#Eek! It's been almost a year!

[elizzsush]

Future Child | Twisted Wonderland

Malleus Draconia X Reader

----It wasn’t everyday you’d find a three year old running around campus causing a ruckus. Usually students wouldn’t have to deal with this, but with Crowley you had to deal with everything. Now… why is it when you catch this small trouble maker it calls you “momma”?

AUs: None Rating: SFW

Note: Hi, hi! So, basically, I wasn't going to finish this and posted it as a WIP and people really liked it. So, then I had no other choice but to finish it! And I hope you like it.

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Crowley in-listed you to help with the child problem around school. No, wait that sounded bad. A young fae no older than five got into night raven campus and has been running amok. Some students say he appeared out of thin air. So, obviously, you: the defenseless, Magic-less human with no knowledge of fae or even how some of these basics of this world work, you were the schools best bet against this ‘threat.’ And so, your oh so kind instructor pushed this task onto you and left.

Not without you demanding an extra allowance, but still.

Thankfully, you were well equipped with a grumpy cat-weasel thing who is so glad to help and definitely did not try and run away. “Ehh? Why do I have to help ya??” Grim whined as he hung limply, your hand firmly grasping his scruff as you held him up. He was so generous and did not need to be bribed at all.

You sighed, “I’ll put some money aside from this to get you tuna.” Technically, that was a lie. No, you were going to fix the window Grim broke from practicing his magic in the house, again.

“I want two cans!” The motivated cat purred and jumped onto your shoulders. Now, you can finally begin your mission and take on this… threat...?

This threat was a real threat!

The sight of the frozen cafeteria did scare you. You had learnt that after you had stumbled upon the frozen dinning hall; all of this was from the baby fae! What on Earth were you suppose to even do once you caught the child?

How would you catch this kid without being frozen exactly? Why were you put on this task?

There was a mountain of ice and a many frozen students who were actively being saved by other students most of whom were made to help. They had gotten lucky in your option. They didn’t have to find the kid. “So much magic…" An awestruck student said, "it’s hard to believe a kid did this.” The nameless person mumbled as they helped thaw the room out. You couldn’t help but hum in agreement to yourself.

What kid could do this when Deuce struggled with making anything but cauldrons while he was somewhere new! It was… overwhelming magic for sure. Even for you to stand in the middle of it, magicless. And this was just the dining hall!

Apparently, you had three more places to check out.

“Not much to see here.” Grim grumbled from your shoulder, just then a ball of fire came hurtling towards the two of you! “Eek!!” Grim squealed jumping of your shoulder while you ducked.

“Sorry!” A no name student called out… He had been using the fire to dethaw some students.

“We should leave… and fast.” You said as you turned to leave in a hurry. You tripped on the ice almost tripped on the ice while you left.

.

.

.

The very next place you checked was the courtyard, where Mr. Vargas liked to make you run in the blistering heat. PE was horrible. Everyone else got to be on their dumb magic brooms while you were stuck doing laps.

Mr. Vargas did like to make the boys sweat afterwards though. You got to sit on the grass and laugh at them cheer them on! Especially Ace, who always lagged behind.

Anyway, in the place of the field of green grass that your peers used to practice flying on a broom, was a field of fire. Green fire no less. At least it was still green? You stayed a distance away while you watched a group of five students try and summon water magic to help fight these flames. “If you don’t do this right, it’ll be off with your heads!” Next to them, a familiar short, red-haired boy was shouting at them and telling them what they were doing wrong.

You liked to think it wouldn't actually be off with their heads, Riddle was above that... Now. You liked to think it was just motivation to make them work harder!

Because it was mostly Heartslabyul students, it worked. "Hey! Riddle?" You called out to the boy. The Housewarden looked at you and jogged up to meet you a way away from the green flames. Was Sebek here as well? You swore you heard his voice shouting...

"You shouldn't be here. This area is off-limits to anyone outside of the Equestrian club because of the danger." Riddle crossed his arms; his tone was pretty gentle though. You nodded along to what he was saying, because it made sense.

"Crowley wants us to find the Fae doing this, do you know anything about it?" You decided to get right to the point. Riddle was busy enough as it was. He seemed to appreciate it too.

The boy glanced back at the students trying to figure out how to calm the fire and shook his head. "I think I heard a few third years mention a blur of H/C going into the school." He mentioned, you mostly knew the kid was in the school. It was one of the places Crowley wanted you to check out, Mr. Trein's class, after that you didn't really know where the kid could be.

You smiled and thanked Riddle before turning to leave, the boy glanced back at the fire before stepping a bit closer to you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "Uh- Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to have tea with me later I-"

"Dorm leader! it's spreading!" A student shouted out, a panicked look on their face as they rushed up to the two of you. Riddle muttered something under his breath, before jogging back to the fire. To step up to calm the flames even more than what the regular student could do so you left.

“This seemed handled enough…” You muttered, a bit disappointed that you didn't get to finish your conversation with Riddle, Grim simply rolled his eyes and you two turned to leave.

.

.

.

You went to Mr. Trein’s classroom next. Your most boring class of twisted wonderland, history, uh... you think. Truthfully you hadn’t stayed awake long enough to know what class he taught.

It was not for lack of trying either!

He just drew out his words and spoke in just a boring robotic tone, it could put anyone to sleep! I digress. The cat: Lucius liked you too, he tended to let you sleep more while waking up other students.

Anyway, in place of the classroom was… an overgrown forest? In the center of it, you noticed a tall, well groomed, teal haired male, squatting down to examine what appeared to be a mushroom….

Obviously. it was Jade. He was part of the Mountain Lovers Club. The sole member actually if you remember right. Crowley mentioned something about the clubs handling the situations. So...

This seemed… handled-ish….

You would be taking your leave now. You closed the door silently and Grim groaned. "This is so boring." He whined, "Why do we have to do this?!" You shrugged slightly.

"Crowley said he'll give an extra allowance this week if we do this." You mumbled, "We could really use it to fix that window you broke." You reminded the cat. He huffed and glared at you a bit childishly, crossing his furry arms silently on your shoulder.

"I thought you said I could have extra tuna?" He realized, jumping off your shoulder he pointed at you in an accusatory manner; you sighed a bit.

You didn’t have time to find him right now. "We can talk about this later." You walked past him but when he didn't follow you, you turned around.

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

This fae would eat him alive!

Feeling even more motivated and slightly panicked, you ran off to find the cat and disregard the threat that was getting killed by meeting this Fae kid unarmed. Uncated? Either way.

.

.

.

.

“Someone help me!” You finally heard Grims's voice after looking for him for... quite a while actually. Pushing the door to the classroom open, you found...

Nothing.

Every potion was on its self, the stirring sticks where the usually go, nothing burned, frozen, or overgrown nothing was… well anywhere. At least anywhere out of place. “Someone, help me!” A cried out a very familiar voice squeaked out. Hesitantly, you walked closer to where you heard Grim’s voice.

This felt like something out of a horror movie.

A cauldron, inside of it was the soft glow of blue flames. No doubt caused by Grins fire ears. “Grim…?” You spoke softly. Peeking inside the steel pot, you saw a young boy, a long tail curled up beside him and one horn on the side of his head. In his arms was Grim, held tightly like he was a stuffed animal. He sniffled and then looked up at you with the most striking green eyes you’ve ever seen…

“Y/n!” Grim cried out, relief flooding his voice and breaking you from the little boy's curse of cuteness.

You plucked Grim from the kid's arms and He crawled onto your shoulders.

“Momma!” The boy, still in the cauldron yelled out, stumbling to get up and jump into your arms, get hindered by the caldron he found himself stuck in. His face was red from tears, and he looked scared… his small hands shaking with fear. He sniffled more, his chubby hands rubbing away his tears as they fell. Your heart ached slightly seeing those tears.

This can't be the same boy running amok in the school's campus. He was just so... non-threatening?

So, without a second thought. You picked the small boy up and cooed at him. Grim stared at you bewildered, His experience far more intimidating them yours.

Didn't you know how tight that boy was holding him?! Poor Grim almost didn't make it. He whined and frowned at the attention you were giving the boy.

Now, you just had to take this sweetheart to Crowley.

Either way, the small boy was absolutely adorable! Sure, he may or may not have caused this week's class cancelations but really, Ace was thanking the boy for it, so all was fine! Back at ramshackle, you realized, he was just a kid.

He was using some crayons to draw. He screamed like a bit of a brat when you tried to make him eat some broccoli you got... You thought it would be good for you and grim and neither of you ate it.

His big electric green eyes that reminded you of… someone? But who was it again? Well, it didn’t matter. The boy had green eyes, H/ced hair and these two small slightly curled horns on top of his head.

His ears were pointed just like a fae’s but just slightly? They weren’t as long nor as sharp as a regular fae’s like Lilia. It was hard to explain. It was the oddest thing- he had a tail as well! A long blackish purple one at that. And he was excellent at magic, if the destroyed campus told you anything. “Are you mad at me?” He looked up at you with teary eyes after you informed Crowley you caught him.

“Why would I be mad at you?” You asked the small boy curiously, blinking at him a bit confused at the question. His large electric green puppy eyes weren’t exactly helping you stand strong and not coddle him either.

“Because I made the rooms a mess…” he rubbed his large cheeks free from stray tears. Not that he was any good at it either, you just shook your head and kneeled to the floor, wiping them away for him.

Something about this boy made you wanted to care for him and protect him- he was just do cute. “Nonsense, you were scared. A little mess is fine as long as you weren’t hurt.” When you looked at him you felt something akin to cuteness aggression. This little fae was adorable! If Crowley didn’t find his parents, you’d take him in!

Ignore how poorly you yourself lived in ramshackle! And how much of your food was canned tuna because Grim insisted on it over actual food.

And the window that you still needed to fix and were most likely going to spend this week's allowance on...

The boy nodded, cuddling into your side like a small cuddly cat.

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He was adorable but children were a handful.

Crowley, after assigning you to catch the kid, gave you the poor child to take care of. So, you had been living with the child for three whole days.

Not to say the kid- who’s name you learned was Casper- was a handful. In fact, he was a sweetheart. He tended to shy away from things a bit, and he was a bundle of nerves sometimes.

He definitely got overwhelmed when left by himself, often resorting to crying and when he cried his magic tended to...

Anyway, Despite the amount of magic he held at his fingertip, he’d rush to you at the slightest creak of the floorboards, held onto you tightly, and hide his face in your shirt.

When it was finally time to go to school you didn’t really know what to do with the kid…? We’re you suppose to just… bring a kid to class with you? I mean, you already bring a cat, and the kid would probably be more well behaved then Grim.

So you brought Casper with you. And it was fine He was very sweet, maybe a little to shy, the teachers did love him. He introduced himself to them from behind your leg.

That was two days ago, now you were in the cafeteria. You hadn't been here in two days because, well you weren't sure if Casper would be okay around the crowd of students. Some of whom were still bitter about the Ice things... and the green fire thing.

“Fufufu, what do we have here?” Lilia popped up out of absolutely nowhere. "I heard a rumor about a trouble make~" He smirked.

“Grandpa Lilia!” The kid for once didn’t shy away. You had expected him to start crying. (He had before after all, when Jade introduced himself to the boy.) Lilia simply smiled and accepted the boy's affections, nodding along as he babbled about his day. Meanwhile, you were staring bewildered at the boy.

And... That was your lunch.

With of course, Ace and Deuce coming to keep you company while Lilia entertained Casper.

Most of your lunch you'd glance at the two. 'Grandpa Lilia?' You wondered why he was unusually not shy? He was a talkative boy to you, but with a stranger, no way... “Where Papa?” He asked looking up at the older fae with his large sparkling eyes. Oh, maybe Lilia knew the boy's parents! He was an older fae himself, right?

“Yes, good question indeed where is your papa?” Lilia asked, before he looked at you, a small smirk on his face, he looked at you like you’d know! You didn’t. You had tried to correct the kid on you being his mom before two- he cried and sulked over it for a while after that. “Well, I best be Off now!” Lilia cheered and gave you the kid back before disappearing off somewhere.

That was weird right?

You day went on- Ace and Deuce were good around the kid. Casper was pretty decent around Ace and Deuce, not too shy but he wasn't rambling like he was around Lilia. "Is something on your mind?" Deuce asked curiously, a mild layer of unwarranted concern.

"It's fine..." You shrugged, "I just hope Crowley find Caspers parents soon." You sighed, and the boy in question looked at you confused. He called you Mom and you basically took care of him, so you figured he thought you were his mom.

Not that you really minded, it wasn't like he thought you were old, fae tended to not age and stay good looking forever basically. Case in point, Lilia.

You really didn't mind, you already took care of Grim, so what's another, milder tempered Grim who didn't run away? "Speaking of the kid- Where is he?" Ace asked, looking around.

Scratch that, the kid wondered off.

"Oh no." You sighed and looked at the Adeuce duo with an exhausted look they couldn't say no too. They'd help you find the kid.

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How on earth did Sebek of all people get Casper?

Sebek, a first year in your class. Some loud guy who you got partnered up with once.

Why didn't Casper run away! You most certainly would and have. Instead, you found Casper on Sebek Zigvolt of all people's shoulders. Now you and Ace were whispering about how to get the kid back. No way you were going to go up to Sebek of all people and have to listen to his "fae are superior" speech... again.

"We should... Lure Casper away with candy." You whispered, Ace gave you a look and shot down your idea.

"Do you want to give him the impression that you should follow random people with candy?" He said looking at you like you just had the worst idea ever. "I say we just grab him and run."

"No, Sebek is faster than us." You noted, "Especially you, he runs laps past you in PE." Ace bumped your shoulder with an eyeroll.

"Where's Deuce?" Ace frowned, you watched with wide eyes as you saw Deuce confidently walk up to Sebek... "oh no." Ace groaned and run up behind Deuce.

You cursed to yourself. "We don't have to follow right...?" you asked the cat who agreed with you, but you knew you kind of had to follow them.

"Hey- Sebek." You smiled awkwardly.

"Mama!" The kid called out to you and reached out towards you. he almost fell off Sebek's shoulders- thankfully you caught him. Sebek looked at you in confusion and maybe a bit judgmentally...?

"No- he isn't..." You sighed and gave up.

"A human couldn't mother a Fae of Caspers caliber!" And so... Sebek began his rant. He started with how Lilia informed him of the situation, and he was here to lift the burden of Casper from your human shoulders.

Really, it saved you the time of informing Sebek you were in fact, not a teen mom. Also, it was weirdly insulting? Like hey, come on, you’ve taken care of him for three days! Almost four, “Casper is pretty happy with me, right sweetie?” You asked the boy who nodded hesitatingly. Wait- hesitantly? “Huh?”

Sebek looked a bit disheartened the Fae kid rejected him, but he was also kind of confused as well. “It’s just… I miss Papa, Mama…” the boys lips quivered a bit.

“No, no! You're not in trouble.” You fell to your knees to comfort the boy.

Apparently Sebek was hanging out with the child because he thought he was Malleus but something went wrong. Perhaps someone used their unique magic in the future ruler of briar valley.

Um… who’s Malleus?

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Day four of having a child.

Today you were going to find this kid someone who looked close enough to his dad. I mean, you apparently looked like his mom enough, so… yeah!

Also, perhaps his brother went to this school and that was how he ended up here. Finding him a dad sounded fun though.

It was a solid plan… “Casper?” You woke the boy up. You put Casper in the guest bedroom ace usually occupied when he was collared. Which was often. Even with Riddle being looser on the rules Ace always pushed sadly. “Today we’re finding your father.” You informed the boy.

“Really!” His eyes lit up. Why didn’t you do this sooner?

“Mhm, just tell me what he looks like-“ and so began Caspers rant on how amazing his father was. How he always makes time for you two even though he’s so busy, how good he was at playing superhero’s- and so on.

You didn’t even realize superhero’s existed here. Crazy. “He has black horns like me!” He grinned up at you, “oh- and black hair and we have the same eyes!” He giggled before again going on about how awesome his dad was.

“Horns, black hair, green eyes…” you mumbled, “and you're a fae, so we should probably go to Diasomnia, they have the most fae of the dorms” you smiled brightly. “This Malleus guy seems promising- and if he doesn’t want to, I’ll just make him!” You cheered and with Casper on your shoulders you were out the door!

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.

.

Was it just you or was Diasomnia slightly terrifying?

 Either way, with Casper on your shoulders like you were going to the zoo, you walked on the winding path with thorns around it and into the dorm. The halls were… very long and castle-like. 

Eventually you found the dorm's common room. Witch had three students, only one of which was a fae. With as much confidence you could muster, you approached them. “Hello! Good evening gentlemen… Um, do you happen to know someone whom this child looks like?” You smiled and proceeded to the kid. 

They very politely actually said that they think he looks like Malleus. You asked them to point you to this Malleus, and they again very politely refused. Apparently he was a busy man which was fair. But he was a father now! If casper deems him fit enough (By that you mean mistake him for his father like the boy did you.)

Still, throughout this process, you couldn't help but wonder if you were forgetting someone. 

You kept glancing at Caspers horns… who else did you know with horns? “Tsunotarou! That's who you look like!” You finally realized after an embarrassingly long time. In your defense you had only met the guy once or twice while you were dealing with Leona’s stupid plan, and didn’t Leona mention Malleus during his overblot?

“That's what you call Papa!” Casper cheered, his eyes widening in awe. Okay so, either that was a common name… which you doubt or Casper had a weird background. 

“Khee Khee what do we have here?” Lilia appeared out of nowhere! …again, still you jumped! 

“Mama is going to find Papa today!” Casper cheered in all his three year old glory. Picking the boy up and lifting him to sit on your hit you nodded. 

“Mhm! I’m going to meet this… Malleus demands he becomes Caspers father or pay child support!” You claim confidently because in reality, you were beginning to doubt the plan you came up with at 3am and woke up early for. “Tsunotarou would be a better bet but I really don’t know where that guy is… or his real name.” you muttered to yourself. 

Either way, Lilia clapped and with a large smile said this: “You're in luck! Malleus just finished his breakfast and should be heading over for his morning coffee.” So, without verbally questioning why he knew that you smiled and plopped down on the common room’s chairs watching a bit nervously as Lilia wandered off again. 

So… You were really dumb. Realistically this was a horrible plan bound to fail, but you already came this far. 

Didn’t all your friends always comment about how scary Malleus was? Wasn’t he like one of the top mages of this world? 

Okay, maybe if you didn’t come up with this plan at 3am last night you wouldn’t be so royally screwed! Hah, get it because Malleus is supposed to be some royal of… a whole nation right? Yeah, this was a bad idea. 

Getting up to leave, you heard Casper cheer for his father.

“Child Of Man?” 

“Tsunotarou?” You turned around, “Actually- no this is better than getting smited by some scary mage! Okay so I have been looking for… you, for a while!” You smiled, “This is our son: casper.” You introduced them. 

“Papa!” 

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“Mm, He does look like me.” Tsunotarou hummed; he knelt beside the child, titling his head curiously as he observed the child. “Your horns are coming in nicely aren't they?” He commented with a small smile, the boy nodded enthusiastically. 

“Mhm! They should be as big as yours soon!” Casper giggled. 

“Your speech is also advanced for a child of your age.” The older boy smiled, It was a very touching sight actually. 

“It is. Ace and Deuce have been helping me teach him some bigger stuff too.” you stated proudly as the younger boy nodded along. You sat beside where the boy stood in front of his new father. Your back against the armrest, you sat planted on the floor. “The headmage said he would be dealing with getting him back home but I have to take care of him till then.” You sighed. 

“I see, so you thought to find me as I am the child's father?” Malleus asked curiously, an eyebrow raised almost teasingly.

“If you’ll believe it, yup.” You nodded along, I mean if he believes that the kid is his, why not get him to take responsibility for that sweet child support money?

“I see, so Crowley is making the proper arrangement to get you back to us in the future.” 

“Wait, so he's actually my kid?” you couldn’t help but blurt out. Tsunotarou merely chuckles. “Am I dumb or are we actually like his parents?” You whispered a bit to Tsunotarou and stood up, he followed after you standing up as well. 

“Mm? Crowely didn’t inform you?” he said with an amused and sly smile. “I suppose it's time anyway we get properly introduced seeing as you are my future spouse” He smirked, his hand on his hips.

“I am Malleus draconia”

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Fun Fact:

The events of this takes place after Heartslabyul’s and Savanaclaw overblot. So y/n doesn’t know Tsunotarou is Malleus.

Also, Lilia knew all along.

Also, also, I'm sorry this sucked lol

NOTE: Sorry this slightly sucked I didn't really plan to actually finish the WIP I posted it as "Forever unfinished" and people liked it so I thought I'd do this anyway!

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Some of Ya'll wanted to be Tagged: @yu-night-raven @kelsyntam @reivelmin @thisisafish123 @cheshire-kitsune @dmiqueles @ranbutler-epicsans-moon @dontmindmelove @swivi @halseyhatter @barbatoss-bitch @itslucieen @bell7duck @whatever-fanfics @ziankenvirus @blcknebula @leilakaro @sarraisme

(I'm not quite sure if I did it right but thank you for liking the WIP enough to comment and want to see another! I hope it was good, I kind of think It wasn't that good but Thats why I made it somewhat long... To compensate!)

[prettiedup]

hai! your toji fics are SO SO good! i was wondering if you could write toji with a size and/or corruption kink and shy reader? like she covers up her face and can barely make eye contact without blushing

/ᐠ. ｡.ᐟ\ ˎˊ˗ theyre roleplayin toji bein her dads bsf ! jus wanna add that so it makes sense ^_^

you felt so so dirty. especially with a guy that’s years older than you having his rough hands wrapped around your neck while his cock bullies its way inside your dripping pussy. everything felt so deliciously wrong. he’s so strong, he’s easily pushing your body deeper into the couch cushions while he practically lays on top of you and pounds your pussy. the couch shuffles and creaks with every movement, and for a brief moment you wonder if it’s going to break. 

you let out a loud moan when he hits a spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. you wish you could hold him, grab him, something一anything. your movement is limited due to him having both of your wrists pinned to your back. he only uses one hand to keep your limbs restricted, a subtle reminder of how much bigger he is than you.

“t-toji! t-this is so nasty! ah!” you dramatically kick your feet against the couch. you pretend to put up a fight, trying your ‘best’ to scramble away.

“i see the way ya’ look at me when he’s not lookin’.” toji chuckles in your ear. the tip of his tongue darts out to trace the outline of your ear. your body shivers under his, your stomach’s clenching and you can’t help but to swallow your spit roughly. “‘s okay. ‘mma give it t’you.” he continues his teasing while plummeting into you.

you can only whine at his words. you feel so small under his muscular body, and with him restricting you, the feeling grows tenfold. his hips smack against the fat of your ass while his thick dick throbs inside of your sensitive walls. 

you push your own face into the cushions. everything felt so overwhelming. he’s the biggest you’ve had, ever. and for someone so strong and big to be on top of you dominating and degrading every inch of your body felt good.

“nooo, sir. d-dunno what you’re t-talkin’ ‘bout.” your words are muffled and slurred. toji can barely hear you from the sound of your skin slapping together.

he frowns to himself before he’s suddenly sliding his lubed dick from inside your dripping pussy. you’re quick to look back at him with a pout on your lips. usually, you would’ve been grateful for the small break toji provided but it was just getting good.

“tojiiii.” you drag his name. “f-felt so good. why-why'd you stop?” you say while sitting up from your previous position. you're embarrassed to admit that him even though he's your source of pleasure.

“can’t fuckin一”he cuts himself off by sighing. he runs his fingers through the strands of hair that stuck to his forehead from sweat. he looks down at you, you’re sitting so pretty and pliant with that adorable pout on your glossy lips. “stand up.” he tells you.

with a curious glance thrown his way, you stand up. “what are you doi一eek!” you squeal when he suddenly grabs you. he turns your back to his chest, and with a forceful hand, he presses down on your mid back, forcing an arch into your back. you can barely breathe when he slips his cock back inside you. he grabs your arms and pin them behind your back, you feel absolutely dizzy from how fast he switched positions.

“feel good?” he asks while slowly rocking his hips into you.

“mhmm!” you hum. your hum grows louder as he takes your confirmation as approval to speed up his movements. you grow more vocal as he pounds into your pussy, your body shakes with how hard he connects with you. all you can think about is how full you are.

he uses your pinned arms as leverage to make sure you don’t fall forward. “shit.” he mumbles to himself. the new position has him digging deeper into your walls, he’s so deep that it almost hurts.

you’re not sure if you’re moaning or screaming, maybe even both. your brain is officially jumbled as he fucks into you like he hates you.

“yeah, cum for me, girl. hurry before your daddy comes back.” he slaps your ass a few times as his voice drops.

 you can only let out something incoherent as you try to focus on taking his rough thrusts, and breathing.

[aangelinakii]

aj!!! certified jason todd LOVER is back!!! basically my one of my fav tropes is miscommunication eek 🫣🫣🫣 so i’ve been thinking about civilian friend! reader hanging out with oracle one night but nobody knows and listening in to comms and babs steps out for a sec to pee or smth and that’s when dick asks jason if he’s thinks you’re PRETTY or smth and jason vehemently DENIES it bc he’s pissed or bc of boundaries or smth 😭😭😭 and you’re so shocked u stay silent and leave and text babs that smth came up 🥶🥶🥶 and you distance yourself from your CRUSH bc that really HURT and after a while jason figures it out and tries to win u back or smth 😩😩😩

POOR CONNECTION.

— who's gonna own up to the truth?

summary : a friend of barbara's, you've always had a little thing for one of her family members — jason todd. and you're pretty sure he shared the same sentiment, or at least a similar one, what, with the way he smiles at you when he thinks you're not looking. tonight, you get your answer.

note : ANONNNNN YOU ALWAYS COME THRUUUUUU GIRL KEEZZP COMING TRHUUU anf also i didn't read the last bit of your ask until right when i finished writing 😭😭😭 so sorry i forgot to add that xx

"—and they didn't know when to stop," barbara, your good friend, laughed, finalising the story she'd been telling you about a time her comms were malfunctioning and tim and dick were attempting a good-cop-bad-cop routine, but barb had realised they were interrogating the wrong people.

"oh, god," you chuckled from the seat beside her, still dazzled by the set-up she had at her desk. "so oracle's not always perfect, huh?"

at this, barb gave a comical grimace, and pushed softly against the table, her wheels backing away from the desk. "just between us two." and she offered a wink.

she reached out to pluck her batgirl-merchandised mug from the desk, her hand hovering over yours — a green lantern one. "i'm gonna top up. you want?"

you tugged your eyes away from the various screens ahead of you, each one focused on a different surveillance camera angle. in the top corner, you could make out a blue and black figure somersaulting through the air on a rooftop, and their slightly less limber companion in red. your gaze fell to the remnants of coffee at the bottom of your mug, and you carefully placed it in barbara's hand.

"if you could," you hummed. "i have a feeling i'm not as used to late nights as you are."

and barbara gave a nod, placed both empty cups in her lap, and pushed herself away for a coffee top-up.

after a good few years of friendship, barbara had trusted you with her most top secret; her position as oracle. only a few months ago she had revealed to you her family's secret, after you were round for dinner and tim came home dressed as robin. it was the middle of june; no halloween or costume parties about.

tonight, however, was your first in the clock tower barbara spent her own in, eyes glued to various monitors, various cameras. some nights were more laidback, like tonight, and she could offer to remove her focus for longer period of time. other nights were more hands-on, fast-paced, shooting words into a microphone for the rest of the vigilantes and heroes to hear.

once the door had closed behind, you shuffled your chair into the middle of the desk, so the monitors were all front and centre.

using the mouse, you clicked on the top right surveillance cam, making the view of nightwing and red hood full-screen.

the view of their rooftop perch was more clear now, just almost out of view, but you could make out nightwing — dick grayson — holding himself up on his hands on the edge, slowly but surely shifting his entire weight to one palm, and the broadly musclar form of red hood — jason todd — sat on the edge beside him, legs stretched over, boots prepared for a fall.

ever since barbara had introduced you to her family — not her biological family, like the commissioner, whom she'd introduced you to already by this time, but more of a found family — you'd had a major jones for jason peter todd.

what was not to love? he was funny, handsome, would always give you some of his dinner when no one was looking, and had great biceps.

for you, it was like a crush at first sight, and one that had not wavered over the years.

and part of you thought that perhaps it wasn't entirely unrequited.

apparently he didn't share his food with anyone at dinner. apparently he didn't let guests get to see his room on the mansion tours. apparently he wasn't one to get into passionate conversations about his favourite books; not with any of wayne manor's residents, at least.

all evidence pointed to reciprocation.

your eyes moved down to barbara's — oracle's — desk. she owned a couple framed photos, one of her with her father, the commissioner, from her childhood, and a photograph from what seemed to be a party with cassandra and stephanie. a wonder woman mug was the home to various pens; a few byros, a few glitter gel pens, a couple sharpies. a blank-fronted leather journal lay open on the tabletop, pages and pages of surveillance cam addresses. and a headset, with a microphone attached.

tinny from the earmuffs, you could just about make out a couple voices. and so you lifted up the headset, and brought it to your ears.

first, there was a lot of grunting, and when you looked back up at the monitor, you could make out the black and blue jumping and flipping along the roof, and then there was a sigh.

"you're such a try-hard," jason's deep voice came from one of the headphones. his voice owned something different when he was speaking just to his brother, something more boyish, which was inevitable.

dick stuck his landing, extending both arms out like an olympic gymnast, and you could even make out the glint of his smile in the grainy camera distance. "you try it, then."

a beat passed. "no."

the surveillance cam did dick's dramatic movements justice, and he looked just as animated on screen as he was in real life. "that's why (name) doesn't like you," he chuckled, coming to a stop behind jason's back, hands on his hips.

immediately, without even looking, jason wound an arm back, clubbing dick in the shin, and, as you heard the smack in your ear, you watched dick stumble back. god, this was fun; barb must have a field day in this job.

"i knew it!" dick chimed, completely unbothered by the injury he'd now sustained. "you're into (name)! you like (name)!"

in your ear, jason grumbled, and on screen he pulled one of his guns from its holster and examined it in his lap. "i don't."

at his words, sulky, the corners of your mouth slackened slowly. oh.

that's all you could think as you stared up at the screen, heart sinking in your chest. just oh.

you should have known better. truly.

jason was just being nice, making you feel at home when he shared his food, when he included his room in the mansion tour, all the times he talked with you about his and your favourite books.

"stop lying, i see the way you look at them," dick responded, pacing behind his brother, but you weren't processing his words, just wallowing in your own shame.

and then, in a moment, jason scoffed and turned to glare at dick from behind his red mask. "i don't look at them in any way. just stop, you're.." his harsh tone fell soft as he turned back to thumb the sight of his handgun. "you're being annoying."

but dick only chuckled, enjoying jason's reaction.

on the monitor, he opened his mouth to speak, but you'd already removed the headset from your ears, placing it back on the desk where you'd found it.

yikes.

suddenly rather glum, you felt as though you would rather be anywhere but here; your bed was calling your name, as well as a few snacks — the healthy nature of them dubious.

slowly, you pulled your chair back from the desk, lump growing in your throat. maybe you should go.

and so you stood from the chair and grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before turning to the door barbara had disappeared through.

just as you were about to pull it open, the lady herself appeared, door sliding open as she nursed the two warm cups.

"oh!" she squeaked, visibly surprised. "are you.. okay?" her eyes ran over your disheveled look, noting your bag and the tremble of your lips.

"yeah!" you answered much too quickly, and, although she didn't show it, you knew she was suspect. "i just don't think i can tough it as much as you can — the whole nocturnal thing."

and, hastily, you skirted around her seated form and began down to the exit.

nose creasing in suspicion, barbara wheeled herself back into her oracle office, noting how the monitor had focused in on the surveillance cam capturing jason and dick in the distance. you must've been talking to them, she assumed.

once she'd reached the desk, she placed both mugs aside, and fitted the headset atop her fiery locks. she pressed a button on the side of one of the earmuffs to unmute herself, and began to speak, trying to keep down her concern.

"did one of you say something?"

she watched how dick and jason straightened up, their absent-minded conversation of whatever coming to a close.

"uh– no? nothing bad," dick responded, glancing down at his brother, who shared his confusion, despite the mask. "why?"

"to (name), did you say anything?"

red hood flinched, but nightwing smiled and gave a chuckle. "i mean, we were talking about them, but nothing to them. why would we have said something to them?"

barbara's eyebrows knitted together. "they were staying with me for the night. are you sure you didn't say anything?"

even through the graininess, the fall of dick's smile could be made out, and he looked down at jason, as if piecing everything together.

"uh, well..." he began slowly. "we didn't realise they were listening, we were talking about 'em. jason — even though he does, so this is all his fault — said he didn't like them. i don't know. they must've heard, and i guess.. i don't know."

but he did know, and jason and barbara did, too.

a sigh sounded in barbara's headset, and she watched as jason's form deflated.

"fuuuck."

[likeumeanit9497]

yale pt. 2 | c.s |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

read part one here!

summary: to commit or not to commit; what will chris and y/n decide? and how will they prove to one another that their mutual decision was the right one?

warnings: smut, oral (m/f receiving), hand stuff (m/f), p in v, unprotected sex (BAD), more fluff than i usually write, 18+

notes: again i'm sorry ab the wait but part two is finally finished! it's a bit longer than my past one shots (almost 6000 words eek) because there's a lottttt of fluff before the smut. i hope ya'll enjoy!!!

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

Two out of my three final exams were finished, and I was about ready to throw in the towel on my last one of the week. It was Thursday, and tomorrow was my Biology II final, which had been the one that had been stressing me out the most. As soon as I had got back to my small one-bedroom apartment that day, I had buried my nose in my textbooks in an attempt at cramming some last-minute miracle study session into my day.

That was around 3:00, and as I walked into my kitchen to make myself my fourth cup of coffee for the day, the clock on my stove read 9:26. I wanted to cry from exhaustion. Yale finals were no joke, and I had to do well on all of my exams in order to keep my scholarship for next year. On top of the stress caused by all of that, I was having an even more difficult time because my brain had been consumed by something else. Every moment of every day — whether I was trying to get some rest at night or trying to focus on answering the questions correctly on an exam — I was thinking about the last time I had seen Chris.

It had been less than a week, but my mind had replayed every moment of our time together so many times that it had begun feeling like a dream. That, in addition to the lack of proper rest I had been getting, had made me genuinely begin to question whether or not I had imagined everything that he had said before I ran out on him.

I hadn’t heard anything from Chris since then, which really wasn’t that uncommon. We typically only texted when I was back in Boston and we could meet up, and he knew that I would be busy with my finals this week and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. But regardless of how usual the lack of communication was, I couldn’t help but feel like there was a mutual tension between us even from miles away; and the shortage of interactions between us just felt like confirmation of that.

Since the last time we spoke, I had felt nearly every emotion possible regarding the situation. Guilty, happy, sad, angry, hurt, disappointed, excited, and confused. Very, very confused. There had been so many times where, as I was studying, or showering, or walking to class, I became completely consumed by the urge to text him; sometimes with the intention of telling him that I feel the same way about him as he does about me, other times my intentions were to cuss him out for making the one thing that was easy in my life so complicated. But every time I opened my phone and began typing out a message to him, I got ahold of myself and would hurriedly delete the paragraph.

Frustrated and lost in my own mind once again, I leaned onto the kitchen counter and rested my forehead against my crossed arms. The last thing that I wanted to do was go back to my desk and continue studying, but I knew that I needed to spend at least a few more hours on it if I wanted to secure at least a 90%. But my eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and the cool sensation that came from leaning on my counter was helping me calm down. Maybe I could stay here and collect my thoughts for just a few more minutes…

Four loud knocks at my front door caused my eyes to shoot open. I felt disoriented as I took a moment to take in my surroundings, glancing quickly at the clock I realized that I must have somehow dozed off in my position at the counter. Three more knocks rumbled through my small apartment, these ones more urgent than the last. As my brain finally woke up completely, I was hit with a mini wave of rage. Brad was in the same Biology II class as I was. He must be trying to study for the exam super last minute, and when he realized that he hadn’t even started taking study notes, he decided to show up unannounced at my place to get his hands on mine. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.

I stormed toward my front door, beside myself in fury and stress. As I unlocked the door and began turning the handle, I opened my mouth to begin my crazed rant.

“Brad I swear to God I’m not-” My mouth clamped shut and I froze once the door was completely open and the identity of the person on the other side was shown.

“Hi.” Was all he said, his voice tentative and wavering slightly. His bright blue eyes were filled with uncertainty, his slouched shoulders were covered in a light dusting of snow, and held by his hands in the space between us was a bouquet of sunflowers.

“Chris.” His name fell breathlessly from my lips, and I immediately walked toward him and embraced him in a relieving hug. I felt both of our bodies relax as soon as they connected, and we stood in my doorway for what could have been hours; both of us taking a moment to relish in the comfort that came from us finally seeing one another. “What are you doing here?” I finally asked, pulling back from him and taking a good look at his beautiful face. He shifted on his feet before responding, “I just needed to see you.��

His body language showed that he was feeling incredibly vulnerable. I wanted to do everything I could to reassure him, but not yet; it was too soon. So instead, I guided him into my apartment and closed the door behind us.

“So,” I began as he stood awkwardly in my kitchen, “Have you just decided to start carrying those around as some sort of fashion statement or what?” I gestured towards the flowers still gripped firmly in his hand. He blinked quickly before looking down at them as if he had forgotten they were there, and nervously giggled. “No. Uh, I brought these for you?” His voice rose at the end of his sentence, making it sound like a question and I let out a small laugh before gently removing them from his grasp. “I was joking, thank you for these. Sunflowers are my favourite.” I replied before turning my back to him to search through my kitchen cabinets for a vase. “I know they are.” He said in a quiet voice, and I turned back to look at him quickly.

“How’d you know that?” I kept my tone light, partially because I felt like it might make him more comfortable and partially to keep my nerves at bay. “Your lock screen on your phone. It’s of you and your friends in a sunflower field. I asked you about the picture that first time we met when you went to put my number in your phone and you told me that they were your all-time favourite flower, even though you thought they were a bit cliche.” He explained all of this to me while looking down at his feet, and I felt a ripple of shock travel down my spine. How did he remember that seemingly mundane part of our very first interaction, eight months ago?

I cleared my throat as I felt my emotions begin to get the best of me, and finally found a vase hidden deep in one of my cabinets. “Well I do love them,” I finally responded once I regained control over myself, “And look at how beautiful they are! The brighten up my entire kitchen.” I showed him the bouquet, now tucked into their vase, and felt my heart flutter at their vibrancy. “Thank you so much, Chris. I mean it.” I walked over to where he was standing beside my kitchen island, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I playfully brushed my nose against his a few times, before planting a light kiss on his lips. “You have a very good memory.” I added, before moving my lips to his jaw, down to his neck; leaving wet thank-you kisses along the way. His breath hitched once I reached his collarbone, where I spent extra time suckling his delicate skin.

I brought a hand down to his jeans, where I palmed at his semi-hard member. His hands stayed still at his sides, but I could feel his increasing pulse against my lips as I moved them painfully slow back up to his. When my lips made it back to his, I pressed my body against him in an attempt at deepening our movements. His hands finally moved to grab onto my waist, giving me a moment of satisfaction, before he used his new grip to pull me away slightly. “Y/n, wait,” He started, his gaze fixed on me, “I’ve really been needing to talk about last weekend.” My stomach sunk as I began to feel the too-familiar pit of anxiety that had been haunting me for days grow once more. Not wanting him to pick up on how terrified I was to have this conversation, I planted a faux smile on my face and gave him a quick nod. “Me too. Let’s sit.” I replied before walking over to my couch.

“So…” I began once we were both seated on the couch facing each other. Even though I had spent days mulling over every detail of what I might possibly say to Chris once this inevitable conversation happened, I really had no idea how to go about this. And by the unusual silence and bouncing leg coming from Chris’s side of the couch, it was pretty evident that he didn’t know how to either.

“I thought we had agreed that this conversation wouldn’t happen until after I had written all of my finals.” I finally got the courage to speak first, before immediately noticing that my tone came across pretty passive aggressive. “I just mean — sorry, Chris. I’ve just been really stressed out.” I attempted to correct my first sentence once I noticed that his face was riddled with anxiety. Placing a soft hand on his forearm, I continued, “I just mean I’ve been really needing to talk to you, too.” A nervous smile flashed across his face at my words, and I watched as he took a deep breath. “You have?” His tone sounded unsure, and I nodded firmly. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else.” I added, slightly embarrassed by my own admission. “Neither have I.” He added, turning his body slightly so he can face me better.

“I know I told you that I would wait until after you were finished your exams, and I really tried. But I’ve been going crazy these past few days and I really couldn’t wait anymore. I’m sorry.” He confessed, and I scooted closer to his place on the couch. “Don’t be. Trust me, I’ve felt so crazy these past few days too. I’ve gone through every possible emotion whenever I thought about the whole situation, it’s like I can’t get control over my mind. It’s been hell.” I reassured him with the truth.

“Well, how are you feeling about the whole thing?” He asked tentatively, as if he was afraid of my answer. I allowed myself to contemplate for a few moments before answering, so that I could say the right thing. “Well, at first I was scared. It was just so out of the blue Chris, and my brain couldn’t process it all.” I watched him watch me as I spoke, “Then, I felt really angry. I was so mad that after all of this time you decided to drop that bomb of a confession right before I had to start my most stressful week of the year. That, along with the simple fact that I am in a relationship, no matter how toxic, and you went and made things even more complicated.” His gaze dropped to the dead space between us, clearly having a difficult time hearing how upset I had been.

“But,” His eyes met mine again as I continued, “I almost felt relieved? Like, it kind of felt like this was how it was always supposed to end up, if that makes sense. It was like some part of me knew that the universe was planning something like this to happen in a way, and that all of our sneaking around was just the build up.” I felt my heart in my throat as I spoke of feelings that I hadn’t even known I was feeling before; shocked by my own confession. By the expression on his face, I could tell that he was just as confused.

“Wait, what?” Said Chris, his eyes widening slightly. I stared back at him in silence, terrified that I might have said too much and gotten this whole thing wrong. Oh God, what if he came here to back out of what he had said last week? What if his jealousy had just overpowered him in the moment, and he was here to backtrack. Even more, what if he was here to end things between us completely? I began to feel myself panic at all of the thoughts flying through my head at rapid speed, before he finally spoke.

“Are you — are you saying that you might want this too?” Chris asked, his voice one of hesitant optimism. Immediately, I felt my initial wave of dread vanish and a new, almost excited anxiety take its place. I bent forward, resting my arms on my knees, and groaned into my hands at the feeling. “I…do.” I finally said, my voice muffled by the concealment of my face behind my fingers.

The room stayed silent for what felt like forever, my last words sat heavy in the air between us. I was so anxious I couldn’t bear to look anywhere, so I scrunched my eyes tightly shut and made every attempt at calming my nerves.

“Come here.”

Chris’s voice was so soft and calm — a refreshing contrast to the racing thoughts in my own mind — that it caused my eyes to snap open and fall on him. He still looked a bit nervous, but the genuine smile that shone across his face allowed me to release the deep breath that I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I scooted even closer to him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around me. With my head tucked into his neck, I breathed him in; allowing my nervous system a moment to relax.

“We’re really doing this then?” I finally asked as he rubbed gentle circles on my back. He let out a soft chuckle. “Looks like it.” I pulled away from his embrace and brushed his hair out of his beautiful face. “I’m gonna have to end things with Brad tomorrow after our Biology final.” I sighed, dreading the inevitable conversation that was I was sure would be made more difficult by Brad and his disrespect. However, Chris’s pleased expression brought me some joy, because at the end of the day he was who I really wanted.

Feeling like I was on cloud nine, I wrapped my arms around Chris’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Right as my lips barely grazed his, however, he mumbled something and pulled back. “No,” he began, shaking his head firmly. “We gotta do this right. Things are different now and we’re not just sneaking around, so it feels wrong to just kiss you behind everyone’s back like we had to before. Take your exam, have a conversation with Brad, and then we can start from the beginning.”

My jaw physically dropped, shocked at the maturity of Chris’s words. I wish he wasn’t but I knew that he was right. Now that we were headed in the direction of something more serious, it would be so much more meaningful to wait until all of the wrinkles of our situation had been ironed out. I gave him a smile and nodded softly, letting him know that he was right.

“So, how did you get here?” I asked, stretching my arms behind my head to work the kinks out of my sore back. “Matt dropped me off. I had to offer to do the laundry for a full month for it though.” I laughed at his response, but was also touched by the idea as I knew that Chris despised laundry more than anything. “Jesus, no kidding, that’s a long drive just to turn right back around and go back to Boston.”

“Well, no. He should still be downstairs. I told him to wait outside for a while just in case things didn’t go so well up here.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly at this fact, but I understood what he meant. “Well, if you want you can tell him to head back and you can spend the night here. I was already planning on heading back home tomorrow night so I can just take you with me.” I offered, glancing quickly at him through my eyelashes as I did to gauge his reaction. Immediately, a smile flashed across his face and he shot up from the couch as if he had been hoping I would say that. “I’m down. Let me just run to his car and grab by duffel bag.” I laughed at his reaction, and the fact that he had clearly intended on staying the night if he played his cards right.

Before walking to the door, he leaned over my figure and planted a quick kiss on the top of my head. “I’ll be right back. Maybe once I grab my stuff I can quiz you for your exam or some shit. Don’t want you to not be prepared tomorrow just because I’m here.” My heard fluttered from the sensation of his lips on my skin in combination with his thoughtful words, and I had to fight the urge to pull his face to mine. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

Once I finally made it back to my apartment, I slammed the front door shut and slid against it down to the floor. I ran my hands through my snow-covered hair as I tried to catch my breath and wrap my head around what I had just done.

I finally broke up with Brad.

As suspected, he didn’t take it well. To be honest, it had been a bad choice of mine to do it as we were walking towards the exit of the exam building, but I hadn’t expected him to break down into tears and get down on his knees in front of countless other students and professors, begging me to reconsider. I could still hear the echos of his wails as I literally ran away through the double exit doors of the building, and I continued to run as fast as I could until I reached the lobby of my apartment complex.

And now here I was, feeling everything all at once and trying to make sense of all that has happened over the past twenty four hours. As I mulled through everything, the sound of my shower turning on caught my attention. In all of my stress from writing my exam to breaking up with Brad, I had nearly forgotten what all of it was for.

Chris.

I stood up and slowly walked towards the bathroom. Putting my ear against the door, I smiled as I listened to him quietly sing along to a Ken Carson song playing from his phone as he showered. Checking the door knob, I realized that he had left it unlocked and I decided to enter the humid washroom. The room had already begun to fill up with steam, but I could still see Chris’s back through the glass shower door. He was facing away from me, and the music was loud so he clearly had no clue that I was there.

Quickly and quietly, I began to take off my clothes from the day; keeping my eyes on him the entire time to make sure he still hadn’t noticed my presence. Once fully unclothed, I took my hair out of my messy bun and began walking towards the shower. Standing at the glass now, I brought my knuckles against the cool surface and gently knocked.

At my knocking, Chris’s body jolted and he quickly turned his body to face me. When he saw that it was just me standing there, his body visibly relaxed and a smile crossed his lips. “Hey.” He said as his eyes travelled across my naked body. “Hey.” I returned as I opened the shower door and began climbing in. I stood in front of his naked figure, the stream of water from the shower head beginning to mist my hair.

“Did you talk to him?” Asked Chris, his eyes searching my face; clearly trying to gauge my expression. I tilted my head to the side and smirked slightly. “I did.” He continued to just stare, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. “I ended it.” I added, causing a smile to immediately cross his face. “So we’re really doing this, huh?” Chris asked as he brought his hands to my hips, pulling my body towards him directly under the shower head. Now getting completely rained on, I squeezed my eyes shut and chuckled. “What, you getting cold feet already kid?” I asked jokingly, opening my eyes to look at him and standing on my tip toes so that I could bring my face closer to his.

“No, obviously not, it’s just,” He paused when I brushed my wet lips against his softly, before whispering, “It’s just a bit scary.” I brought my hands to the back of his head, where I mindlessly twirled my fingers through his curls. “What’s scary?” My hushed tone now matched his as I spoke. “I’ve just never been in a relationship before, and I don’t want to screw anything up. I’m really really out of my realm here Y/n.” He confessed, his tone somber and his eyes fearful.

I grabbed my bottom lip with my teeth, completely understanding what he was saying but not wanting to unintentionally confirm his fears by agreeing. So instead, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him against me. After a moment of relishing in the feeling of his skin pressed firmly against mine, feeling our hearts beat as one, I spoke.

“Let me show you that you don’t need to be scared of anything.” I gazed up at him as he looked down at me, and after a short while he nodded his head. Rubbing his back delicately, I spoke. “Things aren’t going to be much different, you know,” I began placing soft kisses along his collarbone, “Sure we won’t be sneaking around,” More kisses along his shoulder, “And there will be a certain level of accountability and loyalty that wasn’t there before,” My mouth moved to his jaw, “But those are all good things because,” Finally, my lips were hovering in front of his, so close to touching that I could feel his anxious breath against them.

“They mean that I’m all yours.”

At that, Chris crashed his lips against mine. Our mouths moved in sync as his tongue swirled against mine. I gasped as Chris suddenly pressed my back against the cool tiled wall where he continued to dominate my mouth. I felt his quickly growing member press against my hip, and reached forward to begin stroking it slowly. A soft moan fell from his mouth, and I began to move my hand up and down quicker along his hard shaft. He bucked his hips slightly at the sensation, and moved his lips to leave deep kisses along my neck, down to my nipples. He gave my left nipple one long drag with his tongue before engulfing the entire thing in his mouth. He sucked hard and bit tenderly on the tip of my nipple the way he knew I liked, and I couldn’t help but release a small whine at the building need in between my legs.

“Let me make you feel good.” Chris mumbled against my tit, grabbing my ass firmly with both hands. “Me first.” I replied, a smirk on my face with his cock still tight in my grasp. Slowly, I dropped to my knees on the shower floor and was face to face with his swollen cock. Gazing at me as water dripped down his entire body, Chris watched as I placed my lips around his red tip; swirling my tongue to lap up the salty pre cum that had begun to drip from his slit. I watched his erotic expressions as his body shuddered from the sensation, and slowly began bobbing my head up and down the length of his cock. I began pumping my hand along his last few inches that I couldn’t fit in my mouth, and had to stifle my own anticipatory moan from how turned on I had made myself just by knowing that it was my mouth that was allowing him to feel this pleasure.

Not being able to take the painfully aroused state I was in, I brought my free hand between my own legs; gently massaging my own clit to relieve just a bit of the tension. The immediate satisfaction caused me to moan on Chris’s cock, which in turn caused him to press his hand against the shower wall to support his weakened frame. As he watched me pleasure both of us, his jaw slacked and his eyes glazed over with pure lust. I continued to vigorously bob my head, though I was beginning to get distracted by my own heightened arousal as my fingers maintained their pressure on my swollen clit. As tears welled in my eyes I swallowed the entire length of his shaft and began deep throating him, watching his face as his eyes squeezed shut and his free hand moved to grab my hair.

“Fuck baby, I might cum.” His words came out gravelly through his bright pink lips, and I hummed in response as I continued to swirl my tongue around the base of his dick. Suddenly, Chris released a throaty moan before pulling his hips back and detaching my lips from his member with a pop. Instinctually, I tilted my head up and opened my mouth; sticking my tongue out with a slight smirk. I watched as Chris pumped his cock with his own hand a few times before his warm fluid coated my expectant face. I quickly swallowed the few drops that had landed in my mouth, and smiled softly up at Chris as he watched. He brought his thumb to my lower lip and swiped delicately; collecting a drop of his cum that had landed there before placing it on my tongue. Tauntingly, I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked it gently as his breath hitched.

He took his thumb out of my mouth and helped me to my feet. Wrapping an arm around the small of my back, he guided me directly under the stream of water before tilting my head back so that his seed could wash off of my face. After a moment, he pulled me back out of the water and pressed me into his chest. His hands travelled across my back and down to my ass, where he began massaging softly. As he massaged, the tips of his fingers grazed my slit from the back and I began to feel the urgent need to be touched. I nibbled at his skin and subconsciously arched my back in an attempt to give his hands better access to where I needed them most.

He ran a finger through my slick folds and my heart rate quickened against his chest. “You think you can manage to go again?” I breathed as he continued to tease me. I felt his body shift slightly as he chuckled. “Yup. Just give me a minute.” The words barely left his mouth before he dropped to his knees and backed my body up against the wall in one swift motion. Before I had a moment to process anything, his mouth connected to my bundle of nerves. To grant himself easier access, he grabbed my right leg and put it over his shoulder as I moaned out at the sensation that the new angle provided. His mouth moved rhythmically as his tongue swirled around my clit in the way that he knows drives me crazy, and I already began to feel the early whispers of an orgasm in my lower stomach.

After a few moments of bliss, my body was suddenly jolted into reality when he removed his lips from me and stood up. Keeping me pinned to the wall, he attacked my mouth with his own. Deep and carelessly, our lips moved in sync with one another as Chris simultaneously hooked my leg around his hip to press his body even closer to mine. Suddenly, our kiss was cut off by my open-mouthed gasp as Chris slammed his cock deep into my core. Without giving me a moment to adjust to his size, he began driving into me with quick strokes. I struggled to continue to stand — both because of the slippery shower and the velocity of his movements — so I dug my nails into his back for grip; sure to leave deep scratches by the time we were finished.

“Fuck Chris, you’re so big.” I moaned out, feeling my core stretch out with each of his thrusts. “Oh come on baby, you can take it.” His tone was mocking, but it came out breathless as he relentlessly pummelled into me.

His face was pressed against mine, and my view of his feverish gaze and tightened jaw was interrupted periodically only by his sloppy kisses along my jaw. As his pace began to grow more careless, my vision began to grow blurry from my approaching orgasm. “Chris, please keep going I’m so close.” I begged, fearful that his second orgasm would come quicker than my first.

He brought his hand to my throat and squeezed it delicately, his eyes on mine. “I’ll wait for you, princess. Want to cum with you.” His hand moved from my throat down to my clit, where he began rubbing it fiercely. The additional contact from him instantly sent a jolt of electricity down my spine, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I was going to reach my climax. “C-chris, I’m — oh God I’m cumming.” I practically screamed as the wave of overwhelming pleasure hit me. As my walls pulsed erratically around his cock, Chris released a raspy moan — a clear indicator that he had also reached his own orgasm. His movements slowed tremendously as we both rode out our highs; both of our fluids and slurred profanities in harmony with one another.

Chris’s hips stopped moving completely as we both leaned our heads against the shower wall, catching our breath. His hand that had previously been on my clit was now resting on my inner thigh where it was thoughtlessly rubbing up and down my soft skin. The thick steam in the shower was making it even harder for me to catch my breath, so I turned the temperature down before stepping under the stream of water to begin cooling myself down. Chris followed suit, and squeezed some shampoo into his hand before lathering my hair with it. Humming at the relaxing feeling of his hands massaging my scalp, I leaned back against his firm chest.

“See, at least you know that part of our relationship didn’t change.” I said jokingly as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair. “No, it definitely did.” He responded, and I froze. Once again I was worried that he had changed his mind; that maybe he thought the sex might start to be boring, or that sex with emotion was too sappy. Just as those insecurities began to rear their head, Chris’s eyes softened with a big smile as he pulled me towards him. “It got even better.” I felt my body relax in his arms at those words, and I beamed up at him. “I agree.” I pressed a soft kiss to his collar bone.

“Now let’s hurry up, I want to get back to Boston before it gets dark out.” I said as I hurriedly lathered by body with shower gel. Chris moved from his place under the shower head to give me space to wash off before exiting the shower. “Stay at mine tonight? We can watch Christmas movies!” He exclaimed as he grabbed a towel to dry off. I rolled my eyes with a smile. “You’re such a cornball. But unfortunately I think I might be too because that sounds great.” He giggled at this before poking his head back into the shower to plant a kiss on my nose. “I’m really happy we’re doing this.”

“Doing what? Getting excited over watching Christmas movies?” I asked with a chuckle. “No — well, yes. But no. I meant I’m — I’m really happy you’re all mine now.” His words made me melt a little inside, and I brought an affectionate hand to his jaw and brushed my thumb against it. I took a moment to really admire his perfect features — in awe of my current reality where a man as beautiful as him could feel the way he does about me— before responding, “Me too, Chris. I’m happy I’m all yours too.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

taglist:

@chrattstromboli @sncstur

[chaosandmarigolds]

Could we see a "Beauty and the Beast"-style plot, where the protagonist is a sweet new doctor at the base, and Simon falls in love with her for her kindness? And everyone else at the base is just stunned by the performances she gives to her and no one else.

(I WANT TO WRITE I WANT TO WRITE IT BUT I NO HAVE TIME-)

Anyway, so this will be in the same lil format as Eek has been in- short lil segments whenever I get time to bc I HAVE PLOT and I’m just too busy to sit down and write a whole whooping 20,000 word story so instead-

As an EMT I feel qualified to write a medic (kinda sorta) but all the same, if I mess something up that’s my bad yall, I’m just dumb

Let’s begin!

-

“And any medical history I should know about?” He stared down at you, almost bewildered by the standard question you had probably been trained to ask for years. He didn’t want to have to call ems however since Johnny had been an idiot and crashed the car they didn’t get much choice, he had patiently waited with his slightly bruised arm and a cigarette. Since the accident was so close to base they had just dispatched the medic team. What he didn’t expect was you, bright eyed even thought is was early morn and your voice oh so soft.

“nothin that’s not on ma file.”

you hum to the answer and warm your stethoscope back around your neck, as the answer wasn’t exactly wrong, as you were very well accustomed with all of their fields. You nod, “I’m just gonna give you a quick little assessment, will you tell me if it hurts anywhere?”

Simon nods to that, straightening his posture as you stand, blue latex gloves feeling down his spine and quickly frisking his legs before going back to his arm. Your touch was gentle, experienced- he respected that.

“Okie dokey,” you mumbles and then kneel back down, looking at your bag and then back to the man, “I’ll give you some meds and splint when we back base. Is there anything buggin ya?”

he then nods, “Yes there is.”

to that you immediately look up from your bag, waiting for what he was going to say.

“When did you start?”

“I was transferred from New York about a week ago, it’s so pretty. Anyway! Let’s get you to the ambulance, would you like to get me the stretcher?”

“no no, Johnny need it more.”

you let out a little laugh to that comment, as it was a good joke taking how Johnny was very dramatically playing up the minor laceration on his forehead. “Perhaps so, Lieutenant, however you are my patient so you are my priority- please, how can I help you?” You smile at the end, a sweet gleam in your eyes and genuine intention shining.

If his pupils weren’t already dilated they were then, if he wasn’t already tachycardic he would be then, if he could induce psychogenic shock just to make sure you wouldn’t leave his side he might just do so. He certain…he was certain within that moment you would be the death of him.

(Um….yeah, I’m eepy, but!!! This had been brewing for so long and I felt bad so I’m so sorry!! I hope this is kinda what you were looking for! Toodles!)

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: nope

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charles_leclerc starting P3 in abu dhabi for the final race of the season! fingers crossed for a good result

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carlossainz55 a good result in the race or somewhere else

⤷ charles_leclerc shut it

user 2022 season almost over :(

landonorris bring it on 😏😏😏

scuderiaferrari let’s race!!

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yourusername MY NEW ALBUM “emails i can’t send” OUT AUGUST 14. this year has been a whirlwind of emotions but it’s given me a lot of very dear songs. thank you for your patience 💌

view all 510,305 comments

user NEW MUSIC ALERT

gracieabrams squealing with excitement

arianagrande SO excited 🤍

user a whole album inspired by austin AND charles???? yes please

landonorris preordered and presaved can you send me a signed copy

taylorswift EEK!

it was finally here. the weekend of the final grand prix in abu dhabi, the end of another season of racing. you’d had your flight booked for weeks, but you hadn’t decided what you were going to do with it. all of your contemplating had made you late to the airport, having to rush through the terminal just in time to make the flight. and even then, thousands of miles in the air, you kept wanting to turn back.

you wanted charles, that much you knew. but you didn’t want to get hurt again, you were sure your heart was running out of bandaids.

no one knew you were here, besides lewis. he had helped you sneak in and out of the hotel, and into the paddock, without being caught. you didn’t want to let anyone know you were here, considering you might still change your mind at the last second.

but then it was sunday, before you knew it, and you were donning a red ferrari cap as you waited the race prep out in lewis’ driver’s room. every so often, you got the sudden urge to get up and run away, far far away. your heart was racing — maybe charles had changed his mind since you last spoke. three months was a long time, long enough to find someone else.

the race began and you watched it intently on the screens, biting at your fingernails every time charles rounded another corner. come the final lap, your feet were carrying you out to the paddock, away from the mercedes hut and towards ferrari. the crowd erupted nearby, charles crossing the finish line in P2. your heart swelled with a thrill, happiness for him filling you. a podium on the last race, something he’d spoken of time and time again.

you squeezed yourself through the celebrating ferrari employees, right to the front of the fence, watching as charles’ car pulled into it’s space after the cool down lap. you pulled the hat off, hoping your hair on show would catch his attention better. his fist pumped as he clambered out of the car, pulling off of his helmet and beaming at the crowds.

by instinct he moved to run towards the group all in red, the usual celebrations waiting to follow. but the monegasque driver stopped, his eyes stuck in the middle of the group. on you. you had come — you had actually come. charles could have pinched himself, sure he could never have gotten so lucky.

you felt your mouth run dry, unable to read his expression from where he was standing. everyone around you carried on celebrating, but the two of you were frozen. you smiled a little, shoulder shrugging with a slight chuckle. and when he smiled back at you, you knew.

you knew this was where you were meant to be.

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tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc possibly the best race of my life, i won the greatest prize of all ❤️❤️❤️ oh and i got P2

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user SCREAMING

landonorris i cried seeing that on the screen after the race

carlossainz55 they grow up so fast 🥲

user i never thought i’d live to see this day

scuderiaferrari OUR FAVS!!!!!!

yourusername my one and only ❤️‍🔥

⤷ yourusername pls ignore all the times i curse u out in the new album thanks 👍

writers note: i was THIS 🤏 close to her not getting on the plane

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Synopsis: Tabito Karasu has been in love with you for almost as long as he can remember. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you have any intentions of reciprocating, considering you’ve only ever seen him as a child — and, more importantly, as your best friend’s little brother.

BLLK Masterlist | Part One | Otoya Version

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Total Word Count: 41.6k

Content Warnings: reader is older than karasu (by like two years so it’s nbd but it exists), no blue lock au, bratty baby karasu, jealous karasu, slow burn, childhood friends, i have no idea how to write kids just deal w it, karasu’s older sister is given a name (look at that word count LMAO i’m not calling her ‘karasu’s older sister’ the entire time), reader gets drunk at one point, karasu the goat of pining, yukimiya and otoya mentions ⁉️

A/N: yes this is inspired by the song “best friend’s brother” from victorious but has barely anything to do with it. yes this is probably the longest karasu fic you will ever read as of its publishing date (word count is not a typo it fr is that long). yes reader and karasu are fuck ass little kids for half of the fic. i have nothing to say for myself except that i love karasu so much and i cannot be stopped…also tumblr is an opp so i had to split this into two parts EEK i’m sorry!!

Tokyo was exactly as you remembered it. Both of your parents had been raised there, and so you had visited frequently when you were younger. You had fond memories of staying there with both sets of your grandparents before they had all, in turn, decided to move to calmer parts of the country, places which were not as frenetic and vibrant as the capital. After they had left, your family had had little reason to go back, so it had been some years since you had last made the trip, but in a way this move was just another kind of homecoming, for the chaos of the massive city was as familiar to you as the peace of your neighborhood.

“Everyone here talks like your parents,” Yayoi told you, the first day you both were able to meet up after you had moved. Your classes had not yet begun, but you were both finally unpacked and oriented in your new lives, so you had taken advantage of the last bits of free time you might have for a while to see one another. “It’s kind of funny.”

“Right?” you said. You had never fully adopted the accent of your home region, for you had been raised by a family which still spoke as if they were in Tokyo, but regardless it was strange to hear people other than your parents speaking in that way without affectation.

“Sometimes I end up saying the wrong thing and confusing people, but they figure out pretty quickly that it’s just the dialect I speak with, and then they ask for clarification if needed,” she said. “So I haven’t run into any major miscommunication problems yet, thankfully.”

“That’s good,” you said. “Are you excited to start classes?”

“Well, excited isn't exactly the word I’d use for it,” she said wryly. “Even if I’m the one who chose the subject, it’s still going to be a lot of work.”

“A ton of it,” you said, making a face. “You’re lucky, though. Your term doesn’t start for another week.”

“Well, it also ends a week later, so that doesn’t mean anything,” she said, sipping on the last few drops of her coffee — which she always ordered black, not because she liked it that way but because she was trying to keep up appearances and whatnot. “What about you?”

“I think classes and all will be a good distraction. It’ll be nice to have something to keep myself busy,” you said.

“What do you need to be distracted from?” she said.

“Just homesickness and stuff. The typical things you’d expect,” you said. She hummed sympathetically.

“I get it,” she said. “I miss my parents like crazy sometimes, especially when I need help with random stuff. The other day, I had to video call my mother so she could explain how to clean a cast iron pan.”

“You could’ve looked that up,” you said.

“Yeah, but it was nicer to hear it from her,” she said.

“Yeah,” you echoed, because it was the same for you. You often found yourself calling your parents for no reason at all, asking them stupid questions just to listen to them talk. “I’m glad to be on my own, but I do miss my mother and father a lot.”

“Anyone else?” she said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“Just wondering,” she said. “You know, come to think of it, you were kind of late coming to your seat. Freaked your parents out beyond belief. Any reason in particular?”

“I was just talking to Tabito,” you said. “Saying bye and all.”

“Are you going to miss him?” she prodded.

“Obviously. At this point, he’s like my brother, too. Isn’t it natural to miss your siblings?” you said.

“I don’t,” she said, though she immediately burst into laughter, which somewhat contradicted the statement.

“You’re horrible,” you said. “I know you do.”

“I do,” she affirmed. “But I think it’s in a different way than you do. It’s odd, because I’m the one who’s actually related to him, but the truth is that you two have always been closer than he and I ever were.”

“Probably because I’m not a jerk like you are,” you said.

“How can you consider yourself his additional older sister when you’re so nice to him? You need to bully him a bit more to earn that distinction,” she said.

“He hears enough of it out of you,” you said.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” she said, holding up her paper cup and raising it to her lips, though you knew it was empty by now. You clinked your own against hers and finished the last remnants of your drink in one gulp. “You know, Y/N, I think you’re irreplaceable at this point.”

“You, too,” you said. “I’ll never be friends with anyone the way I am with you.”

“Fuck whoever we meet in college,” she said, nodding in approval. “I’m sure they’ll be cool and all, but the two of us, we hardly even count as friends anymore. It’s like we’re something more.”

“Exactly,” you said. “I can have a million more best friends, and likely I will, but never again will I have another Yayoi Karasu.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she said.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said. “Not for a moment.”

Your first year of college flew past in the blink of an eye. On the whole, you preferred it to high school, even though there were aspects of the past you still held dear, seeped with nostalgia as they were. You made new friends, as did Yayoi, but just like you both had predicted, none of them measured up to each other. Still, it was fun to meet people from all different regions in the country and to hear about their lives. Some of your classmates weren’t even from Japan at all, and there was another layer of fascination there, learning about the ways of other nations, the cultures and foods they were accustomed to, and teaching them about your own in exchange.

Your mid term breaks were a bit shorter than Yayoi’s, which meant you weren’t ever able to justify visiting home, but in return, you had much longer in between years, so while Yayoi was still stressing over her finals, you were already taking the train back to the station by your house, texting your parents all the while.

In your absence, your childhood room had remained untouched, the stuffed animals arranged on your bed in the exact order you preferred, the books still stacked on the shelves, your artwork and photos of you with your friends hanging on the walls where you had put them. Time felt frozen, and it was as if you had never left, as if your entire year in Tokyo had been a dream and this had always been the reality.

After eating dinner with your parents, you showered and changed into one of your father’s old shirts and a pair of sweatpants, flopping face-first onto your bed and taking a deep breath, already feeling yourself nodding off despite the fact that it wasn’t that late. Traveling always exhausted you, however, and it was all you could do to turn your lights off and crawl under the covers, plugging your phone in to charge as you drifted off.

Right when you were about to fall asleep for good, your phone’s screen blazed to life, startling you awake as it vibrated urgently. Groaning and cursing whoever was calling you, you glared at the device until you realized exactly who it was, and then your unhappiness was promptly replaced with glee as you clicked on the green answer button.

“Tabito!” you said. Although you had texted with him every now and then, you were ashamed to admit that you hadn’t spoken to him as much as you should’ve. You reasoned that he had had equal opportunity to reach out first and hadn’t, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was a feeble excuse that was only meant to deflect the blame from yourself and nothing more.

“Y/N,” he said. His voice was deeper than you remembered, and more resonant, too, lilting with a husky, full-bodied musicality that hadn’t been there when you had left. “Hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him. “What’s up?”

“Do you remember — sorry, this is really stupid, so don’t feel bad for saying no,” he said.

“It’s okay. I’ve definitely seen you do way stupider things,” you said. He chuckled.

“You’re probably right. Here goes, then. Um, do you remember when you went to my first soccer game in middle school, and afterwards, we agreed you wouldn’t come to another until I was the captain of a really good high school team?” he said.

“I think so, why?” you said. A second later, it hit you, and you gasped, beaming so widely that your face ached. “No way! For Bambi Osaka? Since when?”

“Yup, for Bambi Osaka. The old captain just graduated, and he named me as his replacement today, so, uh, since today, I guess,” he said.

“I wish you would’ve told me in person so you could see how much I’m smiling right now,” you said. “Congratulations, Tabito! You can’t begin to know how proud I am of you.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Anyways, our first game is this Thursday, so…”

“Huh? Did you want me to come?” you said. “Yayoi won’t be back from Tokyo by then, though. Shouldn’t I wait for her?”

“If you’d prefer that,” he said. “Or, I mean, you don’t have to go at all. I was just offering in case you were interested, but no hard feelings if not.”

Since when had he been so awkward with you? Since when had he stumbled over his words and been so unsure? You frowned at the mere chance that there was more than a physical distance between the two of you, even if it probably was the case, despite how much you had never wanted such an event to occur.

“As long as you want me, I’ll be there. I don’t have much else to do anyways, right? And how could I miss your first game as captain? Let me know where and when, and I’ll definitely come,” you said. He exhaled softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I want you there. I’ll let you know the details, but like I said, no pressure. Don’t force yourself. Come if you can.”

It was springtime, and the world was still remembering how to come alive, peeking out its head from the den of winter and blinking its sleepy eyes against the sun. There were not any flowers in bloom quite yet, but as far as the eye could see were buds on the precipice of rupturing, the pale undersides of their petals mere imitations of the hues they’d soon display proudly. The birds still warmed eggs in nests made of twigs and twine, but already there were cracks in a few of the creamy shells; here and there, even, little yellow beaks could be seen reaching towards the sky and chittering incessant demands at their parents.

You were lazy as you pedaled your bike down the side streets leading towards the field where the match was being held. It was an away game, technically, but this worked out better for you, as the high school they were playing at was closer to your house than the Bambi Osaka stadium, which was far enough that you would’ve needed to take a taxi.

According to Tabito, the game was actually more of a scrimmage, as they were playing a local school’s soccer club instead of another organization’s youth team, as they did in serious matches. Apparently, this was by design, as it gave their coach the opportunity to test Tabito's skills at being a captain in a low-stakes, low-pressure environment. If he proved himself incapable, the coach would override the previous captain’s pick and name another member of the team to the position, but if he played as well as he always did, and managed to coordinate the rest of the players in a satisfactory manner, then he’d be given the position permanently.

You had reminded him that this meant he technically wasn’t the captain yet, but to this he had said that he had the title and the armband, and if anything, since that was the situation, he needed you there more than ever. After all, he had explained, you had been in the audience when he had scored the winning goal in his first game for his middle school’s team. You were good luck for him. If you were in the crowd, then there was no way he could lose.

Parking your bike in the lot alongside the others, you locked it and then made your way towards the entrance to the stadium, the ticket Tabito had sent you in between your index and middle fingers. Even though there wouldn’t be very many people attending this game, it was Bambi Osaka’s policy to require tickets for entry to any of their matches, and the price if you weren’t associated with a player was, you heard, quite hefty.

You sat by yourself in the stands, your purse beside you and your legs crossed at the ankles. You couldn’t explain why, but there was a doubt in the back of your mind about whether you even belonged in the audience at all. Without Yayoi at your side, it felt like there was a neon sign in the air pointing at you and declaring you inept and unwelcome. Everyone else was buzzing with theories and predictions for the upcoming game, tossing out the names of the players and their opinions on them, but you were by yourself, without even a drink to warm your hands.

The gray of that isolation evaporated the moment that the Bambi Osaka boys took to the field, led by none other than Tabito. You were suddenly reminded that you weren’t just allowed to be there — you were wanted, genuinely wanted, and so you had as much if not more of a claim to your seat than anyone else could. Tabito had invited you. He could’ve invited anyone else in the entire city, but still he had invited you, and you would not tarnish that by thinking you were alone when he was there, as he always was.

As was to be expected, there was a complete difference to the way Tabito played when compared to that very first game of his which you had watched. For one, he was at the front of the field instead of in the middle, and there was an impertinence to the way he shook the hand of the opposing captain, an audacious smirk on his face which was visible even from the distance. This was a side of Tabito you weren’t so acquainted with, a side which was brazen and self-assured and stood as if he had already won before the referee even blew the whistle to begin.

The game moved faster than you could keep up with, and without Yayoi there to give you a play-by-play, you found yourself utterly lost about the finer details of the match. Still, even you could tell that Bambi Osaka was in the lead, and by no small margin — largely in part thanks to the combined skills of Tabito and a slender, pale-haired boy whose jersey read Hiori.

When Tabito was younger, there had been a desperate, vicious quality to his soccer, as if he really might die should he lose. It was in direct contrast to now, where he toyed with the opposite team in much the same way a cat would toy with a ball of yarn — with a distinct sense of superiority, like he was looking down on them even as he forced his way past, not giving them any other choice but to watch as he drove his way down the field.

“Is number 10 the new captain?” a boy behind you said. He sounded younger; maybe he had an older brother on one of the teams, or maybe he was just that supportive of Bambi Osaka. You didn’t turn, but you did tune into the conversation, wondering what they’d say about Tabito.

“Karasu? Yes, he is,” a slightly older boy said. “My brother said he’s a real asshole, but he’s a great guy when it counts. They’re all happy he’s the one who was recommended for the spot.”

“He’s so good,” the younger boy said. “And Hiori, as well. They’re both amazing.”

“Hiori’s only a first year, too. I bet he’s going to go far,” the older boy said. “Now shush, quit distracting me. I’m trying to watch the game.”

To no one’s surprise, Bambi Osaka won by a ridiculous amount of goals, and as Tabito shook hands with the school’s captain again, you noticed their coach nodding in approval, annotating something on his clipboard with a satisfied smile on his face. You waited until all of them had vanished into the locker rooms to head to the exit and wait by your bike for Tabito to join you.

About twenty minutes later, he and the rest of the team trickled out, discussing their game and the plans for the next one. At first it seemed like he had not noticed you, absorbed in conversation as he was, but it quickly became evident that he had, for he skillfully guided the others towards where you stood, never faltering in words nor steps until he reached you. Then he paused, schooling his expression into one of shock, his eyebrows raising and his lips parting as if he had happened upon you entirely by accident. It was an amusing bit of theatrics, albeit realistic to anyone who did not know his mannerisms as well as you did.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, all composed and airy and dispassionate, as if it were mere coincidence that the two of you had met at that moment, as if it hardly mattered to him that you were there. It might’ve fooled another person, but not once in his life had he been able to fool you, and he certainly wouldn’t start today.

He must’ve showered in the locker rooms, for his hair fell loose and silky around his face instead of styled back as it typically was, and when you hugged him — which was met a reflexive return of his arms around your body before he could even manage to yelp in surprise — you could smell the faint, pleasant scent of his soap which still clung to his skin.

“Hi,” you said, holding onto him for as long as you deemed publicly appropriate before wriggling free and smiling at him. “I think you did good. Without Yayoi, I couldn’t be sure, but to me you looked great.”

“Eh,” he said. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been better. But thanks.”

“Woah, Karasu,” one of his teammates said. He was a tall and burly player who reminded you vaguely of Aoyama, and he accompanied the exclamation by wrapping one arm around Tabito in a friendly headlock and using his free hand to ruffle the boy’s damp hair, leaving him to resemble a sea urchin. “You didn’t tell us you had such a beautiful girlfriend! Hello, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Get off of me,” Tabito wheezed, slapping his teammate away. “You fuckface, I’m going to kill you. Don’t try to shake her hand!”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you said, accepting his teammate’s proffered hand. “Just best friends with his older sister. You can think of me as a stand-in for her while she’s finishing up her first year in Tokyo. My name’s Y/N, by the way.”

“Ah, you’re that Y/N!” he said.

“I believe I am? What does that mean?” you said.

“Nothing bad,” Tabito cut in. “Yayoi’s come to a few games and mentioned you, so everyone’s been wanting to meet you.”

“It’s true. I mean, a girl who refused to come to a game until and unless Karasu was made captain? We all thought you must be something intense,” his teammate said. “You seem pretty normal, though. And also super hot, if you don’t mind me mentioning.”

“Well, he’s the one who told me not to come, so if anyone’s intense, it’s him,” you said. “And, uh, thanks? I guess?”

“I mind you mentioning, so shut the hell up,” Tabito said, finally breaking free of his teammate’s hold and shoving him away from you. “Sorry about this one, Y/N. He’s incorrigible.”

His teammate laughed raucously. “My fault, my fault. Sorry, Karasu.”

“Say sorry to her,” Tabito said. “She’s the one you were bothering.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “Really, I don’t mind the compliment. Even if it could’ve been phrased better.”

“Anything for you, gorgeous lady,” his teammate said with a wink. “But, ah, considering I value my life and limbs, I think I’m going to head out now, as our new captain seems about a few seconds away from murdering me. See you around!”

He ran away to rejoin the rest of the Bambi Osaka boys as they all headed in their separate directions towards their homes, leaving you and Tabito alone once more. As soon as they were all gone, he sighed, that put-upon countenance he had maintained for the entirety of the conversation falling apart in an instant.

“I didn’t think he’d say all of that,” he said. “Sorry again.”

“You worry so much,” you said. “Come on, you just won another match, didn’t you? That’s cause to celebrate, so don’t look so tired and mopey.”

“I don’t look tired and mopey!” he defended. “This is just how my face is!”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you said, unlocking your bike and beginning to walk it beside you so you could keep talking to him. “I seem to remember your face being quite a bit rounder and sunnier. Now you’re all angles and doom and gloom.”

“That’s not something I can help,” he said, taking your bike from you so he could walk it instead. “Y/N, you’re being mean. I haven’t seen you in so long and now you’re acting like Yayoi.”

“You think I’m acting like Yayoi? I’m hurt,” you said. “Okay, then, you sensitive captain. How about we go get ice cream? My treat, since you got the position and all.”

“Okay,” he said. “But it’ll be my treat, not yours, because you came to my game and stayed the whole time. It was your good luck that helped me in the end.”

“Offering to pay for me? I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll allow it this time. Anyways, I would’ve had to, because I just realized I left my wallet at home,” you said.

“Almost like you did that on purpose,” he mused, bumping your shoulder with his. “Was that your plan all along? Suggesting we get ice cream but forgetting to bring any money, so I had to cover for us both?”

“I see why your team members think you’re an asshole,” you said. “It’s a surprise, to be sure, but then again, maybe I should’ve seen it coming.”

“Who’s calling me an asshole?” he said. “How did you know that? I’m not! Whoever it is, they were making things up, because I’m — I’m super nice! Seriously, where did you hear that? Stop giggling and answer me!”

You extended your arm to run your fingers through his mussed up hair, smoothing it down as best as you could. “A magician never tells her secrets. Don’t worry about it and just tell me which flavor you’re getting.”

“The same as always, why?” he said.

“I want to decide whether I should steal some of it or not,” you said.

“You don’t have to steal it. I’ll share if you want some,” he said.

“It’s better if I’m doing something wrong. I think it adds to the flavor, or enhances it, or something,” you said. He considered this before nodding with the utmost of gravity.

“If that’s how it is, then you’re absolutely not allowed to even look at my ice cream. I’ll be, uh, super mad if you do,” he said, his glare so fearsome and dark that it skipped the realms of intimidation and landed squarely in the land of comedy.

“You’re the best,” you said.

“I do what I can,” he said. “Will you let me have some of yours?”

“Hm,” you said. “Fine, but only because I love you so much.”

He fought back a smile at that, staring directly ahead, the tendons of his hands flexing on the handlebars of your bike as you continued to walk along the empty sidewalk, the glowing sun in the distance a reminder of the many days exactly like this which you still had left to spend.

The break flew by so quickly it was almost more of a punishment than anything. About as soon as you had gotten settled back into a rhythm of spending your days with the Karasus and your evenings with your parents, it was time for you and Yayoi to return to Tokyo for your second year of college, as well as for Tabito to enter his final year of high school.

You took for granted that you would be back as soon as the first term ended, so when you boarded the train to Tokyo, you didn’t take the time to properly appreciate the place where you had grown up. The city where you had whiled away your idyllic childhood…you had considered it a guarantee that you’d return soon, so why would you linger? But a couple of weeks into your first term, you got news from your parents: your father’s job had, almost out of the blue, transferred him, and so they would be moving to nearby Kawasaki by the end of the month.

There was definitely a pro to having your parents at that distance — they were close enough that you could visit them whenever you wanted to, but far enough that you could justify not going if you were so inclined, and removed enough that your life still belonged to you and only you. Still, it was a little like having a rug pulled out from under you when you weren’t even aware you were standing on a rug in the first place; especially because you could not so much as help in the moving process, given that you were stuck at school and could make no excuse to go back home for such a long time.

The house they found in Kawasaki was in a good area, and though it was smaller than your old one, it was still airy and bright, with large windows and wooden floors and enough bedrooms that you could still have your own despite not living there full-time anymore. Your parents were actually glad for the reduced size, for it meant less emptiness, less cleaning to be done in places that never even got used or looked at.

When you went to visit during the first term break, it seemed like they really were happy there. Or perhaps they were just trying to convince you that this was for the best, that you should not be sad, but if that was so, then they shouldn’t have bothered. You were the one who had left first, who had gone to Tokyo to study and work. Of course it was more abrupt and final than you had wanted, but hadn’t this day always been looming on the horizon? Eventually, you would’ve stopped visiting so frequently, if at all. There was no reason to mourn the occurrence of an inevitability.

Besides the drama of your parents’ move, your second year was uneventful. You made even more friends than you had in your first year, and you still saw Yayoi as much as you could, although it was more difficult for the time being. Luckily, at this point you two had the kind of friendship wherein you picked up as if you had never been apart whenever you reunited, so you at least had that one constant in what sometimes felt like an ever-shifting life.

Around the time that your finals began, you received a text from Tabito, written in a formal language that was nothing like the messages full of abbreviations and emoticons that he generally sent you.

‘Hi, Y/N. I hope you’re doing well, and that your second year in university didn’t give you too much difficulty. I’m just reaching out to let you know that my graduation is next Friday. The ceremony starts at 6:30 in the evening, and I managed to reserve you a spot. The address and information is on the ticket — if you’re able to come, then I’d really appreciate it, but if not, then that’s totally okay. I just thought I should let you know.’

You stared at your phone, a sinking feeling in your stomach. No matter how much you wanted to go, you couldn’t. There were too many factors against it, and you felt horrible as you typed out your response. Any way you went about it came across as too harsh, but then again, was there even a gentle way to reject someone when they had come to you with something so important?

‘tabito!! i can’t believe you’re graduating already, wow!! i really would like to come, but i have a final that friday in the afternoon :( plus i don’t know if you heard or not but my family moved to kawasaki, so i wouldn’t really have anywhere to stay. thank you so much for inviting me though!! i’ll get yayoi to bring a cardboard cutout of me to put in my seat or something LOL. it’ll be just like the real thing!!!’

He responded almost immediately, and despite the effort he must’ve made to sound unaffected, he was obviously disappointed by the turn of events, his efforts at cheer only further highlighting that fact.

‘It’s okay, really! And thank you. Haha yes a Y/N cutout will have to be good enough then. Good luck on your final!’

The rest of the week, the unopened file from Tabito, which sat in your email inbox, tantalized you, and you found yourself obsessively checking the schedule of trains leaving Tokyo. There was one back to your hometown that would depart an hour after your exam was scheduled to end, and you refreshed it constantly, waiting to see if tickets would sell out. Once they were gone, it would give you an excuse not to buy them, but to your frustration, they never did.

You would have to run, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee you would make it, to the train or the graduation, but it was the best chance you had, and with every passing moment, it began to sound like more and more of a viable option.

On Thursday evening, when you once again checked the ticket site and noticed there were open seats, you bit your tongue to stop yourself from swearing, and then you entered your credit card information into the prompt. A minute later, you got a confirmation email, letting you know that your seat was booked for the next day. Burying your face in your hands, you inhaled deeply, vowing not to tell Tabito in case he got his hopes up for nothing. Breathing in and out through your nose once more, you straightened your back and opened up your textbook, returning to studying with a renewed vigor borne of the adrenaline rush which resulted from the impulsive decision.

If your professor found it odd that you came to the exam hall in formal clothes, with your hair done and an overnight bag over your shoulder, she did not say anything, only motioning for you to put your bag with the others and then handing you your paper.

Thankfully, you had studied through the year, and this exam was for one of your easier subjects, so it was a relative breeze. You finished with time to spare, leaving the hall with your things and walking to the train station without any worries except for what would happen once you reached your end destination.

The train ride was longer than you remembered, and by the time you were disembarking at the station closest to Tabito’s high school, it was already 6:00. You sprinted through the platform, calling out apologies as you ran into people or elbowed them out of the way, trying to get to the taxi area before anyone else could claim all of the available vehicles.

“Stop!” you shouted when the singular remaining taxi prepared to drive off to a different pick-up location. You must’ve looked a sight, chasing after a taxi by the train station, wearing a dress and heels, stumbling over your feet with your arm outstretched. “Hey, sir! Stop!”

By some miracle, he saw you through the rearview mirror and screeched to a halt. You opened the back door and dove in, scribbling down the address on a slip of paper and handing it to him, as was customary. Then, when he input the address into his GPS and accelerated onto the route, you leaned forward.

“Sir, I’ll tip you generously if you can get me there before 6:30,” you said.

“I will do my best, ma’am. Please hold on,” he said. That was all the warning you got before he stepped on the gas pedal, the car taking off at all but twice the speed of the surrounding traffic, leaving you to hold onto your seat as the scenery outside blurred into nothing but a smear of pinks and greens and browns.

He got you there at 6:27, which was too close for comfort but still earlier than should’ve been humanly possible, so you reached into your wallet and pulled out a wad of cash that was certainly more than you owed. Slapping it on the console, you mumbled out a thank you and ran off without waiting for a response, trying your best to remember the directions to the auditorium from the email Tabito had sent you.

“Do you have a ticket, miss?” the security guard waiting at the door to the auditorium said. You reached into your pocket and tried to unlock your phone; your slick fingers typed in the wrong password twice before it finally opened and you could brandish the file. He squinted at it before nodding and opening the door for you. “The ceremony has already begun, so please try not to make too much of a disturbance when you enter.”

Your shins and the balls of your feet ached from how much ground you had covered in your less-than-supportive footwear and the speed at which you had done so. Your shoulder, too, was sore under the strain of your bag, but you ignored these pains, counting down the rows and the seat numbers until you spotted the empty one that belonged to you. Squeezing past the others who had already taken their places, you collapsed in the cushioned chair, a sigh of relief escaping you when you saw that, though the ceremony was already underway, Tabito was still yet to go.

“Oh, hey, Y/N,” Yayoi said absentmindedly, for your seat was naturally beside hers. Then, like she had realized what she had said, her jaw dropped. “Y/N? I thought you couldn’t come!”

“Shh, he’s about to go,” you said. “I’ll explain later.”

If you had hesitated for even a minute at any point, you would’ve missed it, but by the grace of some universal power, you had made it into your seat right as Tabito stepped up to take his diploma. He scanned the crowd, much in the same way he did when he was playing soccer, but sadly instead of sharply, like he was aware that he was about to be disappointed yet knew he had to experience that disappointment first-hand regardless.

His eyes slid over everyone in the audience dismissively, but when they landed upon you, they paused, and though it was too far for you to see, you fancied they must’ve widened the slightest bit. Not enough for anyone else to make anything of it, but enough for you to know.

For an instant, everyone else disappeared. In that auditorium, there was only Tabito on the stage and you in the audience, his diploma slack in his grasp, your breaths still fast and uneven. And although there was a distance, and no small one at that, between you and him, it was as if you were right by his side, as if you could see every single emotion which flickered across his face. Shock. Disbelief. Wonder. Then, finally, a sheer, childish thing which could only be called joy ��� unabashed and whole and candid joy. He smiled in the way he only did for you, not for anyone else in the entire world, not smug and haughty but shy and sincere, and you could not help but smile as well, raising your hand and waving at him like he always did at you.

He was taken aback, but obviously delighted, and so, as the principal announced his name and read off his accomplishments while with the school, Tabito ignored the praise and the applause, focusing solely on returning your wave with one of his own.

“What are you doing here?” he said, sweeping you into a hug as soon as you had all left the auditorium and he had reunited with his family. “You said you couldn’t come!”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Yayoi said from where she was waiting at your side. “And Tabito, when you’re done showing your clearfavoritism, give me a high-five or something.”

He held onto you for a moment longer before letting go and high-fiving his sister, who was the only one that hadn’t been there for when Mr. and Mrs. Karasu, as well as Tabito and Yayoi’s grandmother, had taken teary eyed photos with him. She had instead stayed with you, telling you that you owed her an explanation and then jumping to another topic of conversation before you could give her one.

“There was a train from Tokyo which left an hour after my exam window ended,” you said. “I know you don’t like surprises, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it, so I didn’t want to tell you in advance in case things didn’t work out. As it is, I had to bribe the taxi driver to get me here from the station at highly illegal speeds, and with that, I only made it to the front of the building by 6:27. Honestly, I still can’t believe I got there before you went at all, but I’m so glad I did.”

“Me, too. You’re right that I don’t normally like surprises, but this one, I was really happy about, so it’s an exception,” Tabito said. Now that he was no longer under obligation to hang around with Yayoi, he was back at your side, playing with the zipper of your bag in fascination while you spoke.

“Me, three,” Yayoi said. “He was seriously depressed that you weren’t coming. The house was like a toxic wasteland the entire week. It’s going to be much safer and cleaner now.”

“Toxic wasteland?” you said.

“Yup, and the toxic waste himself is right next to you, so be careful,” she said.

“You’re so dramatic. It wasn’t like that,” Tabito said.

“Sure,” she said. “Yup. Totally wasn’t.”

“Why do you always do this?” he whined.

“Do what?” Yayoi said.

“Try to embarrass me whenever you can!” he said.

“Not like it’s possible for me to embarrass you in front of Y/N out of everyone. You do that all on your own, so there’s no way I can make things worse,” she said.

“Yayoi!” he snapped.

“Onto more pressing subjects,” you interjected before things could worsen. “Um. I do have a slight problem.”

“What is it?” Tabito said.

“I kind of came here on a whim, so I don’t really have anywhere to sleep, exactly,” you said. The siblings exchanged looks before Yayoi rolled her eyes and Tabito grabbed your bag from you.

“You’ll stay with us, of course,” Yayoi said.

“For as long as you want,” Tabito added. “Or as long as you can, actually. That’s better. Don’t leave until you absolutely have to.”

“We can put your bags in the car, and then we have to take pictures,” Yayoi said.

“I didn’t know you cared enough to want to commemorate my graduation,” Tabito said. Yayoi snorted.

“Nah, I just want to commemorate Y/N’s wild journey from Tokyo, and the fact that she magically got here on time. I don’t ever want to forget about that,” she said.

“I’d be offended, but actually, I’m in agreement. I can’t believe you bribed a taxi driver for me,” Tabito said.

“Ah, well, you know,” you said. “I just told him I’d tip him if he could get me there on time, and he did it.”

“You’re crazy,” he said affectionately.

“Totally,” Yayoi agreed.

“And aren’t you grateful for it?” you said, curling your fingers around his wrist and throwing the other arm around Yayoi’s shoulders, causing her to shoot you a mock-dirty look before she made herself comfortable against you.

“Yes,” Tabito said, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks when he lowered them bashfully, that same smile lighting up his face at the sensation of your fingers dancing over his veins. “I really am.”

The world was quite determined not to split you and the Karasus apart for very long. You learned that night that, along with getting into a prestigious college, Tabito had also been selected to join the Japanese U-20 soccer team. In order to balance his academics — he could’ve quit school entirely by this point if he so chose, but he was far too paranoid to not have a second option should his soccer career not take off — with the new demands of the team, he would be living in Tokyo with one of his new teammates, a boy he had never met but was supposedly named something along the lines of Eita Otoya.

His new place was somewhat close to your apartment; close was a subjective word, of course, but to you, when the weather was nice and you were in no rush to be anywhere or do anything, it was a perfectly walkable distance, and you told him you’d definitely show him and Otoya around once they were moved in and had a moment to spare for such a frivolous outing.

Between his practices and the increase in his workload, it seemed like you really might never see Tabito at all, however close you might’ve now been to him physically. Yet somehow, on a warm day at the brink of summer, he texted you asking if the offer was still on the table, and if so, could you please show him and Otoya a place to get good coffee, because the stuff they made with their Keurig machine wasn’t cutting it anymore. You laughed, responding that you’d be delighted to, and that you were free all weekend, with no qualms about dedicating a day solely to them.

Your first impression of Eita Otoya was that, next to Tabito, he had a delicate and pointed appeal to his pretty features. He was smaller than Tabito, and although there wasn’t an ounce of menace in the way he stood, all inviting and open and casual, there was a wolflike canniness to his green irises, which glimmered when he noticed you approaching.

Before Otoya could even say anything, Tabito had covered his mouth with a hand, glaring down at him in a manner which did not seem to entirely be in jest.

“No way,” he said. “Flirt with whoever else you want, but she and Yayoi are off limits.”

Otoya held his hands up in the air, his voice muffled by Tabito’s palm when he spoke. “Got it, dude. Plenty of other fish in the sea, right?”

“For you, yeah,” Tabito said. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Tabito,” you said. “And you must be Otoya? It’s nice to meet you. Tabito’s mentioned you a few times.”

“Hopefully he’s only said good things,” Otoya said, shaking your hand, careful to keep a cordial distance between you two.

“On the contrary, I’ve been led to believe you’re the devil incarnate,” you said.

“Really?” Otoya said.

“No, of course not. He’s only ever spoken highly of you. I was just joking,” you said.

“That’s a relief,” Otoya said. “It’d be awkward if you had a bad impression of me before we’d even met.”

“Did you really think I’d complain about you to her? I’m kind of hurt,” Tabito said.

“Look, you never know! Maybe that’s how you get your aggression out,” Otoya said.

“It’s not. If I had any aggression, I’d just yell at you yourself. I definitely wouldn’t burden her with any of your hypothetical nonsense, not in a million years,” Tabito said.

“Woah, didn’t realize we had a gentleman here,” Otoya said with a snicker. “Okay, then. Thanks for not talking shit about me behind my back.”

“Anytime,” Tabito said.

“Are you two done yet?” you said. “I don’t want the place to close before we get a spot.”

“Is it nearby?” Otoya said. “As long as it’s close, it doesn’t even matter if it’s expensive. I just need something better than those shitty convenience store Keurig packets Tabito’s been getting for us.”

“That’s the best I’ve been able to bring home at the random times you text me telling me we’re out! Sorry I don’t stop by a damn café after every morning practice,” Tabito said.

“This guy,” Otoya said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Doesn’t understand the value of a good coffee one bit.”

“Not everyone has that touch,” you whispered back with a wink. “It’s alright. I won’t let you suffer any longer; the shop I’m taking you to is only a block away, and it’s relatively inexpensive — for the city, anyways. If you don’t know that it’s there, though, it’s easy to miss, so I don’t blame you for not seeing it.”

“My hero!” Otoya said. “Lead the way.”

You had discovered the small café entirely by accident during your first year in Tokyo. It was tucked away between a laundromat and a veterinary office, far from where one would expect a shop of its nature to be located, and although there was were always a couple of patrons scattered throughout the booths and tables, it was never bustling or crowded enough to take away from the cozy atmosphere.

Tabito held the door open for you, and consequently for Otoya, who followed after and inhaled deeply, clasping his hands together in awe.

“This is amazing,” he said. “L/N, you’re like an angel sent from heaven or something. I could fall to my knees and praise you with a sonnet right now, I’m that happy.”

“If you fall to your knees or do anything similarly stupid in front of her, I’ll show you why I made the U-20 team,” Tabito said, raising his leg in the air like he was threatening to kick Otoya.

“He was just joking around, Tabito, it’s not a big deal,” you said. Then, to Otoya: “You’re pretty funny, you know.”

“Thanks,” he said with a grin. “I try my best. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Mostly it doesn’t,” Tabito muttered under his breath. “Tell me your order, Y/N, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh, thanks!” you said, listing off your favorites from the cafe’s menu for him. He wrote it down on his phone, lines of concentration etched into his brow as he painstakingly typed out the entire order before showing it to you to confirm that it was correct.

“Can you get me their seasonal drink?” Otoya said, sliding into the seat across from you and peering up at Tabito, who was entirely unamused by the act. “That floral-type latte. It sounds sick.”

“Get it yourself,” Tabito said.

“Why? You’re going to be up there, so just order and let me get to know dear Miss L/N here,” Otoya said. Tabito seemed conflicted, but you nodded reassuringly at him.

“Fine, but you — you know the deal,” he said, brandishing his pointer finger at Otoya. “Don’t you dare mess with her.”

“You got it,” Otoya said with a double-thumbs-up.

“I’m sorry. He’s always been like that, but he really does mean well,” you said, gazing after Tabito once he had stomped away to the counter.

“Been like what?” Otoya said. “An asshole? Ah, but I’m only saying it affectionately, so please don’t tell him I called him that, or else you’ll cause problems where there aren’t any.”

“He’s sweet at heart,” you said. “I know how he can seem to other people, especially at first, but I met him when he was four years old, so I guess I never really saw that side of him. He’s never been anything but kind to me. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.”

“You’ve known Karasu for that long?” Otoya said.

“Yup. Like I said, I’m not denying that he’s abrasive most of the time, but he’s only being so protective because he cares about his sister and I so very much. Please don’t take it personally. He’s just that type of younger sibling,” you said.

“Younger sibling?” Otoya repeated. “That’s how you see him, huh? I get it now. If that’s how things are, then I won’t butt in.”

“That’s how they are,” you said. For some reason, this caused him to laugh at you, but it was pitying and mocking and not a sound you preferred to hear from anyone — most certainly not from a person you had only just met.

“It’s always so complicated in life, huh? That’s why I never really try too hard. Problems get worse the more you think about them,” he said. It hardly counted as an explanation, but for some reason, you were sure that that was all you were going to get out of him. “Oh, shit!”

“What happened?” you said as, abruptly and without warning, he shot to his feet,

“I was supposed to work on a group presentation today,” he said, running a hand through his hair with a groan. “They just texted to confirm that we’re meeting in the library in fifteen minutes.”

“Can you make it on time?” you said. He was already typing the address of his school’s library into his GPS, and the instant it loaded, he nodded at you.

“I’ve got it, but I’m afraid I’ll have to head out right about now, or else this crazy girl in my group will kill me. Tell Karasu I’ll send him the money for my drink, and that he can enjoy it on me,” he said. “Poor guy needs it, I’m pretty sure.”

“It’ll be too sweet for him, but I’ll pass along the message, sure,” you said.

“Now, normally, this would be the part where I’d ask you for your number, but no matter how beautiful you are, I’m not willing to risk my living situation for you,” he said. “Karasu’s pretty cool, as far as roommates go. It could definitely be worse, so I’d really not like to lose him and end up with some weirdo who collects toenail clippings, just for flirting with the one girl that he declared off-limits.”

“His actual sister’s off-limits as well,” you reminded Otoya. “So that’s two.”

“He did say that, didn’t he? But you’re off-limits in a different way, and unless I want to end up like my own older sister, whose first-year roommate built a replica of the Taj Mahal from the hair she collected out of their drain, I’m going to respect that,” he said.

“That’s disgusting,” you said, too busy gagging at the mental image artwork he had just described to even question what else he was talking about. “Well, you should be off to your group project, then. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Otoya, but in case it’s not for a while, I’ll wish you luck with soccer and school now.”

“Thanks. The same to you, and I am eternally in your debt for showing me this place, so if you ever need something, let me know,” he said, scrambling hastily out of the café without bothering to push his chair back under the table.

Tabito returned a few seconds later, setting the tray of your drinks down on the table and taking his spot in the booth at your side. Handing you the cup that belonged to you, he sipped on his own and placed Otoya’s across from himself.

“Where’d Otoya go?” he said.

“He said something about working on a group project and left. Apparently, he’ll send you the money for the drink, and you’re free to do with it as you please,” you said. Tabito wrinkled his nose.

“He always gets such sweet shit. There’s no way I’m going to be able to drink that,” he said.

“That’s what I told him, but what other option is there? We can share so it isn’t wasted,” you said, taking a swig from Otoya’s flowery beverage. It wasn’t bad, and you had a little more before giving it to Tabito.

“Ugh,” he said. “Fine.”

He poked out his tongue, lapping up the tiniest droplet of coffee which lingered on the rim of the cup, and then he made a face, handing it back to you and then gulping down two mouthfuls of his own drink to wash out the taste.

“That bad?” you said.

“Tasted like shit,” he said. “I don’t know how the two of you can drink that kind of stuff regularly without gagging.”

“It’s not my favorite, but it’s not as horrible as you’re making it out to be,” you said.

“I can literally feel my arteries clogging as we speak,” he said.

“Since when did you start speaking like an old man?” you said. “What boy your age talks about his arteries clogging?”

“Firstly, I’m trying to become a professional athlete, so I have to pay careful attention to things like my health, and secondly, we’re not that far apart in age. We have to worry about the same things, like jobs and grades and clogged arteries. Concerns of that nature,” he said.

“I’m glad you feel that way, but why’d you think I was referring to people my own age when I said old man, hm?” you said, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. “For your information, I doubt any of my own classmates would care about that shit yet, either. That was a distinctly middle-aged thing of you to say.”

“That makes me older than you,” he said. “If I’m middle-aged and you’re still all youthful and whatnot, that is. How do you feel about that age gap? It’s a little racy, don’t you think?”

You gave him an incredulous look. He couldn’t even maintain his straight face for more than a second, immediately losing composure and snorting at you.

“You’re the worst,” you said.

“And you’re easy to tease,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I had to take the opportunity when it presented itself.”

“I’ll give it to you this once,” you said. “Next time, you’re not getting off so easily.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You’re all talk. I’m not scared one bit.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so adorable,” you said. “How am I supposed to stay mad when you look like you just watched a puppy die every time Yayoi yells at you?”

He scowled at you. “You’re making that up, aren’t you? Or is that how you actually see me?”

“Hm,” you said. “Let’s finish our drinks. They don’t taste as good if they’ve sat for too long.”

Huffing in exasperation but knowing that you’d not go into more detail once you’d changed the subject, he finished off what was left of his order in one fell swoop, and then he snatched Otoya’s drink from your hands, tossing it into the trashcan before you could so much as blink.

“Aw,” you said. “I feel bad. That’s how we’re responding to Otoya’s act of goodwill?”

“Forget about his goodwill,” Tabito said. “It’s not like he did it because of how magnanimous he is or anything. He’s just a dumbass who forgot that he had prior commitments.”

“Nothing like you, of course,” you said. “You’re always on time, and you only ever order the best of drinks.”

“Exactly,” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument — not that you would’ve argued with him, even if there was any cause to. Your father had always told you that generally, it was better to lose an argument than a loved one, and since the notion of losing Tabito was akin to a spear being driven into your heart, you did your best to avoid the chance of that frightful outcome ever occurring at all.

A few days before the end of the winter term, Yayoi called you in a flurrying panic. When you picked up, you were expecting her to be asking about the plans you had made for the road trip you two were taking, but it was nothing of the sort. Indeed, the first words out of her mouth were ones you had never once heard from her, and you almost dropped your phone the moment she said them.

“Y/N, I need your help. There’s this guy—”

“What?” you said. “Since when? What’s his name? Where did you meet him, and how? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Is he handsome?”

“Oh my god, one question at a time!” she said. “Yes, he’s super handsome — actually, he’s a model, so it’s kind of a prerequisite. I’m telling you as it happens, so don’t think I’m keeping things from you! His name is Kenyu Yukimiya; he plays for the U-20 team with Tabito, and I met him when I went to one of their practices because I was bored. We spoke once, but I don’t think he remembers I exist, and even if he does, he probably considers me as nothing more than his teammate’s older sister.”

“Wait, U-20? Is he younger than us?” you said.

“Yes, he’s in Tabito’s year, though a couple of months older than him,” she said. “Do you think it’s weird? Oh, it’s totally weird, isn’t it? I’m a creep! I’m a stupid, ugly creep! Lock me away or turn me into the police or something!”

You cut her wailing off with a snicker. “Yayoi, relax. It’s not that weird, and I mean that honestly. It’s hardly even a two year difference, right? My own parents have a bigger age gap, and besides, you both are in pretty similar spots in life, so it shouldn’t be a problem, especially if he’s mature.”

“He seemed mature,” she said contemplatively. “He was super polite and kind when I spoke to him. Plus, unlike my stupid brother, he actually enjoys talking about the same things I do.”

“There you go, then,” you said. “You’re worrying for nothing. The only reason why anyone might say anything is because you’re older than him, but who cares about that? It’s a tired concept, the whole notion of the woman needing to be younger or smaller than her male partner or whatever. As long as he’s single and into you, I’d say you’re in the clear.”

“That’s what I actually called you to talk about!” Yayoi said. “You’ve had a boyfriend, so you know a little more than I do about this kind of thing. How am I supposed to get him to ask me out?”

“Just so you know, having had one boyfriend back in high school doesn’t exactly qualify me to give you advice,” you said. “Also, you can’t really get someone to ask you out. Why don’t you just go to another one of their practices and talk to him again once they’re done? If the conversation is flowing well, then you can ask him out yourself.”

“Um, that would be a great idea if I was brave enough to ask someone out,” she said. “Unfortunately, I definitely am not.”

“You don’t have to be all official and serious about it,” you said. “Don’t say you want to date or anything — ask him if he wants to hang out to continue the conversation at a later time, and then give him your number. That’s all. If he’s interested, he’ll call or text you to make plans, and if he’s not, then he won’t.”

“It’s that simple?” she said.

“I think it is,” you said. “I wouldn’t know from personal experience. Aoyama just asked me out. I never had to do anything.”

“Not all of us can be that lucky!” she said.

“Yeah, I get it. But I have confidence that you can pull it off! It’ll go great, and then you’ll actually be dating a model in Tokyo like you always said you would,” you said.

“Okay…” she said hesitantly. “Y/N?”

“Yayoi?” you said.

“Canyoucometothepracticewithme?” she said, all in one unintelligible breath. You furrowed your brow.

“Could you repeat that?” you said.

“Can you come to the practice with me?” she said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it without you pressuring me a bit.”

“Sure, why not?” you said. “Is it in the morning or evening?”

“They have evening practices on Tuesdays. I was thinking we could go to one of those? That’s what I did last time, so it’s an established thing, and anyways I don’t think I could wake up early enough to go to a morning practice,” she said.

“Okay, good, because I was kind of scared I’d have to be up before the sun. I’d do it for you, and in a heartbeat, but I wouldn’t exactly be happy about it,” you said.

“I wouldn’t, either,” she said. “This Tuesday, then? We can have an early dinner or late snack together before heading over.”

“I won’t miss it,” you promised. “Make sure you wear something nice!”

After your Tuesday classes and errands were completed, you met Yayoi at a restaurant you both liked so that you could quickly eat before leaving for the practice. She was nervous the entire way, twirling the ends of her hair around her finger, straightening her already-perfect clothes, and chewing on her lower lip.

“Hey,” you said as the two of you entered the stadium and sat on the first row of benches. “Don’t stress out. If he’s an asshole, we’ll sic Tabito on him. I bet he could beat your crush in a fight, easily.”

“I don’t know,” Yayoi groaned. “Yukimiya’s super tall, and he looks pretty built, too. I think my baby brother might be outmatched.”

“No way,” you said loyally. “I’d bet on him over anyone.”

She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “I wish I could have the same faith in him, but considering what a dumbass he typically is, I can’t say I can muster it up. Look, that’s Yukimiya. Still think Tabito’s got it in the bag?”

Discreetly, she pointed out a boy with wavy chestnut hair and an admittedly powerful build. He stood next to Otoya, which only threw it into further relief just how muscular and tall he was. Yayoi hadn’t been lying about that, and neither had she made up how good-looking he was; you could tell just from that first glance that he was heartbreakingly handsome.

“Well,” you said, realizing that maybe you had been a bit overconfident in Tabito’s abilities. But you were too stubborn to change your answer now, and besides, you believed in him no matter what, so you only shrugged. “Yes. Even if it looked like he’d lose for sure, I’d still pick him. There just isn’t anyone else I’d ever choose.”

“Damn,” Yayoi said. “Fine, then. If Yukimiya ends up being an asshole, we’ll see who wins.”

“Deal,” you said. “Although, hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”

“Hopefully,” she agreed.

The practice was long, dragging on past sunset, the field’s lights turning on to ward away the darkness as the moon crept higher into the sky. Yayoi, who had confessed that she hadn’t slept well the previous night, slumped against you and passed out almost immediately, and you busied yourself with a pattern of checking your phone and watching moths fly fruitlessly into the massive lamps.

Finally, the coach blew the whistle to signify the end of the practice, and as the players exited the field, walking past where you were conveniently seated, right by the joint entrance-exit, you shook Yayoi.

“There’s no way you’re in this deep of a sleep,” you hissed at her unmoving form.

“Y/N?” It was not Yayoi but someone else who said your name; namely, Tabito, who had paused in front of you and Yayoi to gaze at you questioningly. “Why are you at my practice?”

“Not now, Tabito,” you said dismissively. Noticing that Otoya and, more importantly, Yukimiya, flanked him, you doubled down on your efforts to wake Yayoi, who remained unresponsive. “You bitch. I bet you’re just pretending to sleep so you don’t have to go through with the plan.”

“Hey, L/N! It’s been a bit,” Otoya said. “I’ve been visiting the place you showed us almost daily. It’s wicked good. You’re the best for bringing us there.”

“Hi, Otoya,” you said. “Sure, anytime. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Yayoi, if you won’t get up, I’ll just do it myself.”

Without waiting for her to respond, you stood up and bowed slightly at Yukimiya, who seemed entirely bemused by your odd actions. He glanced at both Otoya and Tabito for help, but neither of them had any clue what you were doing, either, so they could offer no assistance to him on that front.

“It’s nice to meet you. I hear your name is Kenyu Yukimiya?” you said.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said. He had a pretty manner of speech, proper and refined, each word spoken with careful control. “Who might you be?”

“Y/N L/N, but that’s unimportant,” you said. “That’s Yayoi Karasu. She’s Tabito’s barely-older sister. You should talk to her.”

“Y/N!” Yayoi screeched, shooting up to a sitting position. “Why would you phrase it like that?”

“What is going on here?” Tabito said. Otoya shrugged, clearly lost as well.

“So you were faking it the entire time! Never in my life have I met a bigger coward,” you said, clicking your tongue in disappointment.

“Yayoi Karasu?” Yukimiya said. “Oh, I know you! You were here last week, right? We talked about Neon Genesis Evangelion.”

“That’s right! You, uh, remembered that?” Yayoi said. He beamed at her.

“How could I not? The movie is one of my favorites, and none of these guys like it, so it was great to meet someone else who’s seen it so many times,” Yukimiya said.

“Y/N,” Tabito whispered, sidling over to you, the tip of his sharp nose brushing against the shell of your ear. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“Depends,” you whispered back. “If you think this is your sister having a crush on your soccer teammate, then yeah, it is. Otherwise, no.”

“That’s gross,” Tabito said, horror twisting his features. “Yayoi and Yuki? No way. You have to be joking.”

“Why not? Because he’s younger than her? It’s only two years. That’s nothing,” you said. “You should be more supportive.”

“No,” he said, a peculiar edge to his voice. “No, I don’t — I don’t care about that part. I thought you might, but I don’t at all.”

“Huh? Why would I?” you said. “If they’re both interested in each other, and they make each other happy, that’s all that matters. We’re adults, so a few years here and there is meaningless in the grand scheme of things.”

“What about you? Would you ever do it?” he said, breathless and impatient, clenching the hem of your shirt in one fist.

“Date someone younger than me? I’m not sure. I’ve never really considered it; you’re the only one younger than me that I regularly interact with, and, well, you know. There’s a special consideration there. Why? Got a teammate you want to set me up with or something?” you said.

“Absolutely not,” he said, stepping away from you and scowling. “I’d never ever ever let one of those mediocre fucking idiots anywhere near you.”

“Just a hypothetical question, then? I suppose there’s no harm in that kind of thing every now and again. Was my response alright?” you said.

“How am I supposed to answer that?” he said tiredly. “It’s what you think, so obviously it’s fine. I should go now. I don’t want to keep Otoya waiting; he’ll get pissy and annoying if I do.”

“Oh, okay. Bye, Tabito! Let me know if you’re free sometime. I feel like I never see you, even though we’re all but neighbors. We should do something,” you said. The strange tone of the conversation had left you reeling, and you scrambled for something that would make it better, would chase away the anxiety constricting your lungs like a vice.

“I’ll let you know,” he said. It was a dull attempt at sounding excited, and for a brief, striking instant, you wanted to reach out and beg him to wait one second more. You wanted to apologize, though you knew not what you had even done. You wanted him to stay until he smiled at you again, the way he usually did, and then you wanted to — you wanted to — you weren’t sure. You weren’t sure what you would do after that, but you would do something, hold his hand or embrace him or something.

Yet instead, you did nothing, watching as he rejoined Otoya and entered the locker room without a backwards glance, leaving you standing by yourself in the bleachers, your heart hammering in your chest like a crow with clipped wings, thrashing against the bars of its steel cage in a futile attempt to escape.

“Can you believe it?” Yayoi said later. “He asked me out first! I didn’t even have to do anything!”

“Congratulations,” you said, as genuinely as you could. “I’m really happy for you, Yayoi. Fingers crossed that it all works out well. I’m sure it will; he seems like a really great guy, and you both were talking for a while, so you’re clearly compatible.”

“Thanks, I think so too!” she said before narrowing her eyes at you. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing!” you said. She was so happy that you could not bear the thought of burdening her with your problems, especially when they weren’t even problems in the first place. Yayoi was having none of it, though, frowning at you.

“You can tell me,” she said. You shook your head, so she poked you in the forehead. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”

She punctuated each utterance of the refrain with another poke, until finally you batted her hand away in exasperation “It really is nothing. I just think I did something to upset Tabito — don’t ask me what, because I don’t know — and it’s making me feel a bit out of sorts.”

“He’ll get over it. Why’re you worried? This isn’t unusual. He’s mad at me half of the time. If I felt out of sorts every time he threw a tantrum about something, I’d never feel in sorts,” she said.

“But he hardly ever gets mad at me,” you said.

“Right,” she said, her eyes glimmering. “I forgot the two of you were like that. Hm. I still think you shouldn’t worry too much. If he’s actually mad, which I honestly doubt, then he’ll get over it quickly enough. He’s not capable of staying angry at you for any length of time.”

“If you say so,” you said. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. We need to celebrate you finally saying yes to a guy that asked you out!”

Yayoi blushed but nodded. “Should we go for drinks?”

“It is a Tuesday,” you reminded her.

“Is that a no?” she said.

“It’s a yes,” you said.

“I knew I loved you for a reason,” she said.

“Just for that, you’re covering the tab,” you said. She winked at you.

“Already planning on it!”

The end of your time at university came almost as soon as the beginning had. It was bizarre, walking out of the familiar exam hall for the final time — you knew you had passed, and you already had a job lined up for you in a month’s time, so there wasn’t any cause to worry, and indeed you did not. You only felt odd and light, as if you were floating through the streets of Tokyo, ephemeral like an aluminum wrapper bouncing down the pavement in the wind.

Neither Yayoi nor Tabito could attend your graduation ceremony which was held that Friday; Yayoi had fallen deathly ill, so you had enlisted Yukimiya in keeping her at home, lest she sneak out and kill herself by trying to support you, and as for Tabito, he happened to have a final exam held at exactly the time of the ceremony, which meant he was automatically excluded from attending.

Your parents, as well as both sets of your grandparents, were in the audience, but it wasn’t the same. You couldn’t help yourself from searching for the Karasus, for Tabito in particular, but no matter how hard you searched, it didn’t matter. They weren’t there. He wasn’t there.

When the president of your college, a portly woman with pin-curled hair and red lipstick, handed you your degree, you were hesitant in taking it. Your smile plastered on, you stared towards the door as your fingers inched towards the fancy paper. Any moment now. He’d burst through the door the way you had, and he’d see you, and he’d smile and then wave — it was like a tradition at this point, wasn’t it? It had to happen. He had to come. You knew he wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop a foolish anticipation from brewing in you as you waited.

Your hands reached the certificate. You held it in front of you as the cameras went off, finally turning away from the door and grinning wider, resolving not to let it ruin your mood. After all, you had worked so hard to achieve this. Why did it matter who was in the audience? It could be an audience of none, and you’d still be happy. You’d still be proud, for no other reason than because you had done it, because all of your hours of studying and classes and homework had finally paid off.

You ate dinner with your family, and then you were invited to go out to a nearby bar by a few of your college friends. Seeing your parents and grandparents to the train station, you rushed back to your apartment to get ready for the night, entirely ready to let loose after what felt like several years’ worth of burdens had just been knocked from your shoulders.

The bar was packed with students from your school, all of whom had had much the same idea as you and your friends. The bartenders were rushing back and forth, sliding drinks out with as much speed as was humanly possible, and before long you were sipping on something fizzy and fruity that one of your friends had handed you.

At some point, one of your classmates, a boy who you had never known particularly well but recognized for his distinctive voice, which could be heard from all corners of the city when he got to bragging about his father’s salary, announced that the rest of the night’s drinks were on him. If you were his father, you’d be furious at the offer, but as you weren’t his father, you took advantage of it with impudence, downing glass after glass of whatever the bartender gave you.

Soon enough, the music and lighting, which you had found so charming and delightful earlier, began to pound at your head. The world spun, not unpleasantly but still in a disorienting manner, and you stumbled towards the door, pulling out your phone and singing to yourself as you decided who you wanted to call.

The cool air of the night was refreshing against your face, and you leaned against the brick wall of the establishment as you squinted at the blinding light of your phone’s screen. You could barely make out the dark characters which stood out on the white background, and eventually you gave up, switching to the keypad and using muscle memory to type in the number your fingers had long ago memorized.

He didn’t pick up until the last ring, and his voice was groggy when he spoke. In the back of your mind, you felt guilty, for you recognized that he must’ve been sleeping, but for the most part you were far too elated to hear him speaking, so you could not bring yourself to be too sorry.

“Hello? Y/N?”

“Tabito,” you said, your words slurring together, dragging out at the ends and trailing into soft breaths. “Tabito, you didn’t come to my graduation.”

He sounded a lot more alert when he spoke next, but he did not change the volume of his voice from that low murmur any. “I told you I couldn’t. I had an exam, remember?”

You sniffed, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it,” he said. “You know I would’ve been there if I could’ve.”

“Can you come now?” you said, your lower lip trembling.

“Come where?” he said. There was a muffled sound that you assumed was him rolling out of his bed, and then the soft padding noise of his footsteps.

“The bar,” you said. At this point, irrational tears were welling in your eyes. You weren’t even sad, but you couldn’t stop them from rolling down your cheeks, leaving scalding trails in their wake.

“Are you out with your friends? Why do you want me there? Aren’t you celebrating?” he said.

“I don’t know,” you said, and then you were hiccuping as you cried in earnest. “I don’t know, Tabito, I just want you to be here.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed you. “I just left my apartment. Is it the bar you and Yayoi like to go to? The one by the grocery store?”

“Yes,” you said.

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, and then we can decide what to do from there. Does that sound good?” he said.

“Mhm,” you said. “Are you going really fast? Tabito, you play soccer, right?”

“I do play soccer,” he said, sounding equal parts amused and concerned. “You come to watch my games sometimes. I like when you do that.”

“That means you must be fast,” you said. “Mega fast. Mega extra fast.”

“I’m only a little fast. Most of my teammates are faster,” he said.

“Ah,” you said. “But will you still be here super soon?”

“Yes, I’ll be there super soon,” he promised.

“Can you talk on the phone and walk at the same time?” you asked him.

“Well, I’m doing it at the moment, so yes, I’d assume so. Why do you ask?” he said.

“Isn’t that illegal?” you said.

“No, that’s for when you’re driving,” he said.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t do that, do you?”

“I take the train or walk most places, so I don’t even have the opportunity to,” he said.

“But if you had to drive, you wouldn’t, right? Right, right?” you said.

“Right,” he said. “I’m just around the corner, so I’m going to hang up. Are you outside?”

“Next to the door,” you said.

“Don’t move,” he instructed you, and then he ended the call.

Before you could begin to wail about the abandonment, he was rounding the corner, looking so haphazard that, had you any more presence of mind, you’d have made fun of him for it. His hair stuck up in every which direction, like it had when he was younger and didn’t know how to style it, and he wore nothing but a random t-shirt thrown over a pair of plaid pajama pants, his feet shoved into the black Crocs that Yayoi had bought him as a gag gift last Christmas.

“Y/N! There you are,” he said, his shoulders slumping in relief as he pulled you into his arms. “Look, I’m with you now. Are you happy?”

You giggled. The world still rotated on an unidentifiable axis, but the firmness of Tabito’s grip had a kind of stabilizing effect, holding you in place and together and in one piece.

“Hi, baby,” you said. “Yes. So happy.”

“Baby?” he repeated, and based on the way his skin warmed, he must’ve been blushing.

“Look,” you said, reaching up so that you could play with the ends of his hair. “It’s like when you were a baby. When you were just little baby Tabito. That’s when I met you, you know.”

“I see,” he said, and there was a distinct yet inexplicable despondency to the way that the corners of his eyes crinkled and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Do you want to go home now?”

“I wanna be with you,” you said.

“That’s fine,” he said, so patiently and tenderly that your head grew fuzzier and fuzzier with every word he spoke. “I’ll stay with you either way, but I think we should probably head back. How much have you had to drink?”

“Um…” you tried to recount what you had ingested, but it was all a blur. “I don’t remember.”

He rubbed the back of his hand against your cheek. “Let’s go home, then. You definitely shouldn’t have any more. Will you be alright if I go inside and tell your friends I’m taking you back?”

“Do you have to?” you said, catching his sleeve and holding it in between your hands. “Why can’t we just leave?”

“They’ll worry about you,” he said, prying your fingers off with the utmost of delicacy. “If you leave without letting them know, they might think something bad happened. I’ll explain what’s going on so they aren’t scared, and then we can head out. Does that make sense?”

“Hmm,” you said. “Only because you say so.”

He chuckled slightly. “That’s good. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You counted the seconds that he was gone, and before you reached the seventy-fifth, he was already back, his face flushed from the heat of the bar, his hair even wilder than earlier from the sweat and the humidity, a dusty footprint on his right shoe where someone must’ve accidentally stepped on him.

“I was expecting to have to convince them to let you go with me, but they were all alright with it,” he said, carefully taking your hand and leading you in the direction of the apartment.

“Sure they were,” you said, tripping over a loose stone, only avoiding face-planting because Tabito caught you with the reflexes of an athlete. “It’s because I talk about you so much.”

“Do you?” he said.

“Totally,” you said with a yawn. “All of my friends know about you and your soccer and your studies. I’m just soooo proud of you, so I mention it whenever you do something cool. Isn’t that what a normal elder-sister-figure would do?”

“Yayoi doesn’t,” he said.

“Yayoi is Yayoi,” you said.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “And it doesn’t change what I said.”

“Can you carry me?” you said when you almost stumbled and fell for the second time. “Tabito, it’s hard to walk, so can I please ride on your back the rest of the way?”

He exhaled but crouched, beckoning you forward. “If you really want.”

“Yay!��� you said, leaping onto his broad back and clinging to his neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he supported you while continuing to walk. “You’re so big now. When did that happen? Have you always been like this? It’s almost as if you’re nearer to being a man than a child, but that’s impossible. You’re still young, aren’t you?”

“It’s not impossible; in fact, it’s the truth,” he said. “If only you ever looked at me and saw me for who I am, you’d have realized I’ve been like this for quite a while now.”

“What do you mean?” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder, closing your eyes, allowing the rhythm of his walk to lull you into a trance.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget about it. We’re almost there. Are your keys in your purse?”

“Yup,” you said. “D’you want them now?”

“I’ll get them from you once we’re at the door,” he said. “Good thing you don’t have a roommate; I’m sure they’d be pissed off by you coming back so late, drunk out of your mind and with a random guy in tow.”

“You’re not a random guy,” you said, dropping the key to the complex in his waiting hand once the two of you reached the glass gate to the building. “If I had a roommate, they’d definitely know who you are. How could they not? You’re my Tabito.”

“Since when I have been your Tabito?” he said, unlocking the door and flicking your chin up playfully before returning his hand to holding up your leg. “I don’t think that I am.”

“Since always,” you said.

“Really? And does that mean you’re my Y/N?” he said, bending down so you could press the elevator button to take you to your floor.

“Yes,” you said. “For six years I did not know it, but ever since then I have been yours.”

“Well,” he said. “Is that how it is?”

“It is,” you said. He switched the lights in your apartment on and deposited you on the couch, heading to your kitchen and filling up a glass with water. Handing it to you, he sat at your side, bringing it to your lips so you could drink, not taking it away until you had drained the cup.

“Feeling better?” he said. “I’ll get you some crackers to eat.”

“Much better,” you said, chewing on the crackers while laying your head on his shoulder. “My stomach isn’t so queasy, and my vision is a lot more straight.”

“You’re talking more normally, too,” he noted. “At least, you sound a bit comprehensible. Want more water?”

“No,” you said. “I’m sleepy. Can we go to sleep now?”

“Here?” he said. “How about you change into your pajamas and wash your face first?”

“I’m too tired,” you said, yawning yet again to emphasize the point, nuzzling your face against the curve of his neck, your eyelashes crushing against his throat. “You’re so comfortable.”

“Thank you,” he said, patting you atop the head. “But you’ll feel horrible tomorrow morning if you don’t get in bed properly.”

“I’ll feel horrible either way,” you said. “I can’t do anything. We were partying for so long, and now I’m exhausted.”

“That’s true, but you’ll feel worse if you sleep here instead of in your room,” he said. “How about I help you?”

“You’ll help me?” you said.

“If you change your clothes, I’ll do everything else,” he promised, gently pushing you off of him and then standing so he could help you to your feet. “I just don’t want you to feel sick tomorrow, be all cramped up from sleeping in a weird spot, and get a break out on top of that.”

“I guess that’s fine,” you said with a dramatic exhale. “You’re so…so…what’s the word? You’re so persistent. Stubborn. Something like that.”

“People say that a lot,” he said.

“They call you an asshole a lot, too,” you said. “All of the time.”

“Yes,” he said, walking with you to your room, where your pajamas were folded at the foot of your bed. “I think I am one, at least a little bit. It’s impossible for me to be otherwise around mediocre people. I try to fix it, but it’s hard, you know.”

“I don’t think you are,” you said. “You’re the nicest person in the whole entire world. If you were an asshole, you wouldn’t treat me the way you do, but you do, which means you aren’t.”

“That’s because you’re special,” he said after a pause. “To me. And also in general.”

“What do you mean by that?” you said, but when you turned around, he had shut the door between you two, allowing you to change your clothes and him to avoid the question.

Only the thought of disappointing Tabito was enough to convince you to not collapse onto your inviting bed. Instead, you trudged towards the door, opening it and pouting at him, trying to beg with your eyes for him to allow you to go to sleep.

“Good job,” he said, ignoring your silent pleas and dragging you to the bathroom, where he sat you down on the edge of the bathtub. “Is this your makeup remover?”

He showed you the little tub of cold cream you kept next to your sink. You mumbled something generally affirmative, and he unscrewed it, kneeling beside you and massaging it onto your face, paying extra attention to your eyes, which was where most of your makeup was concentrated.

“Who taught you about all of this stuff?” you said, your eyes screwed shut as he used a clean, wet washcloth to remove the cleanser from your skin. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?”

“No girlfriends, secret or otherwise,” he said. “It’s all stuff Yayoi made me learn on pain of death. She refused to have a brother who didn’t know anything about proper skincare. It’s not like I do it all that much, but I’m aware of it thanks to her.”

“You’ve really never had a girlfriend?” you said. You supposed you had always been aware of that, but you had never really comprehended what it meant. How could it be that Tabito Karasu of all people had never even gone on a date?

“Nope,” he said. “Can I use this moisturizer on you? I’m sure you have a better routine normally, but it’ll probably be for the best if we skip steps for the sake of getting this done quickly.”

You cracked your eyes open and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. Why?”

“Why what?” he said. The lotion was cold at first, but the circular motions of his fingers on your cheeks warmed it quickly enough that you didn’t even have time to be shocked by the temperature. It was soothing, a tingly sensation washing over you as he worked.

“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend?” you said, his fingertips gliding over your forehead.

“I guess I haven’t found the right person yet,” he said. “Or, no, that’s not it. I have found them. I found them a long time ago, but I don’t — I don’t think they wanted to be found. Not by me.”

“That can’t be true,” you said. “What kind of person wouldn’t want you? Who are you talking about, anyways?”

His thumb swiped over your lips, once and then twice, before coming to rest where they slightly parted. You waited, thinking he might move it, but he did not.

“What will it take?” he said. “For you to stop thinking of me as a child. What more can I do? Name it and I will. If it means you’ll stop thinking of me as your little brother, then I’ll do anything.”

“How else would I think of you?” you said. “You are like my—”

“Please,” he said, and it had been so very many years since you had heard him so distraught that you quieted immediately. “Please stop it. I don’t think of you like that, I don’t love you like that, so please stop it.”

Before you could respond, his mouth replaced his thumb against your own, and he was kissing you, cradling your head in his hands, his ardor winning out over his inexperience as he tried to impress upon you just how much he had wanted you, and for how long.

Unfathomably and without even realizing, you found yourself kissing him back, enjoying every demand he made of you and responding to them each in kind. Your hands wound around his neck and tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on the silky, feathery strands, drawing a small whimper out of him as he wedged himself impossibly closer to you. Yet the sound broke you out of whatever daze you had fallen into, so, with a gasp, you ripped yourself away from him, resting your forehead at the dip of his collarbone as you tried to catch your breath.

“No,” you said. “No, I shouldn’t have — we shouldn’t have — you have to go.”

“Why not?” he said. “You said you shouldn’t have, but you did. Why do you wish you hadn’t?”

“You have to leave,” you said, and then you were crying again, soaking his shirt with your tears as the weight of what you had done began to smother you.

“Let go of me first,” he said. Your fingers, still in his hair, flexed but did not loosen. “Y/N. If you really want me to go, I’ll go, but you have to — you have to let go of me first. You have to be the one to do it.”

You wept harder, because you did not know how to let go of him, because you could not fathom doing it, but neither did you want him to let you go first. It was shameful and wrong, but the truth was that, more than anything, you wished for him to stay, to blot away your tears and lay you in your bed so you could sleep the entire night away.

Somehow, you found the strength in you to yank yourself away from him, all in one go. The moment they left him, it was as if your fingertips themselves mourned, aching to return to their rightful place, but instead of obliging, you used them to cover your eyes. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to avoid seeing the anguished expression that most certainly marred his features. Anything to avoid knowing that you were the one who had caused it.

You didn’t look up again until you heard the front door close, and then it was all you could do to turn off the bathroom lights and make it to your bed, crashing into the pillows and somehow managing to fall asleep.

As soon as Yayoi was feeling back to her usual self, you sent her a cryptic text essentially commanding her to meet you at your usual spot for food whenever she could. Thankfully, she recognized when you were having an actual problem versus when you just missed her, and she told you she was free that very evening, so you didn’t have to simmer in your thoughts for any longer than you already had.

“Your brother kissed me,” you said when you sat down across from her.

“Hello to you, too,” she said, closing her menu and setting it to the side. She had only even looked at it as a formality; both of you ordered the same thing every time, so opening the menu was meaningless at this point.

“Hello, Yayoi,” you said. “Tabito kissed me.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” she guessed.

“Yes,” you said. “It happened the other night. I would’ve called you earlier, but you were sick, so I didn’t want to.”

“Alright. It’s a little awkward for me, considering he’s my brother and all, but I’ll set aside my biases and do my best. How do you feel right now?”

“I have no idea. How do you feel?” you said, perplexed by the lack of reaction she was displaying.

“Why would I feel anything?” she said.

“Because? Your best friend just told you that your little brother kissed her? Aren’t you mad?” you said.

“Not really,” she said. “I’m surprised it took him this long, honestly. Everyone knows he’s been in love with you for ages.”

“Everyone?” you said.

“Everyone,” she agreed. “Most of our friends, all of my family, both of your parents…he hasn’t really tried too hard to hide it. I’m pretty sure most of them think you like him, too, but I don’t want to make assumptions, which is why I’m asking you how you feel about it all.”

“How did I miss it?” you said. “I didn’t realize right up until — well, you know — that he liked me, let alone for so long.”

“Sometimes people only see what they think they see,” she said. “You thought Tabito would never like you, so that’s what you believed. But he could, and he did. Now what?”

“Now nothing!” you said. “What am I supposed to do, date him? That’s just wrong!”

“Why is it wrong?” she said. “By the way, I’m not all too invested in any particular outcome, just as long as you’re happy, so don’t think I’m trying to steer you towards any specific path. I just want you to be fully honest with yourself before you jump to making decisions about any of this.”

“Thanks,” you said. “Okay, well, first off, he’s your — you, as in my best friend — little brother.”

“Not yours, though,” she said.

“But as good as,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say so. You’ve never treated him like a sibling,” she said. “That’s not to say you don’t care about him, but it’s in a different way than a sister would.”

“He’s also younger than me,” you said.

“Yukimiya’s younger than I am, and we’re perfectly happy. Plus, you were the first to say that there weren’t any issues with that, so why’s it a problem now?” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“But that’s — that’s different! You met him only recently. I’ve known Tabito since we were little kids! Doesn’t that make it weird?” you said.

“People get married to their childhood friends all of the time. It’s not that unusual,” Yayoi said. “Is there anything else?”

“No, it’s just strange, that’s all!” you said. “You seriously don’t find it even a little odd?”

“I’ve had a lot longer to adjust to it than you have,” she said with a shrug, sipping on the soda she had ordered with her meal. “Let’s approach this in a different way. What about if you both were the same age, and you met later in life? In a university lecture or something. If that was the case, and he asked you out, would you say yes?”

“Absolutely,” you said without hesitation. “That was a stupid question. Who would say no? He’s smart, he’s good at pretty much everything, he’s sweet and funny and caring; additionally, from an objective standpoint, he’s incredibly attractive. I’d do everything I could to keep him if he happened to glance my way.”

“Even if he ended up being younger than you?” Yayoi said.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, I — oh.”

She gave you a dull look. “Just so you know, that is not a sisterly way to view a guy.”

“I got that,” you said.

“Do you think maybe it’s possible that you’ve loved him too, almost the entire time?” she said. “Maybe even before you understood what it meant to love someone else? Back when sibling was the closest relationship to another kid that you, as an only child, could conceive of?”

“I guess that that — that’s definitely a possibility,” you said.

“It could be,” she said. “And then the notion of him being your ‘brother’ became so set in your mind that you couldn’t possibly think of him as anything else.”

“There’s a chance that that was what happened,” you said slowly. “But I don’t feel what I did for Aoyama when I look at Tabito. It’s something else entirely.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t love Tabito,” Yayoi said, flagging down the waiter so you could pay for your food. “It just means you didn’t love Aoyama, or didn’t love him as much. Considering which one is still in your life and which one you haven’t spoken to in years, it’s not unlikely.”

“What do I do now, then?” you said.

“What do you want to do?” she said as the two of you exited the restaurant. “I’ll be your friend no matter what. In the end, it’s up to you.”

“I don’t want to lose him,” you said, suddenly terrified. “I won’t survive if I do. Yayoi, I don’t…”

“You can’t,” she reassured you. “If you haven’t lost him yet, then I don’t think it’s possible for you to. But you know, then, right? What’s next?”

“I do,” you said, taking out your phone and picking up speed, veering in a different direction, turning over your shoulder to shout back at her. “Thank you, Yayoi!”

“Good luck!” she shouted back as you took off at a run, holding your phone up to your ear.

“Otoya,” you said breathlessly, as soon as he picked up. “Otoya, is Tabito there?”

“Uh, Y/N? Yeah, Karasu’s cooking dinner, why?” he said. “You good?”

“I’m coming over,” you said. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, and buzz me in when I get there. This is me calling in that favor you owe me, so do a good fucking job at it, okay?”

“Sure, I can, but why don’t you just ask him to do it directly?” he said.

“I don’t think he’ll pick up if I call him at the moment,” you said.

“Trouble in paradise? This is why I don’t do the whole ‘commitment’ gig. Too many complications,” Otoya said with a scoff. “Fine, I’ll help you, but only because — like you said — I owe you one, and because I’m going to evacuate the apartment as soon as you get here so I’m not caught in the crossfire.”

“Thank you,” you said. “That’s perfect. You rock.”

“Yup, you got it. See you.”

The elevator took too long, so after waiting for thirty seconds, you gave up and went for the stairs, taking them two at a time until you reached the floor that Tabito and Otoya lived on. Then you knocked on the door, waiting with crossed arms until it swung open and revealed Otoya, dressed in a pair of rubber-ducky boxers and nothing more.

“Well, that’s my cue,” he said when he saw it was you.

“Where are you even going to go, dressed like that?” you said, momentarily distracted by the outfit, which was all but offensive to the eye. Otoya winked at you.

“There’s plenty of people in this complex that would welcome me dressed like this,” he said, walking out with a devilish grin. “I’ll go see one of them.”

“You have fun,” you said, unable to do anything but shake your head at the rakish response.

“I definitely will. You…do your best with Karasu. He’s been kinda down, so it’d be great if you could fix him right up again, because his pasta tastes shitty when he’s in a bad mood,” he said, saluting at you before vanishing into the closing elevator.

“Who was at the door?” Tabito said. He wore the pale green apron with white polka dots you had loaned him and never asked for back, and there was a wooden spoon in his right hand, which he used to stir a pot of sauce. “Hello? Otoya? Was it one of your exes again or something? Dude, you’ve gotta stop giving them our address, this is the third time this month that some girl has come to harass you.”

You were still for a moment, standing in the doorway, watching the muscles of his back tighten and then relax as he finished mixing the sauce, setting the spoon down on its stand and putting the lid back on the pot.

“Damn, silent treatment? Was it that bad? It’s your own fault, you dumbass,” he said. “It’s not like I tell you to bring them over. You do that all on your own, and these are the consequences you face as a result. Don’t blame me for it.”

What would you even tell him? He turned the stove to simmer, and you opened your mouth before closing it. You had no idea what to say. You had no idea what was even going on in your mind — you had left Yayoi with such an urgency that you hadn’t had the time to organize your thoughts as you would’ve liked to before such an important moment.

He turned around while untying his apron, his mouth curved into a sneer as he prepared to taunt who he must’ve thought was Otoya messing with him. Yet when he realized it was you, his face fell, as if just by standing there you had reprimanded him harshly.

“Y/N,” he said. You wondered how he could do it, how he could bear to still say your name with the same affection as always. Why hadn’t he left you? Why hadn’t he given up a long time ago? What had you ever done to be worthy of this kind of loyalty? What had you ever done to deserve a person like him?

A lump swelled in your throat, and the harder you tried to swallow it down, the more your eyesight prickled and blurred, until you could hardly see anything at all. For a second you were frozen, and then vaguely you were aware of him taking a step towards you and your inhibitions were lost entirely.

Crossing the expanse of the small kitchen and casting yourself into his embrace, you clung to his neck, crying in earnest when he held onto you as if by instinct, because the way he clutched your waist felt like coming home. He felt like coming home. He felt like butterflies in the spring and leaves in the fall and ice cream in the summer and storms in the winter and every other little thing from your life which you could only ever associate with him.

“I love you,” you said. “I’m sorry, I love you, I love you so much I didn’t even realize it but I do now, I do, and I can finally see that I love you more than anything or anyone, Tabito, so please still love me back, please—”

“Shh,” he murmured, one of his hands moving up and down your back. “Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. Y/N, Y/N, don’t cry, I hate it when you cry.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I was such a fool. I didn’t comprehend it, any of it, because I’ve loved you since before I understood what the word love meant.”

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, over and over until your tears abated, and only then did he speak.

“I’ve loved you for longer,” he said. “I loved you before I even knew you.”

“And do you still?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “I couldn’t stop so quickly.”

“Don’t ever stop,” you said. “But if you do, if you must, then keep it to yourself. I want to at least imagine that you’ll keep loving me for — for a long time.

“Oh, Y/N,” he said. “You don’t have to imagine that. I’ll love you forever if you want it.”

“I do,” you said. “I do want it.”

His lips ghosted along your temple as he smiled. Then, right before they fit against your own, he murmured: “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

Though you had neither reason nor proof, you found that, wholeheartedly and fully, with all that you were, you believed him.

[sinnamongirls]

ALL NATURAL, CHAPTER ONE: drop the game.

a 2016 college au patrick zweig x f!reader fic

you’re a reporter for the stanford daily forced to cover a speech and debate tournament. lucky for you, there’s a really hot nerd there.

author notes: this is literally the first time I’ve published fanfic since middle school eek! but im really proud of this one heheh even though it is incredibly long (the next chapter will be shorter I swear)

contains: mentions of alcohol, suggestive language, dual pov’s (patrick and reader), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, but no physical traits are described.

“Speech and debate? Seriously? Kendall, come on.”

Kendall just rolled their eyes at you. It was 10 am, and you, the Stanford Daily’s head general coverage reporter, were already pissed.

It was Kendall’s fault, really.

If they’d given you the co-executive editor position, they wouldn't be dealing with your smart ass complaining about assignments every time you got one.

Last year, you were quiet as a church mouse, never complaining with the previous editor about your assignments.

But the last editor wasn’t your childhood best friend, turned roommate and coworker. The last editor was a bitch, frankly. And you both were a year closer to graduating. So you really cared about what you were writing.

And you weren’t a sports person, or an editorial person. You liked campus, the hustle and bustle of it all. And that meant covering it all, even the lame ass stuff like speech and debate.

“Don’t complain. I won’t give you anything if you keep it up.” It was a lie. You both knew it.

“But.. speech and debate? Seriously?”

“It needs coverage, and it’s too far off campus for me or the advisors to feel comfortable sending an underclassman. You have that much of an issue, take it up with Nadine or Lucas.”

You huffed.

“Fine.” Walking out of the editor’s office of the Stanford Daily, letting the door slam behind you, you sighed. First issue of junior year, and your article’s on fucking speech and debate. At least it wasn’t Model UN.

You looked at your phone. Class was in 20 minutes, and the building you needed to be in was 10 minutes away. Time to hustle.

“Okay, remember: first exam next Monday, you all are gonna crush it if you study!” Dr. Abernathy’s voice was so high, most times she sounded like a chipmunk, especially when you were walking out of the lecture hall after hearing her voice for almost two hours twice a week. But, she was the only one who taught media psychology, so there wasn’t much of a choice. The midterm, however, had you worried. There was a saying in the Stanford journalism program: pass any of Phoebe Abernathy’s exams, buy a Powerball ticket immediately.

That mantra had found its home on a sticky note on your bedroom mirror for the whole summer. Preparing you. Kendall thought it was stupid, but Kendall also considered themselves president of the Dr. Phoebe Abernathy fan club. It was a stupid club, with one member: Kendall Jefferson-Mcall.

Walking back to your car, you checked your texts. There were about 10 from Kendall. Your assignment for tonight: where it was, what needed to be photographed, and who needed to be interviewed. You skimmed it while walking, making sure not to walk straight into traffic.

One of the interviewees' names rang a bell in your head. It was a distant one, though, because you couldn’t tell where you knew it from:

Patrick Zweig, co-captain. Junior. Pre-law. You’ll know him when you see him.

“Really helpful, Kendall.” Muttering as you climb into the car, you stare at the text for a while. Then you see the time. The tournament was at Berkeley, so you needed to hustle back to your apartment and get ready.

Berkeley was full of cunts.

Grade A, top tier, cunts.

Patrick would rather die than debate them. They’d been shit since Patrick had joined the speech and debate team. His freshman year was the year Berkeley won the national championship, and they had never let it go. And it got to Stanford pretty bad— they’d lost every time they’d competed against Berkeley since Patrick was a freshman.

It was annoying as hell, and every time they had to travel to Berkeley for a debate, Patrick wanted to die.

Seriously, he’d considered faking sick, or taking a whole bottle of Benadryl before.

But, he’d finally convinced Tashi and Art to make the hour journey to Berkeley to watch him. They supported him when they had tournaments at Stanford, sure, but any tournament that required driving more than 30 minutes? Forget it.

Patrick Zweig was more than Stanford’s men’s tennis star. A whole lot more. Co-captain of the speech and debate team, vice president of his fraternity, Phi Iota Chi, member of the Pre-Law Society, and one of the best students in his class.

But deep down, a part of him hated people knowing that he was smart. He liked being the hot athlete in the top frat on campus. High school was his time to be smart- he was valedictorian, student body president.

College was his time to be the best at tennis, get shit faced, and generally, have fun.

His dad did it, and that’s how he became one of the best real estate lawyers in Upstate New York.

But he still found himself pacing the green room in Wheeler Auditorium, wondering if he should stop dumbing himself down in front of normal people, be more proud of his intelligence, and accomplishments.

But day drinking on the weekends was way more fun, and didn’t require thinking, for the most part.

“Pssst, Zweig,” It was his teammate, Samira. She’d cracked the door open, peeking her head in. Patrick turned to look at her— she had a new hijab on- cardinal red. Samira was Stanford, as far as Patrick was concerned. That girl bled school spirit. She was ready to kick Berkeley’s ass. “We’re on in 5 minutes, you wanna prep with me, or are you good?”

Patrick shook his head. “I’m fine, I think.” He wasn’t, but he couldn’t let Samira know, or she’d flip out, and Samira being emotional would fuck up their entire strategy against Berkeley.

“Good, good, I’m glad. See you in five.” She smiled, and shut the door. Patrick let out a long, exasperated sigh once the door was shut.

“Fuck.” Patrick really, really needed a win. Not just a speech and debate one, but a win in general.

Wheeler auditorium was massive. The biggest auditorium on UC Berkeley’s campus, it was also the oldest, and it was a national historic landmark.

That made up for the hour-long drive across the bay.

You studied the people in the room, trying to spot the best places to get pictures of the action. Good thing you had a press pass, because there were a lot of ugly looks. Surprisingly, the auditorium was pretty full on both sides, and you could’ve sworn you saw Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson sitting on Stanford’s side. But you put that aside, as the action was starting.

4 people took the stage: two from each school- you could tell who was who- the girl and guy from Berkeley both wore outfits with blue and gold. And then Stanford’s team came out: a woman, about 5’5” in a modest black dress with a cardinal red hijab, and a tall, toned man with curly black hair, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He stood at the right podium, closer to the back of the stage. The woman stood closer to the stage's edge. You could read her name clearly from where you were crouched on the floor: Samira Hadi.

You couldn’t quite tell what his name tag said, though.

The debate was interesting, all things considered. You resisted the urge to scroll on your phone in the middle of it when it got boring.

But at the very least, Stanford won. So it wasn’t a total waste of your Monday night.

Patrick was pretty sure he blacked out when he heard the words “First place, Stanford University!” Come out of the announcer's mouth.

He snapped out of it when he felt Samira bear hug him, the weight of her body (he was pretty sure she did powerlifting or something, she was jacked) and the smell of her vanilla musk perfume brought him down to earth. If Samira drank, Patrick would buy her as many drinks as she wanted tonight.

But as Samira hugged him, jumping up and down from excitement, he noticed someone in the front row. Well, in front of the front row.

Dressed in business casual, she was out of place— usually Patrick saw the same 20 people in the crowd for his tournaments. But then he saw the reason for this, incredibly attractive, outlier: a shiny Stanford Daily press badge dangling from your neck.

Aha. It made sense. He figured you were either a poor freshman forced to trek to Berkeley for their first assignment, or an overworked upperclassman fed up with the paper.

But just as quickly as Patrick saw you, you were gone.

And Samira had drug him back to the green room, where Tashi and Art were waiting, with flowers no less.

“Guys, really?” Patrick feigned being upset at them. He could never. They were good friends. He didn’t mind being their third wheel. Honestly, he didn’t have a choice: Tashi was Phi Chi’s sweetheart, and Art was the vice president of membership education, so the world of Phi Chi and Patrick’s friend group got a little incestuous. In a good way, though. Tashi sat the flowers down on a table behind her, and hugged Patrick. Tashi was wearing her favorite green satin dress, and like always, it fit her perfectly. Art wore a basic black suit, but it looked good on him, too. That was the thing- Patrick may have been a legacy of Phi Iota Chi, but he used it for good, like making sure every single member has at least one perfectly tailored suit.

Because Patrick, and Patrick’s father, hated a sloppy suit.

“We had to, hell, Tashi was gonna give them to you even if you lost.” Art smiled as he handed Patrick the flowers. They were the high-dollar grocery store ones- a sign it really was Tashi’s idea- she worked part time in the flower department at the Whole Foods by campus. Patrick looked at Tashi.

“You made this bouquet, didn’t you?” Tashi gave him a sly smile in response.

Samira lingered by the door, but a knock, and the muttering of one of their coaches caused her to leave, leaving the green room to just be Patrick, Art, and Tashi.

The dim lighting of the hallway was honestly kind of eerie, but the main auditorium area was filled with loud, butt-hurt Berkeley fans, and that’s no place for an interview.

“Can you say and spell your full name, your class, and your position on the team for me?” The recorder rested in your hand at about chest level for you and Samira.

“Samira, S-A-M-I-R-A, Hadi, H-A-D-I. Senior, Captain of Stanford’s Speech and Debate Team.”

“Thank you. So, this win against Berkeley, I know it’s been a long time coming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it has. They won at Nationals back in 2014, and they haven’t let us, or anyone really, live it down. So it’s very fulfilling for the entire team.”

You looked behind Samira’s shoulder at the green room door. You know the guy on Stanford’s team was in there. But when Samira was pulled out of the room by the team’s faculty advisor, you could hear some other voices in there- another male voice, and maybe a female one, too.

She could tell you were looking back there, but didn’t say anything. You continued the interview, and after the recorder clicked off, Samira spoke.

“You need to interview him?” Even though you knew it was coming, the question caught you off guard.

“Huh?” You replied.

“If you need a quote from him, I can go grab him.” She never said his name, which you found odd. But maybe Kendall was right, maybe you’d know ‘him’ when you saw him.

“N-no, I think I’m okay. I got 2 quotes from you and from your faculty advisor. I think I’m good.”

“Okay. If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna head out before it gets too dark.” Samira smiled, and walked off. You were standing in the hallway, alone.

You looked at your watch. It was around 8:30 now. You needed to head back too. If you didn’t, Kendall would think you’d died.

By the time you got back across the bay and back to your apartment, it was 9:30. You opened the door to your apartment, and there Kendall was, sitting on the couch.

“Hey, how’d it go?” They were sprawled out on the couch in their PJs, a bowl of guacamole on the coffee table and a bag of chips by their side. Some shitty Lifetime movie was playing softly on the TV.

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, bending down to take your kitten heels off. “It was okay.”

“Get good quotes? Good pictures?”

“Yeah, I got good material. You can look at it tomorrow.”

“Okay, good. Did you see him?”

“Who?” You cocked your head to the side, sighing as you stood flat footed on the cold hardwood floor.

“Patrick, dipshit. I figured you’d drool all over him.”

So he was Patrick. That name sounded familiar to you, but you couldn’t place it.

“I mean, I saw him. I got pictures of him, b-but he had friends visiting him after the competition, I think. He was in the green room, I couldn’t get a quote. But I got a quote from Samira and the faculty advisors.”

Kendall nodded, popping a guac covered chip in their mouth. “Good enough, thanks, babe.” The two of you had called each other babe since junior year of high school. It was a great way to piss off anyone who thought the two of you were dating.

“Yeah. What are you watching?” You studied the TV screen. The volume was turned down, but you could see women yelling passionately, and a very scared, blood-covered man behind them.

“Some Lifetime true crime movie, I dunno. I watched Miss Congeniality, and Pretty Woman, then settled on… This. It’s honestly trash.”

“Why not watch Housewives?”

“Didn’t wanna watch it without you. Plus, it was a rerun of DC, so.”

“Oh, ew.”

You walked over to the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water out, and then headed towards the couch, sitting next to Kendall. They switched the channel to Bravo, where you were both greeted by another scene of two women screaming at each other. It was the glorious world of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and the two of you watched at least 2 hours worth of toxic, shitty reality TV, until you checked the time and noticed it was almost midnight.

“I have class at 9 in the morning, I need to head to bed.” You yawned, standing up. Kendall turned the TV off. They looked up at you, their green eyes twinkling in the warm lighting of your shared living room.

“Okay, grandma. You have fun with that.” Kendall turned their phone on, typing rapidly. You envied them, in a way. They didn’t have class until 3pm tomorrow, but they still spent most of the day working on the paper. Busy busy bee.

“Goodnight, Kendall,” you called out as you walked into your bedroom.

“Night, bitch.” They replied from the couch. You shut your bedroom door, sighing.

You resisted the urge to stalk Patrick on instagram. He definitely had a girlfriend. He was good looking.

But why did you know his name?

Your phone lit up with a notification. A reminder of an assignment due tomorrow. It was your sign to go to bed.

You could stalk Patrick tomorrow. Consider it research while you write your article tomorrow.

Tonight, you needed to rest.

So you changed into your pajamas, crawled into bed, and fell asleep. And dreamt of him.

When Samira left the green room, Tashi broke her silence.

“Wanna go out?”

“Fuck yes.” Art and Patrick replied.

So the three musketeers drove back across the bay, went to some bar on the edge of Stanford’s campus, and got royally shitfaced, resulting in Art getting a pledge to drive the three back to the Phi Chi house.

Being a fraternity executive team member had it's perks. Living in the house was one of them.

Patrick told Tashi and Art goodnight, and headed down the hall to his room.

The whole time they were out, he couldn’t shake the face of the reporter from the Daily out of his head.

And to make matters worse, he didn’t have a name to go with a face.

Shit.

His head started throbbing, and he took that as his sign to go to bed.

He wondered if Tashi knew her.

Tashi knew everyone.

But he fell asleep before he could think about asking Tashi about you.

He may or may not have woken up the next morning, dealing with the aftermath of a wet dream and a next-level hangover. You woke up perfectly fine, ready to face the day.

Some would say that’s a match made in heaven. But we’re not there yet.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Buhu

Debut: Yo-Kai Watch

It is a Fine Fall Funky Friday! Buhu is a creature I feel is impressively autumnal-feeling, despite not quite having any of the conventional seasonal features. Everything about Buhu feels ALMOST Halloweeny, but that bit of distance makes it really unique! Even the name feels like that. You hear "bu" and think "EEK! Did someone say 'boo'? What a fright!", but then you hear "hu" and realize this is not a scary animal. This is a sad animal. Much like the legendary Squonk.

The first thing that comes to mind with Buhu is a gooseneck gourd! These feel like the main influence of the design. Maybe one person had the usual thought of "it looks like a funny bird", and another thought "we could make it like a jack-o'-lantern". Then those two people kissed, and decided to do both! Buhu's bird head is interestingly not goose-like, and you would expect it to be crow-based if anything, but the beak is pretty nondescript to me, possibly chicken-like.

And those eyes! Always seen in a sad crescent shape, which wouldn't be the right shape if her head was held high, but she NEVER holds it high. She's not proud of anything. That's who she is! A miserable and wretched creature who spreads nothing but frustration wherever she goes. Wow. Does she suck? Is she terrible? No! Be nice.

See? She's capable of delight. Love, even! This is her swooning after a wild goose winked at her. Here we can see that her spooky face body's eyes change based on her emotions, so it is indeed an entire functional face, as we were all hoping! A monster design should always make any "false" faces actually real to some extent, because it is always awesome. That's the difference between wearing a T-shirt with a face depicted on it, and being able to see out of your nipples and eat through your belly button. It's just more intriguing creature design!

Nearly three years ago when I posted about fellow beloved Yo-Kai Cadin, I alluded to the first Yo-Kai that confronts you in the game, and I'm sure a whole Zero of you have been waiting excitedly to find out who that Yo-Kai was. I certainly wasn't. I forget I even write a lot of my posts! But indeed, implied in that post all along was Buhu, and it's really so fitting, I think. Such an unlucky creature, not even getting mentioned by name in that post, and, in fact, entirely covered up by UI elements in the screenshot on that post. Without even trying, I ended up reinforcing the very nature of Buhu, at her expense. Sad! Or scary? Maybe Yo-Kai are real after all... and they want revenge for their game series being usurped by non-whimsical nonsense!

Or maybe I simply did not feel the need to go into detail about a creature who was not the focus of the post. But which do YOU really think is more realistic?

[ange1sang]

kinktober d.1: gallavich + cockwarming

minors + under 18s pls do not interact ty

gallavich (ian x mickey); 572 words, smut, fluff, cockwarming, pouty mickey milkovich

eek excited to participate this year, some days will be for other fandoms so won't be shared on here <3

The neighbours’ music is bleeding through the walls of their condo, slow and curling around them like lingering summer heat on an early autumn night. The TV is on, has been all afternoon, and glows in blues and oranges along their furniture and wallpaper. Ian particularly likes the way the colours move along Mickey’s skin, dancing along his ribs and thighs. He smiles where his face is pressed into the crook of Mickey’s neck, breathing in the soft scent of their shared shower gel as he does.

“What’re you smiling about?” Mickey mumbles. His chest shifts when he speaks, sticky against Ian’s, and when he inhales his hard dick moves just the tiniest bit against Ian’s stomach, smearing more precum against it.

“It’s been almost thirty minutes,” Ian replies, fingertips moving up and down Mickey’s spine languidly. It’s a precious sort of touch, the kind Mickey usually only permits when he’s asleep or fucked out beyond complaining, but if tonight is teaching Ian anything it’s that there are still things he doesn’t know about his husband.

“Yeah, well that’s your fault for being gone so fuckin’ long,” Mickey mutters. Ian rolls his eyes. He’d only been gone a week to visit Fiona, but Mickey had quickly turned out to be a terrible military wife. Ian couldn’t blame him, not when they’d spent so much time apart before, but he wasn’t prepared for what was supposed to be a quick, ‘missed-you-so-fuckin-much’ fuck to turn into nearly half an hour of them sitting perfectly still with his cock buried in Mickey’s ass.

“I don’t get it, your dick doesn’t hurt?” Ian asks, smirking when he feels Mickey twitch against his stomach.

“Yeah, but that’s not the fuckin’ point,” his husband continues in that frowny, pissed off tone Ian knows is only a front.

“What is the point, then?” he asks, chancing a slow roll of his hips up into Mickey. The reaction is instant, a long, slow groan pouring from Mickey’s lips and his blunt nails digging into his biceps.

“You were gone too long,” Mickey mumbles, but his voice is strained now, teetering on the verge of a moan. Ian lets his hands wander, kneads his fingers into Mickey’s ass, drags his thumb over the gunshot scar that’s there because of him. When Mickey doesn’t protest he grinds up again, eyes rolling back at the relief of finally getting some real friction.

“How ‘bout you let me fuck you now”— Here he pauses so he can kiss his way up Mickey’s neck and along his jaw, finally meeting reluctant lips when Mickey lifts his head from his shoulder. —“and next time you come with me?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow as though he’s debating this, but already he’s moving to meet Ian’s small movements, grinding his dick down against his stomach not-so-subtly.

“Yeah?” he asks, serious and breathy and sulky. Ian grins and leans forward to kiss him, punctuating it with a rough thrust that has them both moaning into each other’s mouths.

“Yeah,” Ian grits out, not just because he wants to get off but because he missed Mickey just as badly. Relief washes over him when Mickey finally smiles and nods, a silent little come on then. Ian groans and flips them over so Mickey’s on his back, pressing deep into him and pulling out just to do it all over, the way he’s been wanting to since he got back. “Fucking finally.”

[thatshappinessforme]

When We Are Together - Pt. 1 (?)

omg...hi. i'm really here rn. posting this. at nearly 4 am on a monday morning. im nervous. i could vomit. so...this has been in my head for forever. literally. the idea is massive. it extends so far. it's seriously a whole universe in my little brain. it took so long to get the basis of this all out on paper, but, i'm hoping this is a series...a long one. the title isn't going to make much sense right now, but i pinky swear we'll get there eventually. so...without further ado...here she is...(EEK!) (also i have no idea how to set this post up so bear with me lol)

so i guess i just lost my fanfic writing vcard💌

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word count: 2.4k

cw: just a little swearing, maybe a bit of bad writing, also maybe typos?? might be a little boring because it’s mostly to just like set the scene idk? (eventually the plan is to have a lil smut or smth but this really is just an intro lol)

_____________________________________________

The day starts as usual. You wake up to the sound of your alarm and your roommate’s hair dryer blaring through the thin walls of your Brooklyn walk-up. With a groan, you peel yourself out of the warmth of your bed, go to your desk, and open your laptop, holding onto a shred of delusional hope that one of your classes might be canceled for today; they rarely are…but you can’t blame a girl for being an optimist. 

You scroll through your inbox, refreshing, and refreshing – you really don’t want to go to class today. Blame the essay you’d procrastinated that you’d spent all of last night speed-writing. Blame senioritis. Blame the unpaid music publicity internship that you’d been letting eat up your time in hopes of scoring a good job. Blame the frigid snow and ice that seem to be taunting you from outside your window. But, luckily it’s a Friday.

You refresh your inbox one last time, just for good measure. And, something actually comes in. But, it’s not from one of your professors. It’s from some company named “Dirty Hit.”

You raise an eyebrow and open the email, thinking it must be something related to one of the countless jobs you’ve applied for in the last few weeks, preparing for graduation at the end of the semester.

Y/N,

I’m a representative with one of our bands here at Dirty Hit. We’re really impressed with your work and have an opportunity we’d love to discuss with you, if you have a free moment this week at some point. Are you based out of New York? Get back to us when you can. We’re looking forward to hearing from you.

Best,

The Dirty Hit Team

“That’s weird,” you whisper to yourself, reading the short, ominous email over and over again. It’s not everyday that a label reaches out to a random college student to work with them. You’re not really sure what they could possibly be impressed with. You’ve just done minor PR internship work with underground bands from the east coast – that’s not exactly impressive. It sure as hell doesn’t warrant an email.

“Y/N?,” you hear one of your roommates and best friend, Vivian, call from outside your door before walking in, not bothering to knock. The two of you are close, almost like sisters at this point. In some ways, you’re exactly the same person, but in others your polar opposites. She’s a little bit more outgoing than you are, but she always helps to get you out of your shell. “Do you think I can get this guy I’m talking to into the venue tomorrow night? It’s just at The Soundwave, right?,” she asks, plopping down on the corner of your bed. 

Shit. You completely forgot you signed up for an open mic tonight. You’d been playing your songs at small bars in Brooklyn and Manhattan for the past year or so. Songwriting had always been a bit of a hobby for you. So when you’re a broke college student in one of the most expensive cities in the world, you just find tricks to get you and your friends to do fun things for free. You’d learned a while back that performing at open mics usually meant you and your friends could get into bars and clubs without having to pay a cover, so you’d been spending your weekends doing that for a while. It’s all for fun. Sure, you like performing and put a lot into your songwriting, but pursuing it isn’t even quite a dream for you. You have an impending college degree you’ve worked your ass off for. In every sense of the word, music was a hobby for you. 

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem. He might have to pay the cover, but it’s not like it’s the sort of thing where people buy tickets. You know the drill. But, obviously you’re my plus one, so no cover for you,” you nod, still staring at your laptop screen.

“What are you staring at, over there? Everything okay?,” she asks, getting up and moving to stand over your shoulder at your desk. You move your head a little so she can get a good look at the words on your screen. You watch her face as she reads the email, her lips dancing on each of the syllables as you watch her process it. “Dirty Hit? What the hell is that? Sounds like a porn company. Impressed with your work? Do you have a booming, secret OnlyFans I’m unaware of?,” she jokes. 

I laugh and playfully nudge her arm. “No, no,” you giggle, “It’s a record label, I think. I’ve heard the name thrown around a few times at my internship. I think they’re kinda big.” You tab over and do a quick Google search. Immediately, a sea of popular artists and bands pop up under the label.

“Holy shit. Beabadoobee? Bleachers? The 19 fucking 75? I have their fuckin’ poster on my wall. They’re cool as shit,” she reads over your shoulder. “I mean, I have no idea what they could possibly want from me. My resumè isn’t all that impressive. Sure, I’m planning on going into music PR, but there’s no reason why I would stand out against someone who has like…an actual career under their belt,” you ramble, trying to make sense of the 67 words in haunting your inbox. 

There’s a long pause, both of you trying aimlessly to make sense of the email. “Well, you’re gonna email them back, right?,” she eventually asks. You take breath, starting a reply to the email, leaving your cell phone number.

You try to focus on anything other than waiting for a reply. You do your best not to let your mind wander into the what-ifs, but as soon as you get done with your lectures for the day, you check your phone for any response.

Y/N,

Thanks for getting back to us so quickly. The band and management is also in New York for the next few months for a project. We would give you more information over email, but much of the matter is highly confidential. We have a studio space at Electric Lady in Greenwich Village that we could meet at, if that works for you. I know it is rather short notice, but could you meet this evening at some point? Let us know.

Best,

The Dirty Hit Team

You quickly reply to the email on your walk back from campus, confirming the meeting for later this evening. You get back to your apartment and practically tear apart your closet trying to figure out what the hell to wear. You know it’s a business meeting, but it’s also for some mystery band. You don’t want to dress unprofessionally, but you also don’t want to seem uptight. You decide on a black mini skirt with tights and a chunky black turtleneck sweater. You finish primping and step into Vivian’s room, practically out of breath from all the outfits you’ve tried on and scrapped.

“Okay, if you were a band looking for…a PR representative…? Would you hire me?,” you ask her, standing in front of her bed as she looks up from her phone. She looks you up and down and grins, “Of course I would, Y/N. You look great,” she reassures you, sensing you’re anxious, “So, you really think this is just a PR gig?”

“I mean, yeah. What else could it possibly be? It couldn’t be my music. I’m not even on any streaming platforms; I don’t promote it at all,” you say with certainty. She shrugs and smiles, before wishing you the best of luck as you head out the door.

You get on the subway and head to Electric Lady. The train has always been one of your favorite parts about living in New York for college. Putting your pink headphones on, looking out the window into the catacombs that stretch throughout the city, people watching. It’s where you did your best thinking. 

You get off the train and walk through the streets, your headphones on and your music blasting, only interrupted occasionally by Google Maps telling you where to turn and such. Eventually the robotic voice in your ear says “Arrived” and you look over your right shoulder…here it is. You're right on time. You go to open the doors, pushing on them gently; must still be locked. You sigh, assuming that its to be expected. That this is simply upholding a prophecy of some sort that the band and music-industry-folk run behind…until you hear a laugh.

“It’s a pull,” you hear a man’s voice call out with a slight chuckle. From just those three words, you’ve determined that he has one of the thickest English accents you’d ever heard. You look over your left shoulder and see a man leaning up against the wall of the studio smoking a cigarette. “What?,” you ask, confused as you look over to him. He has a hood on and you can’t make out his face, or what he was trying to tell you. “The doors. It says right on them. ‘PULL,’” he chuckles, tossing his cigarette to the ground and putting it out with his Adidas sneaker, walking over to you. “Oh, um, thanks, I’m an idiot. I almost gave up,” you chuckle, pulling the door open this time. The man follows you into the studio, holding the door open once you tug on it. You look back over your shoulder to thank him for holding the door, the first time he’s been close enough for you to make out his face; Christ, it’s Matty Healy.

“I know who you are,” he says to you with a cheeky grin as he starts walking into the back of the studio. You just stand there near the doorway, the gust of cigarette-scented, cold January air lingering around you. You’re perplexed, to say the least. He keeps walking down the hall before finally turning over his shoulder, “You’re just gonna stand there? You have a meeting. Wouldn’t be very professional of you to stand us up,” he teases dryly. You blink a few times before nodding, following him, still in a bit of disbelief that this was the band that had some sort of ‘interest’ in you.

He shows you into a studio in the back. Once he opens the door, there are four other men sitting there, three that you also recognize from your roommate’s wall. The other, a bit older, more professional looking. 

“Y/N! I’m Jamie, I manage these blokes. Thank you so much for agreeing to come meet with us today. I know everything was rather vague on the emails, but…we had to keep it that way. But, now that you’re here, let's talk, yeah? Are you familiar with The 1975?,” the older man asks you, in a super friendly manner as you sit down on a plush chair in the corner of the room. Every eye in the room is glued to you. The air is almost sticky with anticipation. You take a deep breath and try to slap on the most composed, thoughtful, professional smile you can manage.

“Um, yes! Of course,” you nod, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, “I’m actually a fan of you all. Really, I listen to your stuff with my friends – you’re fantastic.”

“Good, good. We’re glad to hear it,” he grins, looking around at the boys who also all look to be pleased. Even though everyone’s eyes are on you, you feel Matty's specifically, practically burning a hole in the side of your head as he stands, still leaning in the doorway.

“We’re impressed with you, Y/N. So, I’m just going to get on with it. George went to a little bar in Bushwick last month and sent us a video he took of you singing one of your originals…you’re bloody fantastic. We’re going on tour this summer. We want to do something a little different this time with our opener. We want to build someone from the ground up. You’re it. We want you. What do you say? You interested?,” he explains with a wide grin, his tone casual like he didn’t just tell you the craziest shit you’ve ever heard. 

Jamie’s words hit you in slow motion. You look around the room, the air moving from feeling sticky to feeling ice cold, jolting you awake. “I’m sorry…what the actual fuck did you just say?,” you blurt out blankly, any ounce of composure you may have had completely gone. 

You immediately catch yourself, your language, your lack of professionalism, though, “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I…that just came out of my mouth…I-,” your face goes bright red as you desperately try to correct yourself.

The room erupts in laughter, the men you recognize from Viv’s poster nearly barreling over off the sofa. Jamie’s jaw on the floor as he howls, slapping the table in front of him. You look over your shoulder to see that Matty’s still in the doorway, and he’s just standing there with his arms crossed, shaking his head at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, I think we’re gonna get along quite well with this one,” he remarks, licking his lips, weirdly impressed with your mispeakings.

You can’t help but sigh softly and shake your own head when he looks at you like that; something in you shifting as if he’s the only person in the room; as if he was the only person who'd ever laid eyes on you; as if he was the only person ever. As if, the offer you got just moments before wasn’t the most absurd thing that had ever happened to you. As if you didn’t need to thoroughly think this all over. As if you could make the decision right now.

You look back over to Jamie, who’s still chuckling. Before you can give yourself the time to overthink, you swing one of your legs over the other, lean back into the chair and smirk, “Jamie, where the hell do I sign?” 

…and this is how it starts.

[huramuna]

the calico bastard - chapter 1.

 aemond targaryen x strong bastard oc (series) part one | next part

summary: After his takeover of Harrenhal, Aemond encounters a dreamy-eyed, wistful bastard of House Strong, who piques his interest and changes the course of Westerosi history.

 warnings: smut (eventually), angst, canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny. will add more as I go through each chapter. 

wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: alys rivers doesn’t exist in this universe, alysanne takes her place somewhat. a/n 2: this is my first fic, i got the courage to post it -- please be nice n' leave a like if this interests you!

wuthering heights - kate bush • leave me for dead - GAYLE

It was a chilly spring day when he arrived�� atop his dragon that blotted out the sun. 

Harrenhal stood tall, foreboding against the horizon of the Riverlands. It was a tower with a known history of bloodshed and held many ghosts within its hallowed walls. 

Recently, it’d been a symbol of the Dance, a game of tug of war between the Rogue Prince and his One-Eyed nephew. 

Day after day with Daemon holding Harrenhal, Aemond taunted him by flying in the distance atop his mossy colored war dragon. 

Until, one night, Daemon acquiesced. He gathered his forces and left during the hour of the wolf, leaving the original denizens of the ancient stronghold behind.

It was all too fast that Aemond would seize the opportunity— and seize he did.

“Bring out every man with the blood of House Strong in his veins!” he cried out, his voice stringent and unwavering. His dragon grumbled in agreement just outside of the castle’s walls.

His soldiers ripped husbands from their wives, fathers from their children, and sons from their mothers. All were dragged out to the courtyard. 

A diminutive lady watched atop the castle ramparts, looking down at the scene. Alysanne Rivers— a bastard of House Strong, as far as she knew. 

She looked nothing like her Strong relatives, her hair being almost white in color, tumbling down in billowing curls, likely not been cut drastically since she was born, as it lingered past her bottom. The only reminiscences of the Strong bloodline was the errant streak of brown that ran down the front of her hair.

No two sides of her face were alike— one side had a violet eye with white lashes and a brown eyebrow, the other side having a brown eye with brown lashes and a white eyebrow. 

‘The Calico Bastard’ they tended to call her, mostly behind her back— but she didn’t mind. She was rather fond of calico cats.

As she pressed herself belly down on the ramparts, she observed the man below. Tall and chiseled, she could almost feel the hate and contempt eek from his being. It smelled of brimstone. 

Her brows perked as he reached to his face, ripping his eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire prosthetic underneath. He spoke a few words, too quietly for Alysanne to hear.

Then he unsheathed his sword. She watched with widened eyes as he brought down the blade upon the neck of the first in line— Ser Simon Strong, the oldened head of Harrenhal; now beheaded. 

She didn’t retch, but she felt a pit of darkness settle in her stomach. Alysanne had been raised as a bastard usually was; hardly at all. She was treated like a dormouse, her chambers being a closet near the kitchens, her bed a pile of old mattress material. 

Her Strong family had treated her with contempt, for the whiteness of her hair and her violet eye— she could only wish to hope that her mother, whomever she may be, never received such treatment. 

She’d heard not much about her mother over her eighteen years of life, and such questions would earn her a slap to the face. 

She never felt love for the Strong family, not even her father, Lyonel Strong, who had left her for many years of servitude on King Viserys’ council. 

The only one to not treat her like dirt beneath her feet was her supposed half-brother, Ser Harwin ‘Breakbones’ Strong. He was the only kind person she’d ever known.

But he was gone now. And apparently, so was the rest of House Strong.

She watched the heads roll into the mud with a detached gaze. No tears would be shed on account of her blood family’s deaths, but she hadn’t seen such ruthlessness firsthand. The only thing comparable was when she heard the screams of her father and brother dying in a fire all those years ago— but she didn’t see them. 

As the last man fell, Aemond glanced up at where she was laying. He leaned over and said something incoherent to a Dornishman next to him. 

Then she was grabbed. She kicked and growled like an impudent animal, snapping her teeth at the soldiers that drug her from the ramparts, down to the courtyard and before Aemond himself. They let her go, then, and let her adjust herself as Aemond approached her slowly.

The bastard girl glared up at him. And he stared back, his one violet eye wide with a fading madness. 

“You were watching,” he started, his voice laced with authority but also… curiosity. “What do you make of this?” he asked then, his arms resting behind his back. 

She swallowed nervously as he got a bit closer, to which she took two steps back. “I see the dragon has come to deliver its reckoning upon House Strong.” she bowed her head, averting her gaze as if it pained her to keep eye contact with him. 

Aemond’s brow rose. The way she spoke was odd, mysterious, dreamlike, even. Not unlike how his own maddened sister, Queen Helaena, spoke often. “Reckoning,” he repeated, “House Strong has defied the crown for too long.” His tone held a touch of disdain for their audacity to challenge him—an affront that demanded retribution in the form of blood spilled upon already stained grounds. 

He stepped closer to her, closing the distance between them. His presence so close was almost suffocating, scalding— like being too close to dragonfire. “And what do you make of this reckoning?” he pressed, searching her mismatched eyes for any recognition that she understood— it was more likely she didn’t. 

“You smell of ash and musk, dragon,” she murmured, stepping back once more. She did not like having people in such close proximity to her, it seemed, as her eyes flitted nervously around.

“A reckoning within your right; mere mice burn before a flaming beast.” she said finally, seemingly in a riddle or poem. Her voice was soft, lilting and song-like; not unpleasant upon the ears, but could be unnerving if anyone actually paid attention to the depths of her manic mutterings. 

Aemond’s face stayed neutral, his jaw clenched slightly, “And what do you make of this flaming beast? What lies beneath its exterior?” he continued. There was something about this fidgety bastard that intrigued him— perhaps it was how much she looked and acted like his sister. His heart clenched slightly at the thought. 

She let out a huff, as if annoyed by his incessant questioning. “A dragon needn’t concern itself with the opinions of mice or birds,” she grumbled. Her hands fiddled with the hem of her dress. “Are you going to kill me, dragon?” 

He stared at her for a moment longer, “Hm,” he seemed to mull it over in his mind, “Mayhaps not, for the moment. I am in need of a cupbearer, and you are capable enough.” 

Alysanne bristled slightly but said nothing. She just stared down at her feet— they were bare, stained with dirt and dust. 

“It seems she knows the power of holding her tongue. I know a few bastards who would do well to learn such a thing,” he added before turning his gaze upward towards two of his men, “Find some handmaidens or servants and have her scrubbed and dressed— I shan’t have my cupbearer looking like…” he appraised her dirty form up and down, “that.” 

The two soldiers nodded their heads, “Yes, prince.” they hummed in agreement, one going to grab Alysanne once more. 

He roughly pulled her, the coarse leather of his gloves grating against her skin. She hated the feeling, the sensation of being grabbed and strewn about like she was nothing but a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay.

Aemond spoke once more, his voice cutting like a whip, “And treat her with respect— she may be a bastard, but she is still a lady, hm?” he glared at the pair of men, his icy stare boring particularly chilly into the one who had so carelessly handled her. 

The soldier straightened up, releasing Alysanne from his grip— he left harsh red marks upon her skin, “Yes, my prince— apologies.” he dipped his head. 

Seeming satisfied with the answer, he turned around and began walking away. 

Alysanne observed him with a tenuous gaze. The way he walked was unnerving— a bit slow, but meticulous. Like a stalking predator. 

But he wasn’t just a mere predator, was he? He was the apex, the king of predators, hewn from brimstone and lava deep within the fissures of the Fourteen Flames. 

Alysanne had encountered the Targaryen house before— with Daemon having occupied Harrenhal just before. 

Daemon was an annoyance to her. She had a distaste for him, even if they did not speak. He would leer at her, looking as if he was undressing her with his eyes. 

But Aemond— he felt different. He didn’t leer, nor undress her with his eyes or look upon her as a commodity. 

No, he looked at her as if he wanted to remove her skin and see what lies underneath. To remove the outer layer of her being from the bone and tear out her heart— 

She snapped herself out of her reverie at the annoyed quip of one of the soldiers that were to escort her. 

“You deaf or something, bastard? Get moving,” the man grunted. 

A fitting noise for him, as he was nothing but a grunt, behest to a dragon. 

A dragon that interested Alysanne, for reasons she didn’t understand. There was an unconscious nagging sensation, deep in her gut when she looked at him. A feeling that elated her and made her feel sickly. 

She walked along, being escorted— escorted in her own home. She thought the idea silly, but let them do as they liked. They were stronger than she— let them have their moment of significance. 

Prince Aemond, as it turns out, left much of the staff in Harrenhal intact. Scared, but alive. 

Her mismatched gaze flitted around as they stepped into the Great Hall. The quivering, huddled bodies of servants, cooks and maids alike stood together. 

“Oh, girl, you lived,” the cook, Magga, cried. The older woman broke away from the conglomerate of clucking hens to go embrace Alysanne. 

She flinched slightly— girl, Magga had called her. She didn’t even call her by her name. She hardly ever did, and never with such… saccharine sweet reverie. 

She fought every instinct within her to run away, growl or do some other animalistic display of fear as Magga enveloped Alysanne in an all encompassing hug, practically suffocating her in her bosom. 

“We thought ye dead, girl,” Magga continued, “They said they were butcherin’ all of House Strong. They didn’t do anything to ya, did they?” 

Alysanne, once she was finally able to catch her breath, shook her head. She was still confused by Magga’s sudden maternal disposition. The cook always treated Alysanne as a nuisance, an extra mouth to feed that likely didn’t deserve it.

Witnessing death, she supposed, had a funny way of changing people. 

Alysanne would give the old cook a fortnight before she was back to calling her a bastard and trying to beat her bloody with a wooden spoon for pilfering honey cakes. 

The two guards that had led Alysanne in seemed unmoved by the reunion. One, apparently named Ser Daunton, spoke up, “Which of you is a maid? The prince has deemed that this…” he cleared his throat before speaking, “lady, requires to be bathed and clothed— befitting the station of royal cupbearer.” 

A few of the ladies spoke up. Flora and Beth stepped up— sisters from near Maidenpool. “Yes, ser,” Flora, the more talkative of the bunch, murmured, “We will… tend to Lady… Rivers,” she glanced over at her sister, who gave an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders. 

“Very good. I’m sure that the prince will have need of his… cupbearer sooner than later— so do not tarry.” Ser Daunton nodded, his gloved hand rested on the pommel of his sword before he turned and left, a nod of his head commanding his companion. 

As they walked out of the Great Hall, there was almost a physical sigh in the room. 

Flora and Beth walked to Alysanne, the latter finally speaking, “What in the name of the Seven did you do to be spared?” she hissed, pushing Alysanne to the back room while Flora began to heat the water for the bath. 

“I did nothing— the dragon, he—,” her voice was cut short as Beth pinched the sensitive skin of her arm.

“He is not an actual dragon, you dumb girl,” she admonished, “He is a prince— more so even than the one that was here before. At least address him with some modicum of respect. You greet him as ‘my prince’ or ‘your grace’— no more of this foolish dragon nonsense.” Beth grumbled, stripping Alysanne of her clothes. 

“But he… he is a dragon, he—,” 

SMACK.

A sharp hit to her cheek by Beth, “I don’t care if he has horns growing out of his bloody head, or breathes fire— I won’t have you jeopardize our lives by spewing hogwash,” she paused for a moment as she began pulling Alysanne’s hair out from the errant braids she had them in, “I… He is unstable, look what he did to Ser Simon— poor lord couldn’t even raise his sword before the prince took his head. He was just an old man, shameful,” Beth continued, her fingers attempting to unknot her curls, “But we shan’t expect better from a Kinslayer.” 

Alysanne winced, her scalp prickly and heated. She didn’t say anything else— she would only dig herself into a deeper hole; it already felt like she was six feet under. 

The sisters dragged the odd-eyed lady to the copper tub, now filled with hot water and began to scrub her raw. Her skin pulsed red before finally settling into its normal pallor. 

Her hair was run through with a brush, more than half a dozen times before pulling it back into one tight braid that swept to her posterior. 

They stuffed her into a modest dress— a blue woolen kirtle with a white undershirt, the sleeves long and puffy. 

Alysanne, who hated being touched, squirreled and wriggled all throughout their prodding. She wasn’t a skinny thing by any means— she had a soft core and curvy figure, which was accentuated in the corset they strapped her in. 

“Cruel lot of chickens,” she grumbled under her breath, eyeing the two sisters with ire. 

“Hm— didn’t know you had a pair o’ hips under those mops, Calico,” Flora hummed, “This might be what the prince wanted you for.” 

Alysanne felt her cheeks heat up at the thought— she had been the receiving end of looks of leer and lust a few times, but she staved them off. She had no interest in romance, or whatever her twisted ideology of it was. Nor was she interested in being rutted into like a barn animal. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, her voice quiet, but with a tinge of sharpness, “A dra— a prince has no use for a calico bastard— mayhaps you should visit him instead of I, Flora?” 

SMACK. 

That earned her another red mark on her cheek— one from each of those shrewd sisters. 

“I’d knock you out if you weren’t meant to be somewhere, Calico. Now go, I’d imagine you’re being expected.” Flora snapped, leaving the room. 

Beth tagged along, giving Alysanne one last dirty look. 

She took a few deep breaths, smoothing down her dress. Once, twice, thrice. With as straight of a posture as she could give, she left the room as well, quickly swept up by Ser Daunton to be escorted to the prince. 

Into the dragon’s lair.

[lost-technology]

Explaining Vash Outside the Fandom!

So, today on another forum I mentioned Vash the Stampede. I mentioned him by way of "I don't ask myself WWJD? so much anymore as WWVtSD?" and explained "Vash the Stampede." I said "If anyone is unfamiliar with this name, go ahead and ask and I can fangirl all over you, but be warned, you will be reading all day." I got a taker. And then another taker who is a person on the forum who is straight up not having a good time right now and needs some distraction I feel - to read someone's dumb fangirling over a fandom they aren't in yet. So... I wrote up an essay explaining Vash the Stampede in Word and pasted it in shifts on the blog: (uck, looks like I'm gonna have to post this in shifts, too. Dumb tumblr!

*Flashes my fangirl license*  You asked about Vash the Stampede?  *Raises eyebrows.*  Big mistake.  You shall be here all day!  Vash is the protagonist of Trigun, an anime / manga by Yashiro Nightow.  Well, the manga is by him and there are two different animes to date, one originally airing in 1998 before the completion of the manga (and it gained the idea enough popularity that Nightow was able to continue the manga and purposefully took a different track to keep the story fresh.  Because he had to switch publishers the continuing story was titled Trigun Maximum).  As of 2023 there has been a reboot of the anime, Trigun Stampede, done in a cell-shaded CGI style that takes more cues from the manga.  It has done its own story elements, too, most notably having the City of July as a part of the story, making it almost a prequel, since the City of July is past tense in the other media.  A second set / continuation / completion of it is set for a future release date and as of yesterday, the “final phase” of the new anime will be titled Trigun Stargaze. Additionally, there was a feature-movie made in 2011 based solely upon the first anime titled Badlands Rumble, which is kind of the black sheep of the fandom (personally I enjoy it, find it very funny).  So, anyway, Vash is a tall blonde man with a Bart Simpson hairdo and a long red coat who lives on a desert planet with 10X the guns of ‘Murica.  There are two suns and five moons.  It’s a scavenger world where people barely eek out a living using a form of lost technology known as “Plants” – which are these energy and materials production entities housed in giant lightbulbs (or something more like tanks in Stampede).  No one knows how to create Plants anymore and few know how to maintain them, so everything is slowly dying (except, of course, the native sandworms.  Yep, there’s something Dune-like going on).  People live a half sci-fi half Old West existence and things are, again, very violent.  It’s a world where you have higher chances of making it out better as a bandit than a farmer.    Vash is a pacifist.  He is also an outlaw with Sixty-Billion-Double Dollars ($$) on his head because he has been shown to be capable of incredible destructive power.  Now, most of this comes accidentally from trying to weasel out of tough situations and people after him getting themselves hurt, but somehow towns fall apart.  Except for the City of July (or Jul-Ai in Stampede), which he did wipe out.  Under circumstances not of his own making or will, but the normal citizens of the planet don’t know that.  That was around 24 years ago in the first anime and in the manga.  July exists as of the beginning of Stampede.    Early on in the manga’s story, an insurance company that gets a lot of damage claims regarding damage he supposedly caused declares him a “Human Act of God” so as to avoid payouts.  He is assigned a pair of insurance agents, Milly Thompson and Meryl Stryfe, to follow him around to attempt to mitigate the damage he might cause.  In the anime, it is the same, except that his bounty is not removed for some reason.  (In the manga, the government removes his bounty per his “Act of God” status).  He is also known as the Humanoid Typhon, putting him in the same category as a destructive storm.  Vash-damage is thereafter treated in the same like as hurricane damage!  Honestly, this is one of the most creative things I have seen of any media – having the local superhero / super-cryptid followed by INSURANCE AGENTS. (I am fond of characterizing Trigun as “If Mayhem from the Allstate commercials was followed around by Flo from the Progressive commercials”).  (To Be Continued in Reblog-posts)

[realshadow01-blog]

*Pop* just like a candy apple! {Platonic Radioapple!}

Introduction

|| Hello! I just wanted to say hello again as I've been gone for almost two years, I think. :3 I wanted to start writing again, for some reason, and it's 2:43am. I am not sure if I would post this or not, depends if I feel like it.||

|| Sorry for the absence, and if any characters are ooc (out of character) too! I have watched all of season 1 - but I can't capture the characters personalities that well. And sorry if my grammar or wording is bad, I don't know that much English as I thought. ||

|| This is a tickle drabble/short fan fiction post, and I don't expect any - but I will be taking requests for drabbles and headcannons! ||

>> || Summary for introduction: I do not know much English, I haven't captured the characters that well, this is a tickle-based, short fan fiction and I'm sorry for my (almost) two year absence. And, I am taking requests for drabbles and headcannons (no art or fics :<) || <<

|| Warnings (I guess!): Tickles, Swearing ||

---

So, the Demon is back again! Back again with a new sense of humor and a new ruthless torturing method. The Radio Demon is back! He's returned, what does it mean for a certain rival? Or a few?~ The future will decide...~

It was a surprisingly quiet day in the Hazbin Hotel. Everyone was either out celebrating or having a full day in bed after they defeated the Angels. People were bummed out, injured and flat-out exhausted.

Lucifer decided to stay at the Hotel for a while, or at least visit often, and he was watching TV in the common room as he held his most prized rubber duck. Charlie was out with Vaggie, Angel and Husk were out too and pretty much the only people in the hotel were Niffty, Alastor and Lucifer.

Alastor was nowhere to be found, I mean, where would you expect an unpredictable being like him to be?

Nifty was off cleaning.

You already heard about Lucifer.

That changed when Alastor's shadow crawled around the floors of the hotel, until he emerged from thin air. His grin was as sinister and menacing as always, although something was off. It looked slightly strained. He was preciously annoyed by another Overlord, but we won't get into that, but it could be why... He then went to go find Lucifer, for some reason.

Lucifer was throwing his rubber duck against the wall and catching it like a ball, abandoning the television so all it became was simple background noise. He continued to throw the rubber duck until it hit Alastor in the face.

“Oops....” Lucifer giggled mockingly, not in the slightest sorry, but decided to apologize anyway to make matters better for him, if they were becoming bad. Although, Alastor, in return, grabbed the rubber duck and crushed it in his bare hand, sensing Lucifer's infuriated pity, despite Lucifer showing no emotion whatsoever. “Was that necessary, Alastor?”

“No,” Alastor's grin grew as he threw the shriveled rubber duck aside, his radio filter still as strong as ever, “but I wanted to. Doesn't that seem fair?~”

Lucifer groaned, annoyed. “What kind of shitty question is that!?”

“A reasonable question that needs answering.”

“Well, I won't fuckin’ answer!”

“...”

“As you wish.” Alastor's grin grew, but still looked a little strained.

Lucifer, funny enough, saw his strained grin and smirked.

“Is the demon cracking at something?~ Are you pissy about your wound from Adam?~” Lucifer retorted, giggling, which absolutely broke Alastor's patience and before either of them knew it, Alastor had thrown himself at Lucifer and pinned him to the floor, scribbling his claws into Lucifer's sensitive, tender sides, earning a surprised squeal and a string of squeaky laughter. “EEK!!~ FUHUHUHUCK!!- ALAHAHASTOR!!??”

Alastor had just smirked, moving his hands to random spots to keep the short king occupied, sneakily slithering his tendrils to Lucifer and restraining him swiftly as the tips of the tendrils restraining him tickled into the crooks of his wings - the 'wings pits' if you will. No matter what they're called, they sent Lucifer into hysteria.

Lucifer's screaming, wheezing and frantic laughter could be heard basically throughout the whole of Hell from how loud it was. Alastor only had the slightest issues with that, so he closed some doors to prevent people from coming in, if they did try. “ALAHAHAHASTOR- WHEHEHEN IHI CAHAHATCH YOUHUHU ALAHAHASTOR!!- GAHAHAHA!!?”

That wasn't the worst of it, oh boy...

The main reason the phrase “Lucifer's screaming, wheezing and frantic laughter could be heard basically throughout the whole of Hell” was used because it was the truth. Not only was his laughter loud, but Alastor had been devilish enough to broadcast his laughter live! :)

“Go on, Lucifer,” *Alastor smiled menacingly, voice hushed, “Make the microphone pop like a candy apple...~” He teased, leaving him to face the torture and humiliation for a bit.

---

hope this was good!! sorry if it was short, i was pondering over a draft from a year ago and I haven't written a fan fiction in a hot minute >.<

{This MIGHT have some more parts!!!}

[gg-pedro]

can you hear the music (ch. 5) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano, and you find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 5: new life, old wounds. a honeymoon has to come to an end eventually.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, hurt/comfort, sickfic?, joel needs taking care of, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, mentions of death, swearing, references to gun violence, fluff at the end, angst, and more angst.

words: 4.4k (eek)

a/n: edited this one to death. go listen to adrianne lenker.

-

Weeks passed. Rainstorms rolled into Jackson. 

Dark clouds eclipsed the sky, releasing sheets of rain that melted away most of the snow and rendered the ground a muddy brown. The storm system lasted days, save for an hour or two of sunshine between downpours.

Joel had asked you to move in with him. You refused. Then he begged you, saying that he wanted to be around to help you get back on your feet, but still, you declined the offer.

You always figured your honeymoon winter would have to come to a bitter end at some point. Watching Joel execute a man in cold blood probably wasn’t helping to close the divide that had been growing into a chasm and stretching you thin. 

Your wound was halfway healed now, too. It still left a scar that made you nauseous when you had to look at it in the mirror. 

You’d been allowed a week off from your usual duties around the commune. You asked to be removed from the position you had in the clinic, and Maria personally saw to that. You helped out at the school instead, with the kids you had grown so familiar with. They were the only thing bearable about your day.

You stopped offering piano lessons. That irked Joel the most. He’d gone even paler when you told him that than when he watched a bullet narrowly miss ripping a hole through your center. 

Maybe this is what you got for complaining about the quiet sanctity of your life in Jackson. 

You still played. You had long since memorized most of the scores you had collected over the years, so you’d taken to composing your own. It was all harsh, rolling sonatas that poured out of you whenever you sat before the keys. You’d pause to scratch the notes down on paper, skipping over a title because you knew you’d only be able to come up with one thing.

Joel. Joel Miller. Joel #3. Joel and I. Joel… why didn’t you ever ask his middle name?

You’d left him in the dark almost entirely about how you were feeling, save for that conversation you’d had in the clinic. By consequence, he was treating you as if you’d suddenly become fragile. As if you couldn’t handle getting hurt or witnessing death. You wished that you could say any of that was what was bothering you. 

Still, he came. He showed up for you. He was sweet. He cared. He barely even flinched when the little things would set you off. It made it all the more difficult to try and push back from him. 

On a cool evening, one where the air was almost warm but the breeze was bitter, the two of you sat on his back porch. 

He was strumming on his guitar, trying to remember how to play Led Zeppelin's Going to California.

He paused to tune the high E string and looked over at you. “Tommy said he’s goin’ on a supply run next week. Might try and hit up that old college I told you about. Want me to look for some more sheet music to bring back? Beginner stuff, or stuff for you?”

You blew on your hot mug of tea, watching the steam swirl in the air. “No. You’d have to sift through some old performing arts building. No use in that.”

“You sure? I know you said you wanted–”

“–I promise, Joel, it’s fine. Don’t make more work for yourself.”

“Alright, baby,” he said quietly, plucking away at the strings again.

“But for Ellie,” you interjected. “She mentioned wanting some more movie scores. Might be worth finding that for her.”

He played a little softer as he spoke. “It’s no good if she doesn’t know how to play it.”

“She can read music,” you countered. “She’s welcome to use my piano anytime.”

He stopped playing completely this time, groaning a little as he stretched to prop the guitar up against the house. You watched his expression mold into concern as you made eye contact.

“You’re shakin’, honey. Let's go inside. Or I can walk you home.”

The liquid in your cup mirrored a choppy ocean from the tremors in your hands. “I’m okay. Just cold out here.”

Joel got up and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay. Then I’ll get you a blanket. Gonna catch your death out here.”

Your knuckles were turning white with your grip on the mug and you flinched away from his touch. “Stop it, Joel.”

He paused. “Stop what?”

“Treating me like I’m another child,” you said. “Did you hear me when I said that I was fine?”

“That ain’t fair. I’m just tryin’ to look after you,” he responded.

You started laughing. “Really? It really feels like you’re trying to make up for something.”

It started to drizzle again. You watched as the rainwater began to dilute your tea. 

“Yeah? Make up for what, exactly?” He shot back. “Protecting someone I care about?”

You stood to meet him and the rain picked up. “Protect me from what? A man alone in the woods with no weapons?”

“Just ‘cause he dropped his gun doesn’t mean he had no weapons, doesn’t mean he was alone–”

“You beat his fucking face in, don’t act like you did it out of anything but emotion you couldn’t control.” The two of you were nearing drenched, but neither of you seemed to care. “Just admit that it was a bad decision. And that it was cruel, Joel. So fucking cruel.”

Joel just stared at you. “I’m walkin’ away from this, baby. You’re mad, I know. You don’t have to see things the way I see ‘em.”

You followed him to the back door. “I’m not done, Joel. Give me one good reason as to why you did it. A rational, true reason.”

“No,” he said as he opened the door.

“Then fuck you. You were wrong, it was cruel, and there is blood on my hands. How does that make you feel? To know that I blame myself for what you did?”

He slammed the door shut before walking inside, his face washed with anger. “Don’t you come into my fuckin’ house yellin’– not with Ellie upstairs,” he seethed. “ Blamin’ me for shit. For makin’ decisions that you couldn’t even imagine.”

You brushed wet hair out of your eyes. “Oh, but I could imagine it, Joel. I’ve been alive through all of this too. I still came out human on the other side. Not everyone is living in the world that you are. Not everyone acts like a fucking animal everytime they get the chance.”

“So that's how you see me, hm? A fuckin’ animal. You along with everyone else in this goddamn place. Just some old man who likes havin’ to kill people?” He looked away from you and shook his head. “I’ve got my reasons. Bein’ here isn’t gonna make me soft. Won’t make me forget,” he inched closer to you, “the ways that I lost people. I can promise you that.”

Joel had had a part of his humanity brutally gutted from him when his daughter died in his arms. Even still, he found it again in places he hadn’t expected. In Ellie, especially. In you. 

“And listen to this closely– real fuckin’ close,” he began again, “I don’t give a shit if you hate me. Move on, never speak to me again. As long as you’re alive, and I know that I did what I could to keep you that way, I’ll sleep fuckin’ easy at night. You understand that?”

He inhaled and went on. “Maybe that man made a stupid goddamn mistake tryin’ to hunt. Maybe I did, too. I wish I could say I was sorry for that. It’s a cruel world out here.”

“Sleep easy at night? Is that really the truth?” You crossed your arms over your chest and watched his expression shift.

“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t make it any harder.”

You knew that was a lie. 

You could see it now. Joel in another universe. A few less fine lines on his face, a few less grays threaded into his dark hair. No bad memories that would pull him from sleep. The right pocket of his jeans wouldn’t be ever so slightly stretched from storing a handgun there. Wouldn’t look at himself in the mirror like he was searching for the person he used to be. Wouldn’t look at you like you were an impending flatline on a heart monitor.

But this was now, and he would always be so stubbornly him, and you wished your feelings were important enough to him that he could see things the way you do. 

He dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Look, I’m just tryin’ to make things easier on you. Clearly you took this real hard, and I never should’ve brought you out there, and–”

“Enough, Joel. Don’t act like that was the mistake, or that you ‘ruined’ me, or some stupid shit like that. One of us has to feel remorse for what you did to that man and if you won’t, then I will,” you countered. “And sure, It’s been difficult on me. I’ll give you that. It hurts. There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?”

The look on his face told you that you had cut deep. You immediately wanted to back down, but you were tired and it hurt and he still felt like he wasn’t listening.

“I ain’t gonna yell at you, baby, if that's what you want. Just… just go. Go on, go home. I’ll still be here if you need me.”

You were angry because you were hurt. He read right through you, too. Knew you didn’t mean all of that. You were trying desperately to stay hurt and mad at something, anything, because once that faded, all you’d be left with was sadness and guilt.

You turned your back on him anyway, soaking wet and furious, and made your way home. You couldn’t help but cry. God, you hoped you hadn’t just ruined everything.

He’s still there if I need him, you kept repeating to yourself. He’s there if I need him.

-

Joel wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t.

He used to get at least a few hours every night. Took him a while to get there after settling into life in Jackson. Even when you were with him, lying close to his chest, he’d still wake up with the sun, hours before you did. 

At least you quelled the restless anxiety that accompanied the morning exhaustion. You’d slip your hand under his shirt, rubbing circles into his side and his chest, and beckon him back to sleep. He almost never did, but he loved it anyway.

And now? He was getting almost nothing.

Sometimes, he could swear that he heard your pleas. Those strangled sobs echoing through the dense forest. Joel. Joel. Joel, stop it, fucking don’t, please–

A single gunshot, and the sound of you sobbing. 

There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?

He laid awake, the rain pelting the roof and the rolling thunder in the distance making his heart rate spike and setting his body into fight mode. It was a feeling he’d grown accustomed to. He’d check that his pistol was on his dresser, then he’d check on Ellie, and finally, he’d look out his window, hoping to see that light on in your bedroom. Maybe your backlit silhouette. Anything. 

You didn’t need him trying to protect you all the time. Worrying about you. Losing sleep over you, for fuck’s sake. If anything, he thought, coming into your life had just made things worse for you. If anything, he needed you a hell of a lot more than you needed him. 

Powering through sleep deprivation wasn’t an uphill battle. It was all downhill. After the third day in a row with almost no rest, he was flagging. The world around him felt blurred, his senses and awareness all dull. He barely got through the work day with Tommy. He felt, in a word, awful. It was strange. He felt even worse than he had after all those nights on foot with Ellie where he would insist on giving up his sleep for hers.

He wanted you. With more sleep, maybe he could push those thoughts away if he tried, but now, all he wanted was you.

Fittingly, Ellie was the only one that noticed. Well, Tommy must’ve noticed, but he didn’t mention it. 

After dinner, he could hardly keep himself awake to listen to her talk about her day. Sitting on the couch, with his head lolling to the left and subsequently making his hearing muffled on both sides, he dozed off.

“–el? Joel? The fuck, man, I was just getting to the good part of the story!”

A hand shaking his shoulder jolted him awake and he was slow to reorient himself with the room. Breathe. He was in the living room. The fire was lit. It was still raining. Ellie was there. You were… fuck, where were you–? Oh. Right.

“Are you good?” Ellie asked.

He nodded quickly, swallowing around a raw throat. “Yeah– m’fine,” he said. “Keep goin’, I’m listenin’ to ya.”

“Uh, no, you weren’t. You fell asleep. And you’ve only been sitting for like, five minutes.”

Joel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Wanna tell me somethin’ I don’t know?”

“You look like shit.” She told him pointedly.

“Mmh. Shouldn’t have even asked.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Come on, dude. Are you sick?”

“No.”

“You sure? You look sick. And super fucking tired.”

“Yeah, m’tired. Storm’s been keepin’ me up,” he said, which was only half of a lie.

Ellie didn’t believe him. “Huh. Fine. Sleep away then, old man.” 

Joel’s eyes were closed, but by the way Ellie’s voice got quieter as she spoke, he knew she was walking away. He was a little too tired and a little too deaf to hear the front door open and close again a few minutes later.

-

“He looks dead.” A pause. “Is he dead?”

“Jesus. No, Ellie, he’s not dead.”

A palm smoothing over his forehead, then the back of that same cool hand against his cheek. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Too tired, and the touch felt too nice.

“Oh, Joel,” you exhaled. “He’s burning up. Probably killing his back, too.”

Warily, he opened an eye to see you crouching in front of him, Ellie close to your side. He would’ve thought he was dreaming, but in his dreams, his entire body didn’t typically ache. 

“I knew something was wrong with you,” Ellie proclaimed, looking proud of herself.

“Why’re you…?” Joel rasped. 

You cut him off. “Hey, Joel, you with me? Is there any possible chance that you got bit?” You asked. Just covering all bases.

“No,” he replied. “And fuck you.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Ellie, go heat water up on the stove.” You interjected. “See if there are any tea bags left.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Joel’s eyes slipped shut again just as you sat down beside him. He was sitting upright, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“C’mon, Joel. You should be in bed,” you said softly. Your fingertips brushed his forehead again, confirming the fever you had felt earlier. “Figures… Ellie says you haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head and tried to dodge your touch. “M’fine, babydoll,” he said like it was a reflex.

“Yeah, you’re fine, I know. You’re always just fine,” you replied. “Wake up a little, though? For me?”

He couldn’t argue with that. Slowly, he rubbed at his eyes and sat up more fully. “...Ellie got you? Shouldn’t of fuckin’ done that…”

“It was fine. It’s barely six, It’s still light out. I’m glad she did.”

He opened his eyes again, looking panicked. “Six? Fuck, I gotta–”

“Six PM, Joel,” you clarified. “You haven’t missed a thing. In fact, it’s a great time to catch up on some sleep.”

After you grabbed both of his hands and threatened to go get Tommy, he finally relented, letting you help him up from the impression he’d made on the couch. He all but collapsed into bed, hardly putting up a fight when you tugged off his shoes and jeans to get him into something more comfortable.

On second thought, maybe this was more than exhaustion. He didn’t have much recollection of the fever that came with that infected stab wound, not until he dragged himself up from the floor with what dredges of consciousness he had left to find Ellie. This was sort of akin to that hot-and-cold aching feeling. Had a fever when he killed those two men, too. 

He groaned audibly at the thought. 

“You okay?” Your warm voice rang through the room.

This wasn’t that, though. He was safe. Probably picked something up from being out in the rain with you. Is that how that worked? More likely from the insomnia, which surely must’ve shot his immune system.

“Mhm, yeah… you’re stayin’?” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” You kissed his temple and pushed his hair off of his forehead. 

“Why?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you were wondering that yourself. But when Ellie showed up at your door in the rain, her face awash with concern, you didn’t even think twice about coming.

“Ellie was worried about you. I had to come,” you said. “And… the things I said the other week, they– they weren't completely fair to you. I’ll try to make it up to you, if you’ll still let me.”

“Nothin’ to make up for,” he told you, words slurring together.

“I think there is, but–” you sighed. “Get some rest. You need it.”

He fell asleep easily after that. 

Joel’s nightmares were so vivid that he woke up feeling like someone had died in his arms all over again. He didn’t know who. When he sat up and looked around the room he saw you asleep, clinging to his arm, and a glass of water on the nightstand next to a mug of tea that went untouched.

He was freezing, shivering under multiple layers. His skin and the fabric clinging to it hurt. Everything hurt. He sucked in a breath, too overwhelmed to do anything about any of it. The only thing he could manage was to call your name out into the dark.

Your bleary eyes met his in an instant and you had to untangle yourself from him to sit up. “Hold on, I’m awake,” you said, clicking on the lamp.

Joel was pale and his eyes were glassy. 

“Did something happen? No, just feeling like shit? You’re still so warm… poor thing.”

He shook his head and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. When you opened your arms, he melted right into you. 

“Okay, baby. You’re okay, I still got you. Bet your fever’s just spiking.”

After a long while of him in your arms, he spoke up. “M’sorry for what I did,” he whispered. “Thought I was gonna lose you.”

You felt the ache in the wound on your arm that pulled from holding him. 

What could you say? That you would just put it past you? That all was forgiven? Was there anything at all that could be said with him in this state, sweating out a fever and shaking in your arms?

After mulling over the entire situation while you had been keeping your distance, you weren’t

sure if he would ever be sorry for pulling the trigger. He was sorry that it hurt you. That the golden image of him in your mind was tainted by what he’d done. That just made you angrier.

For Joel, part of that was true. He wasn’t sorry for pulling the trigger. He’d do it 100 times over, even if there was only a fraction of a chance that it made the difference between you living and you dying. But he was sorry for letting all of his past experiences haunt the decisions he made in the present, and he was sorry that he never did try hard enough to be better for you. 

He couldn’t magically change, though. Nobody could.

The fork in the road was clear. To hold onto hope that you could just love Joel deeply enough and some softer, unscarred version of himself would start to appear through the cracks, or to let him go. Let him be who he is, far away from you. 

Or maybe, maybe, maybe– keep loving him for who he is now, perhaps even if a little hardened and cruel, in this life with him. Love him deeply enough, love him long enough, and one day who he isn’t won’t matter. 

“You won’t lose me. You won’t. We can talk about it more when you’re feeling better.”

And if he ever finds those old pieces of himself, or if you manage to bring them out– you’ll love those, too. And if not?

He brought his face up from your shoulder and took your face into his hands. “I love you. I love y’too much. Don’t lose yourself in all this. Not for me, not for nothin’. Okay? Promise me.”

There wasn’t an ‘if-not.’ The harshness of this life hadn’t taken away his capacity to care about you. To want to give you the world. To love and be loved. Some things, some far away and buried things, the most important things, they had never left him. 

And Joel did. He did love you. It was a universal truth. It felt more certain than the sun rising each morning, than the salt in the sea, than the earth spinning on its axis.

“I promise,” you whispered. “I love you, too.”

-

You made sure Joel got better. Sleep was the best medicine. He was so bone-tired and out of it that you hardly had the chance to say anything else to each other for the next day or so.

You woke on Saturday morning to an empty bed. Joel’s room was tidier, empty mugs and dishes having disappeared from the nightstand along with the clothes that were scattered on the floor. 

You could hear Joel and Ellie bickering about something downstairs, and the oaky smell of coffee was permeating the entire house. It made you smile. You wanted to stay in bed and bask in it for a few minutes– that lazy morning feeling, and the growing warmth inside your chest that told you that life could be good again. In the heaviness there was still warmth, light in the darkness, sunshine after the storm.

It was still drizzly out, but everything was remarkably greener. Even the pear trees that were scattered between houses in the neighborhood were blooming. You found yourself looking forward to summer.

After soaking in as much time in bed as you could, you got yourself up and went to check on the commotion in the kitchen. Joel was busy making breakfast– eggs and a few strips of bacon that were sizzling loudly. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder and was gesturing rather aggressively at Ellie with a spatula.

“Come on, how’d you know that one?” Ellie asked incredulously, throwing her hands into the air from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. “It was good, too. Admit it.”

“It was the worst out of all of ‘em,” he retorted.

“Wait, wait, listen to this one– how did Benjamin Franklin feel when he first discovered electricity?”

Joel glared at her over his shoulder. “Shocked?”

She laughed. You were starting to think it was less about the joke itself and much more about Joel’s obvious hatred of them. “You’re killing my flow here, dude!”

He could pretend all he wanted. That smile and the way he shook his head afterwards told you he loved it. Maybe not the joke, but hearing Ellie laugh.

He came over to where you were leaning against the doorway, handing you a cup of coffee and pecking your forehead. You took both things gratefully.

“I see you’re feeling better,” you said, catching him by the arm before he could walk away. “Breakfast, too?”

He nodded, pulling you into him again to kiss you for a little longer. “Mhm. As a thank you for lookin’ after me.”

You smiled against his lips. “I’ll take it, then.”

The three of you sat down to eat together before Ellie, who finished three times faster than either of you, asked if she could meet Tommy at the stables. It was more like a declaration, one that gave Joel no room or time to say yes or no. 

You helped him wash and put away dishes, talking and laughing with him about completely mundane things. A part of you hoped that he wouldn’t want to bring up the last few conversations you’d had. This all felt so fragile and you would’ve done anything to keep it intact.

“I got you something,” he said after you’d sat down again. “Shut your eyes.”

Doing as you were told, you brought both hands up to cover your eyes. You could hear him leave the kitchen and bring something in from the dining room.

“‘Kay, open ‘em.”

He’d set a small vase of flowers on the kitchen table. The arrangement was made up of pink and white tulips, interspersed with golden poppies. You’d seen them when you went out with Joel– when you got hurt.

“I went out early this morning. You should see the fields, they’re covered in flowers,” he said. “I went out there to bury that man. Said a prayer for him and all that bullshit. He was alone, you were right. Someone would’ve taken him by now if he wasn’t.” He sat down in the chair next to you, reaching out for your hand. “Thought it was the least I could do… the right thing to do.”

You squeezed his hand as you stared at the flowers. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly. “You’re a good person.”

And somewhere, along the northern edges of a forest, there was a pile of freshly disturbed dirt and a cracked rock in place of a headstone. The rain would still come and wash over Joel’s work, but you hoped that nature would be kind to it. And in a few weeks when the sunlight gave birth to new growth, flowers would spread over the gravesite, too. 

“I’m tryin’ to do my best, baby. For you.”

This time, you really did believe in him.

-

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 6

Part 6: If You Must

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.7k Warnings: references to abuse, blood, injury, shock, vomit. A/N: eek I am very excited for you guys to read this one!! pls let me know ur thoughts <3

“House is clean.” 

Run-down, old, and dirty. The only thing the single-story home was clean of was decomposing bodies, walking or not. Though, that was all that mattered, anyway. 

The living room was quiet. A breeze of early autumn air blew through the open window just behind Daryl’s head. The couch cushioned him, neck stretched out as he leaned back. With whatever energy he had left, he still held the pad of a pillow casing against his left shoulder. But his eyes were low, his skin dull.

You hurried back to his side, taking a kneel beside his sprawled-out legs. 

“Still bleeding?” 

“Think it's stoppin’.” 

“Good,” you sighed. You dug through the bag. “We still have some clean water and bandages.” 

That was luck. The only bag you’d made it out of that station with— your bag— had most of the medical supplies, on account of your frequent use and all. Problem was, his bag had most of the food. Inside yours, the provisions weren’t much: a few protein bars, a snack-sized bag of chips, and two cans of food. 

You pulled one of the cans out. He’d need it soon. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Bout as good as I look,” he groaned. 

You held out two ibuprofen. “Take these.” 

Daryl’s eyes snapped between you and the pills, and he shook his head. 

“Save ‘em.” 

“You were shot. Take them.”

He was stubborn, but he didn’t seem so intimidating with that pale look.

“Daryl.” 

He gave in with a sigh of his own. Took a swig of that half-full water bottle and popped them in his mouth. 

You placed the bottle back down, then straightened yourself up. 

“I gotta check it out.” 

Daryl’s teeth dug into his cheek, timid eyes glancing over your easy expression, which seemed to counter him in every way. Hesitation took root. Daryl couldn’t stop it. Even after all these years, he’d never figured out how. 

You hadn’t let it do the same to you. You were relatively calm, if not a bit tense about the prospect of digging a bullet out of him, but that anxiety hadn’t solidified in you as it had for him. 

Something about your composure slowed the growth of those anxious roots, though. And after a noticeable moment of consideration, he nodded. 

A moment that had you wondering how deep his pride went; oblivious of any other reason for his apprehension. 

You unwrapped your sweater from his shoulder, then reached beyond the frayed edges of his shirt sleeves, where he’d ripped them off, it looked like. The second your fingers touched him, his muscles ignited and flinched. 

Oddly, you flinched too, as if you could almost feel your skin burn him. Though your reaction was slight enough that maybe it could’ve been blamed it on nerves, if needed.

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d touched Daryl. No, the two of you broke that boundary the first day you met him and continued to break it every time he grabbed your hand running from the dead or helped wrap your leg. You were sure you afforded him the same gentle touch he’d done for you inside that pharmacy a week ago, and yet, he tensed as if you were about to dig your finger into his wound. 

Sure you hadn’t touched like this, with you patching him up, but that didn’t seem to explain his uneasiness, either. 

Slowly, you reached out again, and this time he managed to stay still long enough for you to peek underneath the sleeve of his shirt, trying to find the entry point of that bullet between the streams of red. A small, circular wound sat just below his collarbone, red and purple wrapped around it like a ring. Even from this admittedly awkward angle, it looked like the streaks of blood that had been dripping down his arm and side were dry. Relief swept over you at the sight of the wound, no longer leaking a fresh stream of crimson.

Daryl could read it on your face, but he seemed distracted; it didn’t do much to soothe him. 

“I need to check for an exit wound.” 

The brush of your fingers seemed to instruct him; he repositioned himself so that his back was better visible, even if hunched over, slightly. You climbed onto the couch and sat by his side to get a proper look at the back of his shoulder. The afternoon sunlight pouring in from the window behind guided you, a glimmer of gold landing on freshly bruised skin. It hit his back like a beacon, the warm beat of the sun seemed to make his discomfort double. Which made your brow furrow— you figured once you got through the initial flinch, he would calm, but the more of him you explored, the worse his trepidation got. 

Your fingers reached out, even slower than before as you began to become downright distracted by his behaviour. Concern shifted into suspicion. This didn’t feel like a pride issue, not some holdout that he was fine and didn’t need your damn help. No, it felt like he was hiding something, you realized, as a pit deepened in your gut; what didn’t he want you to see? 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t at the exit wound itself. He let you peel the edge of his shirt back barely an inch, just enough to see it. This hole was bigger than the first, with bits of frayed skin— like his shirt��� from where the bullet had ripped through him. It couldn’t have been any bigger than a nine millimetre, Thank God. 

“Looks like it went clean through.” 

The bandages and water bottle sat next to you, ready to use. 

“I’ll clean and wrap it as best as I can.” You dashed some water on a clean pad of gauze, and tried not to sound strained when you instructed, unsure of his reaction, “You gotta take off your shirt.” 

Despite facing his back, you could see the stiffness take hold. His shoulders, even hunched and weak, tightened. Long hair hung in his face, hiding whatever expression he had, but his sudden shift in frame was enough to reveal his restraint. 

“I just need this shoulder free. If you need help I can—“ 

“’S fine.” 

You paused, swallowing down that lump of anxiety in your throat. You leaned forward an inch, taking a peek behind that curtain of dark chestnut bangs to glance across his face, wondering if you’d find anger or fear hidden beyond. 

As if he could feel your eyes dig into him, his head snapped back. 

“Can do it myself.” 

Your expression softened, even if his was hard again; defensive, like he’d been all those days ago. The days that felt so much farther than they really were, that made you find comfort in a man you once thought hated you. Days that had encompassed so much that even when faced with that same look, almost as mean as that first day, you only felt concerned. 

His hand reached out for the bandages.

“You can’t bandage it yourself, Daryl. You won’t be able to reach.” 

For a moment, he seemed to ignore you. That, or he couldn’t even bare himself to look at you. His eyes narrowed on the damp pad of gauze in your hand and nothing else. 

Your chin lowered, forcing him to catch your eye despite his tunnel vision. It wasn’t a shock to find his jaw sewn tight, or the taut line of his lips. Though, you hadn’t been expecting to find a glimpse of vulnerability hidden in the cracks of his rigid demeanour. He didn’t seem angry, and the fear across his features was only second to the humiliation staining dark blue eyes. 

He was ashamed, not mad. 

Softened into a whisper, you pleaded with him, “I just want to help.” 

He turned away and nodded. Slow, barely there. It was a quick and silent crumble of his attitude; his intimidating glare slipped off you, right-hand lifting to undo the top buttons of his shirt, one by one. 

You took the hesitant permission, nonetheless, gently pulling the fabric off. The shoulder of his shirt fell loose, and there was blood trailing down the side of his back, but that wasn’t what made you freeze. 

Daryl had scars. Even in that relatively small expanse of his bare skin, only the upper left corner of his back, little ones were scattered. Thin white lines, some pink, marking different patterns. You couldn’t even guess what those were from— cuts that never fully healed? Then there were the big ones, the ones you didn’t even want to guess anything about. 

It felt wrong. 

Every inch of Daryl’s resistance made sense then. And hell, he deserved that. Not to be exposed raw to a woman he barely knew because it was either that or a nasty infection. Not to have her sat behind him, gawking at the thick, raised ridges across his shoulder. 

So you didn’t— wouldn’t let yourself, even if you’d never seen that shade of reddish purple look so cruel before. You managed to hold back the gasp that was caught in your throat. Made sure that every breath you took was quiet, and not stark against the otherwise silent air. There was no certainty that any of it was the right thing to do, but it felt the least wrong. 

A drop of blood was still wet, catching in the sunlight. You clenched your jaw and got to work cleaning the back of his shoulder.

And you didn’t say a word.

The silence that followed was tense. Only broken with the occasional gust of wind and Daryl’s small whimpers when you got too close to the wound, and he couldn’t bite his tongue anymore without taking the thing off. 

Ten minutes later he was still pale. Maybe even more so than before. You grabbed a roll of gauze and started to wrap his shoulder. Since you’d cleared the house, your thoughts had been anything but subtle. Trying to think of something to say, something to do. But everything felt misguided; every ‘I’m sorry this happened to you’ or ‘are you okay?’ that came to mind felt disingenuous, like it was meant to make you comfortable, rather than him. 

He was chewing on his thumb now, elbow propped on his knee as he sat still and let you work. He seemed okay, at first glance, but you were starting to understand that the mindless gnawing, whether it be at his thumb or cheek, meant he was falling deeper and deeper in thought. 

That seemed to push you to speak; even if you still weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do, it seemed a better choice than letting Daryl spiral further.

“You’re not scared of your own blood, are you?” 

Daryl was silent for a moment, then seemed to choke out, “Jus’ tired.” 

You nodded. 

His voice got stronger and started to sound more like him, again. “Seen enough’a it to not be scared.” 

It made sense, considering the scars. 

But you wouldn’t bring that up. 

“You get shot a lot?” you asked, instead. 

“Only once ‘fore.”

“And hopefully not again.” 

Daryl huffed at the quip. It was a sweet relief to that tension lingering over you two. 

“Used to sell blood when I was a kid, though.” 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“Merle made me.” 

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Merle?” 

“My brother.” 

Jesus. He did sound like an asshole. 

You bit your tongue, again. 

“Merle and Daryl…” you hummed. 

Daryl filled in the blank, “Dixon.” 

You paused. 

“Daryl Dixon,” you repeated. “Suits you.” 

He huffed at that, and sensing he didn’t want you to pry into anything related to his brother, or whatever other blood family he’d had, you asked another question. 

“How’d you get shot the first time?” 

“Accident.” 

“And you got shot?” 

“One’a our group thought I was a walker.” 

You glanced down at him, realizing that he wasn’t joking when that serious expression didn’t slip. In fact, he had a small smirk on his lips, like he could read your mind. 

A laugh bubbled up. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled, “It’s just, had they ever seen a walker?” 

He scoffed, “I wasn’t, uh, in the best’a shape when it happened.” 

You gave him a questioning look. 

“Had an arrow to the side, blood runnin’ down my chin, covered in mud. Dead man walking wasn’t too big’a leap.”

“What the hell happened to you?” 

“’S a long story.” 

You continued to bandage his shoulder. It was better from him to stay awake and talking, so you shrugged. “We got time.” 

Daryl went quiet. It was only then you realized that was another nerve. 

“Unless you don’t want to—“ 

“It ain’t a happy story, neither,” he muttered your name at the end as if to soften the blow. 

You gave him an understanding smile. “I got some of those too.” 

Of course, he knew that. His eyes fell to the specs of blood on your cheek, uncertain if it was his or theirs. 

A soft tension drifted into the room. It settled over that old couch; Daryl’s figure and you kneeling by his side. It smelt like that soap he’d given you this morning, if it’d been mixed with a hint of iron. 

“Hey. I wanna thank ya for wha' ya did,” he mumbled. “It couldn’t’a been easy.”

It was a lot easier than you thought it’d be. 

You looked down at your hands, vision foggy from the sudden swarm of guilt.

“It wasn’t hard, either.”

You remembered the first time you killed someone. That woman in the woods. The one who tried to kill you first. That was hard. Mitch and the others were different. You knew them. Knew the bad ran deep. 

Irredeemable. 

Sometimes, when you fell deep into that pit, you worried you might’ve been the same.

“Some of them were always bad. I get that now.” 

“Still,” he mumbled, “shouldn’t’a had to do tha’.” 

“I’ve done worse.” 

He didn’t hesitate. 

“Don’t make it right.” 

That shut you up quickly. Halted amongst thoughts of guilt and regret. It was a fine line trying to keep yourself from slipping into that pit of self-doubt, and lately, it felt like you were losing grip of the edge.

Daryl’s unfiltered stare, heavy eyelids dropping low as he scanned your expression— the way you mindlessly bit your lip, the gloss of your eyes— seemed to narrow in on your cracks. That quiet look slipped through, just barely, but enough that it felt like there was a soft blanket wrapped around you. A slow, cautious warmth lifting you just an inch.

Just an inch.

Your eyes were still glass, thoughts still mean. Daryl could see through it, too.

He grumbled, “Ya gotta stop that.” 

Your eyes focused again.

“Stop what?” 

“Gettin' in your head. Spiralling. Don't do nothin’ but make ya upset.” 

That warmth caught flame, it felt like. A slow burn of cynicism in your chest.

“You think you know my head?” 

You were a damn hypocrite, scolding him like that. 

“I know tha' look on your face,” he said. “I know ya beat yourself up ‘bout it every chance ya get.” 

“Wouldn’t you?” 

He blinked. You knew he would. 

See? Hypocrite. 

“When we were back in the station and they offered to take me in after they were gonna kill you…” dejected words paused, mouth still parted in thought. It was only when you finally looked away from the blood smeared across your fingers and met Daryl’s eye that you regained your voice. “What did you think was going to happen?” 

“Wasn’t sure.” 

You exhaled a heavy breath, asking the real question plaguing you. 

“Do you trust me?” 

He swallowed. Nonchalant in the lazy shrug he gave, but his eyes had a lingering tendency to betray his true feelings. 

“You’re patching me up, ain’t ya?” 

If it wasn’t for that look in his eye, a subtle hint of empathy lighting up those baby blues, you would’ve asked for a direct answer. But the vague proclamation was surprisingly satisfying; warmth bloomed inside you, though it wasn’t anything like that flicker of anger that caught, earlier. 

“Did you think I was going to go with them?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head, lips drawn in a tight line. “Ya didn’t.” 

The last spark of that bitter flame seemed to simmer out, then. 

“You’re right ‘ere.” 

Reduced to ashes. 

Maybe absentminded wasn’t the word. No, but something had shifted in your eyes. Made Daryl feel like you were looking at him with more appreciation than ever— and he’d saved your life before. 

The way your hand reached up was careful enough that he managed to hold back the worse of his flinch. The soft pads of your fingers brushed along his forehead, collecting his bangs to the side. If it wasn’t for the way he blinked, awkward and a bit too quick, like something caught in his eye, you might’ve not even noticed what you were doing. Once you did, though, you paused, touch lingering before you had the wits to let your hand fall to your lap again. A blush crept up your neck, pooling at your cheeks, even after your timid eyes had fallen to your lap, too. 

“How’s your head?” you excused, weakly. 

“’S fine,” he cleared his throat. “Pills are helpin’.” 

“Good. Let’s hope you don’t get a concussion.” 

Daryl offered a small nod. 

“Do you need me to check out your ribs or…?” 

“‘M fine. Doesn’t feel like he broke anythin’.” 

You gave a small smile, hoped that he wouldn't notice the way you wiped your suddenly sweaty palms along your jeans, then stood up. 

“I’m gonna make you something to eat. You alright if I—?” 

“Mhm.” 

Without the worry of Daryl bleeding out, you took your time scavenging the house. Checking every drawer and cupboard you could find, paying special attention to the kitchen’s supply. The sole bag you had left was relatively empty of provisions— it put you on edge, especially since you had no idea how long it would take for Daryl’s wound to heal. With your hunter out of commission and every store you’d come across in this town raided to hell and back, this kitchen was the only hope between you and starvation. 

You found a couple cans of tuna, corn, and a quarter-full bag of rice. Of course, you didn’t have much water to cook it in, so the tuna and corn had to make do, for the time being. You found two bowls in the cabinet, wiped them of dust, and split an unappetizing mixture of the two between them. One bowl was substantially fuller than the other. 

It was something, but not nearly enough to settle that uneasy feeling in your gut. What you needed was Daryl’s bag, probably still sitting in the backlot of the gas station you’d fled just an hour ago. 

“Here.” 

He took the bowl you offered. Of course, it was the one piled high. 

“How much ya havin’?” 

You shrugged. “I’m fine. Not too hungry.” 

Lie. 

His glare flickered up to you, drawn in by that raise in your tone. 

“Weren’t you the one tha’ insisted on sharin’?” He raised a brow. 

You rolled your eyes, then curled into the far corner of the couch. “I said I’m fine.” 

“I know wha’ ya sound like when ya lie.” 

Your expression fell. So did his. He felt bad— you could tell now that the blood loss drained him of whatever energy he needed to keep up his typical facade. 

“Gimme your bowl.” 

He tossed some more into yours, and you bit back your protests. 

It was as if he could hear them, anyway. 

“Ya gotta eat, too,” he reasoned while he spilt the portions evenly. 

That and the rumble in your stomach were convincing, enough. 

Distracted by his injury, Daryl hadn’t had the chance to even think about food, water, or anything else. His tone lowered after he took a much-needed bite. 

“How much we got left?” 

“Not enough.” 

You took a bite too. 

“I might go back tomorrow. See if I can find your bag—“ 

“— No.”

You swallowed. “It’s not far.” 

His stern gaze settled on you. 

“It ain’t worth it, neither.” 

“The herd could’ve moved on.” 

“Don’t matter. They’d still be close.” 

You held your breath. Daryl was solid in his position, not even your voice of reason was able to budge him. 

“’S too risky.” 

“Alright,” you muttered, but weren’t convinced. 

— 

Getting Daryl to the single bedroom on the opposite side of the home was manageable now. He followed you, even if his steps were a bit heavier than usual, and collapsed on the bed. It was old, probably as old as the floral curtains covering the window. Springs squeaked underneath his weight, but he found a spot that was comfortable for both his bruised body and wounded shoulder. 

Not long after, he was finally sleeping, with a soft glow of evening light cascading through the windows. There was maybe an hour before sunset, you estimated. Standing by the doorway, keeping an eye on him, you stared at the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

The seconds ticked by, then minutes, and you started to feel like you were invading on his rest. Disturbing his privacy for the second time, today. With quiet steps, you walked down that thin hallway back to the living room.

The house was locked up tight, windows sturdy enough, and curtains drawn. It was safe.

Something still gnawed at you, though.

Your eyes flickered to the already dwindling supplies piled beside the couch— your bed for the night.

The anxious feeling in your gut laid even heavier at the sight, and that was just about all you could take, anymore.

Screw it. 

You stuffed that pistol with four bullets left into your back pocket, then slipped out the front door. The walk wasn’t too long anyway. Even though you’d been in the thick of panic when you'd first approached the home, the curve of the road was memorable. You were able to sneak your way back to the gas station without coming across a single walker— biter— whatever. 

The herd had moved on, it seemed. Bloody footprints scattered the road, painting a trail from where the dead had come from and where they’d gone, after a feast. Birdsong caught in the breeze, the early autumn air carrying a new chill to it; the third winter of this world was approaching, which meant this probably wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to scour a dangerous spot for supplies. 

If you were lucky, you wouldn't have to do it alone, though.

You walked across the road, quiet steps landing on those dark stains. The front door was still open, a brighter trail of red drops leading out, like a warning sign. The thought of Emily and Ross’ cold bodies lying inside, likely half-eaten, made your stomach turn. 

There wasn’t much to grab in the store, anyway. Neither of them had bags on their backs, and the station had already been scavenged by you and Daryl. You stuck to the brick wall, instead, jogging down the side of the building until the backlot was visible again. 

A scan of the area was supposed to settle that quickening pace of your heart; confirm that the herd had moved on, their attack a moment of the past.

The sight of no stray biters wasn’t a relief when the backside of the building was painted in dried blood and guts. Right in the centre of the massacre lay a body, or what was left of it. Back lying in a pool of dark red, left arm practically chewed off at the elbow, ribs cracked open and picked to the damn bone. 

A chunk of his cheek was missing, but you knew those empty eyes. 

You blinked once— twice— then stepped out into the empty lot. 

Daryl’s bag sat where you’d left it. You slid it over your shoulders and tried not to think about Lee’s corpse behind you. The smell of early decomposition. His wide-eyed stare burning into your back. 

It worked— for about ten steps, but then you were folded over and vomiting. Tuna and corn, mixed with whatever else you ate for dinner yesterday. You couldn't even remember, it felt like weeks ago. Burning bile lingered in your mouth even after you’d managed to catch your breath and stand up again. 

A fresh amber coloured the sky. Clouds were smudged with mellow pinks and dark blues as the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon. 

You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve and took another step. You got farther that time, though the journey back was muddled with the taste of vomit and that bright glow of orange ahead. It felt like a daze, like you weren’t even in control of your body. Steps just happened, one after the other, without a thought to guide them. You hadn’t registered that you’d been following that same irregular stone path back until your glazed eyes landed on Daryl. 

You could see him through the window, pacing the room in a huff. 

At first, he didn’t see you. 

Though, when you moved onto the porch, he seemed to hear the creek of old wood underneath those dreamlike steps of yours. When you opened the front door, he was already in the hallway, bow hanging from his right hand. 

Your eyes narrowed on it. You mumbled, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Where the hell were ya?” he snapped. 

You ignored him. Not on purpose, at least you didn’t think so. But that bow was all you could pay attention to right now, how lifting it would strain him further, maybe make him bleed again. It wasn’t like you’d had the supplies to stitch him up properly— you weren't a doctor, just a girl with a roll of gauze and some wishful thinking. 

“It’s too heavy, you’ll hurt yourself again.” You stepped forward and grabbed the bow from his grip. 

He let you take it, but didn’t seem to calm down, either. 

“You hearin’ me?” he huffed. “I thought I told ya to stay!” 

You blinked, his aggression clearing a bit of the fog. The crossbow propped up against the wall, you turned to face him and shook your head. 

“We needed the food,” you said matter of fact as the bag slipped off your shoulders. 

Daryl’s narrow glare met your vacant eyes, in the brief moment you let it. The hollow look on your face seemed to worry him, and his demeanour shifted just as you turned into the kitchen.

He followed. 

“What’s wrong with ya?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re shakin’.” 

You inhaled a slow breath as if it’d help stop the trembling of your fingers. They felt cold, almost numb. It was nothing more than an annoyance, you convinced yourself, as you started to unpack the bag. 

That stare of his burned into you, sizzling at the cool sheet of sweat coating your skin. He watched you fill the counter with one can, then another, then a bottle of water, and so on. A feeling of dread weighed in Daryl’s gut, spreading through him as every second ticked by, even lodging in his throat. 

“Did ya get bit?” he rasped. 

That made you pause. You placed the last can down and looked up at him with a tired, displeased expression. 

“No.” 

“Scratched?” 

“The herd was gone.” 

Remnants of the fog started to burn then, prickling at the corner of your eyes. You turned your back to Daryl, heading back into the living room where all you wanted to do was collapse on that old couch and sleep for the next day. 

He wouldn’t afford you the luxury; a heavy hand landed on your shoulder, turning you to face him again. The first thing he noticed were the tears in your eyes— and really, once he’d seen them, it was hard to notice anything else. You were crying— he didn’t even know why, and yet that dreadful feeling in his stomach twisted into guilt. Maybe he should’ve left well enough alone, maybe then his heart wouldn’t be pounding against his ribs; it was a good thing he wasn’t still bleeding because it’d be pumping out of him even faster now. 

But you’d shown him care and understanding every step of the way, so maybe he couldn’t let it rest, anyway. He owed you. Even if you didn’t seem to know it, he did. 

Daryl had never been one for comfort, though. 

“You’re cryin’,” he said pointlessly. 

You took a step back, shaking his lingering hand off your shoulder. Your lips parted, eyes narrowed. A page from his book, it seemed. 

“You asked me how many people I killed, right?” You drawled. Slow and calculated, like even the effort to speak was too much.

“It's five now.” 

His expression fell. 

“I have killed more people today than I did in the last two years. I’m tired, Daryl. I’m hungry and you’re hurt and—“ 

You closed your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I—“ you practically whimpered, “I just need to sleep.” 

You did. Floorboards creaking under your exhausted steps, until you reached the couch. 

His eyes lingered on the wooden cabinets behind where you’d been standing, long after you had left. 

—

For all the fuss of the night before, morning came smoothly. The sun’s rays were lazy as they reached the trees surrounding the porch. One was brave enough to reach your foot, warming the bare patch of skin between your sock and jean cuff.

The porch swing was creaky, but you kind of liked the noise. A soft squeak amongst quiet birdsong carried in the breeze. It was better than whatever odd silence Daryl had fallen into. And the sight of the desolate gravel road, in all its eeriness, was better than those sympathetic looks he’d been giving you all morning. 

You could feel his concern, even if he wasn’t saying it outright. Whether he wasn’t willing or able, you weren’t sure, but your bet was on the latter; Daryl’s comforts were often awkward and blunt, like how he’d been in the pharmacy, or when you talked about your brother. It didn’t seem to matter to him that his apprehension made his words, somehow, more endearing when you could tell he was stewing about what to say— the right thing. That, when he finally did speak, you didn't care matter much how it came out, not when he tended to them with that much care and consideration. 

Knowing all that, dwelling on it between dreamless sleep during a long night on the couch, only made that guilt inside of you fester. 

So when you felt that stare dig into you again, all you wanted to do was apologize. 

Those two words hung in the air, I’m sorry, between you and Daryl. He was lingering by the front door, leaning on the opposite end of the porch railing with his left foot crossed in front of the other. His good arm reached back to grab the rail. 

He shook his head, “‘S fine. Shouldn’t’a pushed ya.” 

“You were worried.” 

He gave you a shy smile, perking up just the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m alright,” you said. 

“Alright.” 

“I am,” you reiterated, feeling that hesitant look he had stain you. 

He nodded again, and your mask almost slipped away. Why was it so hard to put on that false bravado around him? You’d practiced your whole life, after all. 

There was something about the way his stare burned into you that just felt raw, not necessarily in a negative way. It was just an innate knowledge that he saw past you, and could pick out every bit of you, good or bad. 

Maybe it had something to do with that first day he found you, broken at your lowest point. It’d exposed you to him, bare, and no matter how hard you tried to hold that confidence, he already knew what was lying beneath. 

You looked back to the road. 

“I found Lee’s body.” 

The porch creaked underneath his shifting weight. 

“That’s why I— why I came back the way I was.” 

You clenched your jaw and composed yourself.

“When Bri— the Governor said we had to attack, they were the first to volunteer. Emily, Mitch, Ross." You swallowed. "Lee… he was hardened, but I thought he could be kind. He tried to help me.” 

“Wha’d ya mean?” 

“He understood why I didn’t want to fight. The others always thought I didn’t know how.” You shook your head. “But he used to tell me how I could be tougher. Brave.” 

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. 

“Tha’s bullshit.” 

He stood up straight, lifting off the rail to take a step closer to you. 

“Helluva lot harder to ask questions first.” He shook his head. “Tha’ ain’t weak at all.” 

A breeze shifted by as you met his eye. He had his colour back, most of it at least, and seemed to be growing back into his typical self. Surly, strong, sweet. 

“I was a dumbass before,” he muttered, with a soft, almost shy look about him. “Thought if I didn’t throw the first punch I’d already lost. Sure as hell didn’t think I needed anyone.” 

His eyes flickered over your tepid expression, then fell to his hands in front of him, intertwined. 

“Till I realized it was jus’ a buncha bullshit Merle taught me.” 

The swing creaked when you stood up. Rusted hinges whining as you stepped in front of Daryl and carefully wrapped your arms around him. His muscles turned to stone under your touch, no matter how gentle it was, but he didn’t pull away, either.

You took a deep breath. Daryl smelt like the forest, sweet and earthy.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, cheek pressed to his chest. 

He shrugged softly before you felt the rumble of his voice. The tickle of his breath in your hair.

“Jus’ the truth.” 

-> part 7

A/N: I love this part sm and I hope u did too! the next few should be interesting-- I have soooo many ideas and plans but, as always, I'll see where the story takes me. were getting into the thick of it now mwahahah

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this fic. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3