#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.

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.

.

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.

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.

.

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.

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“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.

[blog-o-meter]

sweetdreams - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: Aching for some release, Nicholas finds himself browsing a cam site and stops dead when he recognizes a familiar bedroom on one of the thumbnails.

warnings: 18+, camgirl, masturbation, exhibitionism

required listening: n/a

word count: 6,195

a/n: eek, I've been sitting on this one for a bit - I'm not even sure why. but I like it, it was fun to write LMAO also rip TikTok. I deleted the app over a year ago bc it destroyed my brain but ik lots of ppl still love that app so rip I guess. anyway lmk if you liked this one! I have a few more fics but idkkkk

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you'd like to see more!

The glow of my laptop screen on the bed illuminated the cozy pale purple walls of my bedroom. The fairy lights hanging along the fabric draping the backside of my bed added a soft warmth to the otherwise dimly lit space with a few tapered candles here and there on my nightstand and dresser to set the mood. I adjusted the camera perched on the tripod next to my desk, angling it toward my bed where the sheets were already perfectly rumpled by design.

I didn't do it because I needed the money. I always paid my bills on time — rent, utilities, student loans, cellphone, gas, insurance, and groceries — but my entire paycheck would go to just that. And no matter how much I tried to break up my checks or stagger payment dates, the same thing always happened: I never had enough money to splurge on myself. I wanted the money. So bad.

There were so many things I wanted to buy for myself, so many trips and concerts and restaurants I wanted to be able to experience, but I never could, not unless I saved up the little leftover money I’d have for myself for months and months at a time just to be able to accompany my friends to a mid-scale restaurant. It was a little embarrassing for me, frankly. I just wanted to be able to be with them during all those moments, not sitting at home bored with incredible FOMO.

That’s why I decided to start camming on the side.

I didn’t do it frequently, just when I anticipated buying something I had been wanting — like a nice pair of boots or some furniture — or wanted to go out with friends, and it wasn’t an easy decision for me to make either. I spent close to a year mulling it over, really weighing my options, and honestly, it was the only one I was comfortable enough to explore, surprisingly.

I mean, I masturbated anyway. It was in the privacy of my room with no audience, sure, but why do something for free when you could be making some money out of it? And all I had to do to hide my identity was get a second bank account, move all of the identifying pictures out of the way, buy myself a nice, sexy mask that obscured a majority of my face, and stream on an out-of-the-way cam site I was sure most of the people in my life would not be privy to.

At first, it was incredibly intimidating. My sex life was borderline nonexistent, and I was basically about to expose myself to strangers on the internet. I could barely speak during my first stream, but over time I became more comfortable with my movements and my voice — almost confident, even. But that didn’t mean I still didn’t get nervous before every stream, like now.

As I laid on my bed and pulled the black lace mask over my face, I let out a slow, steadying breath, fingers hovering over the trackpad of my laptop, the cursor teasing the ‘Go Live’ button. And then I clicked it. 

sweetdream is live.

On the other side of town, Nicholas came home exhausted, but most of all frustrated. Shooting had been absolutely brutal this week, and the constant tension in his body was driving him insane. It didn’t help that he barely had any time to go out with his friends or even entertain the girls in his DMs and maybe hook up with one of them to blow off some steam.

But he didn’t want to deal with any of that right now. He was just so exhausted; how could he possibly have the energy to even pretend to be interested in whatever conversation his friends or those girls had to say? He wanted something here, something now.

Nicholas tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and kicked off his shoes, running a hand through his hair as he made his way over to the fridge and reached in for a nice, cold beer before retreating to his room. The familiar solitude of his apartment felt suffocating tonight, the silence amplifying the ache in his chest and the tension coiling low in his stomach. He threw himself onto his bed, letting out a quiet groan as he reached for his laptop on the nightstand and set down his beer with a dull thud.

He hadn’t forayed into the world of internet porn in over month, but he did it like clockwork — reaching into his nightstand drawer for his wired headphones and sticking them into his MacBook’s audio jack before carefully placing the laptop over his thighs and waking it to life.

Nicholas’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as his thumb rubbed over the trackpad, opening a private window and typing in all of the familiar site names — PornHub, Xhamster, XVideos, hell, even XNXX. He scrolled for a bit on each, hoping at least one video might catch his attention and fully awaken his half-hard cock, but none of them were hitting the way he wanted — needed — tonight.

They all seemed too polished, now. Way too much makeup and studio lights. Makeup and studio lights was all he worked with on set, and the last thing he wanted was to jerk off to work. Frustrated, he closed the tabs one by one. He needed something different — something raw, something real.

He didn’t visit cam sites often, but when he did, they delivered exactly what he was looking for. Something authentic. So, without any hesitation, he clicked through his bookmarks and clicked the out-of-the-way cam site he had come across months and months ago deep in the pages of Google.

Nicholas leaned back against the headboard, the familiar homepage of the cam site loading in front of him, colorful and bright and borderline blinding, the screen illuminating his face and reflecting off his wooden headboard. A variety of thumbnails greeted him, showing live streams in progress. Women of all shapes and sizes, their expressions ranging from coy to confident, teasing the camera.

He scrolled lazily past the wall of endless thumbnails, picking up his beer and taking a lazy swig as he sifted through, trying to find someone who caught his eye. Most were the same: over-the-top angles, exaggerated expressions. They all felt���off. Too staged. Too fake. They all blurred together, until one made him stop dead in his tracks.

His thumb froze mid-scroll, and he nearly choked on his beer, setting the bottle back down on his nightstand as he stared at the screen, his eyebrows furrowed at the tiny square. His cursor hovered over the thumbnail, magnifying it just a smidge.

The thumbnail was simple — cozy lighting, a tidy bedroom with a familiar-looking duvet cover, and a girl wearing a delicate pink satin lingerie set, her face obscured by a lace mask that looked like it had been plucked right out of a Venetian mask shop during Carnival. The room in the background had pale lavender walls, warm fairy lights adorning the wall where the headboard of the bed would be, and candles flickering in the background. It was all familiar. Way too familiar.

“No fucking way,” he muttered under his breath, the words rumbling at the back of his throat.

He leaned closer to the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers twitched over the trackpad before he clicked, the stream loading painfully slow as the rainbow wheel spun. He held his breath, his entire body tense as he waited for the image to appear.

And when it did, his stomach dropped.

It was her.

It was me.

The shy, sweet, (Y/N) he’d known for years. The girl who blushed when someone so much as mentioned a sex scene in a movie. The same girl who stumbled over her words anytime he called me ‘baby’ in that teasing tone he so loved to use. The girl that hasn’t been on so much as a real date in the time he’s known her.

I was sitting there on his screen, laying on my side and propping myself up by the elbow, dressed in soft pink satin lingerie, my body glowing under the warm light of my bedroom as I read chat. 

Nicholas’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering so loudly in his chest that he was certain it would burst. His eyes were glued to the screen, unwilling — or unable — to look away. He leaned in closer, the reality of what he was seeing crashing into him like a freight train.

My fingers lightly traced the satin straps of my bra, my voice soft as I spoke to the camera. The black lace mask obscured the top half of my face, but there was no mistaking it — it was me. My voice, my laugh, my nervous little gestures.

“My day was fine; thank you for asking,” I sheepishly smiled as I read a comment from chat, my finger tracing down to my leg, idly trailing up and down my hip, my voice thrumming through Nicholas’s headphones loud and clear.

“What the fuck,” Nicholas whispered to himself, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. He wasn’t half-hard anymore; he was hard as a fucking rock.

The chat on my screen lit up with messages, dozens of anonymous names firing off compliments, tips, and lewd suggestions. Nicholas’s stomach churned, a mix of guilt, confusion, and something darker coiling low in his gut. 

He should have closed the tab — hell, he should’ve slammed the laptop shut and never spoken of this to anyone — but he didn’t. Instead, he turned up the volume and watched.

Nicholas’s mind raced as he stared at the screen, unable to tear his eyes away. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve closed the tab. Should’ve shoved the laptop away. Hell, throw it across the room if that’s what it took to stop watching. But he didn’t.

Instead, his hand drifted lower, instinct overriding logic as his cock strained painfully against the fabric of his sweatpants.

I shifted on the bed, sitting back on my heels, the delicate pink satin stretching over my body as I leaned closer to the camera. My fingers brushed the lace of my mask before trailing down to the straps of my bra, teasing the edge.

“Let’s see,” I murmured, scanning the chat, my voice carrying a nervous lilt. “You want me to take my time tonight, huh?”

The chat box on my screen lit up with requests and donations, the little dings echoing faintly in the background. I leaned forward, my cleavage filling the frame as I adjusted the camera slightly.

“Thank you for the tip, Anonymous,” I said shyly, a smile tugging at my lips.

Nicholas’s chest tightened as his cock stirred in his jeans. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The idea of me, his quiet, unassuming friend, doing something like this was utterly surreal, utterly impossible. It was impossibly hot.

Johnny88 donated $100: take off ur bra

The moment the donation notification lit up the chat, Nicholas’s jaw clenched. His hand froze mid-motion, hovering over the waistband of his sweatpants.

$100.

The chat was eating it up, emojis flooding the stream, accompanied by crude, explicit comments urging me to follow through. I hesitated for a moment, looking at the message on my laptop screen, my expression shy but playful.

“Wow… Thank you, Johnny88,” I murmured, my voice soft but steady, betraying a nervous edge. “Guess I don’t want to disappoint, huh?”

Nicholas’s breathing deepened, his cock aching as he watched me slowly slide the straps of my bra off my shoulders, my fingers trembling slightly as they trailed over my skin. I glanced at the chat again, clearly gauging my audience’s reaction.

His stomach churned with something primal, a mix of possessiveness and desire that made his head spin. He wanted to hate himself for watching, for indulging in this, but the truth was, he was riveted. Every little movement, every shy smile, every flicker of hesitation only made it worse. And then my hands reached around my back to undo the clasp and the bra came off.

Nicholas groaned under his breath as the satin slid down my arms, revealing my bare chest to the camera. My hands instinctively moved to cover myself at first, but then, slowly, I let them drop, exposing myself completely.

I bit my lip, my hand beginning to knead at my breast, a little whimper escaping my lips as I pinched my hard nipple. “Is this what you wanted?” I asked, almost teasingly.

Nicholas’s breathing hitched, his hand clenching into a fist against the mattress as his other slowly moved to hook itself around his waistband. The sound of my voice, soft and teasing, sent a jolt straight through him. He felt like the biggest fucking pervert alive, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

My fingers teased the hem of my panties, my hand brushing over the top of my center as I sat on my knees in front of the camera, waiting for a little more donations to roll in before deciding to pull them off. 

Nicholas’s hand trembled slightly as he lifted his hips up slightly to pull down his sweatpants along with his Nike briefs to free himself, his throbbing erection springing out. He hated himself for how hard he was, for the way his body reacted to every soft, breathy sound I made, but god, he was transfixed, his eyes locked on the screen as I teased the camera, my fingers toying with the waistband of my panties.

The sound of a new donation chimed through the speakers. Another request. My eyes flicked to the laptop screen, and a shy smile curled on my lips as I read the message aloud.

“Anonymous tipped $100. Hmm…” I hesitated, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “Panties off, huh?”

Nicholas’s jaw clenched as I kneeled in front of the camera, my chest moving out of the top of the frame as the image of my panties filled the screen. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and tugged them down just enough to tease. My movements were deliberate, slow, and sensual, and Nicholas’s hand moved instinctively to wrap his pulsing length.

I slipped the panties lower, finally revealing myself completely to the camera. I maneuvered myself on the bed to pull my underwear out from under my feet before dangling it in front of the camera to show my viewers the large damp spot, quietly giggling. “God, look how wet I am already,” I whispered, more to myself than to my audience.

The chat exploded with comments. Compliments, pleas, and donations rolled in, but Nicholas barely registered them. He groaned, his hand tightening around his cock as he watched me. “Fuck, (Y/N),” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with arousal as he started to stroke himself, his eyes fluttering shut before opening again. The sight of me, naked and confident, teasing the camera with that shy giggle, had him utterly captivated.

I reached for something out of frame, my trustee delicate pale pink rabbit vibrator, and settled back on the bed, glancing at the camera with a shy, almost apologetic smile. “I thought I’d… try something new tonight,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to make his cock ache.

Nicholas couldn’t help the groan that rumbled low in his throat as he watched me turn the vibrator over in my hands, inspecting it like it was new to me, even though I knew exactly what I was doing. Every movement was calculated to tease, to entice, and fuck, it was working.

His strokes quickened as I brought the toy closer to my mouth, running my tongue over the tip before sucking it gently. His eyes darkened, his breathing heavy as he imagined those soft lips of mine wrapped around him instead.

Love69 donated $50: wish that was me

“Fuck off,” Nicholas gritted his teeth at the donation, his jaw tightening as his hand worked his cock faster, the sight of me teasing the camera sending a wave of heat straight through him. The jealousy coiled low in his gut as the chat lit up with messages, strangers clamoring for my attention, showering me with tips and crude remarks.

The donation pulled a soft, breathy laugh from my lips, and I tilted my head, looking directly at the camera. “Oh, do you?” I murmured, my voice dripping with a mix of innocence and teasing. I ran my tongue along the length of the vibrator again, swirling it slowly before pulling it away, letting it hover just above my lips. “Sorry, Love. I’m imagining someone else.”

Nicholas froze, his hand gripping his cock mid-stroke as the words left my lips. The soft, teasing tone in my voice sent a shiver through his entire body, but it was the words themselves that hit him like a truck. The idea of me thinking about someone else while putting on this show, teasing, and playing for the camera — it was both maddening and painfully arousing.

His jaw clenched, and a low, guttural sound rumbled from his throat as he stroked himself harder, his frustration and desire tangling into something almost primal.

Who the fuck was I imagining?

The thought shouldn’t have mattered. This was a fantasy, an act. I was catering to an audience of strangers, faceless men who threw money at me for a show. But the way I said it — the soft lilt in my voice, the way I bit my lip, my eyes flicking to the camera with a hint of mischief — felt too real. It felt personal.

With his free hand, Nicholas reached into the front pocket of his sweatpants, fumbling to pull out his wallet. “Let’s make you talk, baby,” he whispered to himself as he pulled out his debit card with one hand, placing it between his teeth as he tossed his wallet aside.

Nicholas’s fingers trembled as he typed in his card information, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. He’d never done this before — never donated, never left any comments in chats, never tried to interact with anyone on these sites — but tonight was different. I was different. He needed to know. He needed to push.

His cursor hovered over the donation button for a moment before he clicked it, his heart pounding in his chest as he typed out his message. It wasn’t flashy or crude like the others; it was pointed, deliberate. He hit send.

NC17 donated $50: Who are you imagining, baby?

The donation notification popped up on my screen, and I froze, my eyes widening slightly behind the lace mask. I could feel the flush on my neck creep to my cheeks. Nicholas smirked, his hand wrapping around his cock again as he watched me squirm. He could tell I was thrown off, that the question had hit a little too close to home. The way I hesitated, the slight nervous laugh — it only made him harder.

I shifted on the bed, the rabbit vibrator still in my hand as I trailed it over my nipple, glancing at the chat hesitantly. “NC17, thank you,” I smiled nervously, a tiny moan escaping my lips as the vibrator worked the tip of my nipple on a low setting before dragging it down my stomach, then between my legs. “That’s a secret,” I replied breathily before smiling softly, “Funny username, though,” my voice had softened, carrying a teasing edge, but Nicholas caught the crack in it.

Nicholas’s smirk deepened, his hand moving faster along his length as he watched me squirm on screen. That crack in my voice wasn’t just from the teasing act — I  was flustered, genuinely caught off guard, and that knowledge sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

Funny username, huh? Of course, I wouldn’t recognize it. But he’d made me pause.

Nicholas’s free hand hovered over the keyboard again. His initial hesitation was gone now, replaced with something more daring, more possessive. He wanted to push further, wanted to see just how much I would let slip under the guise of anonymity.

NC17 donated $100: Spread those legs wider, baby. Does he know you think about him?

I bit my lip at the donation, my cheeks boiling hot as I obliged the viewer’s request. I spread my legs at the knees, giving the camera a perfect view of my my self. Nicholas’s breath hitched as he watched her glistening folds on full display. I let out a soft, shaky moan as I spread myself open with one hand and led the vibrator to my clit with the other. “No, he doesn’t,” I moaned as my eyes fluttered shut, my back arching against the pillows.

Nicholas groaned audibly at the sound of my voice vibrating in his ears, his hand gripping his cock with a newfound intensity as the words left my mouth. The admission echoed in his head, feeding the dark coil of desire and jealousy tightening in his chest. His strokes quickened as he watched me writhe on the screen, the vibrator pressed against my swollen clit as I let out a series of soft, breathy moans.

The possessiveness inside him surged. He couldn’t stop himself now, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way my body moved, from the way I responded to the toy teasing me mercilessly. His free hand hovered over the keyboard, his need to push me further overriding any guilt or hesitation he might have felt.

NC17 donated $100: do you know him?

I read the donation but threw my head back in pleasure before I could answer, audibly moaning at the sensation of the vibrator circling my entrance while my free hand kneaded at my breast. “Uh-huh,” I whimpered.

ilike2fuck: stretch yourself out

cheekybasstard: god ur so perfect

m1lfluvr: fuuuck

Nicholas’s breath caught as he saw me falter, my body arching on the bed as I moaned in response to the chat’s demands. His grip tightened on himself, his strokes growing more erratic as he watched the screen. The way I answered his question, breathless and soft, set his mind ablaze. The way I whimpered, the way I let the vibrator tease me, was driving him insane. He wasn’t just watching now — he was consuming me, feeding on every sound, every movement.

My hands stilled for a moment, and I reached off-screen, grabbing a small bottle of lube from my nightstand. The slick sound of it being poured into my hand sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through Nicholas’s body, his cock twitching in his hand as he watched me stroke the vibrator with the jelly. “Not that I need it, but it never hurts,” I spoke quietly as I watched my hand spread the jelly over my cute toy.

“Shit,” Nicholas groaned through gritted teeth, his thumb brushing over the swollen head of his cock with every slick stroke.

His mind was racing, trying to piece my answer together. His stomach twisted with a mix of jealousy, desire, and something dangerously close to satisfaction. I knew him, whoever he was. Was it someone I worked with? Someone in our mutual circle? Or — god forbid — someone I was secretly seeing? The idea made his grip tighten, his strokes becoming rougher as his possessiveness took over.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, barely giving himself a moment to think.

NC17 donated $100: Tell me about him.

I leaned back against the pillows as I silently read his donation, the vibrator gliding slowly over my folds before dipping inside, my moan trembling and raw. “Fuck,” I whimpered, throwing my head back as my mouth fell open. “He’s… so fucking hot,” I breathed through my moans, inserting the entire vibrator into myself slowly before taking it out again and repeating the process. “God, so hot.”

The chat erupted in a flurry of commands and compliments, the dings of donations coming in a constant rhythm.

Nicholas’s jaw clenched as I moaned those words, his strokes faltering for a second before he tightened his grip and picked up his pace.

So fucking hot.

The way I said it, the way my voice cracked and my body arched on the screen, sent a surge of heat through him. But the thought of who I was talking about — the mystery man in my head — had his chest tightening with jealousy.

“Not good enough,” Nicholas muttered to himself, his eyes darkening as he watched me keep my answers vague.

His hand paused on his cock as he stared at the screen, his breathing heavy. His free hand hovered over the keyboard, typing furiously before sending another donation.

NC17 donated $150: What does he do to make you so wet?

Johnny88 donated $100: fuck yourself from behind

Nicholas’s jaw was tight as his donation slid to the top of the chat in bold. He watched my lips curl into a small smile, my cheeks flushing as I rolled myself over on my knees, lifting my hips in the air while I rested my face on the pillows, back arched to the max. I angled my head to look back over my shoulder to keep reading chat while I guided my vibrator under me, giving the camera the most salacious angle as I continued working myself.

“He’s so fucking cocky,” I whimpered, the words spilling from my lips as the toy disappeared inside me. “And he always calls me ‘baby.’”

Nicholas’s head fell back against the headboard at my confession, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him as he watched me. It was him. I was talking about him. And the realization sent a jolt of primal desire coursing through his body.

His strokes grew faster, more desperate, as I buried the vibrator inside me, my body trembling slightly with the sensation. My moans started to grow louder, more uninhibited. I whimpered, my free hand gripping the sheets as I teetered on the edge. “Shit,” I gasped, my body arching as I pushed the vibrator even deeper, the pleasure overwhelming. “Yes, yes—oh, fuck. Right there.”

Nicholas clenched his jaw, his strokes matching the rhythm of my movements on screen. His chest heaved, his mind consumed by the image of me — his sweet, shy friend — coming apart in front of him. Every moan, every gasp, every broken cry of pleasure drove him closer to the edge.

“God— sh—,” he groaned under his breath, his hand tightening around his dick. He muttered endless curses under his breath as I thrusted the vibrator in and out, my glistening slickness catching the light from my laptop and candles just perfectly. He couldn’t stop. Not now.

On screen, my body tensed, my back arching as the vibrator brought me closer and closer to release. “God, yes,” I whimpered, my voice trembling. “He’s so—fuck—so perfect.”

Nicholas’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening as he leaned closer to the screen, his other hand trembling as he typed another message, desperate to push me further.

NC17 donated $200: Tell me how you want him, baby.

The donation notification flashed on the screen, bold and demanding. My breath hitched audibly, my gaze flicking to the chat. My cheeks flushed behind the mask, my lips parting as if to speak, but the words caught in my throat.

The chat exploded with messages, urging me to answer, but Nicholas only cared about one thing — my reaction. He could see the hesitation, the nervous flicker in my expression as I glanced at the camera. And then, finally, I spoke.

“I want him everywhere,” I whispered, my voice breathy and raw. My free hand trembled as it gripped the sheets tighter. “I want him to kiss me, touch me, take control… I want him to fuck me so hard I forget my own name.”

Nicholas let out a low, guttural groan, his hips bucking into his hand as my words pushed him to the brink. I whimpered on screen, my body trembling as the vibrator worked me relentlessly. “Yes,” I gasped, my voice breaking as I teetered on the edge. “Fuck—I’m all his. Only his. S-so close,” I muffled into the pillows.

Nicholas’s strokes grew frantic, his breathing ragged as he felt himself losing control. He couldn’t stop now, not when I was so close, not when the thought of being the one to make me fall apart consumed him.

NC17 donated $500: say his name when you finish and I’ll double it

My moans hitched at the sight of the donation flashing across the screen. My chest heaved as I pressed the vibrator even harder against myself, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body. The chat went wild, messages flooding in, but all I could focus on was that one donation — that one command.

Say his name.

My fingers trembled, my grip on the toy faltering for a moment as I let out a shaky breath. My body burned with pleasure, my mind spinning with a thousand thoughts, and yet, all of them led back to him. My lips parted, but no sound came out at first. The knot in my stomach tightened, my thighs quivering as I teetered on the edge of release.

Nicholas’s hand froze mid-stroke, his entire body tense and his cock pulsing — begging for friction — as he waited. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. He leaned closer to the screen, his grip on himself almost painful as he hung on to my every movement, every sound.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered under his breath, continuing to stroke himself slowly as he leaned back against the pillows. “Say it. Say my fucking name. I know you can do it.”

My entire body trembled, the heat building inside me threatening to consume every last thought in my mind. The chat blurred in my peripheral vision as my head fell back, a low, guttural moan escaping my lips. The vibrator pulsed against my clit, my hips moving in time with its rhythm as I teetered dangerously close to the edge.

Nicholas’s name burned on the tip of my tongue, the demand in the donation rattling around in my head. The promise of doubling the already insane amount made my breath hitch, but it wasn’t just about the money — it was him. His name. The thought of saying it out loud while I came, letting it slip for somebody’s entertainment when I have only ever yelled it for myself, made my pulse race.

I gasped sharply, my hips bucking as the vibrator hit just the right spot. “Yes,” I moaned, my voice high and breathy, trembling with need. My free hand gripped the sheets tighter, my body writhing on the bed as I edged closer and closer. “Oh, fuck. I’m—”

Nicholas clenched his jaw, his strokes quickening. His cock throbbed in his hand, pre-cum slicking his length as he watched me come undone. The chat was exploding with comments, but he didn’t care about any of them. All he cared about was me — and that donation.

I buried my face in the pillow for a moment, muffling a desperate, trembling moan as the vibrations coursed through me, pushing me closer to the edge. My entire body was taut, teetering between pleasure and release, the tension unbearable. Lifting my head slightly, I turned toward the camera, my cheeks flushed deep red beneath the lace mask.

And then it happened.

The knot in my stomach snapped, and a loud, raw cry tore from my lips. My body arched, every muscle trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over me. “Nicholas!” I cried out, my voice breaking as I came, his name spilling from my lips like it was the most natural thing in the world, because it was. My entire body convulsed and dropped onto the bed, violently trembling from pure pleasure.

Nicholas froze, his entire body locking up as the sound of his name filled his headphones. “I—Fuck!” Nicholas’s eyes fluttered shut as he growled, his hand gripping himself tightly as my orgasm unraveled in front of him. My moans, my trembling thighs, the way I arched my back and collapsed onto the bed in the aftershocks — it was too much, and he let go.

A guttural groan tore from his throat, his cock twitching in his hand as he came, his release spilling over his fist and shirt in hot, sticky spurts. His head fell back against the headboard, his breathing ragged and heart pounding against his ribs as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, utterly spent. “Good girl,” he quietly panted.

When he opened his eyes, I was still trembling and avoiding the camera’s gaze, my body slowly relaxing as I came down from the high. My cheeks were flushed, my breathing heavy, my hair a little mussed from the mask’s elastic band slipping off just so, and there was a small, satisfied smile tugging at my lips. “Fuck, that was amazing,” I whispered.

Nicholas reached for a box of tissues on his nightstand and wiped his hand and tried to clean as much of his shirt as he could, then reached for the beer bottle on his nightstand and took a swig to quench his thirst, a small smirk on the corner of his lips.

I reached for a tissue from the nightstand, cleaning up the toy and myself before glancing back at the camera. The chat lit up with more comments and donations, all of them praising my performance but I only had one thing on my mind.

“Where’s that donation you promised, NC17?” I asked with a coy smile, rolling over on my stomach and tossing my vibrator aside.

Nicholas chuckled under his breath, his chest still rising and falling heavily. He shook his head, leaning forward to type on the keyboard. He typed in the payment details again, adding the promised donation with a smirk tugging at his lips. His cursor hovered over the “send” button for a beat longer than necessary before he clicked it.

NC17 donated $1,000: You earned it, baby. Don’t spend it all at once.

The notification flashed on my screen, bold and unmistakable. My eyes widened slightly and I froze, my breath hitching audibly as I stared at the amount. The most I had ever made in a single stream — in a single donation. The chat immediately erupted with reactions, some congratulatory, others envious that it hadn’t been them to make the donation, but I barely noticed them.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, sitting up slightly and brushing my hair back, my fingers trembling as I adjusted the mask that had slipped slightly during the stream. “NC17, you are the best. Oh, my god! Thank you, thank you, thank you. That’s… wow. You’re amazing.”

Nicholas leaned back against the headboard, his smirk deepening as he watched my reaction. The way my voice trembled with gratitude, the way I bit my lip nervously — it was all too much, too intoxicating. It sent a thrill through him, knowing he was the one making me react like that.

“Damn straight,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair as he reached for his beer again. He took a long swig, his eyes never leaving the screen as I began to wind down the stream. His chest still heaved slightly, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of everything that had just happened.

“I think that’s it for tonight,” I said softly, my voice carrying that familiar mix of shyness and playfulness. “Thank you all for being here. And thank you again, NC17. You’ve been… incredible.” My eyes flicked to the chat one last time, lingering on his username before I smiled and waved. “Goodnight, everybody. Sweet dreams,” I blew a kiss to the camera.

sweetdream has ended the stream.

With that, I leaned forward and ended the stream, the screen fading to black. I sat back against my headboard, letting out a shaky breath as I pulled off the lace mask. My cheeks were still flushed, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the laptop, the donation total lingering in the corner of the screen.

Across town, Nicholas shut his own laptop with a quiet click and pulled off his earphones, tossing both aside and running a hand down his face once reality started to creep back in. He’d just crossed a line — one he couldn’t uncross. He’d watched me, his friend, in a way that was impossible to forget. And worse, I’d said his name. Called out for him while I fell apart on camera, in front of God knows how many strangers. Even worse, he’d dropped over two thousand dollars just to see it happen.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. He knew he’d have to face me eventually. Knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this secret forever. But for now, he let the smirk linger, his mind already spinning with how to handle the situation.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and teasing as he reached for his beer.

[dragon-ascent]

Hi! First of all I'd like to thank you for your scenarios with our beloved Li, it's really comforting to read your stories, so please keep doing it! ❤️

Also, I was thinking about having a swim in a lake with dragon-form zhongli. Maybe he starts off a little mischievous and playful, trying to splash you/play sharks with his beloved, but then maybe he starts reeeeally teasing them and making them flustered while in his human form. How do you think he would behave?

Thank you again! You're amazing!!

I've let this one stew for like a year, so sorry for the wait! And thank you! ♡

It's a lovely day, so what's better than spending it by swimming in the lake with your husband? Swimming with him in his dragon form, of course! There's nobody around, so Zhongli is more than welcome to relax in all his adeptal glory, gliding around in the water with his beloved.

His smooth glides turn erratic soon enough - having quickly had enough of the tranquility, he splashes you, his body mass turning the splashes into straight-up miniature tsunamis for you. You erupt in a fit of giggles, desperately trying to avoid your husband's torrential onslaught.

"You're going to make me sopping wet!" you squeal, swimming away as fast as you can.

"You are already wet, darling," rumbles your dragon husband in hot pursuit. "I am simply hastening the process." He reaches a claw out and gently pulls you to him, licking you with all his usual affection he's inclined towards when he's like this.

"Eek!" Squirming out of his grip, you swim off. "Come catch me again!" you squeal, and your darling doesn't need to be told twice.

He submerges his great head underwater until only his golden eyes are visible on the surface, slithering dangerously to you like a water serpent. There's nowhere to run or hide, and your legs are starting to tire out from all the kicking, so you submit to your fate a little too fast this time. Zhongli gleefully rises from the water and gently clamps his jaw on your shoulder.

"No fair," you whine, wriggling in vain, "you're only able to catch me because you're big."

"Very well." Zhongli morphs back into his human form with ease, the same amber gaze holding your own. "I shall tip the scales to make things fairer."

Now somewhat satisfied, you once again take off in the water, swimming as fast as you can. Your movements are sluggish from exhaustion, however, but surely your husband feels the same?

Much to your chagrin, though, it seems like Zhongli's change of form hinders absolutely nothing for him: he's hot on your tail, gaining on you with every expert stroke only a god can manage...and before you can raise the white flag of surrender, he hooks an arm under your thigh and pulls you toward himself.

"Caught you, pretty one," he whispers into your ear, his other arm wrapping around your bare waist, fingers splayed in an almost possessive fashion. "Even after the scales have been tipped." His lips ghost over the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Zhongli notices this and, smiling, asks, "Shall I warm you up? You appear to be feeling rather cold, dearest."

"I - I'm good, thanks..." you murmur, heating up, gasping softly when he kisses your collarbone.

"All right." He lets you go, and you find yourself missing the contact immediately after it.

You wait until you feel like top form again, watching as Zhongli languidly floats along on the water. "One more time," you tell him, "try and catch me now before I reach the other side."

Kicking off from the bank, you rocket along in the water, arms and legs working in tandem to prove you can outswim your lover. But the lake doesn't stretch on forever, and before you can reach the other side, you chance a glance behind you.

There's nothing there. You stop, your brow furrowing. There's no sign of him. You peek underwater, too, and still nothing, just the blurry scene of aquatic plant-life.

"Zhongli?" you call when you resurface, wondering if he's already gotten out of the water. Aww, man...hopefully he saw how fast and cool you were before he-

A pair of arms lays claim on your hips, slowly spinning you around to face Zhongli whose smile crinkles his eyes, an innocent expression compared to the way his hands explore your skin.

"Oh...oh my..." you breathe, hooking your legs around his waist as his hand finds purchase in your hair, tugging it slightly so he can access your neck. "Was I...was I at least a fast swimmer..?"

He trails gentle kisses along your skin, rendered shiny and glistening thanks to the water. "Quite fast, yes. I was impressed." You moan softly at his tender touches, wrapping your arms around him. His tail is still out--did he ever even put it away?--and he coils it around your thigh, the little tuft of softness at the end caressing your leg sensually.

Toying with the elastic of your swimwear, he smiles into your skin. "Come now, dear, I would like to claim my prize."

[capquinn]

eek dad quinn when his wife is pregnant at the lake house or with a baby at the lake house during the summer 🥹

dad!quinn at the lake house during the summer? an absolute dreamboat

There’s just something about Quinn in this setting — like he’s been waiting all year to step into this version of himself. The way the air feels softer here, the mornings slower, the evenings stretching long past sunset without a single deadline in sight. It suits him, this pace, like it was made for him. He’s completely at ease, the weight of the season, of the baby on the way, resting gently on his shoulders instead of pressing down.

For you and Quinn, it’s the perfect place to just be — to sink into the rhythm of each other and let the anticipation of what’s coming linger in the background, soft and unspoken.

You’re stretched out on a lounge chair on the dock, a book open in your lap, though your focus on the words comes and goes. Your bump catches the light, glistening from the sunscreen Quinn insisted on slathering over you before you even stepped outside.

“You’ll fry out here,” he’d said earlier, his voice soft but firm, his hands careful and thorough as he worked the lotion over your skin.

From the water, you hear the splash and laughter of Jack and Luke, their banter carrying across the stillness. Quinn’s voice threads through, low and easy, teasing one of them for losing balance on the paddleboard. You peek up over the top of your sunglasses just in time to see him dive off the dock, his form cutting cleanly into the water before surfacing, shaking his hair out with a grin that makes your chest ache. He belongs here, you think — not just to this place but to this version of himself. Easy, happy, home.

You lose yourself in your book again, the rhythm of the day lulling you into a haze. The sunlight feels heavier on your skin, the warmth almost coaxing you into sleep. You barely register the sound of footsteps on the dock, the creak of the boards under his weight and then —

“Comfy?” His voice is low, teasing, and impossibly close.

You blink, startled, only to find Quinn leaning over you, dripping water all over your legs and the edge of your chair. His hair is soaked, beads of water clinging to his shoulders and dripping down his chest, his shorts clinging to his hips. He’s grinning, his cheeks pink from the sun, his eyes bright.

“Quinn,” you say, your tone caught somewhere between amused and exasperated as you push your sunglasses up your nose. “You’re dripping.”

“Yeah,” he says, unbothered, leaning closer so the shadow of him blocks the sun. “You didn’t hear me call you.”

“I was reading,” you counter, though the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

He hums, one hand bracing against the back of your chair, the other finding the armrest beside you. His gaze dips briefly to your belly, his smile softening before flicking back to your face.

“You’re gonna burn,” he murmurs, brushing a finger lightly against your shoulder, where the strap of your dress has slipped just slightly.

“Am not,” you argue, though you don’t stop him as he adjusts the strap, his knuckles skimming your skin.

His gaze lingers for a moment, his finger tracing a path along your shoulder with a tenderness that feels like second nature. And then his hand shifts, settling gently on the curve of your belly.

“How’s she doing?” he asks softly, his voice barely louder than the sound of the waves lapping against the dock.

“She’s good,” you say with a small smile, covering his hand with yours. “Kicking a lot earlier. I think she likes it here.”

His thumb brushes against your belly in slow, absent circles, a habit he’s picked up in the past few months — like he’s already memorising the feeling of her. His lips tug into a quiet, lovesick smile, and for a second, he’s lost in the thought of her, of you, of everything waiting just around the corner.

“She’s gonna love it here,” he says, almost to himself, his eyes faraway. “Next summer, we’ll bring her down to the water. Show her the sand, maybe dip her toes in the lake.”

“And what if she hates it?” you tease, your voice light, though your heart races at the image he’s painting.

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head like the very idea is impossible. 

“She won’t. She’s ours. She’ll love it because we do.”

His grin widens, soft and lopsided, and before you can think of a reply, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s warm and lingering, carrying the faint taste of the lake.

“Love you,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing lightly against yours for a moment before he pulls back, the sun catching the drops of water sliding down his shoulders.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as he straightens, dripping wet and unapologetic, the soles of his feet leaving faint prints on the dock. He’s already turning back toward the edge, Luke’s shout drawing his attention. But just before he dives back in, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you.

His smile, soft and sure, holds something unspoken — like he’s anchoring the moment, holding it in his heart for safekeeping. It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, the kind that makes you feel seen, loved, completely his.

As he disappears back into the water, you stay there, fingers brushing absently over your bump. The sun warms your skin, the sound of his laughter mixing with the waves lapping against the dock. For a moment, it feels like everything — the lake house, your baby, the way he looked at you just now — is part of some beautiful, endless dream you never want to wake up from.

[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 💌

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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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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.

[chiacanwritesometimes]

the three times you tried, and the one time it worked. (part 2)

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ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.6k

author’s note: this is unedited, so there might be some grammatical errors. this fic dives into themes of pregnancy, miscarriage, and alcohol. please please please do not interact if these themes bother, trigger, or make you uncomfortable. all information regarding my statistics have been sourced from mayo clinic, nhs.uk and cleveland clinic. please let me know if i got anything wrong so i can update this with the most accurate information! if you have gone through something like this or similar, please reach out to support groups or hotlines. i will link some down on the notes as soon as i can!

eek! one part left! i have enjoyed writing this so far, and i might do a “what they’re up to now” when im done with this series. i hope you enjoy reading it :P

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it was hard on him as well. how do you go from being thrown seventy years into the future, from meeting the love of your life, to losing a baby with her?

her screams haunted him, almost as much as…

he tried not to think about it too much. he promised her he was starting a new life with and for her, although she encouraged him to talk about the past to better understand him and to help him work out the trauma.

he spent most of his days in the office, filling out paperwork. he called time off from work, but you got well enough to the point where he could return without fear of you hurting yourself. most nights were spent holding each other, with either one of you or both of you crying.

80 percent of miscarriages happen in the first trimester. it’s not that you weren’t fertile, but what you both didn’t account for was how his super soldier genes would affect everything, having the baby develop faster than it’s little body could handle. it was eight centimeters long, contrast to the common five centimeters. he blamed himself for it, but you assured that through no fault of his, it happened. you didn’t want to grow to resent him, as you knew deep down it truly wasn’t his fault. you buried yourself in statistics to find loops and explanations as to why, why you, why this, just…why. for women under 30, 1 in 10 pregnancies end in miscarriage. around 10-20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. you became depressed, finding yourself as another statistic to write down, another number in a chart. he caught on to what you were doing, but didn’t know how to handle it. he mostly just held you, and whispered words of comfort into your ear.

“why did it have to be us?” you whispered softly, one night, as he spooned you.

he paused for a moment. “i don’t know.”

“if only i-“. he cut you off. “stop. you know it wasn’t your fault. we’ll try again when you’re ready, okay?”

you went out with your friends one day, a small reward you gave yourself for being so strong. you felt bad for leaving him home, but he assured you that he would be productive.

you really didn’t drink. that’s what you kept telling yourself as you ordered, and kept ordering. you really didn’t, you just didn’t know what came over you. maybe it was the fact that the drinks were cheap, or the company was good. or maybe it was the five month anniversary. you tried not to think about it much, as you didn’t want to depress your friends. your sorrows were washed away, and for the first time in a while, you felt whole. soon, you were drunk. not tipsy, but full on, shit faced drunk. your giddy smile convinced your friends to call him, and it wasn’t long before he was there to pick you up. he scooped you up with ease, and chuckled at your exaggerated affection towards him.

“you’re drunk.” he teased, as he sat you down in the passenger seat.

“and you’re not.” you teased back. he closed the door and walked over to the drivers seat. he sat down and took a deep breath. he didn’t start the car just yet, he was just looking at you.

“well i can’t get drunk, you know that. plus, im driving. wouldn’t be responsible.”

“and you’re known for always following the rules, yes yes.” you said in a mock serious tone, making him snort.

“low blow.” he responded, as he turned the key to the ignition. the hum of the engine proved to be a good melody lulling you to sleep, and your head bobbed as you tried your hardest to stay awake. his hand was on your thigh, and his thumb traced circles. it proved wonders, and you quickly fell asleep. the car ride was fifteen minutes long, and your eyes fluttered open as your body recognized the turns to your home. you stretched your arms, muscles sore from all the dancing you did with your friends. he was humming a song, one you tried to recognize.

the music started, and was i the perplexed one?

he stopped the car, and walked to your side, opening the door.

i held my breath and said, may i have the next one?

his soft voice made your ears turn red. he helped you out of the car, and scooped you bridal style. you giggled. he walked to the front door, and you unlocked it. he gently placed you down as you both entered, and he continued.

in my frightened arms-

you smiled. “polka dots and moon beams.” you said. you recognized the song, and as you took your shoes off, he beamed at you. he nodded and continued.

polka dots and moon beams, sparkled on a pug nosed dream.

he whistled the improvisation of the trombone, and took your hands as he led you down the hall to the dining room. there, a candle lit table with two plates.

“i had this planned, but i didn’t want you to not go out with your friends.” he admitted sheepishly. you gasped and smiled.

“this is so sweet.” you were slowly sobering up. your clothes felt heavy on you, and you suggested putting on pajamas. he agreed, and the both of you walked upstairs as you talked about the events of the night. he listened intently, and sat down on the bathroom counter as you took a quick shower. the warm air made your baby hairs cling to your skin, and the mirror foggy. you finished, and grabbed the nearest towel and covered yourself. you walked out of the shower, shivering slightly from the temperature difference. you walked over to where he sat, and smiled at him.

“hi.” you said softly, soaking in the intimate moment.

“hi.” he replied, equally as gentle. he cupped your jaw, and planted a small kiss on your lips. he leaned his forehead on yours, and closed his eyes.

“you smell good. new shampoo?”

you nodded.

“you’re welcome to try it.” you smiled, running your damp hand through his hair. he grabbed your wrist, and starting placing small kisses on your knuckles, your palm, your fingers.

“you’re so pretty.” he said as he sat up from the counter and towered above you. you grinned.

“you really think so?”

he nodded.

“oh yeah. everyone at work is so jealous of me.” he boasted as you snorted.

“oh, i’m sure.” you chuckled as he took your hand and twirled you and pulled you in, embracing you. he pulled you in a long kiss, holding the back of your neck and your waist. he sat you down on the counter and one thing led to another and…

you kept replaying those moments as you stared at the two lines on the second pregnancy test. you felt dread, but also joy? it was a mix of emotions. you felt scared, what if it happened again? 80 percent of miscarriages happen in the first trimester, you kept telling yourself. you just had to survive the first 12 weeks, and you’ll be fine.

you knocked on the doorway to his office, which was a huge step for you. you hadn’t entered that room since the incident. he looked up from his book.

“what’s up, birdie?” birdie. a nickname he used after catching you singing along to one of your favorite records, and one he used sparingly. that nicknamed grounded you, and gave you the strength to fess up.

you held up the test, and said nothing.

“two lines?” he asked, with a tone you could almost register as nervousness with a twinge of fear.

you nodded. he stood up to embrace you, laughing.

“two lines!” he kept repeating, kissing your neck. this made you ease up, and soon, you were laughing as well.

“okay, okay! we have to be prepared this time.” you stated. “but also, we can’t get our hopes too up, what if-“. you stopped laughing. you cleared your throat.

“no matter what happens, we’ll…be fine, right?”

he nodded. “we’ll be fine. for better or worse, remember?”

“pinky promise?” your request broke his heart. he set you down and extended his own pinky finger, hooking it with yours. he took your hand and kissed it.

“i’m yours, through it all.” he said, smiling.

you two had decided to take a small vacation, to get your mind off things. you refused any food that could possibly hurt the growth of the fetus, and tried your hardest to stay optimistic. you steered clear of baby clothes until after the first twelve weeks were over. how betrayed you would soon feel.

as you were three weeks in, you felt strange. similar to the way it felt the first time, but you thought it was just morning sickness or something.

you both had travelled to maine, to watch the ocean. you decided that fresh air was what you both needed. not only was the salt air fresh, but it was cold, very cold. you had taken a midnight stroll with him on the sand, and went to bed at three in the morning.

you woke up with pain, similar to the pain you would feel with period cramps. you sat up and googled “miscarriage symptoms” with shaky hands. this couldnt happen again. how could this happen again? your stirring caused him to wake up, and he saw what was on your phone. his heart dropped as he made eye contact with you. your face was pale, your eyes filled with grief.

“james?” you said, cautiously. his eyes sank. you only called him by that name when things were extremely serious.

“yes, my love?”

80 percent of miscarriages happen in the first trimester.

…

part 2/3. update tmr!

[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.”

[ramblinscramblin]

Hi! I loved how you wrote Sniper in the dating headcanons post. Your characterization of him is on point!

Could I please request how Sniper would act in the first instances of dating the reader? Thank you so much, have a good day!

→Honeymoon phase with Sniper!

Genre: slice of life, fluff, the slightest of angst

Characters: Sniper ofc

Eek!! Thank you so much, it’s so very obvious how much I favor him, haha! Let’s get this show on the road!

Sniper

Gets most his cues from you, he’s not so used to being in long committed relationships like the two of you have agreed on, so he’s mostly following your lead.

He can seem pretty apathetic in relationships at first, you have to really understand him as a person to know his true feelings and idiosyncrasies.

Early into relationships he almost pretends that he isn’t dating you, doesn’t make many alterations to your relationship besides occasionally holding your hand and kissing you.

He’s absurdly awkward, but he hides it by being quiet, can’t say the wrong thing if you don’t say anything at all amirite.

“Hey Snipes do you want to go out for dinner tonight?”

He looked at you for a moment before answering “yup.”

You’re gonna have to be okay with planning all the dates and carrying all the conversations for a little while.

Incredibly insecure during intimate moments, not just during sex, but like just private moments between the two of you.

Always afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, this manifests mostly as inaction, but may make some jokes at his expense about it too. Mostly under his breath comments, things said in a laugh, he would die before he was honest about how he felt.

You may allow him to make the jokes as a sort of way to alleviate his stress, or alternatively you could express that you don’t like hearing him say that kind of stuff about himself, in which case he will stop immediately.

He would do whatever you told him to do, even if he protests against that idea to the moon and back.

Whenever you initiate physical contact with him he freezes, like full on holding his breath. He’s afraid that if he moves you’ll stop.

One night he was sat at the edge of the bed, just sort of staring zoning out as he is one to do.

You came over hands on your hips before gently racking a hand through his hair, bonus points if you call him handsome or something of the like.

Will totally blue screen, face bright red and just stopped his tracks. Whatever thought he was having vanishing into thin air. Secretly praying you don’t notice because if you do you’re going to think he’s weird and stop.

“Relax a little Snipes, this is supposed to be the fun bit,” you say gently.

“I-I’m relaxed, mate. All too relaxed.”

“Right, right.”

He’s pretty shit at communication as I’m sure you’ve gathered, will bottle things up until it all boils over, I could see it causing some problems later into the relationship.

Just be patient, it’s worth it.

He’s pretty clingy right off the bat, again hides this in his own way but it’s glaringly obvious. You’re the only person he’s been able to tolerate this long he’s pretty eager to keep you around.

You stood up on the couch, patting your thighs as you did so.

He flicked his head towards you in an instant “where are you going?”

“Oh,” you turned towards him, surprised as his silent strike has suddenly come to an end “just to the kitchen.” You pointed over you shoulder with your thumb.

He stood up and walked over to the kitchen, waiting for you against one of the counters, staring at the floor. You just kind of blink at him confused for a second. This is his van. The kitchen is quite literally a foot away from the couch and he still managed to follow you. He’s so sick.

Still calls you mate even well into the relationship, only starts calling you “darl’” and “love” about a year into your relationship. Even then he still probably calls you mate a lot.

He’s just really smitten with you and is absolutely trying his best.

Omg THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS REQUEST THIS WAS A DELIGHT TO WRITE. I love this FUCKING dumbass so much. (≧∀≦)

[wild-typo-turtle]

Home for the Holidays - Part 1 of 3

On your way home from work, you see a mysterious door. And since you're the only one who can see it, there's really only one call you can make...

A Steve Rogers x Reader fic for @stellar-solar-flare Stella's Starry Winter Sky Challenge!

Rating: T

Themes: Meet-cute, Reader has a secret, other worlds

Home for the Holidays - Part 1

The door wasn't much to look at, actually.

You stared at it, your hands clutching the cup of steaming hot chocolate that had been your indulgence as you'd closed down the bookstore. Your breath plumed out into the night, but you barely noticed how cold it was. Or how dark - it was the solstice, the darkest night of the year, and the air around you was black and frozen.

There was a door.

You knew you'd never seen it before. You crossed this park almost every day, twice a day: once on your way to work, once on your way home. You had certainly never seen a door standing there all by itself with no walls around it. 

You weren't sure that anyone else could see it. You stood there gaping at it, but no one else seemed to be. 

You pulled your phone from your pocket, pretending to be absorbed in it as you slowly approached the door.

It was an old door. The wood was weathered and splintered; it had been neglected. The handle, also wood, was a round knob, worn smooth and shiny with years and hands. It looked as though it belonged in a barn, as if opening it would take you into a feed room or a tack room.

Your phone lit up, and you really did look down at it that time.

Ben: Done with rehearsal. Doing anything?

You could just walk away. You could head home, and you could text Ben back when you got there. And his blessedly uncomplicated self could come over and you could enjoy a few hours with him before it was time to go to sleep. Maybe he'd stay the night, and you could get breakfast in the morning at the little cafe down the street that made the best cinnamon raisin bread.

But on the other hand…

There was that door.

The door where there shouldn't be a door. The door that no one could see but you.

Were you losing it? Were you hallucinating?

But then you noticed something else. Everyone walking past the door walked around it, deliberately avoiding the obstacle. On some level, they knew it was there. 

You weren't crazy.

And as you looked at it, you remembered something you'd seen on the news a few months ago. Something about a tip line for unusual occurrences in New York.

Back to your phone. And it was an easy search to find the number, and a woman's voice answered after only one ring. 

“Avengers Initiative, how may I assist you?”

“Yes, um…” You cleared your throat. “Um. Hi. There's…there's this door…”

-~-~-

They had asked you to wait until they arrived, assuring you that it wouldn’t be long. And so you found yourself an empty bench within sight of the door, huddled in your coat and sipping on your cooling hot chocolate, your breath pluming out in clouds in the clear and frosty air. For all the bustle in the park, it was quiet, a perfect winter night at the height of the cold and the dark. 

You watched the door. Nothing happened.

People kept walking around it absently. You watched their feet for something to do as you waited; they seemed to feel the door’s presence about ten feet away, their steps slowly angling around it. Far enough that the motion did not need to be sudden or jerky; it was subtle, smooth, easy not to notice. And no one did - even those few whose heads were high, looking forward and not buried in their phones - seemed unaware that they had adjusted their paths.

It was quiet, and that made it easy to hear the new footsteps. They crunched briskly through the snow, and you turned away from the door to see them coming towards you.

Eek.

You’d figured the Avengers would send some sort of preliminary team - the equivalent of a beat cop, just to check things out and make sure you weren’t lying. But no, they had sent the big guns, faces you’d only seen on television and the Internet, striding toward you and ignoring the gasps and stares that greeted them and that followed in their wake.

Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow.

Sam Wilson, the Falcon.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. 

And Steve Rogers himself. Captain America, at the head of the group. 

It was a good thing you’d finished the hot chocolate several minutes ago. It would have ended up splattered on the ground.

You had about thirty seconds before they reached you, and you frantically tried to gather your composure. You stood up and brushed off your coat; you threw away your empty cup in the garbage can next to your bench. You’d given the woman on the phone your name, but they wouldn’t know what you looked like, you would need to - 

Oh. They were coming straight for you.

You gulped as they came up to you. Rogers gave you a nod of greeting; he was the only one to do so. The rest of them were busy scanning the park; their postures said they were relaxed, but their faces maintained alertness, looking for any and every possible threat. 

“Ma’am,” he said politely. “Thank you for waiting for us.”

“I, uh - um, yeah, no trouble,” you fumbled. “I wasn’t…wasn’t expecting…”

“Oh, us?” He grinned, chuckling, as you flapped your hand at him and his teammates. “Well, yeah. Normally we wouldn’t come right away, but we verified your report at the Tower. It’s not anything that would have tripped up our early detection systems, but once we looked for it, you’re absolutely right. There’s definitely something going on here. So we called in the cavalry.”

You couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief at the confirmation that you hadn’t lost your mind. Rogers saw it, and his grin softened a little bit.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You did the right thing by calling us in. This is exactly why the A.I. even exists.”  

You nodded mutely, but you weren't sure if Rogers saw it. He was already turning to his teammates, Wilson and Romanov, his brow lifting in inquiry as Barnes continued surveilling the park.

“Anything?”

Romanov was holding some kind of tablet, and she was poking at the screen in unmistakable frustration. “Something, but that's about all I can tell you,” she grumbled. “It's like a fly in your house. You know it's there, but finding it's a bitch.”

Captain Rogers looked back at you, and the expression on his face was heavy. “Look, I'm sorry,” he began, and you did not like the sound of that. “I'd do it, normally. One of us would. But since you're the only one who can see it…”

“He's asking you to open the door,” Barnes said, not even turning back to look at you. “And he would do it, the stupid punk.”

Rogers let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan, a grumble, and a snarl - but you noticed that he didn’t attempt to deny what Barnes had said. Either part of it.

You looked at him, your insides trembling, and he laid a hand - a big, strong hand, and you were certainly noticing those details - on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, very quietly. “If you don’t want to, we can find another way. There are people we can call.”

People, but those people hadn’t come with him, and there was probably a reason for that. They would take time to arrive, and who knew what would happen while they were getting here?

You were no hero. You worked in a bookstore, you lived alone with your cat, and the closest thing you had to a romantic relationship was a friends-with-benefits actor. You weren’t like these people. 

But maybe you could be, just for one night.

You squared your shoulders, looking up at Rogers. 

“I’ll do it.”

-~-~-

They made a plan. And after they’d done so, more agents arrived, garden-variety this time, cordoning off a circle around the door and setting up a perimeter of barriers and screens. You were still the only one who could see it - Rogers had checked with everyone as they’d arrived - but they’d given you some plastic stakes to mark where it was. Everything was terribly efficient, and it was easy to forget the chill in the air with the bustle of activity. You stood huddled in your coat, watching, until Rogers waved you over to a section of the perimeter. It was draped on three sides with tarps, creating a small tent, and someone had set up a little portable heater that was doing an excellent job of warming up the space. 

As you got there, sighing happily at the heat, you noticed that Rogers was holding what looked like a climbing harness and a coil of rope. 

“Ever worn one of these?” he asked. When you shook your head, he continued. “Nothing to it - just a safety precaution. We’ll have the rope attached to the harness and we’ll secure it here. That way if something tries to pull you into - uh, well, wherever that door goes - we can get you out of the way fast.”

You nodded, trying not to think about being pulled into wherever that door goes. Instead you let Rogers help you into the harness, easing it over your coat and helping you tighten the straps, and tying the rope to a metal ring on the back. 

And then, what seemed like a mere second later, you were standing in front of the door.

Behind you, Rogers and Barnes were holding onto the rope. The sight of the two supersoldiers didn’t exactly banish the butterflies in your stomach, but their solid forms did inspire at least a little bit of confidence. They weren’t going to let you go anywhere.

You offered Rogers a small, trembly smile, before you turned back to face the door. Romanov was right beside you, and she nodded at you. Just once - but it was, in its way, just as reassuring as the two men holding the rope. You got the impression that there was very little she couldn’t handle.

“You ready?” she said softly. 

Off to your right, Wilson was standing with his wings extended. He was the backup plan: if Rogers and Barnes lost hold of the rope, he would dive in and try to grab you before you were pulled in too far. You were no hero, and yet they were treating you as if your life was just as precious as theirs. 

Well. Perhaps that was what made a hero, a hero.

In answer to Romanov’s question, you shuffled forward two steps and placed your hand on the doorknob.

It was cold. Ice cold, and you hissed as the chill bit at your skin even through your thick mitten. Your teeth chattered, and you stumbled back a step, as Romanov caught you. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you gritted out. “Just - ‘s just cold.”     

But you were all right. And now that you were braced for it, it wasn’t as bad when you touched the knob again. You twisted it, and it moved easily in your hand, and the door fell open.

You were not sure what you’d been expecting. But it definitely had not been an older gentleman standing on the other side of the door. 

He didn’t move. 

His hair was an ashy, golden white - a color that made you certain he had been as blond as Steve Rogers in his youth. He was dressed in brilliant green, a tunic and trousers and a thick cloak, green with accents of gold and red. A thin golden circlet sat on his brow, and as you looked at him, he bent, sweeping into a deep bow that almost left him lying flat upon the ground.

It was winter beyond the door, too. A light snow was falling, and it was piled up high around the gentleman’s brown boots. 

No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone was staring at the strange man as he straightened from his bow, and looked straight at you.

“Your Royal Highness.”

Continue to Part 2!

[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💌

_____________________________________________

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.

[yellowelectroslime]

A ghost's 'motivational' methods

Pairing: Switch!Yashiro Nene, Switch!Hanako

Word count: 740

[notes: Hiii @ijustliketickling, I’m your secret santa for this years @squealing-santa!! This is my first time writing TBHK and it’s been so long since i touched tbhk sorry if they’re ooc ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა,  I’ll also probably edit this in the future so keep that in mind pls since i wrote this super rushed anyways I hope you enjoy this fic!! Also i don’t know how to come up with titles sorry]

“Nee~ Yashiro, I’m so bored”

“If you’re so bored, why don’t you help me out with cleaning! Hmp!” Yashiro said with a pout, continuing with her daily duties of cleaning the toilets. 

“Hmmm, but I don’t wanna help, Yahsiro~ Besides, this is YOUR job, MY job was to help you minimize the effects of your curse” Yashiro grumbled, he was telling the truth but… it still wouldn’t hurt to at least TRY to help her. 

Yashiro grumbled something under her breath in fake annoyance until the bathroom went silent again, allowing her to continue cleaning in peaceful quietness. 

Just then, a mischievous idea came to the mind of the ghost. “Hey Yashiro! I just thought up a great plan to help you get motivated while working!” 

The girl signed in defeat, already tired from a full day of school, now having to spend more of her time in school cleaning up, talk about overtime. “What is it Hana- EEK!” Before she could even finish her sentence, Hanako rushed behind Yashiro and grabbed her by her sides, making rapid squeezing motions. 

“Haha-HahaAHnohoko kuhuhun- WaAhahAhit! Whahahat are yohohou doOHOing?” Yashiro immediately burst into light hearted giggles. 

Hanako, seeing the positive reaction, didn’t stop his relentless ‘assult’ on her. “Woah~ Yashiro, you’re so sensitive. Is my motivational method motivating you?” The ghost boy hovered around her. 

The girl swatted at his arms weakly as an attempt to stop his tickles as his hands went from scribbling at her sides to squeezing her hips. “NahahAH- NoHohoho HahahaHAhanako! NohoHoHOt thereRere!”

He continued to tickle her hips, switching from squeezing her hips to scribbling and prodding at the bone. “EEEK! HahaHAHAhaNAhahako! IHihit tihHIhickles!” She tried squirming away but each time she tried to move away, the ghost would simply float behind her to continue his ticklily assault.

Hanako would be lying if he said Yashiro wasn’t cute, her laughter was like music to his ears and her smile was as bright as the sun…

As Hanako was lost in his thoughts, his tickling slowed giving Yashiro the perfect opportunity to-

“HEahahaHA, tahahake THIS!” Finding all her strength, she grabbed Hanako by his sleeve and…. “Eh? Yashiro- WAH!” 

*Slam*

The next second, Hanako found himself snapped out of his own thoughts and on the floor with the flustered girl straddled onto him. “Eh? Y-Yashiro… Let’s tahalk about th-this!” Nervous giggles escaped his lips as a cheeky smile grew on Yashiro’s face.

“No Hanako! Its time for me to give you back your ‘motivational method’ for payback!” Yashiro giggled as she teasingly wiggled her fingers in front of Hanako’s face.

Her fingers descended onto his torso, clawing and scribbling at his stomach like how you would rub the belly of a puppy. Almost immediately bubbles of laughter threatened to escape his lips, Hanako tried to resist, he really did, but he was too ticklish!! 

Unlike Yashiro, he was completely still like a frozen fish, save for some twitches and him swatting away Yashiro’s hands weakly. “Gah- Ya-Yahihiro, wahait it tih-tickles…” He bit his lower lip to try and distract himself with pain. 

This worked, for about 2 seconds, his wall broke and giggles flooded out. “NyHAhahahAh! YahahAHAHashiro- WahAHAHait!” He whined through his laughter, his cheeks grew into a bright shade of red and his laughter growing louder by the second.

Wile being in this position was a bit flustering for Yashiro, it was better than being in Hanako’s shoes. Being flustered by her own thoughts, she was quickly snapped out of them when a certain ghost under her snorted. 

Yashiro paused her tickling and looked at him in confusion. “Huh? Hanako, was that you?” The ghost seemed to be confused as well, and covered his face in embarrassment when he realised the sound he just made, making a whining sound under his breath as a complaint.

The girl looked at where her hands were placed, “Hoo~ Hanako-kun, is this your weak spot?” Yashiro teased, finding that her hands were placed in his armpits. 

“Ya-yashiro, I think thats enough! I’ve le-learnt my lesson!” Hanako surrendered, putting his hands up as a form of ‘surrendering’, earning a pout from the girl. 

“Hmp! Now you know not to mess with the great Yashiro Nene!” She said proudly as she helped the ghost back up, “Now you can help me with cleaning as well!”

Hanako reluctantly nodded, knowing that he woud most definitely not enjoy what would happen if he said no…

[moonlitscales]

Who’s your favorite oc???

(YOU HAVE NO CLUE WHAT YOU'VE DONE /POS)

Favorite? No way I could pick favorites! My ocs are all like my children and I love them all equally no matter how long I've had them or why I created them-

HER. This DUMBASS has been a brain worm of mine for like I think almost 2 years now (??) I'm so obsessed with her its not even funny

(+ this post will be reblogged to my art account)

@d4ddy-duck can vouch for me. (ALSO YOU PLEAAAAASE READ THIS POST!!!)

Warning: Oc ramble post. Please please PLEASE stick around i have so much to say about my oc 83

EEK!!! YOU WANNA LEARN ABOUT MY SILLY SCENE CAT OC!!!!!

Basically, her name is Sia Kitlen Mese and I suck at names so that's why her name is a giant pun because her cat breed is siamese T_T.

Shes into the scene-ish style and a HUGE music lover; she carries her earbuds and ipod everywhere. (I gave her an ipod bc i though it was cool and fit her lol). She's a mischievous little shit and hopeless romantic. She can't keep a relationship for long, (if at all), because of how often her and her sister move from town to town for 'unknown reasons'.

She has an older sister, Nova, who is also a close second to being a favorite of mine but you can tell Sia is my favorite because of how many drawings I have of her...

(Please click for better quality on all of them!!)

and those are just from my CURRENT sketchbook I got in November! Heres a few from my last sketchbook (DEFINITELY not all)

I even made a freaking opposite au for my own oc T_T

It's not funny how much I love her.

Also, you've gotten this far and ik ive said it before but i'll say it again, Sia was originally a really cringy and bad welcome home oc 😭🙏

WARNING FOR THE ORIGINAL SKETCHES MAN

She was so.... EUGHHH. SHE DOESNT EVEN FIT IN WITH THE STYLE OF WELCOME HOME 😭😭

But genuinely, I am so, SO impressed with myself at the improvement in both my art style and character development. She went from half a self-insert that didn't fit in the fandom to my biggest oc with a storyline I'm still definitely working on.

Like, these two were the same characters were drawn by the same person at some point????

But yeah, Sia is my absolute favorite and I really adore her <3

(Also saying not saying, if anyone is interested AT ALL in her and her sisters story PLEASEEE TELL ME!!!)