways,” Robert’s smiling, trying to talk him round.
But he can still hear her, has to bite his lip when he feels it wobble.
“Hey,” Robert says, soft, hands rubbing up and down Aaron’s arms. Not exactly drying him but not exactly not either. Robert ducks his head until Aaron meets his eyes. “She’s okay.”
Aaron nods quickly, eyes flickering away to look at the back of Robert’s head, blurry in the fogged up mirror behind him. “I know. I just can’t stop thinking,” he can’t finish the thought. The memory too vivid, trying to swallow around his heart, suddenly in his throat. She hadn’t moved at first, when she’d landed in a heap on the ground and he’d really thought-
Robert nods. “I know. I get it,” he pulls Aaron in close, arms around his shoulders. He’s getting soaked, Aaron bleeding water through his shirt, all over his chest where they’re pressed together.
Aaron links his fingers around Robert’s waist, lets him take his weight. “Can we just stay here for a bit?” he asks. “I need a minute.”
It earns him a gentle kiss to the temple and Robert’s face burying into his neck.
He’ll check on Liv in a minute, go and harass Paddy until he’s sure she doesn’t need another trip to A&E, maybe give Adam a good shove for letting her anywhere near that death trap. He will, in a minute.
warning for a sex scene in part iv but it’s mild i doubt it would be rated more than ‘m’
variations of a theme: nights (five nights spent in hasetsu)
“You have my mobile number, right?”
Yuuri looked up from his
uninspiring dinner, pausing to glower at Viktor’s half-empty bowl of katsudon,
and frowned at Viktor. He sounded so sure, although Yuuri couldn’t fathom why.
Maybe all the skaters typically had each other’s numbers. Maybe they had group
texts and inside jokes and he’d accidentally rejected it all with his asocial
gwahhh i love your scenarios so much they're amazing !! could you do a scenario with kuroo, tsukki and iwai where their fem s/o is an insomniac? and whenever she can't sleep she does her own hobbies like baking or drawing or she just takes a walk outside etc and one night they stay over at the boys houses and they wake up to see her doing her own thing and try to coax her to go back to bed?
It slipped my mind while writing that they were only supposed to be visiting- I hope you don’t too much that they ended up living together, I’m sorry! Anyhow, this was an incredibly heartwarming prompt to write for, and I hope that you enjoy it, and thank you for your patience. :)
At age twenty five, Kuroo is a far cry from just five, which was when he last believed in monsters underneath his bed. Or perhaps they’re still there, but he’s become far too old and too boring for them to find entertaining anymore, and they’ve moved on to people who sleep more, who have fewer nightmares, who can sleep fine alone.
He hears the noise from downstairs first. It’s a soft clang, but it’s enough to pull him out of half-awakeness and his fingers curl curiously around the edge of his pillow. She’s not there, and her space is cold and empty from the exposed bedsheet.
The clang comes again, followed with a very, very quiet curse that makes the edge of his lips curl with laughter at four in the morning. It’s no clawed thing, but his own little monster he relies on to comfort him each night in their multitudes of blankets at pillows that cradle them into mutual drowsiness. Her pills lie capped on her side of the bedside table, untouched and unmoved, and he knows that this must be a special night. The stars, maybe, or the autumn chill that treads it way softly through the corridors of their small house, trailing eagerly along the warm footsteps of whoever’s awake at this time of night.
Not for the first time, Kuroo regrets not wearing fluffy slippers with bears on them when his feet finally touch the ground. He swings himself off the edge gingerly, aware of how his head fogs with unfinished sleep and the way his muscles seem to creak at him, scolding him, potentially threatening to shut down completely if he doesn’t return this instant. He goes off hunting for slippers instead, and for you, even though he knows beyond familiarity where exactly he’d find those things.