#( lol had to write a drabble )

[nikkento-writes]

Being married for years now, it’s standard practice to subject Nanami to whatever pop hit of the week you’re currently obsessed with. And by obsessed, you mean repeating it over and over and over again until he finds himself humming the chorus on the train ride to work, even though he’s alone and the song isn’t even playing.

The two of you are driving back home after spending the weekend at your parent’s house. You’re singing the lyrics out loud, staring out the window with a cheerful smile on your face. He holds your hand on the center console, fingers interlocked, while he steers the wheel with his other. After memorizing these godforsaken lyrics beyond his own will, he finally asks, “What is this song even about?”

You turn to face him, lowering the volume, giving him a lousy answer. “It’s about bed chem!” He glances over at you, looking for you to elaborate, which you don’t. All you do is repeat, “Bed chem, Kento. Bed chem!”

He chuckles, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at whatever ridiculous slang the new generation is using nowadays. “Bed chem?”

You clear your throat, preparing yourself to give him the definition like some sort of spelling bee judge. “Bed chem. Having really good chemistry in the bedroom. Being sexually compatible. Matching each other’s freak. Bed chem.”

Nanami doesn’t even want to ask you to elaborate on the last example. “Is this what the youths are calling it nowadays?”

You giggle, squeezing his hand gently. “I guess so.”

He pulls into the driveway, foot on the brake as he reaches for the garage door opener, pressing it. “So what about us?”

You eye him suspiciously as he enters slowly. “What do you mean?”

He turns the car off, closing the garage door behind you. “Do we have bed chem?”

“I don’t think we’d be together this long if we didn’t,” you laugh, gazing into his eyes.

“Hm, I don’t know,” he hums, leaning closer, lips grazing your ear. “Do I pick you up? Pull them down?” His hand slides underneath your skirt, fingers teasing your clothed pussy.

“Kento,” you breathe out, spreading yourself wider in the seat, loving the way he rubs you through your panties.

“Do I talk so sweet when I’m doing bad things?” He hooks the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your thighs, pressing a finger directly to your throbbing clit. “Is that bed chem?”

You’re too entranced by his seduction to tell him how impressed you are that he knows the lyrics. Nodding, you whimper, “Yes,” taking his fingers until you come with his name pouring out of your mouth in breathy moans.

It doesn’t take you long to reiterate to Nanami that the two of you do in fact have “bed chem”; you ride him in the driver’s seat, making him spill his creampie inside you with his tongue stuck down your throat, further proving your point. Though, a simple reminder doesn’t hurt one bit.

[satoruhour]

LESSON NO. 1

a/n: bassist!geto teaching you how to play the guitar. loosely based off this but not really connected. as requested by @alcospray 💟 i dont play bass so i just watched a whole bunch of videos for just one song - any bass players wanna correct me feel free to do so ;"). only if u look like geto tho /j. they havent say the three words to each other yet, read it with that in mind :3

wc: 2.1k

“any update from your fan?” gojo nudges him playfully as they wait for the principle of the university to introduce their band for the freshmen orientation, which, weirdly, something that the four of them never thought would happen. they sang about topics that wouldn’t normally get talked about or were shunned — politics, capitalism, authoritarianism — and yet being introduced by the principle of their place of education was quite ironic.

the bassist doesn’t hear gojo at all, not even when his best friend tries to tease him by calling you his fan. there were too many things in geto’s mind way even before this whole performance: his finals, a rival band that sought out to create false rumours about them, you.

always, you, the unexpected distracting thing that infiltrates his mind without fail. from the first night you trodded over to his dorms, opening up to him and letting him take care of you, to the many dates after. he’s taken you to cafés, watched you study way too many times, or simply let you sit through one of his song formation days.

a conscious effort to keep his distance and everything is just you, you, you, and geto is terrified. he’s never liked the kind of love with strings attached, with those mushy, complicated feelings, but no one-night stand, no quick fuck has ever made him feel the way you do.

but lately, he’s seen less of you, unwillingly accepting the principle’s offer to perform for the freshmen because he knew you were one of the group leaders ushering in the new students. at least he could try to search for you in the crowds, even getting a cheeky little text about where your group was meant to sit a week ago. he could be granted at least that when you both have been working so hard for final exams that you two could hardly see each other.

although, throughout their whole set, he sees everyone but you. he loses the bass line often, looks lost on the stage, needs to be cued in, something that never happens to the geto suguru. he’s always been a natural, and yet when it comes to you, you ruin him in the best way possible.

“hey— hey! man, what was that?” gojo slaps him on the back but it doesn’t even register in geto’s head, not really bothered by how he messed up the performance if it wasn’t for gojo’s vocals and shoko adding in her own improvisations for her parts. nanami can only shrug as he comes around to geto’s front.

“she wasn’t there, i looked, too,” nanami mumbled, tapping his drumsticks on his shoulder, “but you’re the most passionate guy i know who loves his guitars and bass lines.”

gojo has to chime in, “he’s the only bass guitarist you know, nanamiii!” and shoko pulls him back with a smack to the back of his head.

the dark-haired guy only clicks his tongue, “sorry ’bout him.”

nanami waves his drumsticks before pointing them at his face, “i know you’re obsessed with her, but i don’t wanna be a drummer if i can’t work with my bassist. sort this out before our next gig. she’s a sweet girl . . just, not when it’s at the expense of the band.”

geto only sighs in relief, landing a hand on his drummer’s shoulder.

“thank you, nanami.” the two exchange smiles before he gives a salute to his other two friends (“do you think he finally loves someone enough for him to be distracted on stage?” shoko says, and gojo gasps dramatically), heading out from the wings and down the stairs at the front of the stage where people look confused at the recent performer looking high and low for where your group was meant to be seated.

he sees not you, but rather your group leader mates who he’s at least seen pictures of, so he has no qualms about heading over to ask about your whereabouts — “the last thing she told our head group leader was that she was down with a nasty flu . . terrible fever and all. our main group leader went to her dorms to check on her and she’s unfit for doing orientations activities. we just sent her loads of soup packets and pei pa koa’s.”

geto laughs at the last part, knowing your need for sweet things. when it’s combined with a soothing coating for your throat, it’s pretty much the only thing you take when you’re sick. with a quick thanks, geto races for the campus bus straight to your dorm, the bass carried on his back rattling with his capo, chord sheets and mute nosily.

at least your annoying roommate’s gone home before school starts so it’s only you when geto knocks on the door. his knuckles rap against the wood, heart breaking when he hears your hoarse voice answer from the other side. soon, he can hear your feet moving towards the door, but it takes a while from how your body is, knocking over some things in the process.

“c-coming!” you groan out, wrapped in layers of clothing and feeling so hot you feel like you were in hell. but you aren’t expecting the sight when you open the door: your boyfriend panting, the guitar case behind him only telling you he’s come straight from the freshmen gig, the expression on his face.

“s-su!” you exclaim, both excitedly and a little worried because you didn’t want to get him sick, something you regret immediately when you go to clutch your throat.

“oh, baby,” geto brushes the hoodie off your head and brushes away the mess of your hair, “you look so pale, i— i would’ve come sooner if i knew—!”

“that’s why i didn’t tell you,” you pout, pushing away his hand gently and stepping back. it hurts to speak, but you feel like you at least need to explain your absence to him, “i was afraid you’d ditch the performance. also— don’t want you to get sick.”

suguru’s expression softens, “don’t worry about me, doll. come,” he takes one more step towards you and you feel so safe with him you don’t take a step away, “let me take care of you.”

the next hours are full of geto, a revered bassist in an upcoming band who dons long hair, piercings and has a menacing dragon down his arm alongside some boots, taking care of you. he runs back and forth between the pantry to make sure you have enough hot water, boiling hot soup to drink, enough layers to keep you warm and even calling gojo to get some tylenol from the supermarket.

“take a breather, sugu, i’m not gonna die,” you laugh slightly with a rasp to your voice, squeezing his hand as you rest against his shoulder. he’s made sure you at least have something in your stomach and enough hot water to power a hot spring, worry showing through his heartbeat when the hand he holds is still so warm.

“you’re heating up loads, baby,” geto frowns, turning his head to plant a kiss on the top of your head. he rolls his eyes when he hears it’s because you’re here. “do you want me to put cool towels on your head?”

you giggle again and cough, sniffling the mucus back up your nose, “no, it’s okay — you’d have to go to the pantry again to get water and i just want . . you here.”

suguru only hums, something akin to a melody that you don’t quite know but you’re happy to listen to his gruff voice anyway. the way he vibrates as he hums sends a calming feeling right to your body, and how he looks and feels so different from the very first time you were alone together.

he seemed so cool, passing the blunt to you and blowing his smoke into your mouth, kissing you like you’re just another girl in his roster; but right now, you were far from it.

now, not only is he still cool, but he’s also the most caring person you know and is something so far from his appearance and band: this is just one in many instances of how much he takes care of you. from the same fingers that strum upon the stainless steel, they travel miles over your body, your face like the first songs he learned on the guitar, weaving a melody and language so intricate only the two of you speak it.

silently, you feel him push you forward while he slots his legs on the other side of your body, letting you naturally rest with your back to his chest. “wanna learn?”

“i am in the most terrible state, suguru,” you whisper, reaching over to take a tissue. there, you blow your nose and clear out your nostrils until the next round, groaning softly at the grossness of the tissue.

“ohh . . but wasn’t someone saying that she isn’t dying?”

your jaw drops, “i can’t believe you would use that against me.”

the corners of your boyfriend’s lips turn up in a sly smile, “just quoting my girl. but—”

this time, he’s the one reaching over much further than you, hand clutching the neck of the guitar through the bag. gently, he settles it on both your laps, laughing when a small oof leaves your lips at just how heavy his bass was.

“i’ll do all the playing, you just mirror my movements.” with one more kiss to your temple, geto reaches around easily to play the starting notes of psycho killer. while there’s a clear layering of the lead, vocals and drums in his head, you’re just left confused by the repetitive bass.

but soon, you’re able to catch the notes that repeat over eight counts, hypnotised by the other’s longer fingers as they transition into the chorus line. it’s a little more complicated, now, descending into chords that you frankly don’t have any grasp on. one look at your face is enough to send him into soft laughter.

“okay, okay, let’s just focus on the verse.” if you weren’t feeling lightheaded from the fever before, you are now when geto curls his hands around yours, placing your finger easily on the fifth fret of the first string.

“so here . . we have the first bar of A notes, easy? then . .” he demonstrates the first four notes, plucking the strings for you before moving it down to the third fret to play the G note. a small smile spreads across his face when you slowly get the hang of it: six notes of A, two eighth notes, and then a G on the same string. geto slowly releases his left, letting you play on the melody while he helps you to pluck.

“that’s it,” still natural, it doesn’t faze geto at all to nuzzle his head into your neck from behind and to start kissing up your shoulder to your jaw, fingers still expertly plucking the string. the both of you repeat the bass line until he’s grabbing your awkward right hand and quietly, he angles your fingers so you’re following him, “you’re a fast learner.”

“i have a great teacher,” you mumble, and suguru doesn’t tell you that you just willingly kissed his jaw out of habit — because he knows you’d freak out at the possibility of getting him sick. it’s sweet, that in your delirious state you’re still acting out of admiration at the back of your mind. like the bass, loving geto feels as natural as the repetitiveness of psycho killer.

the bass notes reverberates through your bodies, just almost acting like a trance that makes your fingers falter upon the steel strings. he goes on to slowly play the chorus, stretching his fingers into weird shapes. he plays various chords, voice cracking just a bit when he tries to sing the vocals and you laugh softly.

“i just don’t have satoru’s higher register.” geto jokes, knowing you’re close to falling asleep from the way you hum and give one worded answers, so he easily takes over from you, changing it to an easy song. you let the low notes of the bass serenade you to sleep as you curl more into your boyfriend, but not before you hear a glimpse of geto’s harmonised singing to yellow.

it’s not often you hear him sing, being a bassist and all, but there is a nice edge to his voice — not quite made for vocals but you know he can do it if he tries. and even if you don’t voice it out, geto thinks the same thing. it’s similar to this stupid love thing that’s got him all tangled up and distracted, too, and he realises so many new things about himself through you.

you give love a fresh breath of life, nothing like the things suguru sings about in his unfinished demos and notebooks — multitude of things that involved you and his fucked-up perceptions and the foolishness of his parents telling him he’d find the same. you are all he thinks about when he sees the black cough syrup and he can’t stop craving the feel of your body against his.

the moment your breathing turns even and you sag against his embrace is when the strings stops and his breathing escalates. in geto suguru’s arms is the personification of something he never thought he would let into his life, yet you carry the choirs of love and acceptance so effortlessly like heath’s bass guitar solos and atsushi sakurai’s spotless vocals.

suguru’s head simply falls onto your unknowing shoulder, a small fuck that leaves his lips and a smile that he can’t contain is all he needs to know.

@mysugu @suget @slttygeto @na-t0 💟

[imfinereallyy]

Steve passes Eddie sleeping on his couch. The faint morning light making him softer. Sounds of early Chicago creep through the window that never seems to entirely shut.

Steve sips on his coffee and stares. He knows it’s weird, that normal people don’t stare at their friends like this. That they don’t ache before making their commute to work. And if they do—it’s yearning for their beds and not a man crashing at their apartment.

But Steve isn’t good at normal, and well—neither is Eddie. So, it doesn’t seem like much of a problem.

Eddie’s snores try to compete with the honks from four stories below. Steve laughs quietly to himself; it shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

Steve sets the coffee carefully down and hesitates towards the door. He should let Eddie sleep in. Eddie has had a hard time lately, and only now found his footing staying at Steve’s for the time being. But Steve can’t help but want. He wants to brush the curls that have fallen carefully in front of Eddie’s face, and tuck them gently behind his ear. Steve wants to rub a soothing hand down his back. Steve wants to kiss him softly on the forehead, wants to whisper, “see you later,” before making his way out.

Steve hesitates, but decides against it. Even though he has spent years aching for it, feeling like he can never do a thing about it, Steve knows deep inside him that this time, it will happen eventually. He just needs to give Eddie time, time to heal, time to grow.

Steve thinks he would wait forever if he needed to. So he smiles in the direction of Eddie’s peaceful snores, and heads out the door.

[gamerbot-22]

Touchstarved LIs and Cuddling

Two posts in two days? On my account? Someone pinch me!

Also half-spawned from @asexual-abomination, because we’ve had this conversation a thousand times.

TW/CWs: Potential Accidental Canon Divergence (this will probs be a warning on ALL my TS stuff until the game’s released), mentions of sleeping together but it’s purely literal and genuinely not a euphemism for sex, hand-waving the touch curse a bit, Ais is an asshole about personal boundaries, Mhin is meant to be read as combatively shy but willing, partially proofread.

Can be read as platonic or romantic! Same as before! Also I’m gonna be making a lot of references to the “No one asked but I found Mortal Kombat’s best cuddler” video by Brian David Gilbert for Polygon because it’s a good vid and you should watch it if you haven’t already!)

(One day I’ll make a custom sparkle banner for the cut, mark my words! Also rqs are open! Likes and reblogs appreciated!)

🕊️ Kuras

Definitely one of the Emotionally Vulnerable & Safe Cuddler types from BDG’s video.

I don’t think. Kuras needs to sleep? At least I don’t remember there being anything in canon to suggest that. But! I think he enjoys the occasional catnap, and can be persuaded to actually sleep with you if you ask him about it.

Like you hit him with the “isn’t a good night’s sleep supposed to be good for you?” and “shouldn’t you be a good example for your patients?” and he gives you a good-natured—if slightly stiff—chuckle as he guides you over to the cot in his office.

The cot’s kinda narrow since it’s only build for the one patient to sit/lay on it, so by default a lot of spooning/honeymoon hugging(? Spooning when you’re facing each other) is happening.

There’s not really a blanket situation happening, but he’s really warm and his hands are eternally soft so it’s just super pleasant.

And after a while he starts to get his wings involved, too. At first it’s only when you’re asleep, but later on, after you learn about his status as a fallen angel, he’s more open about it, even if he gets all shy when you ask.

And there’s something just so peaceful about how he holds you. His hands never wander, and he keeps his voice soft. The first couple times he asks to pet your hair or touch your face, and soon enough it just becomes a rhythm for the two of you. <3

🪄 Leander

This man wants to hold you SO BAD.

Literally will get on his hands and knees if you ask him to. Touchstarved isn’t just the name of the game, babes!

Brags so much about his big bed at the Wet Wick but the man is so clingy you two end up using like. 20% of it.

He’s tryna be all suave, inviting you to come over and lay your head on his chest but on the inside he is screaming.

For the first dozen times he just stays up, watching you snooze or daydream against his chest. Then after a while he starts to doze off before you do.

Definitely the type to tell you bedtime stories. Most of them are just recounting things that have already happened to/around him, but occasionally he does a little embellishing or a bit of improv for flavor.

He’s doing it to keep things interesting and maybe make himself look cooler to you? But he’s keeping it as low energy as possible so you don’t lose any sleep.

🦊 Vere

If Kuras is in the Emotionally Vulnerable and Safe Cuddler corner, Vere is on the fucking polar opposite side.

Definitely makes a big show of it the first time you ask, joking about his rates and the rules (“no kissing and hands off the tail!” shit like that.)

Also gives zero fucks about your comfort. He’s like a tiny dog taking his half of the bed out of the middle and you’re just gonna have to cope for a while.

Buuuuuut… if you talk nice, let him come to you, and show him you just want proximity and nothing else… maybe he’ll warm up.

And the jokes die down, and he gives you room to settle, and eventually he’s curling up right next to you and draping his tail over your legs.

Congrats! The cute fox boy is sharing a bed with you! Beware his flicking ears and squeak-snoring.

The whole process takes a good while, but I think it’s worth it <3

⛩️ Ais

Definitely kinda coy about sharing a sleeping place at first. It’s not Vere levels of mockery—mostly cause he doesn’t mean it the way Vere does—but Ais has a really annoying habit of getting under your skin.

But yeah, after some “arm-twisting,” he’ll let you lay down and get cozy.

He goes right to sleep more often than not, though, even if that’s not what the cuddling is for. Dude just closes his eyes and drops into dreamland like it’s nothing.

He says he’s just resting his eyes but that’s only the case maybe a third of the time.

I think he probably shares his sleeping space with Soulless, which usually means he’s all cramped up, but now that he’s only sharing the bed with one other body he takes the chance to sprawl.

You will end up flat on your back/face with Ais on top of you, it’s just a matter of when it happens.

He’s an asshole about it, too. He makes this big show of how cozy he is and how it’s been supposedly “forever” since he’s got to curl up like this, but if he gets the feeling you’re being serious he’ll get off.

🪡 Mhin

Inside of Mhin are two sleeping wolves.

One of them wants cuddles really bad but is abysmal at asking for them.

The other sleeps flat on their back like a corpse and startles awake at the slightest sound.

If you’re cuddling to pass the time instead of going to sleep Mhin gets all defensive either way. “Sounds like a waste of time when I could either just sleep or do something else” type shit.

You kinda gotta wrastle them into it, especially if they’ve been staying up for prolonged periods. “Rest isn’t sleep but it’s better than nothing.”

They’re not in the habit of initiating any of the cuddling (again, that wolf would sooner die than ask,) but if you “insist” (ask politely) they’ll let you take a crack at it, “if only to get some peace and quiet.”

If they doze off, like I said, they’ll startle awake at any sound so you’re probably not going to get a lot of sleep by proxy. But! You get to hold them and explain away all the noises, which is fun <3

[elis-corner]

Soda Tabs

‘So… What am I meant to do with this?’ Grian cocked his head to the side, bringing the trinket you had just handed him closer to his face. To the best of his knowledge, it was merely a soda tab—nothing extraordinary or worth anything. Although, he had to admit its metallic shimmer was quite admirable.

‘You collect soda tabs with the fulcrum intact and give them to someone, normally a partner,’ you explained. You pointed to the point where the tab would normally be connected to a can by. ‘They give them back to you in exchange for a kiss.’

Grian lowered his hand, flipping the tab in the air with a satisfying click each time it landed atop his nail. His eyes made a beeline for yours, holding your gaze for a long moment before saying, ‘So… if I give this back to you…?’ Your head tilted backwards slightly in order to give him a nod of confirmation, but the moment he caught the direction you were moving your head he tossed it back at you. ‘Well?’

His wings surround you in a familiar embrace, shielding the world’s view of you as your lips meet.

|------{ }------|

‘Grian I… I don’t think I want to know how you got so many in the space of a week…’

‘Building the back of your base requires a lot of fuel, you know!’

‘Three hundred and thirty eight cans though?’ You stare at the pile of soda tabs lying in front of you. ‘It’s the shimmer. Birds can’t resist shiny things,’ you tease.

Grian shrugged. ‘Nor can I resist you.’

‘Charming, bird boy.’ Your eyes wander back up to meet his once again. Sighing, you accept your fate. ‘Pucker up, Buttercup.’

[crybaby-bkg]

Trainer Bakugou who you're a little terrified of the first day you're paired with him. when asking for a trainer at the gym, you had expected the friendly redhead who always looked so sweet and encouraging and cut as hell. you weren't expecting his grumpy looking blond counterpart, who was all glares and shouts for his clients to keep pushing themselves.

you were hesitant at first, before you quickly realized that it was all a ruse, for the most part. he pushed those who needed that extra encouragement, but was more lenient to people like you who simply wanted a professionals guidance. so, after a few weeks, you liked him for the most part, and his looks damn sure made it easier to cozy up to the big guy.

the only issue you've been having with Bakugou though are the...coregasms, as you've seen them been named on social media, that you keep experiencing. the first time, you weren't sure what it was, why your stomach and pelvis kept tightening up. you couldn't have...climaxed, or anything. you hadn't even been touched!

but, as the weeks go by, and the workouts get more strenuous, they've become harder and harder to subside and ignore, and so had Bakugou's commands to keep going when you suddenly stopped. you can only lie and say its cramps so many times before he realizes that something is up.

you're midway through a good morning, when that familiar feeling starts tightening in the pit of your gut. you clench your eyes shut, shaking your head a little, as if you could ward off the impending feeling. bakugou notices though, frowning at your almost pained expression in the mirror, walking up behind you to stop you as you pull yourself back up. his hands are on your waist, and as you come up, you feel his bulge glide over the curve of your ass, and something in you snaps.

you gasp, buckling over, one hand on your knee as the other reaches back for bakugou's hand to keep you up as your thighs shake. you can feel yourself spasming, clenching and unclenching around nothing, secretly wishing you had something that could fill you up, something that you felt throb against you as bakugou leaned over your form.

"Another coregasm, huh?" he asks you lowly, his lips brushing your ear as you bite your bottom lip to hold back your moan. your eyes buck open though, when his words sink in, head tipping back to look at him in the mirror, only to find his gaze already on you.

"You knew every time?" you ask quietly, panting now that its finally starting to pass over you. but bakugou doesn't let you up from this position, especially since the area you're in seems to be desolate for now.

"It's hard to ignore how pretty you look when you cum, sweetheart." Bakugou seals his words with a firm press to your ass, his cock rubbing the seam, and you can practically feel the heat and veins of it through your thin bottoms. you groan under your breath, getting lost in the feeling of him grinding against you, when he suddenly speaks again.

"You still feel it?" he asks, voice low as he looks at you through his lashes. you nod, biting at your bottom lip as you meet the steady rock of his hips, watching how he smiles before slotting his lips against your ear.

"Want me to help make it go away?" and he does, in the employee locker room after hours. he makes it go away, and rebuild, and go away again and again until you're hoarse and your legs are weaker than they typically are on leg day. bakugou helps the ache go away, but not for that sweet redheaded coworker of his, whose fists have fucked his cock the entire time of watching bakugou rail you over the locker room bench again and again.

[roronoagem]

cw // yandere themes & creepy law lol + not proofread

yandere!law stopping by your island for a supply run and when he saw you working at the pub of your small town, he couldn’t help but fall for you.

yandere!law that offered you a visit to his submarine, noticing how you looked at his ship in fascination, stating that “i’ve never seen a pirate ship like that! it looks so cool!”

yandere!law that noticed you were running a fever one day and offered to visit you, wanting to help you feel better. a side of him wants to take advantage of that and lie, lie about your health.

“i’m sorry [y/n]-ya, but it seems that you have a rare disease. i’m one of the few doctors who know how to treat it… it’s really dangerous and i don’t want to leave you in such a state,” he started explaining, you were completely unaware of what he really did while visiting you.

yandere!law that started using medicines to prevent your legs from fully functioning and you started panicking, because the disease he was talking about must be showing its symptoms and he was the only one able to help you!

you must leave with him, he said he could help you feel better. he offered you to go with him since he would go on a trip to look for a final medicine to cure your disease, but he couldn’t leave you there alone. and you accepted because what could possibly go wrong? he had really good intentions!

you were truly sick, it was dangerous not being around him at this point . . . right?

[interstellarlyinlove]

First Kiss (May 6th)

word count: 502

@wolfstarmicrofic

“Who was your first kiss?” Sirius asks, whispering. Remus drops the vial of crushed moonstone he was holding and it shatters everywhere. He apologizes to Slughorn and glares at Sirius. 

“You startled me,” Remus whispers. “And now we don’t have any moonstone.”

“You’re moonstone,” Sirius says, grinning. He waves his right hand in the air obnoxiously and the broken vial of moonstone repairs itself and lands on the table to Remus’ right. “We don’t even need moonstone for this potion.”

“Huh?” Remus asks. He’s not really using any part of his brain because Sirius doing wandless magic is so incredibly hot. 

“Crushed moonstone isn’t a Felix Felicies ingredient.”

Remus blinks. “Yes, it is. Look–” Remus holds up their Potions textbook to show Sirius and only then does he realize he’s looking at the ingredients of another potion entirely. “Oh.”

Sirius laughs. “It’s okay. It’s almost done, anyway. Who was your first kiss?”

“What is up with you today?”

“It’s not a weird thing to ask!” Sirius says rather loudly. Slughorn glares at them and they apologize together. Sirius clears his throat. “I know James’ first kiss.”

“Who was James’ first kiss?”

“Lily.”

“Awe.”

“You know my first kiss.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Only because you spoke of nothing else for ten entire days.” And Remus still doesn’t like Fabian Prewett all that much. Which is silly because Sirius is his friend and he can kiss whomever he wants. 

Right.

“If you know mine then I have to know yours.”

“Yeah?”

Sirius smiles. “I only follow the rules, Re.”

“You can’t get mad, okay?”

Sirius furrows his eyebrows. “Why would I get mad?”

“Actually, you know what, I’ve never kissed anyone. You got me. How embarrassing. Let’s just–”

Sirius stares at Remus funny for a few moments then his eyes widen. “No way.”

“I guess he already told you when–”

“Regulus?” Sirius all but screams. 

“Mr. Black!” Slughorn calls out, scandalized. “Is there a problem?”

Sirius says no. He turns back to face Remus. “I thought that was a joke!”

“It wasn’t a joke. It was mostly for practice before his date with–”

“Practice?” Sirius whisper-yells. 

Remus is suddenly having so much fun. He grins.

“No more kissing Regulus.” Sirius fake-gags. “Oh, Godric, I need to go tell Regulus to stop kissing you.”

Remus snorts. “Regulus isn’t kissing me. It was one–”

“I’m totally a better kisser,” Sirius says. His eyes widen. Remus chokes on nothing and starts to cough. Sirius hits him on the back a few times until he stops.

“I mean–”

“What does–”

“Enough, the two of you!” Slughorn suddenly says. Remus and Sirius both jump. Remus knocks down the moonstone vial and it shatters again. 

All of this is suddenly the funniest thing in the world. Remus has to stifle his laughter as Slughorn makes Sirius change partners for the rest of the class. Sirius is looking at Remus as he picks up his stuff and his smile is blinding. Potions is now Remus’ favorite subject ever. 

[sugarlywhispers]

Thinking about best friend, biker!Bakugou, who always goes for you to pick you up in his big ass bike; no matter where, no matter when, he's outside waiting for you sitting in his bike with his arms crossed over his chest, a permanent scowl on his face for whoever looks disapprovingly at him because of his bad boy appearance. Piercing in the right side of his bottom lip, piercings in his ears, black leather jacket, black ripped jeans. You need him to pick you up from work? He's there. You had to stay late doing extra hours? No matter what time it is, he's there waiting for you to take you home. You need to go buy ladies stuff to the farmacy? He's there ready to take you, and then bring you back. You woke up at 3 am and want a snack? He'll call you an annoying pain in his ass when you phone him, but he tells you he'll be there in ten minutes.

One day, he picks you up at work because you have talked about going to see the fireworks show that was going to take place due to some celebration. He takes you to a place closer to where the whole show will be, people already around waiting. You sit on the grass next to each other as you keep talking about the events of your day. He mmhs and ahhs and pffs and tsks to everything you say, smiling and frowning when it needs to.

The show is about to start, and he sees your discomfort. He knows that even though you love the colorful lights, you hate the sounds of explosion; he knows it's a small trigger for your anxiety, so he takes out he's special airpods that he uses when he's riding his bike for longer periods of time and the loud engine actually annoys the hell out of his ears and they cancel every sound from the outworld but the music in them. He doesn't say anything as he gives them to you and you smile thankful at him while putting them on.

The show finally starts, you don't hear anything but the chill song 'Apocalypse' by Cigarettes After Sex as the spectacular shining in the sky illuminates above you.

Bakugou, even half way through the show, can't take his eyes out of you. Your face enjoying it it's even brighter than the lights. Your smile it's the biggest he has ever seen, and he has known you since you dropped a weight next to him by accident at the gym three years ago–you became instant friends since then. He has seen you at your best and at your worst, and vice-versa. But he has never seen such… beauty in your whole demeanor before as he does in that moment. Content. Fascinated. Relaxed. Happy. And your eyes… he can practically see the show reflecting on them, and he thinks it looks much better that way.

That's when he realizes. How relaxed he also is next to you, how he enjoys much more your reactions than the show itself, how the pit of his stomach flutters when you suddenly wooow to a big bright explosion that almost whiteness the whole sky. He realizes how much he wants to hold your hand, to kiss your cheek for how cute you look at that moment. To actually kiss your lips to discover if your taste is as cute and sweet as you look right now. To hold you in his arms to protect you from the world, because it doesn't deserve a person like you walking on it. You're precious.

The show ends, and the shine still glows in your eyes when you look at him, smiling big as you give him back his airpods, talking how amazing the show was and how cool and pretty all the lights were. You're pretty.

And as he can't take his eyes out of you while you speak, he realizes then.

"I'm falling in love with you." He blurts, and he has never said anything as sure as that.

You immediately shut up, completely taken aback. "W-what?"

His vermillion eyes don't leave yours, and he repeats, "I'm falling in love with you. Hard."

You don't know what to say. He can see the surprise and confusion in your face, but if there is something Katsuki isn't, it is a man that backs aways from his own actions or words. But he understands that probably this is too much now, yet he needs you to know.

"I'm not saying this for you to do something about it. I just want you to know it. Because from now on, I'll be whatever you need me to be. A friend, a lover, your driver, your fucking servant if you need me to. But I won't back away from trying to make you like me back. It's on. I'll convince you to let me be yours and you be mine."

Your eyes fill with tears, emotional tears that don't mean something bad but either something good and you don't know what to say, what to answer. But you do realize something…

He's always there. And he will always be. The butterflies in your stomach wake up and start fluttering around.

[warpedpuppeteer]

There's just something about the idea of Buck being heroic (not reckless) and being the last one out of a fire because he was saving someone and the whole time he's inside the structure the 118 are waiting outside with their breaths held. Then Buck comes out covered in ash and debris and soot and has lost his mask and his helmet is slipping and Eddie, who's already realized he likes him, barrels towards Buck and cups Buck's face and kisses him on the mouth desperately, leaning up and up to clutch at him and Buck's helmet falls backwards and Buck's hands pull Eddie close without even realizing and Buck makes a soft surprised sound against Eddie's lips and Eddie's breath shudders out as he breaks away but his fingers curl in Buck's hair and Buck places his forehead against his and they breathe the same air for a moment and the fire is still burning bright and hot behind them and Eddie thinks oh, he doesn't just like Buck, he loves him.

[henwilsonmd]

post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

read on ao3

Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

[revasserium]

the little things (that add up to you) kageyama, hinata, suga, daichi, tsukki

kageyama || he keeps extras of your favorite hairties in his bag, just in case you need them; he always pauses to watch when you put up your hair, thinking to himself how such a mundane thing could mean so much, could take up so much space in his mind, your fingers running through your hair, gathering it up, the soft strands slipping loose to frame your face, your favorite hairtie caught between your lip and your teeth like some inconsequential thing, but he knows -- he knows that it's these moments he'll find tucked away in the pages of his own memories when he gets home, when the lights go out, when it's just him and his own thoughts of you.

hinata || he always buys your favorite flavor of taro milk-bread on the way home; he likes it when you take the first bite, loves the way you smile, unbidden, the happiness bubbling up through you as inevitable as the sunrise, the way you lick your lips and look up at him with those sparkles in your eyes, the way you blush when he laughs, reaching out to wipe at the crumbles that always, always get stuck to your cheek, your lips -- he knows that it's moments like these, the ones he gathers like breadcrumbs on the floor of a heart-break forest, leading him towards a place where he can't turn back without knowing that something inside him will shatter (but only if you leave him, and he doesn't think you will), but he doesn't mind, because he knows that it'll be worth it in the end, just to see you smile.

sugawara || he holds your hand in the hallways, even during the summer months when both your palms are sticky with sweat; he's always loved the feeling of your skin against his, loved the way it makes you blush, even to this day, loves how peoples eyes linger on the pair of you as he walks you to your next class, or to the lunch line, or out to where the gymnasium is, where you'd swing your hands between your bodies and pull him back for a kiss, ask him for one more minute, maybe two, the pair of you lingering like infatuated teens after their first date, unwilling to part at their parents' doors -- he knows that it's moments like these, the ones he cups in the palms of his hands like glass-blown marbles, these are the ones that will matter the most when one day the pair of you look back, holding hands in some distant future, because he knows that he'll never grow tired of the feeling of his hands in yours.

daichi || he lends you his jacket, his mittens, his umbrella, his scarf, even if that means he'll be a little chilly on the way home sometimes; because he's always prepared and you're -- well -- you're working on it, and he can't deny that he likes seeing you in his clothes, the size-difference strangely satisfying, the sight of it scratching some itch inside him he's never realized he had, and then when you return it -- whatever it happens to be -- he knows that it'll smell like you, and he can't lie, he really likes that too -- and he knows it's moments like these, the ones he tucks away in the lining of his jacket, in the stitching of his scarves, that he'll reach for the most, the ones that'll keep him warm on a cold winter's day when he doesn't have you by his side.

tsukki || he has a playlist of songs that you've mentioned you liked, just for himself; because he knows better than anyone else that the music a person likes reveals all their deepest secrets, and finds himself wanting to know all of yours, so he listens to each song, memorizes the lyrics, taps his fingers against the beat and wonders if you did the same the first time you listened, wonders if one day, he were to put a pair of headphones over your ears with a playlist full of all his favorite songs, if your eyes would light up, if your cheeks would flush, if your lips would split into a knowing smile and if you'd already know all the words to sing along -- because he knows that it's moments like these, the private ones he keeps like secret soundtracks, that might one day give him away to you, where you might one day realize that from the moment you met, all his favorite love songs started being about you.

[averycutesalamander]

merry crimes from me and boothill 💝 i hope everyone has a fantastic day !! 💕

[harbingersglory]

Could I please request Yae Miko kink headcanons?

{☆} characters yae miko {☆} notes drabble, hc's, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

{☆} brat taming

i mean. kind of expected, but it also goes both ways. she thrives off "taming" you when you're being bratty just as much as she thrives off you doing the same thing to her. and she is a brat when she subs, absolutely. she will keep egging you on and being an absolute brat to the point she'll often forget you're still, yknow, mortal and don't exactly have the stamina to keep up with her being so damn insatiable (that's fine for her, though. she doesn't technically need you to lift a finger to keep it going, if your comfortable with it. just don't expect to be getting up for the next few days.)

{☆} marking

also a given and, again, goes both ways. she loves when you're rough with her, not afraid to break her (the bed, on the other hand, is a different matter), marking is just the cherry on top that has her toes curling and her tail wrapping around you like a vice. especially if you leave marks in places her uniform won't hide later– but she's also gonna do the same to you, and her teeth are a hell of a lot bigger, so I hope you've got a good pain tolerance because she's gonna make you into a chew toy half way through the night. scratching, biting..she might even get a little too excited and zap you once or twice. on accident, unless your into it.

{☆} wax play

miko leans more towards giving then receiving with this one, but I can see her enjoying it immensely. both because she's a tease and likes to rile you up and because she loves to doll you up and make you nice and pretty..which just happens to include pouring hot wax on your skin. if you let her, she'll even blindfold you so you can never expect when she'll pour the wax, and oh boy does she thrive off the surprised noises you make. she loves experimenting with all different kinds of colors of wax, too, just to see which looks best on your skin. absolute menace about it, too. her hands are on the colder side, so when she peels off the wax once it's cooled down she'll randomly place her hands over your warm skin just to watch you jump.

[forwhump]

a/n; as promised, some wren <3 I said somewhere “nothing good happens now for a long time” so here’s some not good things happening >:)

I consider the second part of this whole thing (I’ll pick a title eventually) the “farmhouse arc” & the arcs are all based around the different vibes i felt like writing at the time LOL

this is when i was feeling slasher/serial killer sort of vibes & also hopelessly devastating yearning but worry not: it’s still just horrible shit happening to my (our ?? 👀) favourite little guy <3 (but seriously wren gets tortured in this one)

tw/cw: kidnapping, false imprisonment, sexual slavery, implied rape/noncon, mentions of past rape/noncon, misgendering, transphobia, psychological torture, drowning, burning but with water (boiling ???), mentions of necrophilia, mentions of a living weapon, dehumanization, body fluids

creepy whumper

Wren wakes up in the dark, naked and shivering.

It isn’t the first time, not even close, but something about this time is different. Wrong. He knows even before he’s opened his eyes.

He doesn’t recognize any of the sounds for a long time, a sort of rumble that’s so familiar but out of reach, detached. The floor beneath him moves restlessly, almost vibrating. It isn’t until somebody honks in the distance, laying on the horn, that Wren recognizes the hum of traffic and his throat constricts so tightly it makes him gag.

He’s in a trunk. He’s outside. But there’s none of the relief, there isn’t a deep breath of fresh air, because there are only two people Wren knows that would want to get him out of the district and above ground. Only one of those people, Wren thinks, would throw him in the trunk.

Now he’s alone. He’s more alone than he’s ever been. Trapped, and the farthest from Silas he’s been since he’s known him and Wren can’t save himself. How is he supposed to save himself?

That thing bursts in his throat and Wren screams bloody murder. The car swerves quickly, Wren slides, hits his head pretty hard but screams again, anyway. The car jerks and he hits his head again. He’s naked — he’s so fuckin’ tired of being naked. What’s the last thing he remembers?

What’s the last thing he remembers?

He doesn’t remember anything; nothing that ends with him in the boot of a car. How did he get here? Where’s Silas?

What the fuck happened to Silas?

He isn’t really the type to let Wren get far without him, but Silas has never been above ground, not as much as he remembers. Wren doesn’t even know how long he’s been unconscious, so he can’t even begin to guess how far they’ve gotten. Not that knowing that would even do him any good, seeing as Wren has no idea where they came from, doesn’t have the first clue where the district might be. How is Silas ever going to catch up? How is ever going to find him?

Wren’s never going to see him again.

It’s like cold water. It’s barbed. It knocks the wind out of him and he doesn’t scream again, but he makes a helpless, gasping sort of sound, the same sound he makes when he tries to scream in his nightmares.

Wren is never going to see him again. The world is too big and Silas is too unfamiliar with it; Point is never going to let Wren go. He’d kill him before he got far. He’d fuck his corpse once he’s dead.

Wren’s naked and shivering in the boot of a car and nothing is ever going to be the same again. The end of Wren’s life is unfolding formally in the trunk of Point’s car; the only way this ends now is with Wren’s death, or with Point’s. He’s never going to let him go. There’s nobody around anymore to save him. His life, in the district, had been grey and miserable, but he hadn’t been lonely. There had been warmth.

Wren’s never going to be warm again.

He tries to scream — he makes another breathy, choking noise. In the miserable grey of the district, he wouldn’t have been able to imagine being above ground and wanting to go back under it. Now, he can’t take a full breath in and his chest buckles beneath the weight and he starts to hyperventilate in the darkness of the trunk. He wants his books, and his brother. He wants Silas. He wants his looming shadow and his protective hand on Wren’s back. He wants the way he says Wren’s name, with the faintest twang of Wren’s accent because that’s how he had learned to say it. He doesn’t want to be alone.

The world is too big and Wren is completely alone. He takes another hitching breath and his chest hitches along with it. He doesn’t want to be alone. He can’t do this alone. He can’t do this by himself.

The car screams to a stop and Wren hits his shoulder so hard he feels the pain in his wrist. When the trunk flies open above him, Wren doesn’t have time to think or react — the world is so much brighter than he can remember it being. As the trunk opens, the light is let in, and it’s like being blinded, so bright he sees spots. He can’t keep his eyes open against it, and he flinches; as he’s flinching, Point is already reaching into the trunk with him, grabbing him around the throat.

He grabs him so tightly Wren can’t breathe under his hand and he makes an empty, wheezing sort of sound. Point grins widely; he’s here with him and still, Wren’s never been so alone. He grabs at Point’s wrist, tries to pry him off, claw him away, but he presses Wren a little harder into the boot of his car and says, “shucks. You’re awful pretty when you’re scared, cowgirl.” In his other hand, he has a rag he uses to cover Wren’s mouth and his nose. It smells sweet and Wren already knows what’s coming, even before the spots burst in his vision and the light starts to get wavy, blurry. “Unfortunately,” he adds, “you’re being awfully loud back here. I’m gonna need you to be a good girl and keep quiet a little longer, baby. You can scream as loud as you need to when we get where we’re going.”

He doesn’t even have time to scream.

He’s unconscious for a very long time.

Point keeps him sedated, keeps him under, and Wren only knows this because he knows to recognize the heavy, hazy feeling once he’s finally allowed to wake up again. It’s a different sort of headache than being knocked unconscious, a heavy throb of overmedication and dehydration.

He’s still naked, still on his back, but he isn’t still in the boot. He can’t open his eyes yet, his eyelids are too heavy, and his hands are tied, this time, wrists knotted behind his back. His fingers are pushed into what feels a lot like old shag carpet. “What?” Wren says, and he doesn’t mean to. But carpet?

There’s a series of sounds Wren recognizes quickly, a door being closed then locked, then locked again, then bolted. Point says, “well, good morning, cowgirl,” to the sound of him pushing something heavy in front of the door. “You’re right on time.”

Wren still can’t open his eyes. He slurs when he says, “what are you doing?”

“I got us a room,” he answers. “You need a bath.”

“What?” Wren says. He’s having a hard time thinking. Or is Point just not making any sense? They’re in a room? He chokes on a breath in, tripped up by the weight of sedation on his chest.

Conversational, Point says, “you can scream if you want to, baby. I made sure of it. I don’t know how soundproof the walls really are, but this place charges by the hour. Nobody’s gonna come running for a screaming girl.”

Wren still can’t open his eyes and it hurts when he swallows. Slowly, he says, “why are you doing this to me?”

“What?” Point replies. He snorts. “I got you out, cowgirl. You’re gonna have a warm bath.”

“I wanna go back,” Wren slurs.

“What?” He repeats.

“I don’t wanna be here with you,” Wren says. He’s being too honest and he still can’t open his eyes. He isn’t sure where the words are coming from — not his brain, that’s for sure. “I want Silas.”

“The fuckin’ dog?” Point spits, and then he’s quiet for a long time. He’s quiet for so long that Wren finally gains the strength to open his eyes again, blinking up at Point who’s leaned in close, too close, so close it makes Wren jump. He snarls in his face and takes a fistful of his hair. “That’s too fuckin’ bad,” he seethes, “you ungrateful whore.”

The room is exactly what Point said it would be, cheap and dirty, straight out of a 70’s porno or an 80’s slasher. It’s been a long time since Wren’s thought in any sort of movie references, and maybe being above ground again is bringing it out in him, maybe it’s the sedatives, but he thinks now, for some reason, about what happens to the blondes in every cheesy 70’s porno and every gory 80’s slasher, and he thinks, fuck. Panic finally starts to seep through the sedated cracks in his chest as Point hauls him across the filthy shag carpet by his hair.

Point drags him into a bathroom that wouldn’t look out of place behind a gas station and that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in thirty years. The bathtub is coated with grime and the rusted pipes squeal as Point turns on the water, cranks it as far as he can. Somewhere deep, the heater rumbles, and the water that shoots from the faucet steams with heat. As the tub fills, the bathroom fogs, the water simmering in the filthy tub.

Panic rises up the back of Wren’s throat. He thinks he screams, but it might be the shriek of the pipes. “Darren,” he gasps, because he can’t catch his breath around the knot in his chest, he can’t breathe. Point snarls, and he tries, “don’t — don’t do this to me, don’t — don’t —,” gets stuck in a panicked sort of loop of, “don’t, don’t, don’tdon’tdon’tdon’tdon’t—” as Point pulls him up by his hair.

Wren begs, thrashes, pleads, panics, but Point lifts him with ease and a curled lip. He throws him into the tub, into the boiling water.

Wren’s skin starts to split immediately. Like boils, it starts to burst, opening through his skin and layers of tissue, worse at his palms and the bottoms of his feet, around the sensitive skin where his wrists are bound. Point reaches for the faucet, finally turns on the cold water, but with his other hand he keeps Wren in the tub as it boils, even as the skin of his own wrist peels away in the heat. He holds Wren in the water as he flails, and the nails peel from his fingertips as he claws at Point’s arm. He shrieks when he can, but he can’t very quickly; he can feel the heat in his lungs and he can feel the way the flesh starts to bubble with it, deep in his chest where it should be safe. He can’t scream because he can’t breathe and his upper lip splits open on one side.

When the water starts to cool, Wren’s skin still steams. It doesn’t feel hot, but like razor blades, hundreds of millions of razor blades, restless under his skin. He trembles so uncontrollably water sloshes from the tub at his stillest.

“The dog isn’t around to save you anymore, cowgirl,” Point says, dipping his other hand into the tub, shutting off the water once he’s deemed it’s acceptable. “I don’t want you to think about it again. Y’hear?” He adds, mocking, and pushes Wren’s head beneath the water.

Wren still trembles with heat and he never got to take a full breath in, hitching relentlessly. He doesn’t mean to gasp but he still inhales water. His hands are still tied behind his back.

He sputters, tries to hold his breath, to push himself up, but Point doesn’t let him break the surface. Point holds his head under water until Wren’s scorched lungs start screaming in protest and his vision starts to bloom dark spots. Point holds his head under water until Wren realizes he’s going to die.

It makes him think about Twilight, which is weird, but that’s what he thinks about. It might be the only thing he really knows about drowning. That and Silas, once, saying something passive about being waterboarded. But he doesn’t think about Silas, which is also weird. He thinks about Twilight, and how Bella said that drowning was peaceful.

She fuckin’ lied. It’s chaos, actually, and a screaming ache in his chest that feels like it might split him open down the middle. And he’s in a dirty fuckin’ bathtub, which sucks, and he’s still fuckin’ naked. He’s been naked for days, weeks, and now he’s gonna die naked. How fuckin’ demeaning. How humiliating. How unfair. How many years did he spend suffering underground just to die naked in a bathtub? What the fuck is that? Why is this happening to him?

Is anybody ever gonna know what really happened to him? Legally, he’s been dead for years, he knows this for certain. Point’s always been proud of himself for having made it happen. Nobody’s ever been looking for him. Nobody above ground knows what happened to him in the district and nobody in the district will know what happened to him once he left. Wren’s gonna drown in a bathtub and nobody but Point will ever know.

Closer to the end, things do get a little more peaceful. It doesn’t hurt any less, but everything starts to get sort of fuzzy and less severe. His fingers go numb. He thinks about Silas. It hurts a lot to die, and that makes him think of Silas.

He doesn’t die, not really, but that makes him think of Silas, too. He loses consciousness in the bathtub and comes to on the filthy bathroom tile, vomiting water. Point is pushing his wet hair out of his face and his touch makes Wren vomit again. “You feel better, baby?” He coos. “All clean?”

Wren throws up more water and it’s still hot on the way up. He’s trembling so uncontrollably it makes his muscles ache. It makes him think of Silas again, of the way his hands always shook. It makes him vomit again.

With another coo, Point turns him onto his back. It takes Wren a second to catch up with his body, it takes the panic a second to breach the surface of the water and he tries to gasp, chokes on it, vomits again. “Please,” he breathes, and Point laughs. The sound of his zipper is familiar. Wren chokes again as he tries to cry out, rasps, “please.” He tries to pull himself up, to so much as lean away, but his body is so heavy and shaking so uncontrollably and his trembling hands are trapped beneath his weight.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Point tells him.

“Don’t,” Wren rasps softly. “Please.”

Just as soft, Point says, “it’s just you and me now, cowgirl. You’re all mine. You might as well start getting used to it.”

His smile is unnatural. It isn’t human. Wren vomits again, still warm where it pools in the column of his throat and the dips of his clavicle.

“When I’m done with you,” Point says, curling a hand around the back of Wren’s thigh and he cries out, his skin still feels like razor blades, Point’s touch isn’t just bruising, it’s sharp, “we’ll get back on the road. I got a house waiting for us, baby. Big farmhouse in the countryside, nice and isolated. Nobody around to hear you scream.”

“Please,” Wren rasps, his breath hitching desperately.

“Nothing you can say or do will change the fact that this is gonna happen to you,” he tells him, soft and mock soothing. “You’re going to be kept chained up like an animal. You’re going to be used thoroughly and repeatedly. You’ll know your fuckin’ place, and you’ll show me the proper respect. You may not like it, cowgirl, but you’re fuckin’ sure gonna do it. You won’t like what happens to you if you don’t. It’ll be a lot worse than a warm bath.”

Wren’s heart beats in his throat and he wishes he had died in the bathtub.

Point’s kneeling between Wren’s thighs, starts rocking against him, coos softly when the warmth of his skin makes Wren vomit again. Why was he so desperate not to die? It has to be better than this. It has to be less miserable than this.

“Please,” he whispers, rough. “No more.”

“Oh, cowgirl,” Point says, and he smiles, wide and grotesque. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

[novasintheroom]

Vash’s kisses come slow, at the beginning. Pecks to the cheek, the forehead, the lips if he was feeling daring. He didn’t feel daring often.

He’d need an excuse to do it. A reason to brush by you, to lean in and barely press his lips to the apple of your cheek before dashing away, off to hunt for a job in town or bring back food. A way to escape. He always had an escape plan in mind.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Does he put them on your hips? Your shoulders? He copies you when you gently pull him in by the back of his neck. His hands travel to your jaw, your throat, and the pleased sounds pulled out of your lips tells him he’s doing something right.

The need to escape ebbs away the longer you’re together. He lingers longer at the doorway before stepping out to town. Waits for you to get on your tippy-toes so he can bend down and let your lips press his. Links your arms together when you walk through a crowd – or if you’re alone. He opens to the idea that, maybe, he’s okay with a relationship. Maybe he does want this.

Chaos always follows him, and you’re hurt. Badly. In the hospital wing of a decrepit town, Vash is shouted outside while the overwhelmed young doctor tries her best to keep the bleeding stemmed with her nurse. And he thinks this, this is why. He wants to escape again. He wants to run. Keep you away from him and his mess of a life. Keep you safe. He’ll tell you when (if) you wake up, he promises himself.

But then you wake up.

And he can’t stop holding your hand, pressing his forehead to your stomach, watching and waiting for the wounds to heal and your voice to not be so shot with fatigue. You crack jokes to get him to smile. You reassure him that ‘the other guy looks worse.’ And you’re right. So right. No one could look more beautiful than you.

There’s a moment when you’re using him as a walking stick on the way out of the ward, that Vash considers it again. Should he run? Leave you behind? You smile up at him and go to your tiptoes, lips pursed and waiting. He gives in, hands rising and pulling you in by the neck, and you laugh when your teeth bump from his eagerness. He’s never letting you go. He’s too far gone.

Now, his kisses come easy. They press to your lips, nose, ears. He loves kissing your hands. He holds yours with his own when you walk into town. Pulls you in by the waist and dances with you in the saloon, or the inn, or wherever. He’s always wanted a dancing partner. He finally has one.