#HE’D COMPROMISE THO

[bugsbucket]

i just wanted to draw them all fancy and happy that’s it 🥰🤗

He has he cutest fucking smile that we dont see nearly enough 💛

[dutybcrne]

Big fan of the idea that Diluc adamantly tries to never curse bc he is a Nobleman and bc Addie raised him better, always keeping his speech formal, even if stiff when it comes down to it.

And then there are The Fatui and Kaeya, who can make him swear like a goddamn sailor within minutes of dealing with him.

[hana-no-seiiki]

YANDERE HUSBAND x GN CELEBRITY!READER

— based off of a dream i had of a childhood friend/crush. hiatus not over tho lol.

— morally bankrupt reader. clingy husband. the usual yandere stuff.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who was your childhood best friend. Your parents shipped you two since you could speak.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who had a crush on you since forever. He doesn’t even remember a time where he didn’t get butterflies and an aching need to be the only one close to you

YANDERE! HUSBAND who’s the biggest flirt. He knows you the best. Although you were completely oblivious. He’d always try to be around you, compliment you, tease you.

He’d give you matching keychains, and would beg his parents to buy whatever gift he’d think you’d like.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who sadly had to move away for a while. He comes back during high school. And the first thing he asks while he’s there? To be put in the same class as you.

Now that you two are older, you finally started to notice how much of a tease he was. Always grappling unto a piece of your attention.

You acquiesce and begin to date him. Not necessarily feeling anything for the guy but thought it was high time that you finally settle down. It was the perfect storyline you could share once your ambitions were fulfilled.

That and cause your parents would only let you go to acting school if he married you.

Which you two eventually did before college. Was it rushed? Definitely. Did you even love the guy? Nuh uh. But you had places you had your sights set on. And he was the only path.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who drops out to be your full time househubby. His parents could always give him a job at their corporation anyways. There was no real pressure for him to study and get a job.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who almost always supports your acting career. Watching all your shows, movies, and interviews. Basically buying out all the merch you featured in. And paying advertisers across the globe to have your face plastered everywhere.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who unfortunately stops you from having any romantic or sexual scenes. Essentially blocking you from any roles that could be your breakthrough just cause it could have a tiny kiss or so.

Your anger at his blatant attempt to have control over you began simmering. Ever so slowly reaching the surface. Not improving at all when you found out he’d been trying out a job that his mother gave him.

Fuck the gifts. Fuck the yachts and cars he’d swarm you with. Why did he get to do what he wanted and you didn’t?

So you follow him to work once, only to catch him in a compromising position with a coworker.

You didn’t care about him or his business beneath the sheets really. So you had to thank the gods above that you knew exactly what and how to do the following act.

Cry. Scream. Throw things at them.

The coworker already left. Shuffling as they tried to hide from your anger.

Your husband is unresponsive. Catatonic. Even more of an excuse to hurt him.

You call him filthy, uncaring, the worst man to ever exist. Hell, even some of your true feelings come out as you yelled about how you regretted ever being with him.

You find out later from his mom that he had been framed. That this coworker was just trying to get money out of the heir.

Still, you wanted out. He had already served his purpose and you needed to expand your horizons.

A week later of radio silence from him as you prepared the divorce papers he walks in.

Covered in red his hands caressed your face,

“You called me filthy did you not? So I cleansed myself with their blood.”

[sincerelyneo]

omg hello! i missed you so much!!! 💖 would you consider reposting arcade again?? it was legit the best thing i’ve ever read omg i was so sad when i couldnt find it anymore

its fine if you cant tho!! im glad youre backkkk💖💖💖

ofc i can, i’m glad you liked it <3

arcade | p.js

“i’m out of control, full power up”

💿now playing: arcade by nct dream

❯ summary: Jisung’s been nothing but busy lately, so when you hear he got the weekend of your anniversary off, you can’t help but plan something to spend time with him. Expect, the only thing jisung wants after his busy month is you — and he’s not gonna let your silly arcade date get in the way of that.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, fluffish.

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fingering, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the name baby, jisung takes pictures whilst fingering reader in a photobooth idk???

"You brought us to an arcade for our three year anniversary?"

You look over to Jisung standing by your side as the pair of you stood in front of the arcade entryway with the giant neon sign above your heads.

"Yeah, surprise - who doesn't love a date night with pizza and an arcade?" You grin, trying to hide the look of nervousness fighting to show once you notice his frown.

“Baby,” he groans, whiny, “I thought we were gonna go home after the pizza.”

You may have lied to him about that.

When you told Jisung about tonight’s date, he originally objected. He wanted to have a chilled night in with just the two of you — alone. Something he hadn’t had for the past four weeks he’d been strung up at work. Yet, you insisted that the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary just like you had done for your first and second.

So instead, the two of you came up with a compromise: head to your favourite pizza place, then come home and watch a movie snuggled together on the couch. In Jisung’s mind ‘watch a movie’ was code for letting his hands roam all over your body whilst he watched you whither and squirm, but he figured it was best to not discuss the minute details.

But don’t get him wrong. Just because he wanted to have a quiet night in didn't mean he hasn’t missed you — because oh he has. He’s only bothered the rest of the dreamies with his annual ‘I miss her’ speech every other hour.

And whilst typically Jisung loved to spend every passing minute of the day with you; right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be balls deep in the cunt he’d missed so much — not spending his time in some arcade.

"I haven't been inside one of these since I was a little kid," you tell him. “Please Sungie, just for an hour.” You begin tugging on his hands.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing in the arcade?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Pretty please!”

You hope the small flutter in your eyelashes is enough to win over the hesitant man. And you know it will because he’s told you several times not to give him those signature doe eyes, because he can’t ever bring himself to say no to them.

"Fine."

He grasps your hand, threading your fingers together as he starts to lead the two of you inside. You're instantly greeted with the loud electronic sound effects from the various games, along with the random music playing inside.

There's lights flashing everywhere, and you notice a bunch of people sitting at the bar and in booths near the front of the arcade, along with a bunch wandering around all of the games.

Jisung looks sideways before gesturing his head to the row of retro games, "what do you wanna play?" He asks.

“You can pick first, because I’m such a good girlfriend.”

He can’t help but smile at you — because he knows you're right.

“How about we play some pinball?

"I take it back," you say with a pointed look, "I’ve seen you play that with Chenle and I’m definitely gonna lose.”

“Too late, you’ve already given me the power,” he shrugs and pulls your arm over to where the game is situated.

“Ugh, Jisung. There’s no point, I already know I’m gonna lose,” you try to protest.

“Stop complaining,” he grasps your hips to turn you around to face the pinball machine then comes to stand behind you.

He takes your hands and places them on the buttons either side of the machine in front of you. You feel your cheeks flush when you feel Jisung’s chin rest on your shoulder, as he guides your fingers over the controls and silently coaches you through the game.

You don’t know how he always does it but even here, he's managing to create some form of sexual tension between the two of you at a pinball machine.

“Jisung..” you whisper as he places teasing kisses along your neck.

“Shhh, I’m just trying to help you out,” his lips brush against your neck as he continues hitting the buttons at a constant steady speed. “Besides, I think I’ve found my new favourite way to play pinball tonight."

Eventually, the ball shoots straight down between the two flippers, drawing the game to an end. He’d been doing so well that you wanted to turn around and kiss him but he pressed you harder against the machine, dipping into the crook of your neck to tease your ear.

"You've got no idea how badly I wish I could bend you over this and fuck you right here, right now."

It sent shivers down your whole body as you felt him grin against your skin when he noticed the sharp inhale of air you sucked in at his words.

Jisung knows you're shy, so he’s not surprised that you try to snake away from his grip at his crude remark.

"Look, we got a new high score," he says while he slips his hands from over yours and slides them up your arms. Pretending he didn't just whisper something that dirty. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah ‘cause you did all the work,” you sulk.

You see the red digital writing flashing on the scoreboard, then his arms snake around to link across your lower stomach and pull you firmer against him. To anyone watching you look like a typical couple being affectionate, but the tension makes it feel the furthest thing from innocent.

"You know exactly what you're doing right now, Jisung Park," you huff, trying to control how flustered you feel, "We’re here to play games."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, before murmuring, "I am playing games. And so far I think I'm winning."

As he speaks he lets one of his hands slip down to graze over the front of your crotch, which he swears is an accident when you sternly say his name. But you can’t deny the way the touch made you jolt before he pulls away and steps back. You’d missed his touch — missed being with him like this.

But this was not the place. So you take his hand and turn the two of you to walk off like nothing happened.

The two of you continued to play a handful of arcade games. The classics, retro games, new games — Jisung had even managed to secure you a fluffy teddy bear from the claw game after you mentioned it being ‘impossible’.

You’d been taking it in turns to choose a game each, but when you mentioned the arcade photo booth, your boyfriend had started to get apprehensive.

After some of your amazing buttering up skills with puppy dog eyes, he agreed and he pulled the curtain back for you to get inside, then closes the door on the booth.

He sat down first on the small seat, and when you went to sit next to him he grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap instead. He takes some coins from his pocket and starts putting them in the slot.

You try to get off his lap to sit beside him before the timer starts but he doesn’t let you.

“Just look at the camera and smile."

Once you hear the timer counting down the two of you start posing. But just before the last beep sounds, you get the idea to grab hold of Jisung’s face and let your lips mush against his cheek causing him to scrunch his nose up.

"That’s not fair," he says the second he hears the beeping start again.You stick your tongue out at him and his eyes narrow. “Fine, if that’s the game we’re playing.”

You both look back at the camera and offer smiles, kisses and peace signs. But at the last beep, Jisung gets the idea to move both of his hands to cup over your chest, groping your boobs.

Your mouth falls open as you gasp in shock while Jisung starts laughing.

You try to pull his hands away, "Okay fine, point taken mister grabby hands."

Jisung is practically giggling to himself, whilst you wait for the timer to start again.

“Alright alright, we'll take a serious one now.” He says, placing his chin on your shoulder, as you both look at the camera.

But once again, as the third beeping starts he quickly says, “Do you think people would notice if I made you cum while we're in here?"

Your body stiffens in shock as the picture is taken. Jisung is bursting with laughter and you're taken aback.

Jisung likes sex. He loves sex in fact — especially with you. But he never does this. Sure he teases you when you're out and about — how could he not when you’re so beautiful and perfect for him. But he’s never insinuated doing something so sexual in public like this before.

But here the two of you are. Waiting for the timer to start again, but this time you’re anticipating the shit he was going to pull when the final beep comes — and he does not disappoint. Because his hands slide up your legs, dipping into your inner thighs and squeezing them.

"Jisung," you warn him, "behave yourself."

The beeping starts again, but Jisung doesn't move his hands, and starts to massage his fingers higher.

When the last tick happens, he moves his face to press a kiss to your jaw, and you feel his breath hitting your skin from his nose.

He starts to inch your legs a bit further apart to let his thumbs graze over the crease where your thighs meet your pelvis.

“Ive missed you so fucking much baby,” he whines. “I need you so bad.”

“Jisung not here,” you sigh as his hands start working to warm up your skin.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like the thought of me getting you off in here? Trying not to get caught?"

If his face wasn't so close to yours you wouldn't be able to hear him over the loud music in the arcade and how low his voice has gotten.

You give him a confused frown, thinking he surely can't be fucking serious but when you do he takes the opportunity to press his lips against you, kissing you while the camera snaps the last picture.

Your stomach is knotting along with your heart beating faster and you feel that familiar heat between your legs but you’d never tell him that — and he’d never tell you that he knows you keep it from him.

"Would you?" He asks again when he breaks the kiss.

You look at him like he's lost his mind. "You're joking right?" You can't be serious - Jisung people get their pictures taken in here, someone could walk in, you can't-"

He makes your words stop and your breath hitch in your throat as he moves his hand up under your skirt and cups his hand between your legs.

"That's not what I asked you," he says letting his eyes trace over your face, then leans closer, "Would you enjoy it?"

“Jisung, this is so unlike you, are you even hearing what you’re asking me?”

He moves his leg a bit and wedges his heel against the edge of the door so it can't be pulled open, "I know exactly what I’m asking you, so answer me."

"We’re supposed to be taking pictures, Sung,” you try changing the subject, and ignore the pressure of his hand pressed against you.

"Oh god we will," he says like it should be obvious.

And now you’re looking even more caught off guard.

“I'd fucking kill to have some pictures of you getting off. Have them to look at them whenever I’m needy and miss you.”

Jisung starts to massage the heel of his palm very slowly against you, adding more pressure over your underwear as you try to squeeze your legs closed but he holds them with his other hand to keep them apart.

"We can't-" it takes very fibre in your body to attempt to protest this, but you easily allow him to cut you off.

"Yes we fucking can," he has that sly look on his face, "But if you don't want to, we won't. It's up to you. Should I stop?"

You exhale a weak breath as he replaces the heel of his palm with his fingers dancing over your underwear, massaging slow circles that make your hips shift.

"Won’t people think it's weird if we're in here too long." you fumble over your words which makes Jisung smile while he bites on his lip.

"Don't worry I'll be quick," he says knowing you’re only making excuses instead of admitting what you really want.

Your eyes drift closed as you sigh, feeling his fingers move against you to create a friction that's only making the throb between your legs worsen. You have absolutely no common sense when it comes to this man and his fucking fingers.

"Should I stop?" He repeats in a low voice, moving his mouth to start to kiss along your jaw.

As usual with him, your functioning brain checks out while your subconscious takes over and you shake your head feeling your breathing start to go shallow.

"You want me to make you cum, yeah? Is that right baby?" His words are slightly muffled as he moves his free hand from your inner thigh and brushes your hair back over your shoulder so he can move his mouth to your neck, "I need words baby."

You should be rational and tell him to stop. But you don't. You wouldn’t dare. You didn’t want him to. So instead you say what you do want, and breathe out a quiet "yes."

Jisung’s own breathing is getting heavier, and the tension in this small enclosed space feels like it's compressing both of you closer together. When he hears your approval, his hand between your legs bunches up the front of your skirt. When he slips it up he snakes his hand over your stomach to push down into your underwear.

A faint groan echoes in Jisung’s throat the second his fingers feel your bare skin, exploring around your underwear to feel the slickness there.

"You’ve made a mess. Missed me this much, huh?” his voice is low, while he drags his warm lips up your neck.

You only manage to nod your head, your brain focused on squirming your hips to find some kind of friction again. He finally rests the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, starting to tease circles that force a quiet whimper out of you. Your eyes are still closed as excitement and neediness flood your nerves.

For doing something that should be wrong, it feels so damn right, and it's all you can think of. Feeling him is all you can think about.

"You sure I can take some pictures?" He checks, keeping his movements steady as your hips start to circle against his hand,

You don't respond at first—you can’t—too caught up in how this is feeling, and when he dips his fingers down to your pussy to collect more arousal on his fingers before moving back to your clit and applying more pressure, your head falls forward as you pant out a strained, "You - fuck, yes, you can."

He chuckles hearing how fucked out you are for him, and he’s only just started. But it’s when you hold onto the thigh he’s been using to pry your legs open that his eyes darken with need.

He keeps his fingers moving while he manages to get some coins he had in his pocket, reaching forward to put them into the coin slot, then pressing the button to start the timer.

When he relaxes back he applies a firmer pressure, and starts to massage your clit in quicker circles; making your mouth drop open with a gasped moan. You can barely hear the beep for the picture anymore, everything around you turning blurry, and all you can hear is your heart beat mixed your heavy breathing.

"That's it baby," he coos, with a gravel to his voice from the tension in it, "God I wish I could fuck you right now. I’ve been dying for it.”

Your skin is burning up, and all you can manage in response is the pants from your open mouth, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet.

You start to grind yourself against him as his fingers work, and feel the hard bulge forming in his pants underneath your ass.

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd be quick, he's already building the pressure in your lower belly, making your stomach muscles tighten, while he moves his fingers in the exact way he knows you love it.

That knot in your lower half tightens, and your legs start to tremble as a louder moan you can't stop comes out of your mouth.

"Fuck—Jisung," you whimper, with your chest starting to heave with rapid uneven breaths.

He only quickens his fingers driving with determination and speed, making sure to keep repeating the same movements that are getting the best reactions from you and when your head falls back as you moan again; his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"Shhhh—quiet, remember?" He hushes against your ear, groaning at the feeling of you grinding against him, "I know you wanna cum baby, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else hear how you sound for me.”

All you can manage is a muffled "mhm" against his hand as your eyes squeeze tighter. That familiar sensation starts to ripple from your centre down your legs and into the rest of your limbs.

The orgasm is speeding towards you, faster than anticipated causing your back to arch up as your hips writhe. Your mind is foggy only able to make out quiet whispers of encouragement coming from Jisung.

As the release ripples through your body and your moans are muted against his hand, Jisung groans again, feeling you shake on top of him. He can’t help but snap his hand away to grasp at your jaw to turn your face and kiss you hard while you ride through your climax.

The kiss is mostly open lips grazing against each other, or trying to connect in messy motions with both of your laboured breathing mixing together. His fingers only pause when you try to pull yourself away from them.

Once your eyes drift open to see Jisung’s, the look in them makes you want to squeeze your legs together again if you could move them currently.

Jisung brings his hand up, and grazes his pointer and middle finger he just used to send your body into a frenzy against your lower lip as a silent request for you to open your mouth. You don’t deny it, taking them into your mouth to taste yourself.

“Fucking hell,” his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. His head rolls back against the wall behind you and he whines in the quiet, "God fucking help me."

Your body is still buzzing, floating down dazed from the high it was on, and you watch Jisung bite down on his lower lip as his brows knit tight together, as his hips shift beneath you.

"Everything okay, Sungie?" It’s the only thing your mushed brain can think of saying as you look down at his strained pants.

"Fuck no," he mumbles, looking like he's trying to compose himself, "But it’s my own fault. I suggested we do this. I’ll deal with myself later.”

"Later?" You ask.

Jisung lifts his head back up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he rubs his palm up and down your thigh, "Yeah, later. When we get home and we watch that movie you promised me.”

He thinks you don’t know that he uses the movie thing as a code to fuck you — but you do know — and that’s why you’ve never protested when he puts on another one of those Harry Potter movies he loves.

"You sure you'll be able to wait that long?"

Jisung’s lips lift up at the corners, "I’ve waited weeks for this, I’m sure I can manage a couple more hours.”

He hugs you against him with his arms around your stomach, and back against his firm chest.

"But then again,” he begins “Now I have the memory of how fucking hot watching you get off in here was. That makes waiting like some kind of sick torture to me."

You let out a weak laugh, feeling your cheeks flush more than they already were, "I still can't believe we just did this."

"I can, and there's pictures to prove it," he smiles, pulling the strip of three black and white photos from the dispenser.

[decayedgloria]

sundress szn pt. 3

ft. Ayato, Thoma, Itto

Summer is creeping up on the city, so you decide to wear a garment fit for the occasion…

Tags:  nsfw under cut, i was lacking in the inazuma department therefore i wrote this, i love my bbgs tho, public/semi-public, established relationships, afab!reader, reader is a tease in some of them thoma’s lol, submissive themes, I popped off on Itto’s LMFAO

Word Count: ~1.2k words, not proofread

Ayato

Inazuma’s summers were getting increasingly hotter as its borders opened following the arrival of the Traveller. Whether it was the Shogun’s doing or not didn’t matter, all you knew was that you definitely needed some new dresses. 

As you stood in the Kamisato Estate’s courtyard fanning yourself, patiently waiting for your husband to arrive home, you began growing annoyed as the wind kept picking up the bottom of your dress. It was short, and makeshift in a sense, as it was an older dress you had hastily cut up in the name of fashion (and the weather). You were starting to regret it- you really did not want the estate’s staff see the… questionable marks your husband left on your behind the night before.

A blush began to creep up on your face as you recount how his nimble hands worked on your body, causing you to fan yourself faster. As if Barbatos himself saw your predicament, a strong gust of wind suddenly swept through the courtyard, ultimately lifting your dress up to reveal an indecent view. Being so lost in thought your hands tried to rush to pull it down once more, but your clumsy fingers end up dropping your fan in the process.

“Shit…” You cursed quietly, bending your knees so you could pick up the fan without compromising your dignity. As you quickly rise, you eyes caught a glimpse of your husband’s familiar white suit at the gate, filling you with happiness and relief. Making your way towards him, you gave him a welcoming smile and quickly pecked him on his cheek.

“Welcome home, my love.” Your greeting was met with Ayato’s silent gaze, surprising you. Usually, he’d shower you in kisses and affections as soon as he returned, however this time his eyes seemed to scour your entire being, taking in exactly what you were wearing. You find yourself blushing again, realizing that he was indeed checking you out.

“Darling…” His voice was just as low as it was last night, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat. “This dress that you have on is quite small.” He raises a gloved hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he leans in and whispers, “Shall we take it off and find a better garment?”

You knew exactly what his words entailed. Despite the growing heat inside and outside of you, you relented; following him as he leads you back into the mansion, hands all but gripping your waist tightly.

Thoma

Thoma’s off days were far and few in between, so today was somewhat of a special occasion. As it had been a while, he wanted to treat you to a date in the city, and who were you to refuse your boyfriend? Especially considering how hardworking he was. You had decided to sweeten the day a little bit by donning the dress you had forgotten about in your closet; it was considerably tighter, and a little short, but nonetheless perfect for the hot Inazuman summer.

As you walked with Thoma through the city, you couldn’t help but notice how flustered he suddenly became. His eyes were constantly darting around the streets, avoiding looking at you, but his hands found themselves barely touching above your ass- he was holding himself back, you knew then. 

Smirking, you usher Thoma to the back of an alleyway and before he could object, pushed him against the wall. Both of you were out of sight, which gave you the perfect opportunity to watch as his green eyes widened when your hands made their way to cup the growing bulge in his pants.

“Ah… are you sure?” He asks apprehensively, though the mischievous glint in your eyes told him everything he knew. Soft whimpers escaped his lips as you kept up your minstrations, his hands positioning themselves under your dress to squeeze your plump cheeks.

“Look at you, already so hard.” You teased, kissing his jaw as he tried to silence himself for fear of getting found out. “Was it my dress, baby? Do you like it that much?” With a feeble nod, he shudders as he feels you undoing his pants and freeing his hardened cock, stroking it with your fingers. 

Sinking to your knees, you grinned up at your pretty boyfriend, who shivers under your touch. If Thoma liked your dress so much, maybe you should consider wearing similar ones more often, especially if it gets your boyfriend as flustered and turned on as this.

Itto

What was it, the third time in the last two weeks? You sigh as you trudged through the city jail, following a guard as you make your way to the cell that currently housed your reckless boyfriend. The oni had gotten himself into trouble with Kujou Sara again, and for what you didn’t want to know; hearing that he was thrown in there for the upteenth time on the day you both agreed to hang out was enough to irritate you beyond belief.

As you neared his cell, you began to hear his boisterous voice carry through the hallway, growing louder and louder accompanied by metal shaking. The guard threw a glance at you, probably feeling a little bad that you somehow ended up as Itto’s girlfriend. Rounding the corner, you’re met with the man himself banging on the cell bars, shouting to his heart's content, stopping only when you came into his line of sight.

“Hey! I told you guys I’m not guilty- hey, babe!” Smiling like an idiot and giving you a big wave, which in spite of your annoyance, you actually found quite cute. Disregarding the fact that he was behind bars. You toss a bag of mora to the guard for the trouble as you drag Itto out of the jail, scolding him repeatedly.

“I told you to stop getting arrested, and where do you end up on the day that we planned to go on a date? Jail!” 

“I told you it wasn’t my fault, babe! I’m sorry- ow!” You continue to chastise him, pulling his ear as you both make your way through the streets, earning a few glances. Once you had him in a secluded alley, you turned towards him and glared, crossing your arms in a huff. Unbeknownst to you, you were highlighting what might’ve been Itto’s favorite part of you by doing so- your chest.

The oni’s mouth was watering as your complaints went into one ear and out the other, preoccupied by your assets- actually, your entire body seemed to entice him this particular day. Surely, it had nothing to do with the cute dress that barely covered your ass, right?

In the midst of your rant, Itto suddenly backs you up against the wall, caging you in his strong arms as he leans down to your height. “Whoa there, sweetcheeks. There’s no need to get so worked up now.” His breath was warm against your face as you stared at him in confusion, unsure of the reason for his mood change. Before you could retort, the oni hoists one of your legs up against his side, leaving your clothed pussy right in the open. 

His fingers get to work right away, rubbing against your slickening folds as he kisses you passionately. Your mind goes blank from the sudden pleasure, only being able to moan into his lips as he toys with your pussy. When he finally pulled away, you had been reduced to a writhing mess underneath him, panting and moaning like a little whore.

“Let me make it up to ya, ‘kay?”

There was supposed to be one more character but I couldn't write anything else so here you guys go lol

also sorry thoma enjoyers i made his criminally short :(((

[arttrashking]

I kind want wukong to move on in your au. It is clear that macaque wasn't that good for him,sometimes...making himself improve himself over and over again,just to get macaque approval....when he gets nothing in return,he deserves to be happy,it best he shouldn't be dependent on macaque to be happy,he needs let go in his own way.

I really want Wukong to be happy (I am wukong bias)

“To fill those months he spent…without me caring what he felt…”

The king feels the painful ache in his heart and head just recalling how he never asked Macaque about those months even now…to afraid to hear to misery and to recall the news adding into their already crumbling lives after that fire…

If he could, he’d redo everything but if he had to choose one thing to fix…it would be the first time he felt his Ma ache didn’t hiccup and weep through his apology that Wukong should e spoken to him. To stay in that room and hold him tight, promise him they’d make their family a different way and assuring the beautiful demon that his love wasn’t dependent on his string he was or what he offered and serviced the king with.

That his love was never going to fade for him if he didn’t put Wukong above everyone.

“…if anyone should move on…it should be him…he should’ve moved on centuries ago… it he didn’t…how do I repay a loyalty so….so cruel to one’s self?”

Yeeeeaaaah I fancy myself of having their selfishness towards each other appearing at different times- Wukong when he was young loved Macaque he truly did- he just also assumed that it didn’t change that he does what he wants without compromise on his own end…and Macaque was like how Wukong is now- dependent on him and his love and attention. Wukong was freedom for him, Wukong was his first everything and the man he left behind his home and family for. If he didn’t have Wukong’s love, what was the point of leaving his home? To be outed as the naive fool who gave a selfish demon his all only to be tossed once he wasn’t valuable.

Wukong switched places now- now he’s desperate to covet Macaque- to keep him at his side and never let go as it was once he became emperor that the distance between them started to become obvious and he even slept in different rooms until he cried to Macaque who gave in on being in the same room- trying to be normal again. And they hit some normalcy despite Macaque wishing to go home still, MK came in eventually, and it was stable- and Wukong managed to even give Macaque something they thought they’d never have- a child in the form of MK.

With the divorce arc tho- it’s because things fell apart again because a child didn’t fix it all and the fact nobody apologized yet, and Macaque wants to do something he wants with or without Wukong now- so he’d rather separate and go home than just nodding to whatever Wukong wants

(Can you tell I like the angsty drama despite my crying eyes rn? 🥲)

But yeah I love Wukong very much as a character which is why [holding trauma gun] he needs all this for the JUICE of my meal that is this plot/j

[ev-arrested]

My favorite HC ever is Dick Grayson just. Acting dumb. In all aspects.

Richard John Grayson is perfectly fucking capable of cooking. Is stereotyped to be capable of burning water and is banned from the manor’s kitchen. His brothers have no idea he knows how to make a three Michelin star steak.

Dick Grayson is bisexual. He knows this, has known it for forever, and is 100% comfortable with it. Based on what others would tell you, though, he’s completely straight and is actually a little uncomfortable with being considered gay. 100% a fierce ally to his queer family and friends tho.

What’s navigation like for Dickie Gray? A master. Can track anything, navigate anywhere, knows a dozen methods for any given survival scenario. To everyone else? Dick cannot do it. Incapable. Directionally challenged. You’d think a trapeze artist would know which way is up, but no. He gets it from his parents.

Dickiebird? Excellent manipulator. We know this. His family knows it. Some of his friends know it. They pray for any poor soul who has no idea how manipulative Dick can be. They watch in the distance disappointedly, knowing that Dick’s victim just thinks he’s an ordinary, honest, standup guy, all the while not even knowing that despite being aware of Dick’s true nature, they are being manipulated in equal measure.

Related side note: Good ol Richy? Incredible conversationalist. Everyone knows this. It’s his whole persona. Wears that fact on his sleeve. He always finds a way to make everyone feel like he’s interested in the conversation, even if he would rather die than talk about the current topic for a second longer. And this goes beyond just giving occasional sounds of acknowledgment and peppering words like “cool” or “yeah”. Someone could be talking about the most boring topic imaginable, and he’d have a dazzling smile on his face, his body language signifying that he’s completely engaged, will even ask proper clarifying questions in an attempt to learn more. When he exits the conversation, someone asks, “wow, are you really that fascinated by (insert inane topic)?” and while Dick’s smile doesn’t even falter, he immediately drops the pretense and says, “Oh, absolutely not. That was the most boring conversation I’ve ever had in my life.”

Dick Grayson has gotten this far in life because people consistently underestimate him. He’s made himself come across as juuust incompetent enough (in very particular ways that don’t compromise his image as a capable leader), leaving everyone absolutely fucking blindsided whenever he pulls the rug out from under them about what they thought he was capable of.

And we love him for it.

[seredelgi]

Sweet Punishment

fandom: Attack On Titan/ Shingeki No Kyojin

pairing: Dom!Levi Ackerman x Sub!Fem!Reader, Levi Ackerman x You

summary: Reader's relationship with Levi is everything she could've asked for, he's very sweet and never gets mad at her. There's only one little rule she needs to follow, and when she fails to, then he'll have to punish her.

rating: Mature, 18+

warnings: dom!levi, sub!reader, smut, like a lot, fingering, sex, vaginal sex, dubious consent (she enjoys it tho, believe me), spanking, blood (just a little cut on the lip, but still), unprotected sex (don't try it at home lol), penetration, manhandling (just a tiny bit, she's totally fine) vulgar language?, oh yeah, choking (no passing out), orgasm denial, slight degradation?, idk, this man has me feral, NO SPOILERS

word count: 4.6k

a/n: alright alright, last episode is out, and I'm just in love with Levi so I went down a rabbit hole of smut before deciding to write something down. It's just a scrap, I haven't put much thought in it so keep it in mind. Also, English is not my mother tongue, so go easy on me. Thoughts are in italic

tags: @imlevisoneandonlywife

Part 2

Your boyfriend is just so very good to you that it often makes you question how in the world have you gotten so lucky.

He’s known to be a man of few words, a true soldier, the best in what he does. You’ve never seen him in action, of course, but you’ve heard the stories and the way they’re being told. His subordinates tell them with a glimpse of ecstatic excitement in their eyes, his colleagues with a blatant silent respect. It’s honestly mesmerizing to see the effect he has on people.

But it is nothing compared to the effect he has on you.

You don’t need to see him slaying Titans to know he’s the best. He carries it wherever he goes, whatever he does, he has an aura to him that just draws you in.

And even though he’s perceived by everyone to be just a grumpy man, you get to see his sweetest side. Once Levi gets someone close to his heart, he becomes so severely attached to them that it’s almost suffocating. He showers you with his love and attention, compliments, gifts, simple little signs of his undying devotion towards you. And even though infamously ruthless on the battlefield, you’ve never seen him upset in your regards. Not that you’ve ever given him any reason to be, it’s pretty simple to please him. He’s not even the jealous type, maybe ‘cause he’s way too confident for his own good.

There’s only one little thing that he won’t compromise on.

Since the first time you two have had sex, he’s firmly stated that he wanted to be the only one to pleasure you, that not even you were permitted to relieve the tension on your own. It took you aback a little, but since he’d just managed to make you see stars you agreed.

Honestly, that decision has never truly bothered you that much, he was definitely worth the wait.

But now, as you're home alone waiting for him to get back home, you can’t stop thinking about him, about how good it feels to have him slide inside of you, and pump in and out with that effortlessly relentless pace he usually reserves you so kindly.

You try to focus on each chore you’re on at the moment, but anytime you try your mind seems to wander on its own, and you find yourself aching for him, catching glimpses of the clock hanging in the kitchen, counting down the hours that separate you from seeing him again.

You must be ovulating, ‘cause you feel so damn empty just thinking about him, needing to be filled so desperately it’s almost funny.

“ Just hormones” you huff quietly as you finish washing the dishes “ breathe, y/n”

You’ve never actually considered breaking Levi’s rules, you wouldn’t like lying to him about it. But right now his request just seems so unreasonable.

You eye the door of your bedroom from afar.

He doesn’t have to know.

It’s just one little slip, one little sin to remove a bit of the tension and be able to ease your mind.

For some reason your heart’s racing as you tiptoe silently towards the bedroom, sitting on your bed and sighing as you remember what happened in it the other night. Thinking about it makes you feel incredibly hot between your legs. You can feel your juices stain the white cotton of your panties.

You bite your bottom lip, considering if maybe you should just get up and get back to your chores, maybe put something up in the oven for dinner.

But it’s impossible when all it takes is for you to close your eyes and you can see him, holding you in his arms, leaving humid kisses down your neck, whispering huskily in your ear all the things he wants to do to you.

“ Fuck it” you click your tongue in surrender and place yourself laying back on the center of the mattress.

It’s his fault honestly, for being so ridiculously hot and impossible to wait for. And anyway, he’ll never know. You’ll make it quick. It’s still an hour before he comes back. Plenty of time for you to get off even more than once.

So you lean back and relax.

You close your eyes and he’s there again, looking down at you with hungry eyes, touching you all over your naked body. And as you imagine his touch upon you it’s easy, almost like following his orders, scanning your hands upon the warm skin of your breasts, your fluttering stomach, all the way down between your thighs.

You get rid of your panties, breaths quickening as you can feel his tongue sucking on your hardened nipples. Your whole body is aching so bad just thinking about it, yearning for his hands on you so bad it’s almost bruising.

As you part your legs and gently slip your middle finger between your folds a sudden cry of arousal breaks free from your throat. You just wish it were him touching you, his fingers sliding silently inside of you as you're doing now, gathering your juices before slipping out of your entrance again to bring them toward your clit.

You’re so incredibly wet. He’d surely comment on it if he were here, mocking you for how desperate you look for him. It would be embarrassing if it didn’t turn you on even more. And now that your fingertips are finally massaging your bundle of nerves, that agonizing tension you’ve been feeling all day just gathers in your lower abdomen, ready to let loose.

You’ve been horny all day, so it figures that you’re already so close.

It’s shameful, but it’s true.

Your free hand grips your sheets so hard you think you’ll have to iron them again if you don’t want Levi to notice. But that’s not your concern now. You’re lost in your lust, eyes shut picturing your man sliding inside of you with his cock, whispering all kinds of dirty prayers into your ear. It’s almost as if he’s there.

“ What do you think you’re doing?”

You take a few instants to realize that it’s really him asking you that, flesh and blood in your room, standing by the door and looking at you with the kind of gaze that you’re sure would send any reasonable man a shiver running down their spine.

“ Fuck- Levi” you pant, your hand coming off of you in a spurt, hoping in vain that he won’t comment on it, that he’ll let it slide “ I didn’t hear you come in”

His silver-grey eyes don’t come off of you as you sit at attention, closing your legs and trying to gain some composure. Your mind spins so fast it takes your breath away, your heart stammering loudly in your chest as he clenches his jaw.

He’s standing there, mere meters away from you, his uniform still on, a severe expression darkening his beautiful features.

That’s impossible not to find hot.

“ Yeah, that much was clear” he hums, and by the tone of his voice it’s difficult to determine how actually mad he is, being it the first time you ever break that rule “ So this is what you do when you’re home alone, huh?”

“No it’s not like that, I was just-” you don’t know why you’re so fast at trying to justify yourself when you know full well you haven’t done anything wrong.

You should tell it to him straight. That he doesn’t own you. He might be the best fighter in the known world, a Captain of the Scouts Corp, but that doesn’t give him the right to exert control over your God damn body.

But the words die in your throat. It’s suddenly really hot in there, and you’re still very fucking horny. You’re ashamed to admit that you find yourself quite attracted to this side of him, one you’ve never had the pleasure to fully unravel.

“ Just what? Trying to have fun without me?” he’s finally moving, walking towards the chair in front of your bed, getting rid of his jacket and placing it tiredly upon it.

“ Just warming up for when you came home, honey” you sound so out of breath, and you’re trembling.

You don’t actually think he would do you any harm, and yet his eyes suggest otherwise, his demeanor exudes danger from every pore. If that’s just a hint of the coldness he carries himself into battle with, then it’s no wonder fucking Titans fall at his feet.

“ You know that’s not how it works” his voice is low, steady “ But maybe you need a little reminding”

A hint of mischief lightens up the tension, and he starts walking towards you, slow and lethal like the man you know he is.

“ I didn’t even finish, I swe-”

But you’re cut off by his sudden movement, a quick dash to get a hold of your face, squishing your cheeks together with a hand, he gives you the kind of look that shuts you the hell up and gets that familiar tickle go wild between your legs. You subtly squeeze your thighs together to give your pussy some kind of attention, disobeying right in front of him kind of getting you off now.

“ I’m the only one that can give you pleasure” he almost growls at you, and his hold is so strong it’s bruising you now “ Understood?”

“ Yes, Sir” it’s all you’re able to reply, mind too foggy to gather anything else.

But it looks like he likes it, ‘cause he lets you go, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Levi Ackerman doesn’t smile easily. So you guess you’ll call him that in the bedroom more often.

He sits on the edge of the bed, and you’re almost disappointed, thinking he’s already done with you.

“ Over my lap” he instructs instead “ Now”

You’re kind of confused about what exactly he’s got in mind. But it doesn’t look like a great idea to ask out loud, so you find yourself complying, crawling towards him, legs a bit shaky from the missed orgasm you almost managed to give yourself.

You get within reach of him, not sure how he wants you to position yourself.

“ How do I-”

But you’re cut off again by his hand reaching for your wrist, tugging you forward, and having you stumble upon him, ending up stomach flat against his thighs. You resist the urge to whine in protest, sensing he’s not keen on you speaking up right about now.

You feel the light fabric of your sundress being roughly lifted up your ass, revealing to him your nakedness.

He sits in appreciation of the view in front of him for a few instants, and you’re feeling every nerve-ending on your body standing at attention for what he’s gonna do next.

The first slap makes your heart skip a beat, you hold your breath and close your eyes shut, and somehow you still manage to hold in your cry of pain. It’s sudden and disconcerting, and it kind of feels wrong to stay silent while he takes such liberties with your body, and yet it makes you squirm in your place to feel more.

The stinging that comes from the second one is even better, ‘cause you’ve expected it, and the high that comes next is kind of inebriating to your drunken senses.

Oh God, you’re so down bad for this man you’ll let him treat you like a disobedient child.

With the third one you can’t help yourself, you cry out in pain as the burning sensation gets your insides in a twirl, while the aching between your legs won’t stop growing desperate by the second.

“ I told you couldn’t do it” his voice is hoarse now, the sound of lust tainting it so clearly it only makes you hornier “ Don’t I give you enough pleasure? Enough attention?” he slaps you hard, and yet it’s not hard enough for you to feel the vibrations of your thighs giving you some kind of relief from the tension you’re holding up between your legs “Are you really that needy?”

You muffle a protest, almost crying from how much you feel desperate for him to touch you, but you don’t dare ask.

Luckily it’s like he’s in your mind, ‘cause you feel his hand suddenly stopping from imparting you that sweet punishment, only to make its way between your reddened thighs, finding your liquids covering their insides, and it’s so good to hear a falter of genuine stupor in his voice as he appraises how wet you are from what he’s doing to you “ Fuck, you really are, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and you can almost feel him licking his lips as he comes to touch your hole now, finding it drenched with your juices “ You’re a fucking mess”

You really are. Your liquids are audibly enveloping his fingers as he sinks them deep into you without much effort, your walls sucking him in. You let go of a sigh of pure ecstasy as you finally feel him fill you up as you’ve longed for all day long. It’s not enough, you want his cock balls deep into you, but you don’t think you’re in the position to make any requests right now.

His desire is undeniable at this point, you can feel it poking at your stomach as he starts pumping his fingers into you, so slowly you’re sure he wants to kill you with this fake kindness. Having his erection pressing into you like that is torture too. He must know that’s what you want. Heck, he seems horny enough to give it to you now, and yet he refrains. What is he up to?

“ You’re so fucking spoiled” he comments as his fingers start pumping at a much higher pace, getting to that spot inside of you that he knows how much you like “ Can’t even wait an hour for me to get home, huh?”

You’re so undeniably turned on, and yet some kind of rebellious part of you hates to let him know so blatantly, and has you trying to refrain from making too much noise. But it’s almost impossible. It would be so much easier to say you’re sorry and have him shift back into his normal tender self, but you’re high on this, and it feels like a waste to have it stop right now.

“ What’s this?” he asks, his tone slightly irritated by your sudden attitude, and you have to put all your efforts into stopping yourself from whimpering when his hand slips out of you so suddenly it makes your whole body shiver “ The silent treatment?”

He reaches for your lips with his other hand, the one that’s not covered in your liquids, and he parts them slowly. You’re too slow to realize what he wants to do, and before you know it you’ve got his thumb inside your mouth and the rest of his fingers holding your neck, lifting you from where you lay on top of him, making you look into his dark grey eyes.

“ Apologize now, and I’ll be gentle”

You don’t want gentle. Not anymore. And neither does he. You can see it in his eyes, he’s hungry for more, he just keeps it together better than you ever could.

“ You fon’t- owm’e” your muffled words were meant to sound challenging, but your eyes, you’re sure, they’re begging for him to fuck you, and this facade of yours is practically ridiculous.

You know ‘cause his smirk is chilling, amused by your pathetic attempts at making this interesting, when really, all he wants is for you to beg him to give it to you.

“ We’ll see about that”

He shoves you back down on the mattress, slipping his thumb out of your warm mouth before getting up with his knees pressing down on the bed and going for his belt, and you can’t help your eyes from lingering on his hurried movements as he lowers his pants and boxers just enough that you can see his cock finally popping out, and it’s so hard it’s almost threatening.

You knew he was just as impatient as you were, finding you getting off on your bed with his name probably escaping your lips must’ve been a treat he wasn’t expecting to stumble upon. But seeing it made you even more eager to feel it inside.

He crawls on top of you so that he’s all you can see, but he’s all you can ever see when you’re this horny.

You lunge up towards his lips. He still hasn’t kissed you, and by now it feels natural to want to, but he dodges you, making you almost pout in response.

“ There are no kisses for bad girls”

That’s so unfair you almost give in on the spot, the apology nearly rolling off your tongue so that you can be able to taste his inside of you.

Instead, you start kissing his neck, but he takes you harshly by the throat and presses you hard into the mattress.

Fuck him, he’s playing dirty.

He presses a knee down between yours and has you part your legs so easily it’s freaking frightening. If it weren’t for the fact that he lowered himself upon the skin of your neck, pressing his cock on the center of your cunt you would be complaining to yourself about how much control he has over you. But you like it too much to really care.

He starts kissing your neck slowly, so slowly it feels like torture, and his hips start rutting against your dripping core at the same dangerous pace. He can kill you with all of this, gentle when you want hard fucking and bites and marks to last for days. And yet it’s enough pressure, enough contact to leave you on the edge, enough to feel like crying with frustration. He’s already brought you so close with his hand before, and you almost came on your own before that, you’re practically holding on for dear life at this point.

“ Levi-” you can’t help but sob in his ear, feeling his breath grazing upon your warm skin as he answers you, his voice a delicate purr:

“ Yes?”

“ Please- fuck” you beg, dignity be damned. You’re a whore for this man, who are you even kidding?

“ Please what?” his tip is slowly pushing inside of you, only to slip out again as he teases you, and you think he’s never been so damn cruel to you in bed. It’s intoxicating how much you’re liking it.

“ Please, please, Levi, fuck me” your voice is so distorted by need that it’s practically unrecognizable, and the kind of chuckle that he ghosts upon your skin when he finally decides to stop playing with you would have your blood run cold, wouldn’t it be for the hotness of being surrounded by him with so much desire.

“ As you wish” he only says, before finally sliding his whole length inside of you, one deep thrust and you’re fucking screaming into the void of the room, clinging to his back and begging to the Gods above for it to never stop.

He’s finally fucking you as you wanted, deep thrusts crashing against your aching clit, your juices dripping down on the freshly clean sheets of your bed to create a pool of delicious wetness beneath you two.

He raises, towering over you, and he’s just so damn beautiful that he looks unreal.

“ Apologize” he orders again, this time you can hear the slightest little falter in his voice as he pumps in and out of you without mercy, still holding you down against the mattress by the neck.

Heck no.

You can’t risk this stopping now that you’re finally filled with him, now that you’re so close to getting what you’ve wanted all day.

You find the strength to shake your head no.

You catch a glimpse of indignation glinting in his eyes, something so fleeting it’s gone in an instant, but it’s impossible to feel scared when every single movement of his is sending shivers down your spine, and each thrust against your clit brings you one step closer to fucking paradise.

You’re already so close, and you’re so drunk on pleasure that you’re way past feeling shameful for it. You’re a babbling mess and you just love it.

“ Don’t you dare come” he threatens. His voice rasp, his breaths quicker and you feel something twist inside of you. He can’t do this to you. He can’t play with you like this. It’s simply evil.

“ Please” you whine, your voice a whisper, your eyes teary, his hold on your neck starting to limit the amount of air being able to reach your lungs. You feel like passing out like this would be heaven on earth. But you want to cum first.

He can’t rob you of it, not after all that you’ve let him do to you today. So you’ll come and hope for dear life to be able to refrain yourself from making it obvious.

You can feel your walls clenching around his cock, any thrust of his could be the last one, before-

Fuck. He can’t be serious.

He slipped out while you were almost there.

He’s nuzzling his nose against your neck, leaving little bites on your impatient skin as you cry, only able to complain.

“ I know you too well by now, love” he murmurs silently on your skin, his hand on your throat finally coming off, making you able to breathe in properly “ I can feel when you’re close, you can’t fool me”

He raises his silver-grey eyes upon you, and they’re filled with dark intents, so dangerous that your heart skips a beat.

“ Now apologize” his voice is firm, and his tone is so low it almost feels like a threat. This time, you know, if you don’t he’ll walk away on you. And you can’t have it.

“ I’m sorry” you finally give in, tears running down your cheeks, a pathetic mess, desperate to feel your man filling you up with his cum “ I’m sorry, Levi, please”

He sighs as if annoyed by all of this.

“ Will you ever disobey me again?”

“ Never, fuck- I swear” you’re too fast to shake your head no to that, giving him up any control he wanted over you and your body “ I will never touch myself again, I promise, Captain”

Much like the ‘Sir’ you had uttered before, this too sends a proud little sparkle flying in his irises, and at that he falls apart too, kissing your neck violently and sinking inside of you again, revealing himself just as lost in his desire as you are.

“ You’re so hot when you beg me” he chants upon your skin and you shiver as he bites your neck and sucks onto your tender skin, making you moan his name so loud you’re glad you don’t have any neighbors “ I love it, fuck- I love you”

It’s not often that Levi throws those words at you, and any time he does it feels like you’re golden in his hands, like you’re the last meal for a starved man.

His pace has become relentless, and it’s breaking you apart.

You meet his eyes, and this time around there’s no more coldness in them, no more anger or attitude of any kind, his features have softened underneath the burden of pleasure, and his eyes are so full of love it makes you hold your breath and cross your legs around his waist, keeping him so close you can feel his heart beating underneath his chest.

At times like this you can’t believe he’s yours, can’t believe you get to be fucked by the best soldier humanity has ever seen. You’re blessed. So what if you can’t touch yourself? All of this is just so worth it.

“ Can I kiss you now?” you ask, breathless.

He looks down on you with a hint of stupor, as if he were surprised that right now, a step away from your orgasm, you still look for his lips. And then he crashes down upon you, kissing you as if he hadn’t in years, as if there is no one else in the world.

You’re washed over by a sense of ecstasy, it runs throughout your whole body as you chase your relief, and when you finally break apart, you start shuddering against him, crying his name in his mouth, thanking him for everything he’s making you feel.

“ That’s it” you hear him in the background of your pleasure, praising you upon your feverish skin “ my good girl”

And then he kisses you again, this time violent, ravenous.

As you slowly come down from your high a sudden pain makes you realize he’s bit your lip, and by the drops of red staining his mouth when he parts from you you think he’s cut it, his hand clasping around your neck again, his brows furrowed, his eyes upon you.

“ You’re mine, yeah?”

He asks it with a verge of doubt, a vulnerability he rarely grants himself, usually when it concerns you.

It makes your heart ache and you kiss him again, the ferrous taste of your own blood corrupting the delicious one of his lips. You find it astounding that he even feels the need to ask you this, especially after all that has just occurred, the way you’ve let him dispose of you. Whose else would you ever be?

“ Only yours, Levi Ackerman, always”

“ Fuck- I’m so close” he pants.

“ Cum inside of me” you beg him quietly, and he sets you free of the hold on your neck and crashes down on you, slipping his arms under your shoulders and keeping you so close to him he could probably break you.

“ You want it in your pretty pussy, huh?” he asks, his voice croaking with pleasure, it almost breaks from how close he is.

“ Yes, Sir”

That seems to do it, ‘cause he lets out the kind of groan you’ve learned to recognize as he holds you to him, his movements erratic, his breaths hot and heavy against your neck, through your hair. He slams a hand on the headboard to keep himself steady, and you see his face twist deliciously as he’s overcome with pleasure.

“ Fuck” he swears as you feel his hot seed springing into you, filling you up as you’ve longed for, and it’s just perfect. You love feeling him emptying inside of you, it makes you feel fulfilled. It drives you.

He towers above you for a few more instants, his heavy breaths crashing down on you, lips still red from your blood. Then he comes collapsing beside you, still dressed in his uniform, even though some of his buttons have accidentally been undone in the heat of the moment.

You lay silently for a while, the high of passion slowly taming as you both wrap your heads around whatever has just happened. You’re kind of shocked. You honestly did not think you would be into any of what’s just occurred, but he’s just too hot to be denied.

“ Maybe I should try to masturbate more often” you casually throw the words in the silence of the room, hoping to elicit a laugh from him.

Long shot.

“ Don’t you dare” he threatens instead.

[b4tasquad]

DATING NIKO OMILANA WOULD INCLUDE:

Request this is more of how he is in a relationship rather than the relationship in itself so I’m sorry😭

Authors note: remember this is just for fun, and completely pure fiction! I don’t know how Niko is in a relationship or as a person really. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if I should make some for the others🫶

…

Getting violated on a daily. You could literally do nothing, just go on about your day and Niko would still violate you to prove some point on how he’s “funnier than you” and it’s totally unprovoked every time.

Helping him brainstorm ideas for videos. You often found yourself in this position. Up in the early hours of the morning, running on no sleep as you sat with your boyfriend. He would shake you awake every time you fell asleep, begging for you to help him find a new idea for YouTube videos. You would get annoyed, and ask him why he couldn’t do it himself and he’d reply “your opinions matter to me” knowing it would eat you alive if you didn’t help him now.

Him teasing you. It didn’t matter where or under what circumstances, Niko was the biggest tease ever. It could be as simple as just sending you flirty and suggestive looks, but also as aggravating as running his hand up and down your exposed thigh during dinner with friends. He knew how you felt for it every time, and his tactics came in handy whenever he wanted you worked up so he could be the one to relieve you.

Immediately becoming best friends with Aj. When you started seeing Niko you had no idea what you were getting into when it came to his best friend. Sure he had briefly mentioned the fact that he shared a home with his friend, but not that his friend was an energetic YouTuber making ever moment of his life a chaotic mess. Instantly, you thought you wouldn’t get along well, but upon meeting you were proven wrong. You formed a great friendship where he remained crazy and all over the place, while you were the calm one always having to clean his mess up.

Reassurance that you were the only one for him. With the work Niko did, you knew he was surrounded by women all day. Women that spent their days doing something he liked and that you could never relate to. You knew Niko loved you, but it was hard to push down the insecurities and look past it. Once learning of your hesitance, Niko immediately sat you down, telling you everything your heart desired to hear. Ever since, he made a mental note to always tell you how much he appreciated you, not like he didn’t do that before tho. Now he was just sure to say it double as much.

Crazy movie nights with the Beta Squad. Being Niko’s girlfriend meant spending a crazy amount of time around the guys, also known as his best friends. You had been subjected to the most craziest things of your life during your time with them, but always finding a smile on your face. Realising you were a more quiet and relaxed person, they were willing to compromise and make sure to have a movie night once in a while. The effort was there, and it was nice to just be there together. That was until Chunkz made it his mission to lift the “dead mood” he went around slapping everyone on the back of their necks which would always start an argument. Ever since, everyone has been wary only keeping on eye on the movie to make sure they wouldn’t get slapped.

Neck kisses. You didn’t know when or why, but sometime in your relationship, Niko became overly obsessed with kissing your neck. It was silly, really. How he was so comfortable with just leaning down, peppering the area with either the smallest of pecks or the most starved kiss, you didn’t understand. It wasn’t a problem until he started doing it everywhere. At home, in public. Whenever you two were together. You told him to stop and behave but he never listened, instead silencing your words with kisses that made your cheeks heat up.

[ravemetrotron]

AITA for Waging Civil War on an Ex Friend of Mine After they Undermined my Entire Political Movement/Uprising? [submitted by Gladiator01]

For context: I, (2,000,000 M), and many others, had been stuck since birth in a job we couldn’t quit in grueling unsafe and dangerous conditions; and to add to that the employers didn’t care in the slightest for their workers and saw them more as tools that were expendable, and this kind of thinking was deeply rooted in everyone, thanks to the current government.

Once I escaped the situation, I started speaking up and gaining like minded followers, and started an uprising for equal rights for the working class (I’ll spare you the details or what we did to get there because the rumors about bombing innocence were NOT true) with the intention of completely dismantling our current system.

This (ex) online friend of mine is who is a librarian of all things and had been living a ‘low-middle’ caste life when I met him, and he actually went out of his way to come meet me in person. Being able to talk in person made us grow closer, he’d been moved by my speeches and seemingly was fully in support of the end goal we sought to achieve.

Advisors of mine didn’t trust him but we’d already been to talking and at that point he seemed really genuine, I (unfortunately) didn’t think twice about including him in a future meeting with our ruling powers at the time, which I knew was bound to determine whether or not this whole campaign would become full blown war. At that rate we mutually considered each other as more brothers than as friends, I mean I really had trust in this guy.

So, the day finally arrives, I have an audience with the big assholes in charge, and I’m going about letting them have it. Obviously, I threaten violence if they don’t cooperate and make it known that we will continue our uprising whether they like it or not.

In my opinion it’s going well and then this (ex)friend of mine has the chance to speak. About three sentences in, and it’s clear all of a sudden that he disproves of my methods. Hello? Where is all this coming from, and here of all places to suddenly reveal this to me? I figured I could put the betrayal and embarrassment aside and at least hear him out, maybe he was wording it badly or just had a rough start. I wanted so badly to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But it gets so much worse, he agrees that the change I wanted to bring about needs to happen but by peaceful compromise. While he proposes this not only does he the name of my entire faction through the mud, but out of the blue proclaims that those on the side of his ideals are to be called something else and would be separate from my movement. [I can’t share the name he chose to use for his political faction for the sake of user privacy] I could hardly believe what I was hearing, but I guess the shock of it kept me quiet and all I could do was listen at that rate.

I shit you not this fucker took the opportunity to build his own following in a day, one built off the principals of my followers, but one that would be slow and convenient for our whole… country, let’s say, to adjust to and one that left the current dictators in power. One that would leave those like me and my following to continue to die by the thousands day by every day they took their sweet time. He was a smart guy, I don’t think he was truly naive enough to believe this would somehow save more lives, he knew what he was doing. He made a compromise that worked in the favor of those in power, put the idea of violence or forceful change down and made his side seem morally higher, and wouldn’t you know it the people (not my people, obviously) ate that shit up.

As if all this wasn’t enough, he was immediately— and I mean right then and there— appointed one of the highest stances that existed by our government (under themselves anyways). The situation would have been almost comical had it not fucked over everything I’d been working for for the last few thousand years.

And this little shit looks at me like he’s expecting approval or for me to be proud. I told everyone right then and there I wasn’t backing down, all the threats I made still stood, and that they were fools for so quickly putting a fucking librarian of all things in such a position. I’d lived through the very thing we sought to take down, I had years and years of military and combat training, I was willing to make the tougher choices he was clearly avoiding, but no. These people wanted him. I wanted nothing to do with him from there on out, but he and his supporters saw me as an unreasonable aggressor. Of course they would after all that shit he just shoveled down their throats, I cannot express in words how embarrassing a defeat this was and the sudden horribly ill feeling that settled in. It felt like every organ in my body had dropped to the floor and the shock and anger of it made my head ring.

From then on out there’s been a Civil War between those who truly stuck with me and those who were on his side. We’re still viewed as the evil side of things now thousands of years later. AITA?

Edit: no I did not make this up, no it’s not a promotional scheme for a movie plot, and no you cannot use it for OC lore. Stop asking irrelevant questions.

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

Credit for the idea goes to @final-milf-ratchet .

[jolalibrary]

rattled your bones

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Helen!Reader) word count: 2.5k summary: It’s instinctive, a direct response, his hand moving to clutch his vest—the space directly above his fucking heart. A pain radiating through him, flooding like wildfire that’s about to choke him from the inside out.  an: blood, gun shot, ghost worrying (everyone is fine in the end tho, just pining and worries). for the anon who is desperate for the bullet story 💕 new readers, Helen is a nickname, it’s part of a whole “world” with reader as a medic nicknamed Helen by ghost (read Helen. Simon. for more info)

simon ghost riley masterlist

++++

“Helen.”

“I’m going as quick as I can,” she snaps, almost hissing it out through her teeth. 

He watches her. How her eyes scan over the monitor, fingers pausing over the keys.

Ghost hadn’t meant it to come out sharp. Cold. But he couldn’t shake the fact something was wrong. It was too easy, too clean.

That, and the fact she shouldn’t even be here. Should be on the base, or at the Heli. Not here, not downloading information Price had demanded. She should be safe. Away from this shit—as much as he could prevent. 

But she wasn’t. Isn’t.

The sound of boots—a pair, at least—filled the air. His eyes look to her, watching her rip out the USB as he removes a knife. 

“Hide.”

“Wh—“

His finger over his mask, silencing her, moving to the door. It’s quick, easy—hand over their mouth, two punctures, neck and chest, moving them to the floor. 

Ghost wants to think, and hope, it’s just him. 

One lone man. 

One man checking out this side of the base, but he suspects it isn’t. 

Something in the air, something knotting in his stomach. 

He spots her head poking up, his eyes stern, I need you alive, Simon, don’t die. Your eyes purposeful, direct, and beautiful—like fucking always.

But, from the worried look she’s giving him, she’s likely hearing them too—boots, more boots. He shows his knife, her hand raising, showing the one he gave her earlier. 

Because all she can do is defend. 

Part and parcel of being a medic in the field. Something he finds ridiculous and half the reason why she shouldn’t be here. The other being… she’s his. 

He can’t lose her. 

Keep her safe. Keep Helen safe. 

He cracks his neck before he grasps approaching fabric, fist clenching vest as he disposes of one person after the next. His ears tuned in, forcing himself to listen through the grunts and hisses. Almost on top of it, thankful her head hasn’t popped up, almost sure they’d done it—remained undetected. 

As in-and-out as two people can be in this situation. 

Until he sees a shadow, a flicker of something in the other doorway as more boots approach. Trying to calculate, gripping his knife tighter to dispatch the one closer—making a snap decision he hopes will pay off. 

Because it’s clear they’re already fucking compromised. 

The four bodies on the floor are evidence of that. 

So he stabs, and dispatches—glove soaked with other people's blood as he removes the knife, sliding it through more flesh to be sure. 

And he hears it too late. 

The sound of a bullet leaving a chamber—a handgun, the specific type coming to mind as he turns, and he sees it.

Sees her. 

He hears her small, ‘No’. 

There’s nothing he can do. Not a single, fucking thing. 

Her body is already launching through the air between him and the man trying to shoot him—straight in his back. All he can do is watch it all happen. 

A passenger. 

A bystander to the fact the woman he cares about is about to be pierced with a bullet. One meant for him. Watching her take the bullet, hissing before continuing—adrenaline thumping as she attacks. His knife in her hand landing once, twice—just like he taught her. Like he’d shown her, her body slick with sweat, flushed cheeks and body pressed against his on the mat. 

This isn’t practice. 

This isn’t him showing her how to defend herself.

It’s real and it’s all in slow. slow. slow motion. 

The sound of it all reaching his ears way after he’s watched it happen, punctuated by the horrific sound of her gasp. A horrid, fucking sound he’s not sure he’ll be able to scrub from his mind. 

And for a moment, he’s lost. Frozen. Stuck. Even his blink is slower, his swallow slower than that.

Then, as though someone flicks a switch, everything rushes back to him. The sounds, the smell, the moment—it’s almost overwhelming.

His hand raising—all instinctive, a direct response—moving to clutch his vest—the space directly above his fucking heart. A pain radiating through him, flooding like wildfire that’s about to choke him from the inside out. 

Even if the two of them land with a thud, his focus is on her. 

Because it hurts. Almost as though the bullet has gone through him to hit her. 

And then. 

Like all moments, it shatters. It snaps. It cracks. 

And he’s charging. Closing the small gap, grabbing her, lifting her to her feet, feeling her stumble before he holds her close. Her eyes looking down, scarlet blooming around her hip as she tries to smile—tries not to show how much she’s in pain.

Even if the air is tinged with sawdust and the iron of blood, his heart hammering as if he’s been struck with adrenaline himself. 

They won’t take you from me. 

They cannot have you. 

Mine. You’re mine. Only mine. 

He doesn’t look, supporting her, pulling her close by her vest, hearing her grumble at the movement as he radios. 

Her hand taps her pocket, silently telling him she has the drive—has what matters. As though he even gives a shit. 

Pocketing his knife, he shifts his gun into his other hand, trying to take the knife from her fingers, shaking it until she lets go.

“Simon…”

“Keep y’blood in you, Helen. That’s your focus.”

His grip on her tight, so fucking tight. 

She says nothing, glancing to see her plugging the hole with one finger, the other clutching him. Tightly. Desperately. 

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he groans, “Takin’ a bullet for me.”

The corridors feeling long, too fucking long. 

“You’re one ungrateful bastard, you know that?” 

Her voice breathless, tinged with something he doesn’t want to linger on. Because it’s clear she’s in pain. Clear that it’s more than a graze from the way she is breathing too. 

Each corner they take, half expecting more people, more things requiring a fight—until he hears the distinct sound of an explosion—far away, distant. He almost grins, almost. 

It’s not until he kicks open the door they first snuck in through, the sun hitting his eyes does he allow himself a moment to look at her. Seeing her face full of the same determination he’s sharing, the same look he’s seen when she’s assessing which part of someone to begin with first. 

“I love you, just so you know.” 

It’s not quiet when she says it, her eyes not meeting his either. 

It’s purposeful—the same way her hand grips his tighter. 

He almost loses it, almost readjusts her so he can see her face—rip her vest and tactical top off to see the damage. But Johnny skids into view, he hears it, hears the noticeable panic of him shouting ‘Doc?’ ‘Lt?’ 

He almost bites, almost tells him to back the fuck off. But he doesn’t. 

He squeezes her hand instead. “None of that, Helen.” Please. 

Her head nods, a silent acknowledgement before a slight hiss replaces it—falling from her tongue as Johnny takes her other side. 

“Whatcha’ done ‘ere then, Doc?” 

He likes that she laughs. 

Short. But sweet. 

“Took a bullet for our Lieutenant, didn’t I?” 

“Sure he appreciated that.” 

She laughs, more breathy, more through her teeth. “Y-yeah. He’s been thank-king me ever since.” 

+++++

You’ve been hit before. 

It comes with the territory of being a combat medic, of being on the field, back turned, in the midst of it. 

There’s a scar on your thigh, a graze on your upper arm and a stunning one shoulder too. Ones he’s kissed before, paid attention to purposefully—as though he can will away the memories and pain. In a way he does. And he doesn’t even realise it.

But, this. This is something else. 

Your side, from chest to hip, burns with something far worse than pain. It consumes you, it almost swallows you—desperately trying to pull you into its dark depths. 

“Talk to me.” 

You look at him. Snap your eyes to him.

And then you really look at him. 

Read his eyes, the only thing on show, focusing on the way he’s holding your hand still. Having not let go. Not even when evac arrives, not even when the woods begin to fly past the window. 

“What-t do you want to t-talk about?” 

He leans close, and you wish you could feel his breath on your skin. “Where am I takin’ ya? Next time we’re off?”

You laugh, even if it hurts. Rolling your head against the window, hissing—your lung burning, your side throbbing.

“You like Italian?” 

“It’s alright.” 

You swallow, trying to take smaller breaths—already having assessed your lung has collapsed. The other needing to work twice as hard. 

“You tell me where and I’ll t-tell you what dress I’m wearing-g.”

“You need to live first, Helen.”

You smile, just for him. “Not going anywhere, Simon. Y’need me.”

“I do.” 

You blink, watching his eyes drop at the realisation of his words before they land on you—asking you what dress you’re gonna wear. 

“Black. Probably.” 

“Not red?” 

You snort, eyes feeling heavy. “Y’seem like someone who prefers black.” 

“Maybe I like red?” 

“I know you like red, can tell from how much of it gets soaked into those gloves and mask,” you say, lips feeling dry, skin beginning to feel cold. “Black, though. Silk. Below the knee, a slit. Low cut—give you three things to look at.” 

“What’re those then?” 

You manage to open your eyes, finding him looking at you with worry—a look you rarely see in his eyes. 

Always so confident, so self-assured. A little standoffish—unless behind closed doors when he can remove his mask. When he can unveil the full man you love. A man who has wiggled and fought his way out of situations other men would have died in. 

“My smile and m’boobs. You like my boobs.” 

“I like your arse too.”

Smiling, you try to squeeze his hand. “Know that. But. Y’Can see that when I turn around.” 

“Helen.”

“I’d do it again… take it. The bullet...”

“Helen.”

He sounds distant. 

Your throat is dry, chest burning more and more—your breaths harder to find, your hip not hurting as much. “I need Soap…”

Ghost mumbles something. 

“Inflate. M’lung,” you manage to grumble, hoping he can hear you. “Bullet… likely fracture… lung. Yeah?”

Your eyes struggling to open, feeling his hand—his bare skin—on your cheek, moving your chin, tilting your face. “Copy.”

You hear him bellow something, likely Soap. Your head almost colliding with the glass, even if you feel his gloved-fingers clutching your skin—desperately trying to root you. 

“Love you…”

Hoping the words come out how you intend them to.  Hoping they’re not lost in whispers and groans. 

You want those to be the words he hears last, not knowing if you’re close or far. 

You’re sure he knows. 

He has to. 

++++++

He’s been pacing, drilling his boots into the wooden floorboards. It doesn’t matter he’s been told to sit down. Doesn’t matter that one of the times he has, had been from Price. He isn’t sitting. 

Not when she’s still unconscious, not when he’s watched Soap inflate her lung in the ‘exact way she’s shown him’. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny!”

“I’m doing m’best, Lt. Lass is normally barkin’ orders at me.” 

They all have basic medical training. 

His likely more extensive, having needed it, having required it to be sent on so many solo missions. But, working on her is different. He knows it, Price knows it. 

It’s why he imagines it was Soap who was ordered to inflate it, to check for a bullet—even if he’s sure the lung is due to a fracture. The bullet hitting your hip, through and through. He knows that from the blood loss—and from stitching her. 

Not trusting Johnny to do it. 

“Give it ‘ere,” he’d eventually snapped, taking the needle from him, trying to tell himself this isn’t her.

Isn’t his Helen.

It’s a soldier. Someone who needs him.

It works well, almost convincing himself until he moves from the hole on the back of her side to the one on her front. Seeing the places he’s kissed more frequently, the soft ghostly marks of bruises he knows he’s left from holding her when her thighs are either side of his. 

And then he waits. 

Waits some more. 

Looking even smaller, more fragile than he ever recalls her being as she lays in the bed. The one she’s usually tending to, the one she’s normally rushing around. It’s weird she’s in one of these beds.

He doesn’t move, wringing his hands out as he stares at her—willing her to open her eyes. 

And then, her eyelashes flutter. A soft groan. Then, her eyes land on him. It feels like something close between the sun and a spotlight, illuminating him, warming him. For a moment, the two of them sitting in this second that’s all their own.

Until her face shifts, and the hold on his chest lessens. 

“Hi,” she whispers.

As if she almost didn’t die on him earlier.

He bites the inside of his mouth as he sighs. “Hi.” 

She tries to move, groaning as she does. “How mad are you?”

“Very.”

“Thought so.”

He places his hand on her shoulder—the good side—urging her down. Happy she relents, taking a breath, fingers finding the tube still sticking out her chest. 

“Soap did good,” she mumbles, licking her lips before staring at him. “You stitched me though.” 

“No.”

“Liar.”

“How’d y’know?” 

Swallowing, her eyes glance over his mask—unsure what exactly she’s looking at. “I was sorta awake. For parts. You're gentler than I imagined.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. 

He takes her hand, “You shouldn’t have done it… that.” 

“Not apologising.”

“Course y’won’t, stubborn—“

“Unless you want me to pop my stitches, I’d swallow that word. Because y’know I’d do it again.”

“You’ve said.” 

Sighing, she smiles. “So, let it go.”

“Let it… Helen? That was the stupidest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever done!”

“Cool.”

“Don’t… don’t fucking do that.” 

Her fingers turn, sliding between his as she sighs. “Simon, it’s done. You are worth saving—y’hear me. That’s why I did it, why I’d do it again. I need you around too. Did I think? No. But….” I love you. 

“I’d have been fine.” 

“Just like I am?” 

Fuckin’ bitch. 

But, fuck, she’s everything. She’s the only person who fights him, fucks him and loves him like she does. And, for the last so many hours, when she wasn’t awake, he’s had a chance to ponder it all.

How he can’t be without her. Ever. 

That he wants to go back to that building and burn the entire base down. How he didn’t even slam his knife into the man’s skull, having only focused on her. He forgot the mission—even if it was done, accomplished. 

Simon has never, ever done that. 

“You passed out.”

It comes out fragile, cracked at the edges. 

Her shoulders sinking, the most beautiful smile spreading over her pale face. “People do that sometimes when it’s hard to breathe, Simon. But, other than some stitches, I’m guessing a cracked rib, bruising, a sexy scar in my hip and a temporarily deflated lung, I’m fine. You’re fine.” 

“You bled.”

“And yet still, here I am.” 

The other words churning on his tongue. Tasting bitter, burning a hole into his mouth as he stares at her, hoping she knows them. 

Until they fall from his lips anyway. “You scared me…”

That silenced her. 

Just for a moment. “I can’t lose you either… I—“

“I know… I don’t. I don’t need you to say it,” she whispers, looping her fingers between his—and he’s suddenly thankful he’d changed his gloves, clean ones for her clean, soft skin. “I had needed to say it…”

“Just in case?” Her eyes dropping, as he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ hell, Helen. Don’t… don’t fucking do that again.” 

“What say it? Or take a bullet for you?”

“Both.”

“I can promise to try and not do one of those things.”

“Tell me it’s the latter.”

“Sorry, Zero.”

“Zero?”

“He’s a ghost dog, from Nightmare before Christmas.”

“Never seen it.” 

“I’ll show you one day.” 

“Yeah?”

She closes her eyes, fingers playing with his. “Promise.” 

[localplaguenurse]

i agree w your last post abt pant bc i always thought he'd be the type to propose right away. if you like him and he likes you, that's enough for him, he'd want to get marry as soon as possible (unless you wanted to wait). it's mainly bc i simply can't see him as a "boyfriend"– he's a husband if you get what i mean lol

i do think he'd want a big, extravagant wedding just to flex tho (again, unless you wanted something smaller but even then you'd have to compromise and still let him flex a little lol)

No no absolutely, he hates being called a “boyfriend.” Well, he doesn’t hate being your boyfriend, but it just sounds silly to him. It’s either lover, partner or husband for him, boyfriend just... doesn’t fit his whole vibe.

I think personally, his thoughts on getting married was that he doesn’t need to overdo it. Just sign the paperwork and you’re done, he doesn’t need a wedding. Then he actually gets into a relationship, he actually gets engaged, and the idea of having a wedding becomes more and more appealing. The thought of you getting all dolled up, writing vows, wanting to have a full on celebration for the two of you, flaunting each other around, it gets to him much more than he thought it would.

I think he’d write a set of vows just for the ceremony, but wouldn’t share his real vows in front of so many people. Even at his own wedding, he still hates being so vulnerable in front of people, so he’ll share his real vows with you in private.

Now, if you agreed to a courthouse wedding, that’s fine and dandy. He’s just going to spoil you extra hard at the honeymoon.

[caustinen]

I'd love a follow up on the security scare Hollywood!AU Clegan experienced....Does Bucky cancel all press and social media activity? Hire a military level security team? Want to move to the country? I can imagine he'd go in to overprotective mode.....

And does Gale recover ok? Is he left with any trauma/fear? :(

thank you for this ask anon!! i love protective tropes <3 (continuation to this drabble)

to start off with, i think it would definitely make bucky step back from the media for a while. he’d go completely silent on insta for a few weeks and while he’s contractually bound to do some press for his upcoming movie, it’s clear he’s much more serious and avoids talking about his relationship (partly because he does not want to comment on the incident at all, just put it all behind them) and compared to his usual endeavor this is very noticeable, making the journalists also careful not to ask him about it reflexivly.

as for extra security, i think he’d go a bit overboard and unhinged with it before gale forces him to take it back a notch. gale is shaken up after it but gets over it much more quickly, reasoning they both got through it completely fine, and he just wants to go on business-as-usual to the extent that it’s possible; he doesn’t wanna live in constant fear because of one bad experience after he works through the first shock (i mentioned gale also having a tough childhood in this au somewhere and i could maybe even write something about him only realizing some emotional locks and seeking therapy year into his relationship with bucky, so he would maybe have some mental tools for dealing with trauma already!). the first he notices some fridge/military level bulky dudes following them everywhere they go he actually has some flashbacks to the attack, just about to get anxious, before he realizes these must be guards hired by bucky. they have a small fight about it and eventually bucky begrudgingly agrees to let some of them go, but for his side of the compromise both he and gale take a self-defense class, and gale has to allow him to take him away for a bit for some pampering. gale rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically as bucky packs their bags with a driven attention but he doesn’t hide how much he likes to have a moment of peace with his fiancé in the midst of the media circus when bucky takes him to wisconsin for the weekend and barely lets him out the bed, bringing him breakfast on a tray and kissing all of his sweet spots over and over to make sure he’s really okay.

slowly bucky gets over the scare and loosens up to the extent he starts posting and raving about gale on his social medias again, but he’s more careful with drawing boundaries with fan encounters and pays special attention with talking honestly about his life and doing his best to disillusion the image of himself as anything other than a normal guy trying to have a relatively normal life. the extra security stays on their payroll but it becomes more background operations than surrounding them in all public places. for gale this was a first properly bad experience with “fame” but surprisingly it doesn’t affect him as much as one would expect since he was struggling with just the media attention anyway, and the attack doesn’t seem too far removed from that in the end since nothing bad actually happened and he’s just getting used to having his privacy challenged anyway. he worried for bucky tho, but in a weird way it also brings them closer together as he starts to realize these new symptoms of fame that bucky has been dealing with on his side for years already. all in all, he’s a bit jumpy and untrusting with crowds for some time after, but once his main goal becomes soothing john he quite quickly gets almost back to his normal self <3

hope this was to your liking, sorry it took so long!! i would love to write some protective/worried moments more in detail

[leclerced]

maybe some of the drivers think certain drivers aren’t in on it and one night there is some miscommunication about who is coming over what night and oscar is there and george shows up and is like “OSCAR?! sweet little baby faced innocent OSCAR PASTRY?!!” and it is the first time reader has 2 people , without one of them being lando…… (lando is still watching of course) just some silly little thoughts tho

i just typed out like a 1k blurb to this and it vanished. so im trying to recreate it but its not the same.

george is new to the party, but oscar’s one of the first ones and he’s been fucking her for the entire season pretty much. after max and carlos, he’s next in line. since they’ve been going at it so long and since lando’s not always available, he’s been given the green flag to take care of her if lando’s not around and he is. they’re a little closer than the rest of the grid and george assumed they’re just friends and teammates, doesn’t even think baby faced oscar would be included in this little secret. but he’s very very wrong.

she’d wake up from a wet dream and hear voices coming from the suite’s living room and seek them out, pleasantly surprised when she finds oscar, the subject of her dream, spread across the couch, lando’s on one end and oscar’s laying on the chaise lounge portion, looking just as dreamy with the setting sun streaming through the windows and she’s happy to take a seat on his lap. the movie they’d been watching would immediately be forgotten when she walks into the room in nothing but one of lando’s tees and straddles oscar, hands cupping his cheeks as she leans down for a kiss and rocks her hips against his. lando’s eyes shift focus from the tv to his girlfriend and teammate next to him as they make out and dry hump until she’s coming apart on his sweats, then he’s fingering her until she’s cum again and is begging to ride him.

oscar’s slipping inside of her as the credits roll and she’s slowly riding him as she tells him about her dream, fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck to hold his head back as she kisses and nips at his neck, refraining from leaving any marks despite how bad she wants to. they’d both completely forget about the keycard lando had given george that morning, both of them too lost in her riding oscar until george is unlocking the door. her and oscar wouldn’t even notice the disruption, she’s on her way to a fourth orgasm and he’s already came in her once, and she’s begging for it a second time. lando does though, he hears the lock clicking and the door handle opening and jumps up to block his girlfriend in the compromising position, but relaxes when he sees it’s just george.

george would hear the moans as the door opened and think lando and his girl got started without him, but then he steps inside and sees- wait, is that oscar? sweet little pastry boy? what is he doing? george is frozen in place as he takes in the sight in front of him; lando’s girl riding oscar as they moan into each other’s mouths, filthy words falling from both their lips. he’s got one hand around her throat and the other between her legs as he tells her how good she is for him, how good she makes him feel, tells her he loves her cunt, with a groan and that word makes george’s ears burn. she’s moaning back the same thing, one hand braced on his shoulder for support and the other tangled in his hair as she begs him to make her cum, begs him to cum for her again, says she needs to feel it. again.

george would realize then that they’re not using a condom, that she’s begging another man to cum inside of her, and he feels a little faint. he’d watch in shock and awe as they cum together when she drops her hips down one final time before her orgasm hits her and then she’s shaking and moaning on top of him as he pulls his hand from her throat and drops it to her hip and the starts lifting her up and down on top of him until he’s spilling inside of her and she’s thanking him for it before she kisses him hotly.

he’s struck by how comfortable they are, how comfortable lando is with how intimate they’re being as her hand on his shoulder drifts down to her lower stomach and his joins her, both of them laughing in a post orgasm haze until lando whistles behind them and they both jerk away from their kiss to look for him. that’s when they finally notice george is in the room, and she grins stupidly at him as oscar pulls her closer possessively and presses his lips to her skin as he stares george in the eyes, clearly happy to be seen buried inside of her. she at least looks like she feels a little bad as she mumbles, “sorry, i forgot you were coming.”

oscar snickers, “i didn’t know you were coming.” then he pats the spot next to him with one hand and grabs her jaw with the other to pull her back for another kiss. “wanna make georgie feel good now, baby?” he asks when he pulls away and she nods eagerly. george’s face twitches in annoyance at the almost mocking tone and at the new petname the younger driver’s just given him and moves to sit on the couch. lando slaps a condom on his chest as he passes and he resists rolling his eyes as he takes the rubber packet. he’s clearly got a lot to learn, and wonders if anyone else is allowed to do what oscar does, he doesn’t know who else is fucking her, he’s talked to one or two other drivers but he thought it was a rarity, not a regular thing. but the comfortability between the trio makes jealousy bubble in his stomach as the realization that they’ve clearly been involved much longer than he’s been included hits him.

oscar passes her over to him, his cum dripping onto george’s thighs as he rolls on the condom and she slides on top of him with a whimper. he’s got something to prove as he fucks oscar’s cum into her while the younger man watches with a wicked grin, patiently waiting for his next turn.

[ju5t777]

Your Seven & Blazar art gives me life. Thank you for the Ultra food in gen.

On a deeper note, I'm curious to hear your opinion on how Seven would interact with Gento. Both of them are fathers, & tho Gento transforms into Blazar, you can argue that Blazar is his partner/ "kid" in a way. Both of them would also go above & beyond to protect Earth to the point of self-destruction.

Yet, unlike Seven, Gento wants to be involved with Jun (in 1 episode, he outright tells his dad to stop being a try hard) & makes it known. He's also less uh....morally dubious record-wise.

Thoughts?

Ooh! I like this idea! Yes please give me more how Character A interacts with Character B prompts, I live for these kinds of discussions!

For context, I'll be considering Gento during the events of Blazar 2023, and Seven after the events of Mega Monster Battle 2009 (M78 timeline).

Firstly, let's state on record that any invading alien and kaiju is lucky that Seven and Gento are not defending Earth at the same time, because they’d be an absolutely deadly duo. With Seven’s strong adaptability and knowledge on extraterrestrial subjects, coupled with Gento’s leadership and strategic mindset, topped off with their resourcefulness, combat experience and determination -- they'd keep Earth safe for as long as they both lived. If they worked well together and trusted each other, they'd be nigh unstoppable.

Despite this, their interactions could vary drastically depending on how much trust they can establish between them, how willing they are to work together, and whether the safety of Earth is at stake during their interactions.

Gento is a strong leader who places great value in the contributions of his team, and often devises plans with all of his team in mind. While he does give out dangerous orders, he ultimately functions best when all of his team is on board with him on his ideas. Seven is substantially less worried about team rapport and building trust etc., and prefers to work alone as an agent. He does care for his teammates, but believes that some hands-off/harsh treatment is necessary so that his teammates can 'develop' (Taro 1973 Ep 33 & 34, Leo 1975). Thus, Seven wouldn't last long in Gento's team, given how Gento values his team members and their relationships, and how tightly-knit Gento runs his operations. Gento may still decide to work with Seven at arm's length, as he'd recognise that Seven is a powerful ally, or an even more powerful opponent to have.

While their goals and dedication regarding Earth are similar, their values are inherently different. As you’ve pointed out, Gento puts his family as a close priority — it’s unlikely that he’d do anything to compromise his family at this stage. Seven's close to opposite: not only has Seven excused himself from Zero’s upbringing, but has a history of choosing Earth over the lives of his own brothers (Leo 1975, Ep 39), though he does show immense difficulty making those decisions. Any argument/conflict between Gento and Seven would likely force Gento to play the moral side of missions -- which he is admittedly not strong at. There is a high chance that Seven could make Gento follow through with something he'd end up regretting later.

Their relationship could go either way. If they were to interact on good terms, it's likely that they'd establish an odd informant/agent relationship. It wouldn't take Gento long to figure out Seven isn't human, but he'd likely see that as a resource more than anything. Given Gento's penchant for holding important secrets, he'd keep any interaction with this weird alien informant as a secret from his team and/or family. On healthy terms, they'll spend their off times exchanging grapevine news, comparing monster research, sharing stories about their sons, or maybe engaging in some hiking or fishing together. Seven and Gento can relate on many things, including the stresses of their duties, any accident or alien related trauma, or their concern for their families. On a deeper level, they could talk about their decisions, regrets, fears, or the times where they came close to becoming the monsters they were fighting so hard to protect Earth from. They'll disagree on a lot of things, but they'd hold a decent respect for each other as fellow Earth protectors.

On the other hand, if they're unable to build any sort of trust between each other, and if saving the Earth requires a sacrifice of any of their values, Gento and Seven could turn out as rivals or foes. Both of them are stubborn and unwilling to compromise on their values -- Gento will go against any plans that risk the loss of his family or his team, and Seven will not accept anything that puts many humans at risk of any danger, even if it's other humans. Seven is a horrible enemy for any species to deal with; his lethal special techniques, astute observations and his unwavering willpower makes him dangerous and difficult to oppose. Equally, Gento's charisma, composure and methodical approach to strategy means that he'll find way more allies and resources, and he'll be able to form more elaborate plots against Seven once he figures out Seven's weaker points. It would take a third party to stop their fight from worsening (maybe their sons, their teammates, or even Blazar), because any actual conflict between Gento and Seven wouldn't end until one of them has been removed from the picture.

Regardless, I don't think they'd be in any position to ignore each other -- their duties and lives are way too similar for them to stay as strangers!

I can imagine that their first interaction would be anything but normal ;D Maybe someone found some aliens attacking cities and towns, claiming they were original inhabitants of Earth before the humans apparently invaded. Maybe Seven’s in the middle of investigating a weird Ultraman with a warbling warcry and a fondness for veggie juice. They’d probably only meet at times when the Earth is in serious danger, and Seven's oddly timely appearances during times of crisis would 100% arouse suspicion from SKaRD. Simultaneously, Seven's got a track record of being weirdly interested in humans -- he'd end up following Gento in the distance during his missions, popping up to interfere with missions or to part with cryptic advice, which will cause Gento no end of confusion or frustration. Then eventually, when Seven inevitably gets caught by the authorities and pulled into interrogation as Dan Moroboshi, or when Gento gets caught in some alien skirmish while a human-sized Seven is in action, or when SKaRD witnesses some bird-like or buffalo-like kaiju materialise to help Blazar in a fight -- they'll get a chance to properly talk.

That's just my initial thoughts! I'd expect that there'd be more nuance between Seven and Gento, as there are a lot of parallels between their characters. Their dynamics would be different depending on which iterations of those characters we'd be using: e.g. Gento would have a lot to teach 1967 Seven on how not to be gullible weirdo who doesn't listen to his team, and he’d have a lot to say about 1974 Captain Moroboshi. Also, Heisei Seven is a force of terror that I don't want to subject either Gento or SKaRD to. If they'd ever meet up in stage-shows/movies though, I'd like for them to be friends.

TL;DR Gento and Seven could turn out as confidantes, or they'll end up stopping each other from saving Earth. Now I want fanfic of this

[blueduplicity]

Oh, the White of a Red Rose (P1)

(Part 2)

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

WC: ~28k

CW: INCEST. Alcohol, jealous behavior, reader is in a relationship with another woman at one point, absurd amounts of plot, the 2nd half will have all the smut. Banter, Tsukki is kinda mean but he's also pining like crazy. Morally questionable bc they're siblings outside of that it's pretty fluffy, light angst throughout. Switch reader and Kei, they both have moments on top and on bottom, Kei in particular is pretty subby tho...kind of degrading, but he also praises you, theres a lot of back and forth tbh.

Excerpt: He mirrors your blink, cat-like. “We’re helping him move, he said he’d need some help driving his things to the apartment.”

“Apartment?” You echo, stunned fully awake. “He’s moving?”

Hinata freezes, just as Kei is coming up the stairs. While slow at first, the footsteps hasten when the sharp crack of your voice pitches even higher. He stumbles up to the top step, sweaty and clearly having been busy for longer than you’ve been awake. His face pales several shades when he first catches sight of you, the tears welling up in your eyes, the panicked look Hinata wears. “Fuck. Wait, don’t–”

Twenty-two steps from one end of the hall to the other. Seventeen from the stairs to your room, it only takes Kei nine to reach you, choking on an apology that he’s never given you before.

It only takes two for you to slam and lock the door.

--

In which, your brother Kei comes to learn and love you in a multitude of different ways.

It's only at the beginning of your first year of high school that your brother realizes you're upset with him. 

What he doesn’t realize is that you’ve been upset with him, for a long fucking time.

Kei wouldn’t know that though, because you hardly ever even see him unless it’s at the dinner table, or when you go to his games because unlike him, you’re a good sibling and want to support your family.  

You know it’s because of school, because he’s getting ready for college and adulting, and the part of you that will always love your brother is just glad that he’s happy playing volleyball again. 

It’s just that, you wish he didn’t have to leave you behind for it to happen. 

Even when he’d shut out Akiteru, he’d never been so cold towards you. He’d hold your hand on the walk to school, study with you when you needed the help, and he’d let you stay in his room to watch him play games or to read on your own if you wanted.

He was the type of brother to be mean to you if you annoyed him, but would always let you crawl beneath his arm after, all while you complained that he needed to be nicer to you. 

You would take the bullying again if it meant he would at least look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. 

It’s worse as you near the end of your last year in junior high, when you go to Kei for help with studying for your exams and he brushes you aside. You’ve been festering with it for so long that it nearly boils over just as he closes the door in your face, but you keep it simmered, keep it contained. 

Akiteru helps you instead. On top of a full-time job, a fiance, and a healthy social life, Akiteru always makes time for you.

The topic doesn’t stay on exams, though. He was going to ask eventually, but he can tell by your grumpy, clipped answers that he won’t get much out of you, the wound is still too raw. 

“You should talk to him, you know.” He muses, turning a page in your textbook. “Kei loves you, he just doesn’t know how to balance growing up with everything else, but if you tell him how you feel I’m sure he’ll find a way to compromise.”  

You think, quite honestly, that trying to talk to Kei about how you feel would be the worst possible thing to do. If he can’t find the time to help with something as important as final exams, there’s no point in trying to make him listen to feelings he won’t care about. 

When you tell him as much, resting your head on folded arms as if that will obscure the way your face twists, Akiteru gives a wry smile and rubs your back, silently marveling at the stubbornness of both of his younger siblings, and how different they are besides. 

Still, the Tsukishimas are nothing if not good at repressing their emotions. You’re determined to act like everything is fine, like it doesn’t hurt every time you catch his eye and he looks away. It’ll be easy.

Or, maybe it might have been, if you had considered that the reason Kei was able to stay so oblivious is exactly because he never saw you. You’ve never been a quiet little sister, even in temporary silence your anger is loud. 

--

So of course, he figures it out on your first day.

You can hear, as you’re getting dressed, your mom’s voice through your door, asking Kei to walk you to school since you don’t know the way. As you lean closer to hear how he responds, something ugly twists in your chest when he sighs out a quietly exasperated agreement. Like you’re a chore. 

Unsurprisingly, this is a less than ideal start to your morning. 

Smoothing down the fabric of your skirt, you step out of your room and peer down the hall, finding that he’s already waiting by the front door, with his headphones pulled up over his ears and his phone in hand. There’s no way to slip past him without being seen, so you suffer out a quiet groan and resign yourself to just having a bad first day. 

He says nothing when you walk over to put your shoes on, eyes on the screen in his hands until you step outside, and then he’s following you onto the porch after shutting the door on his way out.

Contrary to the stormy cloud brewing above your head, it’s a nice morning. A little chilly, but the sky is clear and still tinted pink from the vestiges of an early dawn, thin wispy clouds that are lower near the horizon line. 

Maybe if you were with anyone else, it would be a nice walk. Side by side with your brother, dealing with first day jitters, a cool new uniform, it should be nice. Pretty skies, family, memories. 

And yet, for all your effort to try being positive, all it takes is one passing remark. 

“I have practice today.” He drawls, unknowingly lighting a well-fueled ticking bomb. “So if you don’t want to walk home alone, ask mom to come pick you up after school.”

The flimsy, brittle, translucent facade shatters. 

“Fuck off.” 

It’s hard and cold, bitter, the consonants sharp and the vowels short. Clipped, like how he talks to you, though your voice carries a whole lot of vitriol compared to his monotone, and it is most definitely not positive.  

He stops, reaching out to catch you by the elbow when you make to keep walking past him. “What?” 

You try to pull your arm away, but his fingers curl in the thin material of your sleeve, tight, and he steps closer. Insufferably tall, towering over you, brow pinched with vague annoyance in his eyes. 

“Let go.” You’re being petulant, you know you are, but something petty cinches in your chest, spite that clips your voice and keeps it sharp.  

Akiteru doesn’t push you when you get upset, he’s used to Kei shutting him down and you being the type to want space, so he’s careful around the lines of your boundaries and treats them kindly. 

You’re mom’s third teenager, she’s learned at this point what the specific kinds of bad behavior are to watch out for, and beyond that she’ll wait it out until you’re ready to talk. 

Kei, who would rather avoid any and all forms of confrontation, has never been the type to back off and let you wait it out. Probably the only one who knows that you can’t stand being left to sit in bad feelings, but always lack the initiative to reach out. 

Still, even though he knows, that’s not to say he isn’t sometimes cruel about it. 

“Something you need to say?” He taunts, mean and low, eyes narrowed thin behind the glint of his glasses. “What, have I not been giving my precious baby sister enough attention? Is taking all of Akiteru’s free time not enough for you?” 

It cuts, and he knows it does the moment his lips form the shape of Akiteru’s name, when your eyes blow wide and then become glassy.

“Oh you are such a dick!” You hiss, shoving him back and he goes, both shocked at the sight of your tears and the vitriol he had just spit in your direction. 

It wouldn’t be clear to anyone on the outside looking in, but Kei has doted on you since you were a baby. In his own way, with silent affection that nobody but family could pick up on. Always saving the best parts of a dessert for you, finding the last snack in a box and taking it to your room so someone else couldn’t get it first, snatching your homework from the dining room table and going over the answers to make sure you got everything right. 

Even with the distance, the exhaustion, the stress of growing into a body that felt too big to fit him, he loved you, it just got muddled along the way with the pile-up of everything else. Never the breadth of mind to spare a thought for how his reclusiveness might’ve pushed you away. 

The apology is locked behind his tongue, you can almost see it, the way his eyes turn mournful in a way only you could recognize, but you see his lips press thin to keep the ‘sorry’ from tumbling out, and it only fans the flames of your hurt, your anger. 

You push past him with the glare of tears in your eyes, aching with it, your heart like a hot iron in your chest. It burns, it burns. And he does nothing to put it out. 

The rest of the walk is bitterly silent, too much distance between you, and the lingering hope you’d tried so hard to stifle withers. 

–

Against all assumed odds, your day does get better from there. 

Some of your friends from Amemaru are in your class, so you have a small group to immerse yourself in and to help you forget your earlier spat. They keep you distracted, and you’re so busy trying to retain the layout of the building that you don’t have much time to think about everything else. There’s too much new, too many things to learn and new faces that are so much older than those that you’re used to seeing. The teachers are patient when you stop to ask for directions, and there are already clubs being advertised by the time you go to eat lunch.  

It’s so busy. 

You run into Kei only once in the hallways, with his headphones on and a familiar figure at his side. Yamaguchi. 

He perks up at the sight of you, and you can’t fight back a smile when he swoops across the hallway to greet you. 

“Tadashi!” You crow, arms looping around his neck as nearly slams into you with a breathy laugh. You squeeze him, the soft scent of vanilla in his clothes is comforting, familiar. As busy as Kei, you don’t get to see him often either, but it’s always nice when he stops by to visit. 

“Hey! I’m sorry I wasn’t there to walk with you this morning, glad you made it here safe.” He grins down at you, bright-eyed and beaming. He’s grown his hair out since you last saw him, half of it pulled back out of his face with a clip, freckles darker and plentiful like constellations on his cheeks.

“S’ok, you can walk with me instead next time.” You ignore the narrowed eyes of your brother, the way he slinks up behind Tadashi and towers over you both with that familiar grumpy scowl, silent if not for the way his face screams ‘you will not be walking with my sister.’  

“How is your first day going?” Tadashi pokes gently, seemingly aware of the tension and carefully trying to maneuver around it. “Do you need any help getting around? We have some time before–” 

You wave him off, smile a touch wry. “I’ve been asking around for directions, you don’t have to waste time helping me. Thanks, though.” 

Tadashi frowns, lips pursed a little as he gently flicks your forehead. “It’s not a waste.” He points out, soft. “Let us know if you need anything, it's what we’re here for.” 

Your smile wobbles, something shaky, and you can see the alarm in both of their faces before you’re turning away. “Yeah.” 

It’s short and curt, and you know Tadashi deserves better than a flimsy response like that, but you can’t think with Kei’s eyes on you like this, not with the venom in his voice still so clearly etched into your mind

Fingers curl around your wrist, long and lithe, but Kei doesn’t speak. He holds you in place, words heavy on his tongue but refusing to come out, and he doesn’t fight it when you break away. 

– 

You hate that he’s paying more attention, now. 

Ever since he figured out that you were mad at him, that you’ve been mad at him, he’s been more present in your daily life. Instead of staying holed up in his room, he’ll study in the kitchen with you. When Akiteru comes home to visit, he’ll venture out into the living room and begrudgingly talk shop with him about volleyball while you stay curled up on the couch listening. It’s a development your mother is pleased with, cooing over how happy she is that Kei is around more and that you’re getting along again. 

But you’re determined not to give in, petty and spiteful and ultimately, too hurt to accept the bare minimum. 

He’s getting frustrated, you can tell, that you still treat him as coldly and distantly as always. It had never bothered him before when he wasn’t around to realize it, throwing himself into books or late-night practices that would end with him coming home long after you were in bed. He never had to see the results of your deteriorating relationship, always turning away before your face could fall, always pulling on his headphones just before your voice could crack.  

Before the game against Shiratorizawa in his first year, he had still made time for you. Back when he was trying to pretend that he didn’t care about his progress, about his performance in a temporary club. You had hated it, then, hated that he would downplay his passion in favor of something safe and secure, hated that he was so quick to give up on himself for fear of getting hurt. 

That single block had changed everything for him. You even got to watch firsthand as it happened, with Akiteru bawling on the ground floor harassing some poor security guard about his little brother, you screaming in the stands even though he would certainly kill you if he knew. Kei fell in love with volleyball, he let himself fall in love with volleyball. 

And after that, he gave it everything, dedicating all of himself to the sport that consumed him, that flamed his passion, and he had to spend every free moment outside of that with his face in a book to ensure he didn’t fall behind in his studies. Less time spent with you on the couch, watching nature documentaries just so he could tell you all about how things had evolved compared to prehistoric eras, no more late nights where you would sneak into his room and read on his bed while he played games on a handheld beside you. He never had time. 

You love him, love that he’s finally letting himself be passionate about something, you just wish that it hadn’t come at the expense of your relationship with him. 

It took him over three years to finally realize that you were hurting, only when he was forced to see it firsthand, when you could no longer bite your tongue. Your pride won’t let you cave so easily. 

He knows, though. Kei knows better than anyone how to soften you, how to manage your moods. 

It starts small and unobtrusive, knowing you need to be warmed up to larger shows of affection when you’re feeling defensive and cornered. 

He brings home snacks for you, on the days when his practice runs longer. 

The first one is a surprise, a small knock at your door that you answer offhand, thinking it’s just mom. You don’t know how to feel when Kei walks in instead, hair still wet from his shower, glasses missing, changed out of his uniform into dark blue pajamas. 

Wordless, he comes over and sets a paper bag down on your desk, half-torn sticker from a nearby cafe on the side. Waiting, then, almost uncertainly, eyes watching for your reaction. 

When you don’t give him one beyond a tilt of your head and a small ‘hey, thanks.’ his brow furrows, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he shifts in place, agitated. 

He leaves, door clicking quietly behind him, and you pull the bag into your lap to peer inside. A warm apple pastry, significantly less warm you imagine than when he got it. An effort, clearly, but you only roll your eyes and wonder if he really thought buying you a dessert would make up for it. 

Apparently not, as it becomes a semi-regular occurrence. At first you would eat the treats with little to no problem, waiting to see if maybe he’d give up and stop buying you things that you clearly don’t appreciate. 

It escalates instead. 

He comes home earlier one day, finds you sprawled on the couch with a movie playing quietly in the background, and goes to drop his things off in his room before joining you. 

When he stops to stand near where your head is propped up by a throw pillow, you crane your head back to squint up at him. 

“What? Dinner is in the fridge, mom made kimchi-jjigae.” 

He scowls, entirely heatless, and moves towards the other end of the couch, lifting your legs so he can sit and then letting them fall back in his lap. You go rigid in your spot, bringing your knees up to your chest to get out of his space, but his fingers curl tight over your calves and keep you there, long and lithe and rough with calluses.

His fingertips ghost over your ankle, such a subtle caress that it almost makes you gasp. Your skin prickles, flushed with heat as you press your hands together and tuck them beneath your head, trying to focus on the movie and not the feeling of his hands on you.  

He skims the ridge up his knuckles up your calf, a long, slow drag that beckons you to stretch out, to relax, but you remain a coiled ball of anxiety for the rest of the movie. 

And somehow that turns into another weird semi-routine. It’s not often he gets home from practice early enough that you haven’t already gone to bed, but when he can he’ll sit with you like that. 

Neither of you talk, he doesn’t force you to break the silence but there are times when you can’t avoid it, no matter how much you wish you could. 

Unfortunately, Kei is better at taking notes than you are, so you have to go to him for help when you realize the notes you did take don’t actually help when you need to study. 

That���s the worst, when there’s no one left to turn to because mom doesn’t speak much English and Tadashi knows about as much as you, even in his third year. Kei is the only option you have. 

He doesn’t hold it over you, like you’d expect. When you shuffle up to his room with your pride squeezed into a locked box, knocking at his door with your textbooks in hand. He lets you in, lets you sit on his bed while he’s in his computer chair, and he helps you go through the vocabulary you don’t understand. He’s patient with you, shows you where you went wrong in your notetaking and he’s so casual about it even while you’re awkward and stiff and nervous. He doesn’t complain when you leave his room without thanking him, and he doesn’t complain when you come back a week later for the same thing. 

You’re waiting for that smug little smile, that gleam in his eyes that means he thinks he’s won something, but it never shows. Kei, who has never been one to take things slow with you, is patient in the way he coaxes you back to him, even when it’s clear that he’s getting frustrated. 

The stalemate breaks when he finds out you’ve started spending less time with Akiteru, though. 

Even though you know it was just Kei being petty, his comment about you taking all of your older brother’s time stung, and you haven’t quite been able to stop thinking about it.

So you stopped reaching out. Fewer daily calls, no more asking him to come over every weekend, and apparently that news made it back to Kei when Akiteru expressed his concern that something was happening to you at school. You never told him about the fight on your first day.

Kei is the only one who understands the correlation, knows it was his own spiteful words that caused you to withdraw. Seclusion doesn’t suit you, he thinks. Not like it suits him. 

–

The sharp crack of your door as it’s yanked open startles you, heart in your throat as your book tumbles over the edge of your bed. You blink up at the glowering figure in your doorway, shocked at the intensity of his frustration and immediately clamming up, drawn in tight as you glare simply as though that will stop you getting hurt by whatever he’s about to say. 

Initially, your first thought is that he’s finally gotten fed up with your attitude, and now he’s come to yell at you and tell you to stop being such a brat. You brace for it, chin lifted high with a false confidence you do not feel, readying yourself with every possible complaint you’ve saved up ever since that first day where you knocked on your big brother’s door and asked him to come out and spend time with you, only to be told to go away. 

“Akiteru is worried.” 

You deflate, like a balloon poked with scissors, and roll onto your side to face the wall. “I’ll call ‘im.” You mumble, if only to get him out of your room. 

It doesn’t work, and he comes closer, quiet as he walks across your floor to sit beside you, mattress dipping beneath his weight. 

After a beat, he sighs. “I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, water welling up, catching on your lashes. “No you aren’t.” 

“I am.” He insists, crawling fully into the bed with you, long body tucked around your own as he curls himself against your back. Finally broken, then. “I know why you’re upset, sorry it took me so long to realize.” He pauses, and, softer– “Shouldn’t have taken you snapping at me to notice you were hurting.” 

“It shouldn’t have.” You agree, bitter, feeling his arm slip around your middle to pull you back into his chest. 

This is new, Kei even as a kid has never been very physically affectionate. You can feel his heart, the way it's pounding against your shoulder blade, his fingers trembling as they curl into your shirt. His knees press in behind yours, your body curving further as he forces you into a ball. A side of him you’re not supposed to see, your big brother being vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, mouth at the nape of your neck, holding you even tighter. 

Your mouth is dry, heart suddenly synced with his, feeling strangely like a line is being crossed that you hadn’t even known was drawn in the first place. His hand splays wide over your belly, palm warm as it presses you somehow even closer, bigger than you remember, different. 

“What will it take for you to forgive me?” He asks, nosing into your hair, you can almost feel the way his lips twitch into a smile. “I’m already buying you dessert almost every day, do you want more? Want me to pick up your favorite dinner too?”

His fingers curve inwards, then, and you realize a second too late what his plan is. 

You’re helplessly pinned against him when he starts to tickle you, free hand clapping over your mouth to muffle the way you shriek at the first twitchy pass of his fingertips, shoving your shirt up so the cold digits feather over your bare skin. You kick and twist and lick a wet stripe up the hand over your mouth, but he’s wholly undeterred, relentless. 

“Such a brat, wouldn’t even talk to me about how upset you were, had to wait until I finally caught on, huh? So petty.” He’s mocking you now, one heavy leg pressing both of yours down when you try to kick away from him again, unperturbed by the way you try to mouth at his hand in an attempt to bite. 

It’s unbearable, the way his fingers dapple over your ribcage, purposefully needling at you until you’re squealing and tears are spilling down your cheeks, wrenching your mouth away from his wet palm to suck in a breath, nearly sobbing with the cackle of your laughter. It devolves quickly into wheezing, breath stuck in your throat, the resistance melting away as you struggle for air.

It’s only then that he stops, smoothing his hand up and down your side as if to ease the torture he just put you through, soothing you while you slowly calm down. 

Like an emotional release, you slump into him, murmuring quietly when he tucks his face against your neck again, breathing with him pressed behind you. 

“You’re a dick.” You mutter, voice raspy. 

He sighs, soft and slow, nodding. “I know.” 

“I’m still mad at you.” 

“I know.” 

Your eyes water, and he turns you around, finding you pliable now that the ice has been shattered. You curl your hands into the space between you as he guides you into his arms properly, legs tangled together, your face tucked against his neck while he cups the back of your head to keep you there. 

“Don’t want your pity.” You mutter, blinking back tears as the scent of him bleeds into your clothes, his bare skin hot as your cheek presses against his collar bones. It’s uncomfortable, but you missed him, missed this. You’ve been so prickly for so long that you haven’t let anyone else come close. 

He snorts, exhaling a fondly exasperated breath that ruffles your hair. “It’s not pity, quit with that.” He squeezes you once, tight until you squawk in protest, then teases– “When did my baby sister get so stubborn?” 

His fingers twitch traitorously close to your stomach, and you hiss and burrow yourself closer, wrapping yourself around him and pressing into the cradle of his body so he can’t get to your ticklish spots. His chuckle is low, vibrating through his chest, and he returns to rubbing your back, pushing inward at the small of it to keep you close, almost like he needs the comfort as much as you do. 

Sometimes Kei makes it easy to forget that he has a different way of wanting, of needing. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might miss you too, but after so much time that he might not know how to reach out as you grew in his absence.

You soften, unwillingly, as he buries himself against you, walls finally cracking. You can feel it in how tight he holds you, the way he presses his nose into your hair and breathes, warm hands stroking from the base of your spine to your shoulder blades, just touching you, feeling you. 

“Missed you.” You murmur, barely a whisper. 

He sighs, warm against your throat, and curls himself over you a little more. It’s not out loud, the way he tells you, he can never say it out loud. But, he does tell you that he missed you too in how he holds you ‘till you fall asleep, the way he strokes your hair with gentle fingers careful not to tug or snag, and the way he’s so careful to keep his hips from rocking into you when he starts to thicken and twitch against his thigh. You don’t get to see the shame on his face, the twist to his brow, the grit to his jaw as he keeps himself in check, furious at himself for the shocking intensity of these feelings. It’s just that–

He just–

He just loves you a lot. 

–

Kei doesn’t find much more time to come around other than what he already had, but he texts you more. Small comments between classes. He’ll tell you to fix your skirt or your tie even when he hasn’t even seen you in the halls, just to make you double check because he knows it makes you pissy. During lunch he swings by your room to make sure you’re eating, never longer than it takes to poke his head in, find you seated with your friends, and then leave. 

You start going to his games again, at first secretly because he’d told you and Akiteru not to come, but he caught you one too many times trying to sneak away after, and gave up on stopping you.

The wins are easy, when he comes off the court sweaty and breathless but smiling with his eyes in his own way, when he catches you in his arms as you hurl yourself at him directly from the sidelines. 

The losses are harder, when he’s prickly and sharp, when he doesn’t want anyone to come too close and you have to approach him gently, when he’s alone, and only then can you try to make an attempt at offering him any sort of comfort. 

It’s a year that goes by too quickly, easily, as you settle into the life of a high school student. Kei helps you study for your tests, even gives you his old notes to use and sits with you in your room while studying for his own. He’s preparing for graduation, for college, and you still have two more years to go. 

He’s taller, broad, no longer so lanky and lithe. He gets more attention from the girls in other classes, girls in your classes, and you have to adjust to a new problem. 

People asking for you to get closer to your brother. A star on the volleyball team, and one of the tallest guys in the whole school. People always noticed, but now they have another way to get to him other than through Tadashi. 

The first time it happens, you’re almost too baffled to react, when you’re approached by a second year with pretty dark hair and a sweet smile. Shyly, scuffing her shoe across the tile floor with her hands pressed together, she asks you if you would be willing to give her Kei’s number so she can ask him out. 

You’re so startled that you laugh. A bit loud, a bit mean, maybe, but thinking of the face he’d make after receiving her text nearly puts you into hysterics. 

“Try asking him directly.” You suggest, after catching your breath and drying your eyes. “He’s not the type to like someone sneaking around like that, asking for his number behind his back would just put him off.” 

Her face flushes red, but you’re too busy snickering as you wander towards the front gate where Kei is waiting to walk you home, you don’t see her embarrassment or take note of the harshness of your words. 

You’re grinning when you walk up to him, and he’s immediately wary. 

“What?” He eyes you suspiciously, automatic as he reaches out to relieve you of your school bag. 

Your grin widens, all teeth like a shark. “A girl tried to use me to ask you out.” 

He blanches, brow pinched low as his nose scrunches up. “Seriously?” 

You nod, starting off down the sidewalk with your hands tucked into your skirt pockets. “Wanted me to give her your number, I told her to just ask you directly since it would be kinda weird to do that behind someone's back.” You shrug, kicking at a loose rock to send it skipping down the pavement. “Don’t you ever give some random person my number, I’ll kill you.” 

Kei scoffs, shoulder checking you and smirking when it nearly sends you careening dramatically off to the side, righting you with a hand at your elbow. “I wouldn’t even without you threatening me, you’re not that scary.” 

“Say that when I break into your room in the middle of the night, and stand over your bed like the grudge.” You mutter, low beneath your breath, ignoring the way he laughs out loud at your quiet threat. It’s a cheery sound, one you usually only get to hear when he’s being mean spirited to other people. 

He pulls at you, then, tucking you roughly beneath his arm so he can drag you along in an attempt to get home quicker, chucking quietly beneath his breath and telling you that– “next time that happens, just tell them I said no. I wouldn’t want to make my baby sister jealous.”

You’re sure that there will not even be a next time. Your brother might objectively be attractive, but he’s mean when he’s comfortable, pokes and pulls and teases and he grins when you get so mad at him that your eyes water.

He’s not hard to love, but he’s sure as hell hard to like. 

–

So of course, when it happens again, you’re far less amused. 

A crowd of girls who stop you during lunch while you’re at the vending machines to buy a snack. They press in close, blocking your exit so your back is to the wall, and they ask with sickly sweet smiles if Kei has a girlfriend.

You tell them yes, and they ask you who, which is the second red flag you need to get the hell out. They pout when you try to slip between them, but follow when you make to go down the hall, trying to weasel personal information out of you until one of Kei’s teammates, Hinata, sees you and breaks through the crowd to say hi. 

It’s evident by the cautious glint in his eyes that it’s not as accidental an intervention as it appears, taking quick stock of the situation and dragging you out before it can spiral.

And every time after that, you just get more and more annoyed. Your responses are shorter, clipped, final exams are rapidly approaching and you only have so much time with Kei to study while he’s preparing to go to nationals. Wasting time being accosted in the hallways after school when you could be going home is not ideal, and you’re fed up with it. 

So after school, once you’re safely inside his bedroom, you throw your bag onto his bed. “You need to get a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or just a romantic partner in general.” 

He chokes on his water, staring at you with wide eyes as it dribbles down his chin, open-mouthed and his brows arched high. “What?”

You flop down on his bed, dragging your bag to your side so you can rifle through it for your notes. “I’m tired of people harassing me about getting in your pants, has this always been a thing or did you just get popular this year?” You scoff, sitting up and throwing him the notebook he’d left with your bag. It hits him in the chest and falls to the floor, with him making no attempt to catch it. 

His eyes narrow. “People are still bothering you?” 

Another long, drawn out groan. “Different every time, I think. They’re starting to blur together. I just started making stuff up and even that wasn’t enough.” You grin, then, a little teasing as you flutter your lashes at him. “You’re a pretty face, sure, but that personality is so awful I bet it would take one conversation before they run for the hills. Maybe I should just start sending them to you directly so they leave me alone.” 

“Don’t you dare.” He joins you on the bed, reluctantly and with a pointed glare, and sits shoulder to shoulder with you so he can knock into you gently from the side. Books spread out, he passes your notes to you and starts on his own, already tuning you out for whatever retort you might have.

It’s an unnecessary demand, you wouldn’t really do that to him anyway. Kei gets overstimulated easily in social situations, and as annoying as he is, you handle people much better. If you have to endure the brunt of this so he doesn’t have to, you will, but he better be willing to listen to you complain about it. 

He says his thanks afterwards, after you’ve half drifted off while writing out equations with too many steps. You slump against him, head resting against his bicep, and he shifts to let you fall into his chest instead, arm wrapping around your shoulders to draw you in. He’s still reading, having more to go over in his curriculum than you do, but it’s easier with the comfort of you nearby. He says his thanks in the kiss he presses to your hair, the way he carefully straightens out your legs so they aren’t sore by the time you get up, how finally, late in the night, he tucks you into his own bed, and rolls out his futon to sleep on the floor. 

A quiet type of love, subtle, something that seeps into your bones down to the marrow, the way he loves you. From behind, protective in his silence, the looming of his presence and the sharpness of his glare. From afar, watching through the glass of a window as you’re dragged along by your friends to sit outside, watching as you bathe in the sun and laugh, making memories with those close to you all while he watches from a classroom, unknowingly sharing in those memories with you. 

He loves you from the floor, curled up with his teeth sinking into the fluff of his pillow, hand cupped loose between his legs and trying so hard to resist the temptation to relieve the ache there. He loves you in how he holds himself back. 

If anyone asked about the percentage of effort that Tsukishima Kei puts into different things, there would be a few categories. Volleyball, which gets a hundred percent of his effort about half of the time. His education, which gets a hundred percent for the other half of his time. 

And the last category would be the effort in which Kei puts into loving you like a normal brother should, a hundred percent of his complete, undivided focus, for a hundred and one percent of the time. He loves you the way that is clean, normal, accepted, and he doesn’t waver.

No matter the temptation. Not when he rubs his thumb against your bottom lip to chase away the remnants of a dessert, telling himself that it’s because it’s his job as your brother to keep you from making a mess of yourself. Not because he wants to touch you, needs to touch you. 

Not when you’re sitting next to him to watch a movie and he’s overthinking putting his arm around you. Akiteru does it, you do it, and it would be normal if it wasn’t him, but he wants to. 

And he shouldn’t, because if he lets himself have even that much, he’ll never stop wanting more. 

So he’ll play the role he was given. Born to be your family, he thinks fate just fucked up by letting him love you the way he does. He resigns himself to the part of ‘big brother Kei,’ a name that will stick to him like tar for the rest of his life. 

–

You pass with high marks on your exams, so high that your mother insists on taking you all out for a nice dinner. 

Honestly, you’d be happy to celebrate by sleeping in, but it gives mom an excuse to dress nice and she’s been working hard lately to give you and Kei the chance to focus on studying, you think this might be just as much for her as it is for you.

You dress up a little, slacks and a nice shirt, warm-pressed and unbuttoned low to the hollow of your throat. Kei matches you, accidentally, though his shirt is a dark green. You grin at him, unperturbed when he rolls his eyes and goes downstairs. 

“Akiteru is waiting for us there, but he’ll be coming home with us.” Mom hums, slipping in a pair of earrings that sparkle, her hair loosely curled with a dusting of blush high on her cheeks. 

Your snarky grin softens, watching her twist in front of the mirror hung up in the hallway, where Kei comes up from behind her and holds her hair out of the way so she can actually snap the piercing shut. 

“Thank you, dear.” She pats him once on the shoulder, having to tilt her head back just to look up at him properly. “I swear, you get taller every time I turn around.” She remarks, dry, before reaching for her purse on the couch. 

“I can whack him in the kneecaps, might knock him down by a foot or two.” You pretend not to notice as he whips around to face you, you can practically hear his sharp retort already so you hurry to follow your mom as she heads out to the car, Kei right behind, grumbling beneath his breath. 

Mom lets you pick the music that plays during the drive, which is moot because Kei has his earbuds in and she’ll listen to anything, but you take the chance to show her a few new songs on your phone that you’d found recently, and she shimmies a little in her seat with you in a makeshift dance as you lip sync along to each one. 

It’s nice, playful, you’ve been so high-strung about tests and notes that you haven’t been able to let loose much, and as you catch the smile curling on your mom’s mouth and hear the quiet, muffled chuckles from your brother in the seat behind you, you finally feel like the hard part is over. Safe to let down your guard, to stop dreading the next incoming paper or assignment due. 

Akiteru is indeed waiting for you, not inside like you expect, but out in the parking lot with a bright smile splitting across his face. The car has barely rolled to a stop before he’s opening the door, looping his arms around you to pull you in for a hug. 

You’re laughing, half-squealing as he drags you out of your seat and practically bends his spine to wrap himself around you. “I’m so proud!!” He chokes, face wet with tears even though he’d already cried for half an hour when you first called to tell him you passed everything with top marks. 

“You already said that.” Kei intones, slowly unfolding himself from the back and straightening up, grimacing as he rubs the side of his neck. “A lot, actually.” 

“And he’ll say it again, I’m sure.” Mom agrees, sidling up to the three of you with her phone out for pictures. Akiteru keeps you pinned against his side before you can try to break away, his other arm stretching out to wave Kei closer. 

After a clear conflict of interests, the second sibling finally joins the group hug, long arm wrapped around Akiteru’s back so his hand hovers over the base of your spine, warm through the thin material of your button down. 

Once she’s gotten her fill of taking pictures, you take the phone from her and then pull her in, flipping the camera around and stretching your arm out to fit the four of you in the frame. Mom laughs, breathy, and smiles big when you take the shot, Akiteru pressing in close so his chin is on your shoulder, Kei in the background hovering like a gargoyle. 

You snicker, and then hand the phone back after sending a copy of it to yourself for later. 

The restaurant is nice, if a little pricier than you’re used to, you find yourself sticking close to Akiteru as you’re guided to a table. He smiles down at you, a hand on your shoulder that squeezes when you get too tense, reminding you silently to ease up. 

With you and Akiteru on one side, Kei and mom on the other, you’re tucked securely against the wall with a menu propped up over your face to hide the way your eyes blink heavy with fatigue. 

They tease you when you inevitably doze off at the table, nearly face planting the glass of bubbly juice that Kei had ordered for you because you hadn’t responded when the waiter asked. 

Dinner is mainly spent with Akiteru catching you all up on various things since you and Kei have been buried in books, and mom prefers to just listen while she eats. There’s the gentle clink of glass and ceramic as dishes are passed around, a bowl of warm rice in your hands that smells a little floral, a little sweet.

Kei doesn’t complain when you steal the last of his tempura, but he’s quick to get revenge in the form of scooping up the final few bites of your cake while you’re distracted with your drink. You kick at him beneath the table, Akiteru quietly scolds you, and your mom watches with a serene smile on her face, chin in hand while the three of you bicker until it’s time to leave.  

So Akiteru can sit up front with mom, you slide into the back seat with Kei. Full and happy, you settle in with no complaints. 

And when he shifts, leans a little closer and lifts his arm in a silent invitation, you take it happily and curl up against his side. He rests his head atop of yours when you lower it to his shoulder, oddly affectionate, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin at the bend of your elbow. 

He lets you cuddle in close, silent even when you keep moving around and knock the glasses from his face, he simply puts them aside and presses his cheek to crown of your head. 

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep like that, and it takes even less time for your mother to speak up, barely a whisper. 

“Have you told her yet? About college?” 

A soft, wistful sigh. “Not yet.” 

Akiteru tsks quietly, a disapproving and worried frown reflected back in the rearview mirror. “You know she won’t like finding out at the last minute that you’re leaving. It will be easier if you tell her before you have to go” He gives a rueful smile, reminiscing. “It’s always worse when your little sibling finds out you’ve been hiding something from them, even more if they find out from somewhere other than you.” 

He knows. Akiteru knows that he knows, too. But as Kei looks down at you, your hand fisted in the dark material of his slacks, straining against the restrictive hold of the seat belt just to lean into him, he knows that this is different. More than a brother just leaving his sister at home. 

It hurts so much more, in too many ways that it shouldn’t. 

–

Karasuno vs. Itachiyama. 

Every scored point, no matter the side, feels like a kick to the gut. You’re on edge, hands gripping hot metal rails until your fingers ache as you watch the game from the stands. 

If they win this match, they’ll only have two more until they win Nationals. You can see it in every one of them, how they chase after each wayward ball as though their literal life hinges on it. Hinata is a monster, everywhere on the court that he can be, boundless energy that seems to push the rest of his team on even when they want to collapse. Kageyama is pushed further, dragged by the energy of their decoy, exhausted but still at the peak of his game. Tadashi, the captain, a sturdy presence that eases the younger members of their team, Yachi on the sidelines cheering until surely her throat is hoarse. 

Kei. Their strategy, controlling the moves of his spikers to manipulate the other side, chasing after the ball until there’s nowhere left for it to go. Giving it his all.

You think back to the beginning, when you were still waddling beside your mother as she brought you to your big brother's first middle school game. Deceptively uncaring, you could see beneath the facade even then, the tiniest grit to his jaw as he pushed himself to do better, to be better with every missed block. 

Now it’s a face he wears openly, the raw determination to be faster, stronger, no longer locked behind a mask of disinterest. He thrives, he flies. 

They lose. 

Ranked third in the nation, still such a long way from where they started, and yet still not enough. They won’t get to be on the court the longest. 

Kei is inconsolable. Impassive, stone-faced as they load up the van for the drive back to Karasuno. He doesn’t look at you, but you’ve come to know what to expect for his losses. 

You greet everyone else first, taking a red-faced Hinata into your arms, rubbing between Kageyama’s shoulder blades while he hunches over, fists to his eyes, lips pulled between his teeth.

The loss gets harder the higher they climb, the fall sharper, more lethal. To come so far and still fail is the most exquisite kind of agony. 

Tadashi wears a confident smile, comforting the second and first years while assuring them that next year, they’ll make it even further. His eyes are red-rimmed, face a little puffy, and you know how badly he wishes that this year they’d be going even further. 

Kei gives you nothing, barely a tilt of his head in your direction before he’s on the bus, headphones up and music loud. You stay there until the rest of the team joins him, waving from the parking lot as they begin the ride home, and you trudge back to the front of the stadium to meet up with Akiteru. It’s a quiet drive, both of you understanding in different ways the pain your brother is going through right now. 

He waits until you’re in the driveway to speak. 

“He won’t let me comfort him.” A soft beginning, not so pained as it used to be. “I’ll leave him to you, okay? Leave everything else to me, just be there for him.” 

“Always.” You croak, because there’s not a single other thing you could imagine doing, not while Kei needs you.  

He hugs you tight, grasping at the back of your head and pressing his forehead to yours with a shaky sigh. Something unspoken, soft, a secret held back, before he’s giving you a chaste kiss to the temple and shooing you out of the car so he can go hunting for Kei’s favorite dessert at so late an hour. 

You go to your room first, changing into pajamas and plugging your phone in to charge, then you move to Kei’s. Crawling onto his bed, you tuck yourself beneath his covers and wait, face buried in his pillow and head fuzzy with his scent. 

It’s no real surprise that you end up dozing off, only awoken by the quiet click of the door as it's pushed shut. The lights are still off, but you can hear him, the wet, heavy sound of his breathing, choked like his throat is too tight, clogged with emotions. He drops his things, falls to his knees on the mattress, searching blindly, then you’re up and moving towards him. 

He sobs into your neck, a broken sound, as you pull him back and lock your arms around him. Kei curls into you, hard shudders that shake him no matter how tightly you squeeze. He clings to you, hands at your sides, fingers curling against your ribs and tugging on your shirt to coax you closer. 

You weren’t prepared for this kind of reaction. 

At the most, he’s let you hold him a little while he tries to distract himself by doing something else, or he sits with you listening to music while you do homework. Tense and always pained with the loss, but more at ease in your company. Never this open, never this raw, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him cry before. 

You wrap yourself around him as much as you can, slotting your leg between his to press in close, pushing forward into the dip he creates as he bends. It’s a stretch, almost uncomfortable, but you feel the way he shivers and hugs onto you tighter as you move, pressing you in with a hand at your waist until you’re fully entwined. 

Another sharp, ragged sob, lips wet against your collar as he tries to muffle it, tries to keep himself quiet, contained. 

You coo at him, a hand between his shoulder blades, the other at the back of his head, fingers threading through the hair at his nape to keep him from pulling away in shame. It’s not a form of comfort you’re used to offering, Akiteru was never the type to let you see him in any other state than happy when growing up, and Kei was more than content to keep most of his emotions locked away, spurning most forms of physical affection. This is new, uncharted territory, even touchy as you are, Kei is only ever willing to endure so much before pushing you away. 

He doesn’t this time, though. He stays in your arms and cries until he can’t, and then he stays wrapped up in you until he falls asleep. Breaths evened out, a slackened grip, he nuzzles into your neck and makes a soft, sleepy sort of hum that nearly has you jaw-dropped and gasping. 

He fell asleep on you, wrapped in your arms, beneath the covers of his bed with tears still drying on his cheeks. Kei did. 

You choke back a sob of your own, locking it behind your teeth as you press your lips to his hair, shocked at the intensity of your feelings, the tightness in your chest that eases like a blooming flower, petals unfurled. 

Is it normal to feel so strongly about a sport you’re only interested in because of your brother, you wonder, with your hands buried in his hair to scratch slow circles into his scalp. Would you have cried this hard at a loss for Akiteru, a more traitorous part of your brain wonders next. 

–

The next morning is…strange. 

You wake up pressed between Kei’s arms, your leg cocked over his hip with one of his hands cupping the back of your head, squishing your cheek into his chest. Somewhere along the night he’d shifted, apparently, and twisted around to clutch at you like a pillow. The blankets are low and tangled, cold air raising the hair along your arms. You whine quietly and try to squirm away, but his clingy embrace tightens, bringing you closer, his body bowing around you as he curls inwards. 

“Kei…” Your voice is a little raspy, throat dry, and he lets out a soft groan in reply, fingers digging tight into your back. 

“Shut up.” He grunts, just as hoarse, more so after his crying last night. 

“Lemme up…’m thirsty.” 

“So?” 

You whine louder, pushing against his chest, trying to pry yourself away but he’s already stronger than you on a bad day, let alone when you’ve just woken up and your body is still sleepy. “Please?” 

He stiffens a little, head craned back to squint down at you, bangs falling in his eyes. 

Thoughtlessly, you wriggle a hand free from the tight press between your bodies and reach to brush the hair from his face, fingers combing through and moving to tuck it behind his ear. Too short for that, it falls back into its original place. “You should ask mom to trim your hair.” 

He watches you through sleepy eyes, half-lidded, a streak of light cutting across his face from between his blinds. When your fingertips brush over his skin, his lips part, a soundless sigh before his throat bobs with a weak swallow. “Okay.” He murmurs, gaze far away. 

“Could dye it, too. I think you’d look good with ginger hair.” 

Another soft hum, contemplative. “Okay.” 

Your smile widens, and his head tilts with it, a dreamy expression that you’ve never seen on him before. “You’re just agreeing with everything I say, aren’t you, Kei?” 

His lashes flutter at the way you say his name, dipping low against flushing cheeks, you see his lips threaten to twitch into a smile. “Okay.” 

You can’t stifle your laughter, this time. A sharp bark of a cackle, you slap a hand over your mouth and try to turn away so you aren't laughing directly into his face. That wakes him up quickly, eyes narrowed sharp as he drops his arms from around you like lead, scowl already tugging at his lips. 

“You’re too loud.” 

You snort, rolling away now that he’s finally done holding you hostage, having to practically crawl over him to get off of the bed. “Go back to sleep, then. Gonna make breakfast.” 

Despite the way he huffs and quietly mutters, he follows you down to the kitchen, still dressed in his uniform from last night. He’s uncharacteristically clingy, in a way. He hovers while you look around for what to make, just behind you or off to the side, watching with eyes still murky with sleep. It hasn’t hit him yet that he left his glasses upstairs, so he’s squinting in order to see you clearly. 

As you lean down to look into the fridge, you find a pretty plastic container with a whole strawberry cake inside. A little sticky note on the top reads– Mom and I are going shopping for the day, be back later! 

–Akiteru

Then, below that– I left you some money for pizza in the silverware drawer, love you! 

-Mom

You coo softly as you pull out the container, turning to Kei with a smile. “Cake for breakfast?” 

He stares at you, eyes dipping from your face to the cake in your hands, then back up. “That sounds like a horrible idea.” 

You bump your hip against him and carry it over to the counter, popping the top off and reaching for a clean knife. “Suit yourself, more for me.” 

He sounds significantly more awake now. “You’re not eating that entire thing?” He comes up behind you, leaning over your shoulder to watch as you cut a large slice out of the pretty dessert. 

“Why not? There’s nobody I gotta share it with. Certainly not my most favorite big brother.” You sweeten your voice, sticky like frosting, and he scoffs, pushing at your back so you bump into the counter. 

“Whatever, cut me a piece too.” He slinks away back towards the fridge, long arms stretching up to reach for a paper cup at the top. You cut an equal portion of cake for him as well, placing each on a paper plate so you don’t have any dishes to do later. 

As you pass him his plate, he passes you a glass of water, which you take with a short ‘thanks’ before swallowing a quick, cold mouthful. 

Bliss against your raw throat, you drink half of the glass before refilling it. Watching you, Kei pokes at his cake with a fork, eyes heavy with a strange sort of softness. His face is still a little red, puffy from the long hours of crying, but his shoulders don’t sag so much and he looks like he carries himself a little lighter, teasing you when you manage to get a little cream at the corner of your mouth. 

As his thumb grazes over your bottom lip, you look up at him with new eyes, a new light after last night. The touch lingers, heavier before he pulls away. 

You carry your cake into the living room to put on a movie, pleased when he joins you shortly after. Starting on opposite ends, as you finish your breakfast and set aside your plates, he lets you crawl between his legs and lay on his chest, sprawled together with his hand curving around the nape of your neck, fingers thick in your hair and circling your scalp. 

It amazes you to see him like this, open and blatant in his affection. Accepting as you cuddle close, not even putting up a fight when you poke fun at him during the end credits because it’s only then that he realizes he isn’t wearing his glasses. 

It’s a new side of Kei, of someone you’ve known your entire life. You think it makes you love him a little more, something sweet and nice. 

You think it makes you love him a little different. 

–

It’s a cold shock the day he leaves. 

Not even a week after graduation, you wake that morning to find cars outside and Kei’s friends in the house, helping him move his things. 

Hinata greets you kindly, cheerfully at so early an hour, while you stand in the hall gaping in your pajamas. “Hi, little Tsukishima!”

“Hi?” You blink, stepping back when he moves closer to you, and something registers in his eyes at the sight of you, uncertain and still clearly murky with sleep. He backs off. “What’re you doing here? Why do you have Kei’s stuff?” 

He mirrors your blink, cat-like. “We’re helping him move, he said he’d need some help driving his things to the apartment.” 

“Apartment?” You echo, stunned fully awake. “He’s moving?” 

Hinata freezes, just as Kei is coming up the stairs. While slow at first, the footsteps hasten when the sharp crack of your voice pitches even higher. He stumbles up to the top step, sweaty and clearly having been busy for longer than you’ve been awake. His face pales several shades when he first catches sight of you, the tears welling up in your eyes, the panicked look Hinata wears. “Fuck. Wait, don’t–” 

Twenty-two steps from one end of the hall to the other. Seventeen from the stairs to your room, it only takes Kei nine to reach you, choking on an apology that he’s never given you before. 

It only takes two for you to slam and lock the door. 

–

He doesn’t try to get you to come out for the rest of the day. His things have been packed, you hear him saying goodbye to mom downstairs, hear him come up to your room one more time to wait, leaning against the door but not saying a thing. You don’t open it. 

When he leaves, you scream. Muffled into your pillow, raw and angry, tears hot against your face. 

It shouldn’t be this way, you shouldn’t feel like he’s betrayed you by going away for college. It shouldn’t break your heart to think that Kei might be leaving you behind, you’re family.

But you do, and it does.  

–

Kei calls home often. 

More than you would have thought, actually. A surprisingly dutiful son. He checks in with mom every few days, asks about her work, about her friends, following up on whatever they happened to have talked about in the previous conversation. 

He asks about you. 

You know, because whenever you’re in the same room as her while she’s talking to him, her voice will soften considerably. Almost a whisper, and she’ll hunch down in her seat a little, or she’ll suddenly have to leave the room. 

Unlike most of her children, she’s terrible at hiding her emotions. You must get it from her. 

Which is why she’s worried, because it’s been easy for you. Easy to pretend like you aren’t hurting. Your summer is spent with your friends, or at the library. You visit the beach twice and buy a cactus to take care of. You make memories, you keep busy. 

He comes home once before you go back to school, Akiteru mentions it one night after he gets off of work. He tells you that Kei is coming home for a weekend, you write down the date and try not to feel guilty at the way he seems happy about it. 

The next day you schedule a sleepover with your best friend Kaoruko to get out of the house, and it's your second visit to the beach. She sits in the sand with you while you wade through the shallows and pick up crabs and anemones, laughs when she thinks you’re being weird and holds you when you break and begin to cry. He texts once, to let you know that he’s home, and calls the night before he leaves. 

You don’t answer. 

–

The start to your second year is quiet. You walk by yourself on your first day, phone buzzing with texts from Akiteru wishing you luck, and a single one from Kei telling you to be safe. 

You tell Akiteru that you’ll text him during lunch, and slip your phone into your locker. There are familiar faces that you find between classes, new students that you show to their homeroom along the way to your own, and already an influx of people advertising for clubs, just as early as last year. 

And life goes on. 

You find a balance, and mom has been good with helping you maintain it, already on her third go-around for moody teenagers. She knows when to let you break rules, when to be more firm, and how to gently push your boundaries without hurting you. Your rebellious phase doesn’t last long, though Akiteru still has the record for mama’s boy, you think. 

School is easy, in a way. You make friends, lose some, keep a precious few closer than ever. You argue with teachers, suffer through group projects, write a paper about your trips to the beach detailing all of the different kinds of fish you saw, you go to every volleyball match and text Kei for every win. 

That’s the first text you send him, after it all. Weeks of ignored messages, just for a few words from you to break his streak. 

You 7:84 PM 

We won the game. 

He already knew that Karasuno had won the match, one of his old teammates had texted him the moment they were off the court to let him know. What mattered was that it came from you, and it told him so much that he had desperately needed to know. 

That you haven’t deleted his number, that you still care enough to talk to him. That you’re still checking in with your friends from his old team, that he hasn’t ruined what little you liked about volleyball like Akiteru had with him. 

You don’t respond when he texts back, but he’s fine for now with just this. He can handle you being angry with him, could even endure it if you hated him, but not having you at all just does not feel like an option. 

Mom lets you get away with avoiding him on the holidays, though you know she doesn’t like it. You’ve only passed him once, briefly, catching him just as he rounded the corner as you were heading back into your room. His eyes had blown wide, a stutter in his step as he stumbled at the top of the stairs with your name on his lips. You cut it off quick by shutting your door. 

The hard edge of your anger has faded, but the hurt remains, and with it the confusion as to why it does. You compare it to Akiteru leaving for college, and can think of nothing to explain it other than Kei keeping the fact that he was moving away a secret. From you specifically. 

It lasts for too long, the silence, the ignored texts broken up only when you tell him that Karasuno won a game. It’s eating at both of you, but no matter how often Kei tries to reach out, you can never bring yourself to reciprocate. Too hurt, and too embarrassed that you are. 

Still, in tune with you as always, he has a way to break the stalemate yet again. 

For your birthday, he has a gift delivered that mom wraps up for you. A textbook for marine science, heavy and with notations lining the margins, something clearly used, clearly well-loved. And, beyond that, an envelope tucked just beneath the cover with tickets to a guided tour for a temporary museum exhibit on the Mariana Trench. They’ve been preemptively filled out with yours and your best friend’s names. 

You stare down at the book for a long time, fingers tracing the pages as you flip through them, and it hits you a mere twelve pages in that the scrawl is familiar. It’s clean and careful, precise, but there’s a little curl on the ends of some of his kanji that he picked up from you. It’s his handwriting. He doesn’t even like marine science, and he still– 

You call him crying, then. In the shower, sobbing, phone pressed to your wet cheek as you thank him and apologize for ignoring him for so long. He’s so soft, crooning at you to turn off the water until you’re done, talking to you while you try to catch your hiccup-y breath. 

He’s the last one to wish you happy birthday, an hour before midnight while you tuck yourself into bed with him still on the phone, he teases you when you sniffle too much and you threaten to hang up if he keeps making fun of you. 

He stays well after you fall asleep, phone pushed to the far side of his desk so the sounds of his keyboard don’t wake you up, music turned down so that it doesn’t completely stifle the steady sound of your breathing. 

Lighter than you’ve been since he left, you manage to sleep soundly through the night. More than that, he’s still on the phone when you wake up to tell you good morning. 

–

Halfway through the school year you become a manager for the volleyball team. You’re familiar with most of the boys already from when Kei and Tadashi were there, so you already have a good dynamic built that Coach Ukai asks you to use for keeping them in line. 

You don’t tell Kei, but he finds out from mom anyway, and when you call him next he teases you about missing him so much that you had to go and manage his old team for him. 

You hang up that call immediately, and ignore him twice when he tries to call back, only picking up on the third to hear his stifled laughter on the other end. You tell him that he makes fun of you too much, and he just replies that you deserve it. 

Secretly, you think he likes it, pleased in a strange way that you would take his former team under your wing after he left. 

School is busy, for both you and Kei. He doesn’t manage to visit much, and now it’s that every time he does, you’re away at a training camp with the team. 

You don’t see him again until Christmas. 

You didn’t even know he was coming back, he’d left it so up in the air on whether or not he’d be able to get away, you were going with the assumption that he wouldn’t be able to make it in time. 

It’s what you thought, but Kei decided it would be nice to surprise you. In your bed. 

When you wake up a little warmer than usual, you chalk it up to mom turning up the heat and try to snuggle back beneath your covers. Something is draped loose and heavy over your stomach, and it squeezes when you start to squirm. Warmth ghosts over your neck, fingers sink into the soft of your lower belly, pulling you in, and you scream as your tired brain registers that there is another body in your bed. 

He laughs at you while you smack him with your pillow, uncaring when his glasses are flung to the floor. He catches you by the waist, pulls you back in, buries his face into your neck and just breathes. Ignoring your struggle completely, he does make a show of carefully petting you, like he’s trying to help you settle. At first, it only frustrates you more, but as you finally take in the scent of him, the rough cadence to his voice as he laughs, you realize just how long it’s been since you were like this with him. 

You’re struck by it, the intimacy, a shy hand hovering over the back of his head, suddenly unsure. It feels so different now, with the way he seems to bask in you, like it’s something to be relished. 

As your arms come around him, he fits oddly against your shape, different. He’s wider now, thicker around the shoulders, his hands firm in a way they had previously been uncertain as they glide up and down your back. 

“Welcome home.” You murmur, tinged with an undercurrent of trepidation. 

He sighs against you, wistful and relieved. “Yeah, thanks.” He says it soft, like the fluffy top layer of snow that glitters beneath the sun. Kei doesn’t usually let himself sound like this, not unless he’s slipping. 

You try not to let yourself enjoy it too much, worried at how it makes you feel, the heat in your face and the unsteady kick of your heart. 

–

He’s home for a week, but you aren’t. Splitting your holiday break between friends that you had previously made plans with, you don’t actually get to see him as much as you’d like. He’s reconnecting as well, so the odd times that you are home, you can only catch him for a few minutes before he’s being dragged out the door. 

Christmas eve, though, you creep downstairs with a blanket tucked beneath your arm, pillow in hand. Since Kei and Akiteru will both be home on Christmas day, mom had gone all out with wrapping presents, pretty bows and glittery ribbons, you gently nudge them all out of the way to make space for your makeshift bed. 

You’ve done this every year. Ever since you were a toddler, mom jokes. 

When you were still just a baby, she had been awake with you all night on Christmas eve, trying everything from warm milk to lullabies to rocking you back and forth to make you sleep, but you were fussy and disgruntled. Rather than taking you upstairs and risking your crying waking Kei and Akiteru, she sat beneath the decorated tree to let you play with the lights and ornaments. Instead of being entertained, even with the glow of greens and blues shining back in your eyes, you’d drifted off to sleep. It’s become more of a gag, but mom always has the biggest smile when she comes down to find you curled up beneath the tree, the colorful lights shimmering in your hair. Oftentimes Akiteru would wake up in the middle of the night and bring you an extra blanket during the colder years, or he’d sit with you if it was too late to fall back asleep, but too early to wake everyone up to open presents. 

A silly little habit, maybe, but it’s given you fond memories. 

This year, as you bed down for the night tucked away amidst the plethora of gifts and lights, the sound of creaking floorboards makes you tense.

It’s just Kei, though, a blanket draped over his shoulder as he comes down the stairs, glasses missing and eyes a little narrowed, searching through the dim lighting of the room until they settle on you. 

“Kei?” 

He shushes you, settling down just beside you and nudging you over until he’s sharing your pillow, tugging his blanket over your body until you’re both wrapped up in it. He lays on his side, watching you with heavy eyes, illuminated by the wealth of lights just above his head. 

“This is my thing.” You tell him, letting him in anyway. 

He rolls his eyes, smiling as he stretches an arm out, an invitation you take by tucking yourself into the crook of it, snuggling close with a happy little sigh. You can’t feel the way the tension eases out of him, already drifting off to sleep, but he melts around you like sugar in hot tea. Softened, pressing little kisses to the top of your head, breathing for the first time in what feels like a year, since he first choked on a gasp at the sight of you in your doorway, eyes red with tears, still in your wrinkled pajamas. 

It’s the best night of sleep he’s had since the night he lost against Itachiyama. 

– 

You wake up to Kei’s low, raspy voice telling someone to ‘shhhh!’ with a tight hand pressed to the back of your head, followed by the high pitched sound of Akiteru giggling. 

With a quiet groan, you roll onto your back and blink against the harsh christmas lights. This lasts for only a moment before you’re covering your eyes and curling into Kei once more, regretting your decision to wake up. His arm comes back around you, rubbing your shoulder, and Akiteru moves closer. 

“Merry Christmas.” He whispers, a gentle hand petting the back of your head. “C’mon, mom is making breakfast.” 

“Lemme sleep.” You mutter, batting his hand away and trying to hide your face in Kei’s neck, though it’s ruined by the low vibration of his quiet laughter. 

Electing to have mercy on you, Akitery retreats to the kitchen, leaving Kei to make an attempt at gently rousing you. 

“Wake up.” 

You groan, loud, dramatic, bumping his shoulder with your forehead. “No.” 

He jostles you, pulling on your blanket, poking at your face until you hiss and slap at his hand. He catches it, drags you in and rolls onto his back so you’re sprawled over him. “Get up.” 

“Can’t make me.” You argue, pulling your skewed blanket up over your shoulders and making to get comfortable, right there on his chest.  

The tip of his nose maps a line down your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw as he hums thoughtfully, hand splayed wide over your lower back. “I’ll let you open my present first if you get up.” 

You pause, bracing on your elbows to lift yourself up and peer down at him. “Why does that matter?” 

He grins, a little smugly, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “Who knows? I could be bluffing. Maybe I didn’t even get you anything this year.” 

Your eyes narrow, flicking out towards the pile of presents as if you might be able to guess which one might be from him, but his hand comes up and cups the side of your face to block your view, coaxing you into looking back down at him. 

“I got you something nice, the least you can do is behave long enough to get it.” He smirks when you glower at him, a scary little scowl that he’s sure you picked up from the few times Yachi ever got angry. 

Begrudgingly, you let him drag you to your feet, his arm finding home around your waist as he walks with you into the kitchen. Mom greets you with a hug and a quick kiss, a whisper of ‘Merry Christmas’ against your temple. 

The gifts go by slowly, everyone lingering in the moment. You’re the only one without a source of income, so you had to get a little more creative. 

Your gift to mom is a painting of her favorite type of bird, some sort of hawk, that you’d requested from a friend you made in the art club. It cost you several weeks worth of classroom cleaning shifts that you picked up in their stead, but the brilliant smile on her face at the sight is worth it. 

Akiteru’s gift came with Saeko Tanaka’s name attached as well for a few reasons, as she’d helped you gather several photos from his highschool and college days, off and on the court, that you stitched into a scrapbook with other pictures from throughout yours and Kei’s childhood. Mom tears up at the sight of it, but it’s not until Akiteru gets to the last page that his head snaps up, watery eyes locked onto your face. 

The other reason her name is on the tag is that the last picture is an ultrasound. 

You, mom, and Kei are completely unphased when Saeko slips out from behind the entryway to the front hall, watching as tears pour down his face and his hands clap over his mouth. When her arms come around his shoulders from behind, he’s immediately up and rounding the couch, she’s barely even able to get a laugh out before he has her up in the air, holding her tight. 

Mom is quick to warn him to be gentle, already fretting. You have your phone out to record, and Kei is holding a box in his lap, fingers stroking the lace edge of the ribbon tied at the top. There’s a smile on his face, soft and barely there, feeling you press into his shoulder as you lean in to get a better angle from around your mom. 

His arm comes around you, drawing you in, and he bumps you with his cheek gently. “Can I open mine now?” 

You give him half a glance, a flutter of nerves in your throat. “No, you have to save it for next year. Sorry.” 

He rolls his eyes and gently pulls apart the ribbon, and you nearly groan when he begins to carefully peel away the tape from wrapping paper. His lips curl, half a smile, and you know he’s doing it on purpose. 

“I’ll open it for you if you don’t hurry.” You mutter, hoping your voice is quiet enough that the mic on your phone won’t catch it. 

“Open your own.” He huffs, but does give up on meticulously dissecting your wrapping. 

When he opens it to find an empty box, he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, both in vague disbelief and dry amusement. 

Clicking off your phone, you drag him into the kitchen with teasing laughter, feeling the narrowed scowl of his eyes blaring into the back of your head. 

It softens when you pull a homemade cake from the fridge, perhaps not as pretty as one from a store, but clearly made with loving intent. Your expression is a little shy, a little embarrassed, and your shoulders bend inwards as you hold it out to him. 

“Asked mom to show me how to bake one.” You mumble, trying not to shy away when he leans in close to hear you. “You said you like hers best, so…” 

Kei melts, removing the tray from your hands and setting it aside to take you back into his arms, squeezing you close as he lets out a soft little sigh into your hair. “I’m sure it’ll be decent.” He lies, fighting a smile when you whine and slap at his chest, frustrated that he’d tease you while you’re so clearly being vulnerable. 

Akiteru stumbles into the kitchen shortly after, wiping his eyes and red in the face, and he perks up at the sight of you two. His eyes drift to the cake, and Kei is quick to shut him down. 

“No.” 

You laugh, hiding your face in his chest while Akiteru comes over to whine, warmth bubbly like fizzy juice as it pops between your ribs, something bright and happy. 

It’s so easy to be like this. 

–

Later, after everyone has gone to sleep, Kei comes to your room.

A pretty little box in hand, wrapped with pretty blue paper and tied with a softer, silken ribbon. He sits on your bed with your back to his chest, watching as you carefully pull apart the tape, tongue poking out from the corner of your mouth. 

He doesn’t say a word while you gently unwrap the paper, careful not to rip it as you set it aside to add to your growing collection. Patient as you twist the soft, velvety box in your hands, fingers tracing the crease where it opens, wondering at the novelty of it. Certainly different from the books he’d gifted Akiteru, and the fabric for your mother. 

His hands rest against your knees, thumbs teasing at the bunched up hem of your pants, and somehow that’s more distracting than the gift you haven’t even opened yet. 

When you finally crack open the box, a small silver chain nearly falls out. It catches, hangs in the air, sparkles in the dim light filtering in through your blinds. A half swirl of ocean blue that glitters like stained glass, set in a circle of silver that’s polished pretty. New. 

You swallow, shrinking in as something warm blooms over your cheeks. “Kei, this is–” 

“It’s fine.” He interrupts, still soft. “Don’t. Do you like it?” 

A whisper. “Yeah.” 

He turns his wrist over, palm up, fingers curling in. “Then let me put it on.” 

The silver chain looks so much more delicate in his hand, but he handles the clasp easily, the pretty pendant resting just below the hollow of your throat. His fingers trace over it, following the curve of the chain down, and your head tilts back on instinct to make the trek easy. 

“Thought of you when I saw it.” He sighs, wrapping his arms loose around your middle and squeezing. “Merry Christmas.” 

For the second night in a row, you fall asleep in Kei’s arms. 

–

He’s only home a few more days before he has to leave, Christmas break is over. 

This parting is easier, if only because it will only hurt until you see him again, not for a wealth of other reasons. He hugs you tight, teases you, suffers through Akiteru’s physical affection and the doting of mom before he has to climb into his car and start the drive back to the city. 

He calls you when he gets home, and you don’t like it because it makes you miss him, the sound of his voice, the way his breath skims over your hair when he whispers while holding you. 

You’re pretty sure that isn’t normal, either. 

Even more so when, as you’re doing laundry, you realize he left one of his shirts behind. Comfortable, well-worn, you pull it over your head and feel something warm fluttering in your stomach, and as you catch your reflection in passing you see that your face is blushed. 

You start wearing it to bed, because you don’t have to put any effort into breaking it in and it’s loose and the material is softer than most of your other night clothes. 

Certainly not because, if you tuck your nose against the collar, you can still sort of smell him. 

–

He doesn’t come home for summer break.

You’re the first one to find out that it’s because he was signed on for a V-league team. 

When he tells you, he’s out of breath, the buzz of city life in the background, and you’re in the bathroom with a toothbrush sticking out of your mouth. 

“Huh?” 

He groans, swallows, and tries again, still heaving for air. “Sendai–frogs.” He gasps, voice a little wheezy. “Playing for– the Sendai Frogs.” 

It takes you a moment, after you’ve rinsed out your mouth and put your toothbrush away. 

When it clicks, you nearly scream into the receiver. “Oh my god you’re on a team! An actual team! Not just your shitty college one!” You squeal, far too loud for how late the hour is. 

He laughs, elated, and your joy is now secondhand, cheeks aching with how wide you smile. You’ve never heard him laugh like that, it makes you want to hug him through the phone. 

“Will you tell mom for me? I have to go back inside and sign the contract, I’ll text Akiteru later and let him know.” 

You choke on nothing, stopped short with a breath caught in your throat. “You called me before you even signed the damn thing?” 

Silence, then, a tentative– “No.” 

A quick, sharp exhale puffs past your lips, a feeling so saccharine that it burns you welling up in your chest. “Oh, Kei.” 

He hangs up, but you’re breathless now, beaming so hard that you feel compelled to cover your face, even though the only one around to see it is yourself. But as you peek through the spaces between your fingers and catch a glimpse of the mirror, you realize that even the sight of your own happy reflection is too much. 

– 

Your third year is busier. You’re more hands-on now with the team, joining them on the court to spike or block, to learn what to do through muscle memory so you know what advice to offer them with certain plays. You go to Kei often for tips, talking him through strategies and sending him tapes of your practices so he can go over them with you. And he, reluctantly, puts you in contact with Kageyama and Hinata as well. 

Even with his schedule, juggling college and practice for a professional team, he makes the time for you now. He can’t call every day, but he tries to text at least on those that he can’t. He’s not around as much during the holidays this year, but Tadashi stops by when he’s home to visit. Taller now, and more confident in a way. He doesn’t hover by the door like he used to, uncertain if he was really allowed to be in your home, always overly polite and formal even though you’d practically grown up together anyway. 

He sits with you and watches Kei’s game on the TV, and he even indulges when you ask to send him a selfie of the two of you just to rub it in that he isn’t home for Christmas. He drapes an arm around your shoulder, each of you wearing silly red and green sweaters, him with reindeer antlers sitting crooked atop his head, you with a santa hat. You’re smiling wide, glowing with joy as Tadashi squishes his cheek to yours to fit in close for the picture. You think it’s a nice one, Kei does not seem to agree.  

It earns you a very rude phone call later that night, but the grumpiness of his voice made it seem worth it, the undercurrent of jealousy that was thinly veiled. You tell him that the only way to make sure he doesn’t have to see stuff like that again is to spend Christmas with you every year. 

He calls you a brat, says he spoils you too much, but promises that you’ll be with him for the next one. 

–

Karasuno vs. Kamomedai

It’s like a sick joke, that in your third year you lose to the same school that Kei lost to in his. Your team places fifth for Nationals, it should be an achievement, you made it so far.

Not far enough. It’s your last year, your last game. 

It’s your loss as much as it is the teams, just as gaping, just as painful. Your eyes burn as you stand with them on the court, as you shake hands with the other team’s manager. Her grip is tight, fierce, her eyes watery even though she’s on the winning side. 

You think she feels it too, that she knows what it’s like, for her this is a victory strongly earned, deserved. 

For you, its unfair, unjust that your boys worked so fucking hard just to lose it all by a few points. 

Volleyball isn’t your passion, but you love it, you love your team, you love what you get to do, the things you’ve learned by helping them, how they’ve in turn help you improve in other ways. It burns in you like acid, the bitter sick of treacle that is too sweet. You stand on that court with them and try to keep yourself contained, sharing eyes with the captain and knowing your composure will be needed for the underclassmen.

At first, you would only text Kei when Karasuno won. It was his team, then, his tally to keep score of. 

Now, it’s yours. Your loss, your heartbreak, so you text him a simple ‘we lost.’ and turn off your phone. 

It’s a full night's ride back home, crammed into the bus with a team full of heartbroken young adults and teenagers. You comfort the first years as much as you can, you take their hands and promise that next year, they’ll go even further. 

You squeeze the other third years tight, the lot of you wishing that this year you would go even further. 

You’re dropped off at the school parking lot, sun cresting just above the treeline, you’re already dreading the walk home. Everyone is tired, sullen, faces puffy from crying and noses dry from too many tissues. 

And there at the front gate, Kei is waiting for you. Earbuds in, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling until he hears the sluggish drag of your footsteps. 

He catches you when you fall into his arms, sobbing, tucking himself around you and murmuring into your ear while you cry into the collar of his shirt. 

You follow him home blindly, vision blurry as you continuously wipe away your tears, other hand held tightly in his so he can lead you. The walk is familiar, bittersweet as you make this trek with him, so far removed from every other time you have. He rubs your knuckles with his thumb, quiet but checking in, tugging you along and hiding your face with his jacket when you have to stop and crouch low just to bawl for a moment. 

It’s slow, but eventually you make it home. Inside, he takes off your shoes for you, pulls you upstairs, crawls with you beneath your covers so he can hold you properly as you fall to pieces. 

There’s nothing you have to say, he already knows everything you’re feeling and you know that he does, but it feels like it will poison you if you don’t get it out, so you do. Bitterly recounting the last few points, the scant difference it would have made, how everyone did their best and it just didn’t measure up. You mourn it, the memories, the slow crawl to the top that you had been desperate to reach. For yourself, for your brothers. The last chance for a Tsukishima to win Nationals. 

He cups your face, squeezes your cheeks when you begin to devolve into actual rambling, pressing his forehead to yours until you calm enough to listen. 

“I’m going to win something better.” He promises you, laying a kiss above your brow. 

–

Kei stays with you all night, awake while you sleep, comforting you when you come to and feel the rawness of your loss all over again. He’s there when you wake up, a soft, playful little smile that doesn’t fade even after he drags you out of bed. 

You’re grumpy, sore, a little dehydrated, utterly unamused as you follow him unwillingly downstairs, wanting to just wallow beneath your sheets. 

As you’re walking into the kitchen, you’re overwhelmed at the sight of Kei pulling a cake from the fridge, a blue sticky note attached to the top. After you let out perhaps the most ugly crying sound of your life, Kei laughs at you and pulls you in by your wrists, his chin atop your head so you can burrow yourself into his shirt the way you always do when you’re trying to hide.

“I assume you want cake for breakfast?” He teases, so disgustingly careful that it makes you sick with happiness. To be treated gently, especially by him, at a time when you feel so brittle, is surreal.

“That sounds like a horrible idea.” You croak, cracking on the tail end of your jibe. He smiles where you can’t see, even though the memory it brings to mind is tinged with the cut of his own loss. 

“Well,” He drawls, fingers sinking into your hair to curl close to your scalp. “More for me, then.”

–

The rest of the year is filled to the max with college prep, studying for tests, and preparing a second year to take over as next year’s volleyball manager. 

Ukai is wistful when you talk to him about your plans, a wry smile on his face, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“You’re a lot like him.” He admits, grin turning crooked. “I used to think you two were nothing alike, but I see more of him in you now. Stubborn as hell when you put your mind to something, that’s for sure. I can’t believe you strong-armed me into staying on for another five years.” 

You smile, misty-eyed and a little sharp. “The next suitable coach won’t be out of college for a few more years, I can’t have my boys falling into the wrong hands, now can I?”

He laughs, husky and loud, slapping you too hard on the back once before bracing both hands on his hips and tipping his chin towards the net, the crowd of players ready for practice on the far side of the gym. “Then go make ‘em line up, we’re running receiving drills today and our ace ain’t gonna be happy about it.” 

You give him a mock salute, something sharp twisting in your ribs when he softens and pats the top of your head, sending you off once more to rally your team together. 

Was graduation this hard for Kei? Was he thinking about all of the things he was leaving behind in the middle of all of it? 

You don’t have time for calls as often, always with your face buried in a book. You forget to eat, sometimes, until Akiteru inevitably comes knocking at your bedroom door, takeout in hand because while mom is well aware of how single-minded you can be and knows you’ll eat eventually. Akiteru has never been able to dote on his younger sibling before so he’s taking full advantage of the fact that you won’t turn him away like Kei did. 

And you’ve kept it a secret, so far, the fact that you’ve applied to the same university as Kei. Waiting for the letter has been the bulk of your stress, though you’ve had to play it off on end of the year nerves. If you tell someone, you’ll start to hope, and you can’t hope until you have that letter

You’re exhausted, half-asleep on the phone with Kei after receiving numerous congratulations from the rest of your family on your upcoming graduation. He’s quiet, the faint click of his keyboard audible in the background while you scroll through your messages. 

An email notification pops up at the top of your screen, and you drop your phone when you read the web handle. 

“You okay?” It’s half concerned, voice barely pitching high as Kei listens to you curse and fumble to grab your phone from the floor. 

You don’t answer, biting your lip so hard that it bleeds as you open your email. The anticipation will kill you, throttle you if you don’t open it right now. You don’t have the patience to wait. 

Accepted. 

We are pleased to inform you – accepted – choice between on or off campus– 

“Kei.” You rasp, eyes glassy. 

You can hear the abrupt alertness in his voice, typing immediately ceased. “Are you okay?” 

A slow, shaky breath, building nerves. Unsure if he’ll want you there, unsure if you’re welcome, if this is intruding, things that you’re thinking too late in the game. 

“Want a roommate?” Is all you can manage, breathless, and then you’re laughing. 

“I–what?” 

You forward him the email, delirious and giddy, and he lets out a noise that's a cross between a gasp and a shout when he gets it. 

“You–here? Here?” 

“Full ride.” You whisper, fingers shaking as they curl around your phone. “Marine science, with my volunteer work I can get an internship at a marine lab in the city. A twelve minute bus ride from your apartment.” 

He laughs with you, then, disbelief thick. “You missed me that much?” 

“Do not ruin this for me, I will move in with Tadashi instead.” 

His laugh is more mocking this time, but he doesn’t tell you no, and you let yourself start to hope a little too much. 

At the end, just when you’re about to fall asleep, he murmurs– “I’ll clean up the guest room for you tomorrow.” 

–

He comes home for your graduation. 

A surprise, since he’d told you that he wouldn’t be able to make it, so he’s caught only slightly off guard when he walks in the front door and mom tells him that you’re out with friends. 

He can’t blame you for that, so he waits upstairs in your room, a little amused at the sight of your clothes all over the floor, the makeup scattered amongst your sheets. You’d gotten ready in a hurry, so he spends time picking up after you, less for you to do when you get back. 

Anxious, anticipating, he’s wholly unprepared for when you walk in the door drunk. You stumble into your bedroom still in your heels, and his mouth dries up. 

Smudged lipstick, disheveled hair, heavy eyes and with too many buttons undone on your shirt, fastened just below your bra to expose the frill of lace against your skin. 

When he looks closer, though, the thing that smothers something fragile in his chest is when he realizes there’s two shades of lipstick blurring together on your lips.

You smile big at the sight of him, eyes bright and more alert, and you fall onto the bed to throw your arms around him. 

“You’re home!” Breathy, hoarse from drinking, you smell like a sickly sweet perfume but he hauls you in close anyway, his eyes burning, hands shaking as they fist in your shirt. 

“Yeah.” He murmurs, heart breaking. “Congratulations, got you a gift.” His voice is rough, he tries to keep it under control, but you’re so sweet right now, nuzzling into his neck, your hands settled on his shoulders for stability. 

“Didn’t have to.” You slur, blinking away the fog, murky and thick. “Jus’ happy to see you, Kei.” 

He swallows around the grit in his throat, teeth clenched. Don’t say my name. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to wait till you move in to get it, and I can always return it before then.” 

You don’t even get angry at his weak jibe, giggling and nosing at his jaw now instead, shiny eyes blinking up at him through pretty lashes, he feels like he’s going to die. His hand squeezes your waist, finding you plush and soft, heart in his throat as you settle between his legs and rest all of your weight against him, cuddling close even though he knows, right now of all times, that he should push you away.

His thumb feathers over your bottom lip, smudged with red and purple, pressing down as if he can feel the phantom sensation of another mouth against yours. It burns, sickly in him, made worse when your tongue dips out warm and wet on his skin. 

It’s only for a second, but he’s starkly aware that he knows what your tongue feels like now, different than playfully licking his hand to make him let you go, it feels intimate, sensual, your eyes heavy-lidded with the flush of alcohol keeping you warm. 

For a hundred and one percent of the time, Kei has dedicated himself to loving you the way he should, anything more is locked tightly away in a box, building and building, far too much for such a tiny space to contain. Infinity would be too little a container for the excess of his love, the overflow, the love that is not shared between a brother and his sister. 

That night, his thumb wiping away your lipstick, the number drops to 99.

–

You wake up alone, head pounding, tucked in with a glass of water and a pill at your bedside and the taste of death in your mouth. With a groan, you drain half of the cup before even considering taking the pill, but you pop it quickly with a grimace before downing the rest. 

For your first night drinking, you think it could have gone way worse. 

As you lie back, blanket to your chin, you struggle through the events of last night, sorting through murky memories. 

You’d gone out to an izakaya, the lot of you trying your first round of beer to celebrate graduation. Sharing plans, snacks, drinks, everything was passed around at least three times between you all. 

And you have a girlfriend now. 

Unexpectedly, your first kiss is adrenaline fueled, the second with alcohol. Your best friend, reminiscing with you over your highschool years, then lamenting feelings lost. You’d pushed gently, and she told you with a wry grin that someone she loved was moving away, and she’d lost her chance to confess. 

Even tipsy, connecting the dots was easy. Long distance might be hard, and neither of you are deluded about what a same-sex relationship might do to some of your friendships, but you’re going to give it a try. 

You’re nervous. Romantic feelings have never come naturally to you, you’ve never felt that close with anyone so anything beyond a casual crush is a mystery.

Kaoruko is so sweet, though. Kind, skin thick against your snark, you’ve learned all of the things to avoid in your jokes and she knows everything that makes you tick. You think she’d be a good partner, you just wonder if that means she’ll be a good partner for you. 

The door opens, and you’re shocked when a familiar blonde figure steps in, a tray in his hands. “Kei!”

He startles, eyes-wide, and then frowns at you. “What? Don’t talk so loud, mom is still sleeping.” 

Message unnecessary, the sharpness of your own voice has you groaning and clutching at your head. Lesson learned the hard way. 

“I didn’t know you were here!” You whine, reaching for him. He falters, confused and hesitant, before setting the tray on your nightstand and kneeling on your bed so he can lean over to hug you. You clutch at him, breathing him in, feeling the tension in your body dissipate as his hands pass over your back. 

“You saw me last night.” He reminds you quietly, withdrawing even though you complain and try to pull him back in.  

“I did?” You ask, meek, trying to push through the muddle of your memory and finding nothing beyond leaving with your friends. You aren’t even really sure how you made it home.  “I don’t remember. Did I say anything weird?” 

He smirks, head tilted back with an expression so smug that you’re dreading having asked. 

“I don’t know, did you?” He teases, sitting down and pulling your breakfast into his lap, pancakes with cream instead of syrup, sliced strawberries between each layer, and a scoop of ice cream in a little cup on the side. He’s spoiling you, you wonder if mom knows. 

“Tell me!” You grab onto his arm and shake him, though he doesn’t move much, brow raised in thinly veiled amusement as you struggle. “Put me out of my misery! It’ll drive me crazy not knowing!” 

His grin widens, and then he’s shifting the tray over your lap, pointedly silent as he sets a glass of juice on your nightstand, sets down your silverware, and then presses a mocking kiss to your cheek that makes you hiss. “Akiteru and I are going out, behave.” He warns you, playful, watching as you glower up at him with a pretty pout. 

“No.” You deny immediately, picking up a strawberry slice and popping it into your mouth. “I’m gonna set the house on fire while you’re gone.” 

He shrugs with one arm, unperturbed. “You’re moving in with me anyway, the only one that would hurt is mom.” 

For some reason, the reminder makes you giddy. You can’t stifle your smile, almost bashful as you try to cover it with your hands, and he softens, pushes the hair out of your face so it doesn’t get in your pancakes. He lingers against your jaw, fingertips that ghost over your pulse before he’s pulling back, hand curled tight before it’s pushed into his pocket. 

As he’s about to leave, you blurt out his name, instinctive, impulsive, the whirlwind of your thoughts a cacophony. He stops, half turned with a questioning glance tossed over his shoulder, his eyes a bit wide when he sees the clear conflict on your face. 

“What’s wrong?”

You swallow, gaze lowered, hands knotted together as you twist your fingers to stem how they shake. It should probably stay a secret, but the thought of living with Kei and hiding this from him feels unthinkable. “I have a girlfriend.” 

His heart stops, a missing beat, throwing everything that is him off rhythm. You’re looking at your plate, so you miss how his face hardens, how it turns to impassive stone faster than you can blink up to catch it, searching for a reaction and finding none. 

Or so you thought.

You watch, increasingly anxious, as he practically sneers “so?” in such a cold voice that it shocks you, has you recoiling physically in your bed. 

It’s not the reaction you were expecting, it’s both more hostile and somehow uncaring. He looks angry, but then it’s locked behind a mask, that facade you haven’t seen since your first year. 

“I just–” You clear your throat, shaky, blinking against the sudden onslaught of his intensity. “I just wanted you to know.” 

He scoffs, a grating sound, shoulders rounded inwards as he turns back to the door. “Thanks, I guess. Anything else so important that it can’t wait until later?” 

Your face twists, brow pinched near the middle as you swallow your own vitriol. You will not lash out the same as him, even if you really think he might deserve it. “No. That’s all.” You spit, trying not to let yourself cry as he leaves. You’re in so much pain, what was at first just a pounding migraine is now an ache in your chest, something raw and ripped out. You hadn’t expected that. 

The pancakes are sweet, made the way you like them with too much cream even though Kei always says making them this way is a waste of time. It’s your favorite ice cream too, something that he had to have picked up on his own because it was definitely not in the freezer before you left with your friends. 

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, burning with frustration and guilt. 

You knew it was a risk to tell him, you’ve never had a conversation with anyone in your family about your sexuality before, so it was going to be a shock no matter what. You had worried that he would tell mom and maybe things would devolve, you had been prepared to argue your point if it came to that. 

What you hadn’t prepared for, was whatever the hell he gave you. Something bitter, toxic, a seething, cold anger that felt misdirected. 

Quietly, quietly, you think it looked a lot like jealousy. 

–

Kei’s friends help with your move, too. 

Hinata is broader, tanner, just as cheerful as he bounds up to greet you. Tame, in a way, that he had not been before he left Japan. He’s calm, less jittery as he carries boxes from upstairs down, taking the heavier ones from you with a smile and some offhand comment to redirect your attention before you get the chance to complain. 

Tadashi is familiar, a little dewy-eyed when he thinks too much about you going to college with him and Kei. Like with highschool, it will only be for a year before they finish their degrees, but the short time is something you hope to treasure. 

Kageyama isn’t able to make it, but he does actually remember to send you a text wishing you luck. It’s a little stiff, a little formal, but the fact that he reached out at all makes you feel fuzzy inside. 

It’s a nice contrast to the frost in your lungs whenever Kei catches your eye. 

Quiet, talking only when he needs to confirm that you’re taking or leaving something specific, or pulling you out of the way with a loose hand that drops as soon as it can. You hate it, you hadn’t thought moving in with him would be so stressful. 

It’s worse when Kaoruko comes to see you off. 

A tight hug is the most you can manage with so many people around, but she squeezes you and makes you promise again and again to call her, to visit on holidays and send her the first college hoodie you purchase so she can wear it instead. 

The others busy themselves with checking traffic in the city and planning out their routes to get to the apartment within a decent time frame, giving you the space to hold her, but you can feel Kei’s eyes on you. Like a brand, the weight of his attention makes you breathless, something wrong, something twisted. Guilt. 

It makes you angry, you’re firm in that you have no reason to feel guilty, he has no right to make you feel so bad over being in a relationship with a woman. Brazen, you give her a kiss to the forehead, soft and slow, uncaring now in the height of your adrenaline who sees. Hinata and Tadashi are unphased, but Kei’s face twists, an ugly expression shadowed as his chin tucks close to his chest, as if he can hide the way his eyes flare wide and his mouth presses thin. 

You ride in the car with Tadashi, sure that if you tried to make the trek with Kei then you’d end up killing each other on the way. 

He makes small talk about what your campus will be like, warning you of certain professors and reminiscing about some of his and Kei’s earlier years there, when they first started out together. He doesn’t expect you to talk back, filling the silence because unlike your brother, you don’t like to just sit in it and stew when you’re upset. He distracts you, breaks from the schedule to stop and get ice cream to make you smile even though it puts him behind everyone else on the drive to the city. 

And by the time you get to your new home, you’re laughing and at ease, tension long left back in Miyagi. The others are already inside, sun dropped heavy near the horizon, so you take your time getting your things from his car. It’s cold, a chilly breeze that ruffles the loose fit of your clothes, comfort over function, he shoos you inside while getting the rest of your bags. 

That newfound ease only lasts up until you make it to the front door before your nerves creep back in, the uncertainty, the worry that maybe you aren’t so welcome anymore but Kei just didn’t want to deal with the trouble of telling you to buzz off. It makes you anxious, torn between climbing back into Tadashi’s car to go home and just acting like everything is fine. You are not confident you could do the latter. 

Before you can make a choice, it’s made for you in the form of Hinata spotting you from the window and hurrying to let you inside, a call of your name that bleeds through the wood and alerts the others of your arrival. The door is yanked open, a wide smile to greet you, sunshine incarnate so bright you almost want to squint in the face of it.

Tadashi ushers you inside out of the cold, mindful of the rigid way you carry yourself and offering a reassuring smile when you shoot him a pleading glance, begging him with your eyes to get you out, and him declining with a gentle pat on the head.

Akiteru and Kei are in the kitchen, conversation halted as they turn to watch as you’re, quite unwillingly, coaxed further into the room by Hinata. Yachi intercepts, nobody had even told you she’d be here but you’re overjoyed when she’s quick to pull you into a hug. 

She tells you that she’s proud of how well you did as Karasuno’s manager, hand braced on her hip with the other on your shoulder, beaming wide and you’re struck with the thought that there are now twin suns in the living room and you feel like you’re going to get burned by all the happy fuzzy energy. 

You’re bashful beneath her praise, flustered and shy with your face ducked to hide it, and she coos at you before teasing Kei about how you both react the same to genuine compliments. 

That makes him flush as well, though his expression is significantly more annoyed. It does nothing to detract from the ruddy color on his cheeks. He catches your gaze briefly as you’re taking in your surroundings, but before he can make any sort of face you’ve already looked away. 

You’ve never seen Kei’s apartment before. It’s clean, a little bare, pictures on the wall and shelves lined with books. There’s a lit candle on the kitchen counter, a TV turned on but clearly forgotten on some history channel, vacuum lines still prominent in the carpet from a recent, hasty cleaning job. 

It doesn’t look like home, doesn’t feel like home, and now you’ve come to the strange point where you wish you had stayed in Miyagi, with mom and Akiteru. After coming this far, though, you’re determined to see this through. More for you is here than just Kei, it’s a good college for your major, and the work opportunities are better here. You’ll make it work. 

You have company to dilute the heavy air for a few hours, at least. They stay long enough for dinner, which consists of takeout that Hinata and Kei should definitely not be eating, but they do anyway because you and Yachi had a craving.

You stay cuddled close to Akiteru, mournful in a strange way at the thought of him leaving to go back home. It’s better this way since mom won’t be lonely, but every time you and Kei have given each other the silent treatment, you had Akiteru to comfort you, to visit and call you when you were down. Knowing that he won’t be a simple five minute walk away is foreign, the change of it rattling your foundations. You tuck your face against his neck and let him rub your back with a soft, comforting croon.

He promises to call, gently, so gently, teasing that you’ll get over it quickly enough that you’ll eventually have to start ignoring him because he’s going to pester you so much. His banter is different, it doesn’t bite or sting, more like the plucking of strings to create a tune. He makes you laugh, even when your eyes are glassy. 

You share another quick round of hugs before they have to go, Hinata lightly chiding Kei and making him promise to be nice to you, and Tadashi trying to mediate before Kei can get mad at being told how to treat his sister. Yachi gets your number and offers to take you out sometime to see the city, and as you watch their cars fade out of view down the road, you think that it was nice to have them over. You wonder if you’ll get to invite them over yourself, one day. 

It’s quiet, with just you and Kei. 

He’s cleaning up, putting away leftovers and wiping down the counter, keeping busy while trying not to be too obvious as he watches you move about the living room. Exploring, tentative, wanting to ask where your room is so you can just hide but not wanting to break the silence. 

His face is burned into your eyelids, that twisted sneer, the surprising vitriol he’d regarded you and Kaoruko. 

Then, the way he’d softened when he’d offered you a bite of his katsu, seeing how you hesitated before accepting, holding your hair out of your face while you leaned in to take it.

It’s a dichotomy that makes you dizzy, frustrated, and leaves you aching. Does he still love you, does he still accept you? 

So immersed, you miss the quiet squeak of the faucet when he turns it off, eyes heavy through glass as he crosses the distance between you in few steps. 

The first brush of his hand against your back has you tense, rigid in anticipation, though you melt when it moves to pull you in by your hip, your head resting against his chest. You let him hug you, even mired in your confusion. He doesn’t deserve it, though, doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. 

He tugs you along to your room, sparsely decorated with some of your belongings already inside, boxes opened but left for you to unpack at your leisure. Clean sheets, the blankets from your room already spread out, and a wrapped box sitting neatly in the center of your bed. 

It’s a small thing that this gesture means, a silent apology in the careful way he handles you, and the first tremors of your unease begin to dissolve. If he’s making the effort, he at least doesn’t hate you.

You swallow around nothing, and his head dips, mouth at your temple. “I’m down the hall, knock if you need anything.” He murmurs, a hand curled possessively at the base of your spine, and hating himself for it, for how he feels when you willingly press in closer, letting him push against you to remove all of the space between your bodies. 

It shouldn’t be so easy, he knows. It shouldn’t be so hard. 

– 

You don’t open the gift, not yet, keeping it pretty on the corner of your desk. 

The first night is easy, you fall asleep nearly the moment you’re left alone. You rest well, considering the past few weeks you’ve barely gotten any rest at all. The mattress is comfortable and all of the packing had left you so physically exhausted that you probably couldn’t have stayed up if you wanted. In the morning, after you’ve been awake for more than ten minutes, you send out a round of texts to your friends and then call Mom. 

Akiteru is in the background, crying dramatically about how he misses you so much already. You smile, listening to them, already missing them more because you’re aware of how far away you are now. 

But it’s because of that that you’re so cheery when you leave your room, walking into the kitchen to find Kei already waiting at the stove. 

“Good morning!” You chirp, coming up from behind and leaning against his back. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Eggs.” He mumbles, raspy with sleep, turning to peer at you from over his shoulder. “Scrambled or fried?” 

“Scrambled.” You hop up onto the counter, ankles crossed, watching him poke at the skillet with his chopsticks, stirring the egg around as it thickens. He looks a little disheveled, wearing mismatched pajama pants that hang low on his hips, hair fluffed up whatever which way, ruffled from tossing and turning. Kei’s never been a sound sleeper.

As you settle in your spot, you wince at how cold the marble feels against the backs of your bare thighs, the skin of your arms prickling until you rub them with your warmer hands. The movement draws his attention, his eyes finally falling on you, and they narrow sharply as he leans in, inspecting you up close without his glasses to aid him in whatever he’s looking for. 

“Is that mine?” 

You blink, caught a little off guard by the sudden sharpness of his voice, now far more alert than a moment ago. “Huh?”

A hand hesitantly reaches out, tugging at the hem of your nightshirt. His fingers curl, grazing over bare skin, and you shiver. “The shirt.” Lower, now, voice thicker. “Is it mine?” 

You swallow, licking at your dry lips and missing the way his eyes flash up to follow. “Yeah, you left it last year when you visited for Christmas.” A pause, uncertainty plucking at you as you tuck your chin. “Do you want it back? Only kept it cause it was comfy, didn’t know you’d miss it.” 

“No.” It's too quick, he knows, and he can’t stop staring. “You’ve had it for this long, makes more sense for you to just keep it since you like it so much.” 

It should be a taunt, you think, it’s meant to be a taunt, but his voice falls to something reverent instead, unable to muster any hint of mocking. His thin brows are low, pulled up at the middle, lashes kissing his cheeks when his eyes dip below your neck, lower, hidden in the shadows of the kitchen barely illuminated with the faint light coming from behind. You miss the way he looks at you, bare legs on display, his shirt hanging from your body. He wants to push it up, to feel your skin beneath his hands, to kiss you and taste you and– 

Chopsticks clatter to the counter, and he turns away to slide past you, dropping the pinch of fabric like it’s burned him.

“Kei?” You start to get down, braced on your hands as you lift up to drop to the floor and chase him, but his voice is quick to cut you off. 

“Phone call.” He mutters, shoulders hiked up with his head hanging low, disappearing quick into the hallway before you can follow up with any more questions. 

The skillet is still on the stove, hot, he didn’t even turn the burner off or finish cooking the eggs. 

You take over, then, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. He’s gone for a while, whatever call he’s on is quiet, inaudible even when you creep up to his door in an attempt to listen in, to see what has him so on edge. You hear him once, a harsh and heavy exhale, wet like it’s anguished, but silent after. 

With breakfast made, you wait with a plate of cold eggs for him to join you, sitting on the couch and watching a documentary on saltwater fish. 

He takes a shower after his call and then he finally comes back out to eat with you, but instead of explaining he just acts like nothing happened. Now that you clearly have no reason to be worried, you default to being angry that he ditched you. He’s not looking at you, but clearly he can feel your stare, because his own face twists to mirror it. 

“What?” 

You nearly throw your eggs at him. “What the hell was that?” 

“A phone call.” He takes a bite, ignoring you when you smack at his shoulder with your hand, feigning interest in the documentary you’ve put on like actually he gives a shit, something that only sours you further.

“Kei you are such a liar!” You fall back, spooning a cold bite of your breakfast into your mouth and making no attempt to hide your pouting when he turns to face you. 

The tension is back, a little less heavy than before, but still lingering as you eat together in silence. He washes the dishes while you click through his movie catalog, he comes back to sit with you after. Waiting, in his way, because he knows the distance is too much and you’re going to inevitably break when you want something more.  

He doesn’t tease you for it, when you finally cave and reach for him, he simply opens his arms and lets you crawl in, leaning back until you’re warm against his chest. His hands are on your waist, barely applying any pressure but still firm, and yours are in his hair, nails teasing at his scalp until he lets out a quiet groan and rolls his head back in muted encouragement. 

And it’s nice, familiar, he missed your weight on him, the occasional hitch in your breathing because nothing about you is ever steady. You play with his hair and fidget while listening to the droning voices from the TV, you finally begin to relax against him and he’s missed that, can’t fathom the reality of you being too uncomfortable to be around him.

You start to doze off, he can hear it in the way your breath slows, drags, rougher than when you’re awake and alert. It puffs out against his neck, warms his pulse, makes him want to crane his head closer until your lips are against his skin. 

Seventy-five percent. 

Your phone rings, shatters the quiet and jolts you awake. You’re whining, smacking at the coffee table until your fingers catch the end of your case, and you tuck it between his chest and your cheek so you don’t have to hold it while you talk.

“Hello?” 

Tentatively, Kaoruko’s voice bleeds through. “Hi, is this a bad time?” 

You perk up, voice pitched a little higher. “Hey! Not at all, ‘m just hangin’ out with Kei watchin’ TV.” 

Kei tilts his head down, a question, and you falter before answering, his face in mind. 

You’re not going to hide, though, so you steel yourself. “It’s my girlfriend, Kaoruko.” Your voice is traitorously soft, a fragile thing, the walls of your defenses so thin that he can see through them like glass. You’re scared, he realizes, and it melts the jagged razor’s edge of his jealousy. 

“Do you want me to leave so you can talk?” 

Your surprise is blatant, hope bleeding through and twisting a knife between his ribs, the thought that he had let his own feelings hurt you so much that you had been afraid of how he would react. He hates that.

“Nah, s’ok. I’m comfy.” You cuddle back in, talking soft into the phone while he settles beneath you. He strokes your back, fingers steady despite how badly he wants to shake. It hurts, in an unfathomable sense, how he listens to your voice so sweet as you coo into the receiver, teasing and playful in a way you aren’t with him. With him, you bicker, snapping back just as sharp, prickled in a way so unlike the way you are now. Silken, affectionate, like all of you is soft with her. 

His eyes burn. 

–

In some ways, it’s easy to settle in. Even with practice and summer assignments, Kei sets time aside for you. He still calls home, though now you join him for those calls instead of waiting on the other end with mom. You cook more when he doesn’t have the patience for it, and soon begin to take over making dinner overall until your own college classes start. It’s not so different from when you were both in Miyagi, though he’s cleaner now than he used to be. 

In other ways, it’s harder. 

The first time you walk into the kitchen too early in the morning and find him without a shirt, you’re almost appalled at how hot your face feels. His back is to you, ducked low while peering into the fridge, and you watch in something akin to muted horror at the way you can actually see him. Muscle definition that had never been there before, or you had never cared to pay attention to. Hair tousled, messy from sleep as he rakes a hand through it, making it worse. Flush at the shoulders with summer heat, freckles speckled on his skin. 

The fridge clicks shut, and you snap out of it before he turns around, fleeing into the bathroom to collect yourself. 

Your own reflection horrifies you. Eyes a little glazed, pupils dilated, lips parted and plush from being pressed too hard together. Palm to your chest, you feel the way your heart thuds against your ribs, too quick, fluttery like a hummingbird. 

It’s natural, you’re quick to tell yourself. 

It’s not. 

–

When Kauruko comes to visit for the first time, Kei stays out late. 

He’s not good with people, so you aren’t surprised, and you’re a little relieved you won’t have to mediate the tension between them. He can be polite, but cold and cool, and your Kaoruko is very sensitive to people like that, he would scare her off immediately. 

She’s shy, a little, but warms up the longer you curl up together on the couch, her head on your chest, your fingers in her hair. She nuzzles into you, breathes you in, soothed by the steady hum of your heart. No longer weighed down by the pressure of school, she’s more relaxed, the bags beneath her eyes almost faded completely. 

She plays with the hem of your shirt, another one of Kei’s that you’d stolen from his clean laundry before he got around to pulling it from the dryer. Slender fingers, silken, stroke the sensitive skin of your stomach, her lips quirking into a smile when you giggle softly and bat at her hands half-heartedly. 

She kisses you, then. Careful, questioning, melting when you press in to return it. Warm, velvet against your mouth, she cups you by the back of your head and deepens it, you let her guide you, a push and pull as she rolls her hips into you, your thighs parting a little to make room for her. 

When she pulls away with a quiet little gasp, you hum and brush the hair from her face, watching her cheeks flush with color. “I’m sorry.” She murmurs, a bit breathless. “I’m not–I don’t know if I–” 

You coo, squeezing her tight and kissing the furrow in her brow. “It’s okay.” You promise, murmuring against her skin. “I’m fine with just this.” 

She settles, quiet apologies that you stifle with teasing pinches and raspberries, until she’s laughing and pushing against you in weak attempts to break out of your embrace, but you hold on tight and wrap your legs around her as well. 

Kaoruko falls asleep like that, with you still wide awake and gently rubbing her back. The front door creaks open, the shuffle of Kei walking in drawing your attention. He comes around the arm of the couch slowly, and in the light of the TV just before he realizes you’re awake, you watch his face crumple with pain. 

Pain, not anger. Not disgust. 

You watch, amazed, as he jerks away, hands curled tight into fists before falling slack when he notices your open eyes. He stares, unmoving, and Kaoruko shifts atop you with a muffled murmur. 

He tries for normal, for casual, expression smooth and disinterested as though you hadn’t just watched him nearly begin to cry at the sight of you cuddled up with someone else. You don’t stop him when he goes to his room, expecting his door to slam but only hearing a quiet click. 

Something in you cracks. 

– 

It takes two weeks after Kaoruko has gone home for you to break up. 

And it’s so easy that you think you should feel guilty, but you don’t. On her end, the kiss helped her realize that she’s not very interested in women, she just likes you. She isn’t upset when you ask about ending the relationship, only insistent that you stay friends even if it’s a little awkward for a while. 

But it’s not awkward at all, it’s easy to fall into old habits. You don’t quite lose the pet names or the affection, but it’s clearer now that you never felt anything romantic for her to begin with. You feel safe with her, you trust her, so a relationship just seemed to make sense.

But you can’t get Kei’s face out of your mind, and there’s a subtle shift to the lens in which you view his actions now. You can’t stay in a relationship, not like this, not with the twist and the dark direction your thoughts are turning. She deserves far better than the fucked up individual you’re about to become.

And, as you drop your phone after ending the call, as you get up and glide down the hall to knock at Kei’s door, your heart is in your throat but you’re excited, you can’t help thinking that never once did someone else make your body thrum with anticipation like this, make you eager like this.  

“Come in.” Soft, he looks up at you and lowers his headphones when you open his door, and something in your face must alarm him because his chair rolls back sharply and he turns towards you with a pinch of concern. “Are you okay?” 

“I just broke up with Kaoruko.” 

His eyes go wide, lips parting around a gasp that would be inaudible if you weren’t watching him so closely for a reaction. His hands twitch, fingers curling around the arms of his chair until the knuckles bleed white.

“And?” He asks, testing, gauging where you’re at. You’ve never gone through a breakup before, he doesn’t know what to expect, your face gives nothing away that he can read. 

He’s frozen when you move closer, legs spreading as you slide into his lap. A hard, gulping swallow, honey eyes like glass as his head falls back with you hovering over him and your hands braced against his chest, his heart rabbiting beneath your fingers.

Quietly, you tell him– “I’m sad. Heartbroken, actually.” 

Clearly, you’re not. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his voice is hoarse when he replies. “What do you want me to do about it?”

You lower yourself to him, arms draped over his shoulders, your face at his neck so you can hear the little groan he chokes down when you shift around to get comfortable, his hands flying to your hips as if to push you away, or bring you closer. 

“Jus’ want you to hold me.” You murmur, nosing against his collar, feeling the unsteady pounding of his heart, how your own races to match it. 

So he does. He works with one arm rubbing at your back, chin resting on your shoulder so he can still see his screen. He doesn’t complain when you play with his hair, or when you take his phone so you have something to mess with while you stay draped over his lap. 

Just lounging around, not dissimilar to how you spend time with anyone else. 

But it feels different, relaxed and comfortable, hyperaware and sensitive, a dichotomy that Kei makes easy. 

–

Change doesn’t happen as quickly as you would think, after that. Classes are starting so rather than focusing on each other, your attention is diverted towards textbooks and copying notes. 

Still, you grow closer than before amidst it all. Rather than simply leaning against each other while you study, he’ll let you into his lap, arms overlapping while you read from separate books. Sometimes his touch lingers, rough fingers that slip beneath the hem of your shorts or long shirts, stroking soft skin and making you tingle everywhere he goes. You feel the phantom echo of his touch long after it’s gone, almost to the point that you can imagine what it would feel like if those fingers slipped higher, drifting between your thighs until they reached the apex. 

It’s those thoughts that keep you up. Shame and desire, guilt and anticipation, waiting for something but unsure of if you’re willing to take the final plunge. 

It’s clear how he feels, you think. Uncertain of if your own feelings are the same, if you’re even right to begin with, and the mess of it all keeps you walking a very fine line, testing the waters to be sure before you do something that can’t be taken back. 

So you watch him, watch how he is around you, thinking of if Akiteru was in his place and finding that your heart most definitely does not respond the same. 

How when you crawl on top of him, watching the hard bob of his throat as he waits for you to settle, it’s always as though bracing himself for incoming pain. He should be used to your cuddling by now, but he’s so tense at the start, always has to be soothed slowly into relaxing beneath you.

How he’s worse towards you on campus, now. At Karasuno he was vaguely rude in the beginning, but beyond that he treated you gently, not openly affectionate but still with a sort of warmth. 

Here, he’s colder. Distant. If he sees you between classes, you get maybe a tip of the head in acknowledgement, or he’ll text you during class and tell you that your makeup is smudged or something else meant to irk rather than upset. 

Definitely different, but you take it slow, mingling with your classmates to keep you from getting too in your own head about it all, knowing you’ll make yourself sick with stress if you focus on Kei’s treatment of you too much. 

There are no familiar faces here, though. No friends from a previous school to draw you into their circle, no one else that you know aside from Tadashi, who you see even less than Kei. 

And, worse, you feel drastically different this time around when people realize who your older brother is, and history repeats. 

People pulling you aside, other volleyball team members that are wondering why he left, some being more direct and asking you about his relationship status, for his number, some discreet in the way they try to approach you casually first, but you’ve learned from high school and ignore them outright. 

You’re a little cranky, most of the time, Kei notices but doesn’t push since he isn’t the problem, taking it in stride when you snap or get a little too much attitude. 

He still teases you, though, even with that new glint in his eyes as he pokes and prods at your stomach to make you laugh, holding you down when you squirm beneath him and try to get away. It’s different, charged, but neither of you cross the line. 

Even though you can see it clearly now, how badly he wants to. His hands will drift over your bare skin when he draws away, fingertips that twitch with the urge to sink in, to drag you close, you can feel the way his hips will stutter when you lock your legs around him to flip the position, still continuing the game but you know he’s thinking of something else entirely.

Thirty percent. 

–

“You’re Tsukishima’s baby sister, right?” 

The ‘baby’ grates at you, your jaw gritted before you can even turn around. “Yup, that’s me.” You drawl, adjusting the strap of your bag and leaning your weight to one side. “Need something?” 

She smiles, a demure little thing, you’re reminded of dark hair and blushing cheeks, the silly thought of being asked to give away your brother’s number without his consent. This one doesn’t ask for that, though. 

“There’s a party tomorrow at my place. I was hoping he’d come, but he never says yes when I ask.” She pouts, a little, lips a pretty shade of coral. “Would you ask for me? You can come if you want, just don’t drink the punch.” She winks at you, bumps you with her shoulder, and your annoyance lessens because at least she’s including you in the equation somehow. 

“Social activities are uh…not really his thing, if you couldn’t tell.” You muse, pleased when she bursts out with a laugh that cracks near the end, her eyes gleaming when you continue. “ –but, I’ll see what I can do. I’m good at getting my way, being the baby sister and all.” 

Her face brightens, and she looks at you with different eyes, appraising, before dipping her head. “I’m Hoshino. Even if he doesn’t come, I hope I’ll see you there?” It’s open-ended, hopeful, and you try not to look too happy when she scribbles her number on the inside of your wrist.

Kei notices when you come home in a good mood, leaning with his elbow on the kitchen counter and looking up as you walk in. 

You’re smiling, typing on your phone while looking between the screen and your wrist. You haven’t greeted him yet, haven’t even noticed he’s there, and his brow tilts in annoyance. 

“You’re going to trip.” He lies, watching as you falter mid-step and make yourself stumble over nothing in anticipation of an obstacle that isn’t there. 

“Kei!” You scowl, tossing your bag onto the couch and moving into the kitchen with him. “Don’t be a dick.” 

He turns around, following you as you stop at the fridge and pull it open, eyes a little narrowed. “What has you in such a good mood?” It’s sarcastic, but he hopes you give a serious answer anyway, curious about what had you grinning so much when for weeks you’ve been sullen and stormy. 

You perk up, water bottle in hand as you step close and lean into him, smiling despite the wary look he now wears. “We were invited to a party!” 

He rolls his eyes, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “Who was it? Koganegawa? Kyoutani hates parties, it wouldn’t be him. Akiro?” 

You shake your head, cracking open the lid on your water and taking a sip. “A girl named Hoshino.” 

His eyes widen briefly, then his brow furrows, lips pressed thin and twitching downwards. “I don’t want to go.” 

“Okay.” 

Stunned, he blinks, looking genuinely startled even though you’ve been turning down party invites on his behalf for years. You shrug, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder, warmed when his arm comes around you tentatively. “You hate parties, but she said I could go too even if you don’t, so I’m not gonna force you just so I can make friends.” 

He softens, melting with a murmur as he tips your chin up and gives you a muted look of guilt. “You’re lonely.” 

Not a question, but you nod anyway. “Just a little, I still talk to my friends back home, but you forget that I’m not as introverted as you are. I like people.” 

He nods, tracing the curve of your jaw with his knuckles. “Yeah.” He murmurs, nodding slowly. “I’ll go, and whenever you want to leave you can just use me as an excuse.” 

You lean into his hand, smiling with soft eyes up at him, oblivious to the way it makes his heart pick up. “Wouldn’t need it as an excuse.” You tease, looping your arms around his middle and locking your fingers together. “Five minutes in and you’ll be the one begging me to come home.” 

His brow climbs high, a disbelieving scoff puffing some of the hair out of your face. “I’m not begging for anything, if I want to leave I’ll just leave. You can find your own way home by now, I’m sure.” 

You can’t help smiling, though it's more because you can feel him trying to lean away from you, to avoid the press of your hips against his as you lean into his space. Sly, you press in closer to hear the way his breath hitches, feeling his hands twitch to grab and push you away, but he doesn’t. 

“Kei,” You drawl, low as you drag your locked hands up his back, smoothing your palms higher until the material of his shirt goes with them, feeling the way he shivers at your touch. “Would you really just abandon me at some stranger’s party?” His eyes roll, but you think it might not be so much because of your dramatics, but rather the way you carefully slot the twist of your hips between his thighs, bracketing them around you as you step in close. Voice a low, teasing whisper, you coo– “Now, that doesn’t sound like something a good big brother would do, does it?”

You feel him, pulsing against your thigh, and he’s so carefully still despite the way he clearly wants to shove you back. Hoping you won’t notice, maybe, or hoping you’ll at least pretend. You smile up at him, cloyingly sweet and he glares, but it’s such a feeble expression when you can tell he’s focusing so much more on not grinding against you. 

He’s completely silent when you step away, red in the face, trying so hard to look angry but the expression is wrong, far more riddled with desire than you’re sure he intends it to be. Like he wants to bend you over the counter, to fuck the snark out of you, but he turns his back to you the moment you’re out of his space instead. 

On your way out of the kitchen, however, as you turn to glance at him from over your shoulder, butterflies erupt in your stomach when you see him palming between his legs, brow pinched tight in an expression almost like pain, like yearning. 

8%

– 

You wake up the next morning to an email telling you that your early class is canceled, so you have an unexpected extra few hours to get ready for the party. 

There are a few things you need to throw in the washer first, so you get out of bed to reluctantly start laundry. You don’t have enough for a full load, so you poke your head into Kei’s room to ask if he has any clothes that need to be washed, but the question dies on your tongue when you see that he’s still in bed.

He’s on his side, facing the wall with his curtains drawn shut to block out the sunlight, blanket falling off his body and pooling at the floor. Quietly, you slip inside and tuck him back in, smoothing your hands down his shoulder and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek while you draw the blanket back over him. He murmurs softly and chases you as you withdraw, still deep in whatever stage of sleep he’s in, and you have to hold back the urge to coo at him for sounding so sweet. 

You’d rather not go through his things and risk disturbing him, so you drag your basket into the laundry room to strip off what you wore to bed and throw it carelessly on top. It won’t hurt to wait awhile for him to wake up first before asking if he has anything he needs cleaned.   

Taking advantage of your newly obtained freetime, you laze around in your room on your phone. Catching up, mostly, taunting your friends that are currently stuck in class by sending them pictures of you snuggled up in bed, exaggerating your comfiness until they tell you, not so politely, to fuck off. 

It only takes an hour or so before Kei is up, floorboards creaking quietly while he wanders through the hall. 

A minute after that, you get a text from him. 

Good luck in class today

Oh, he doesn’t know you’re home. 

An evil, evil idea comes to mind, pettiness surging in your chest as you recall all the failed scare attempts from your childhood, all the times he turned it around on you and succeeded. You have a rare opportunity. Kei is infallible in that way, you can never catch him off guard because he has your schedule memorized, and when he knows you’re at home he’s too in tune with you to ever not know when you’re just around the corner. 

It makes you giddy with anticipation, with intent. You want to make him scream, just once, just once you want to scare the hell out of him. 

You creep slowly up to your door, lifting the handle before pulling it open, knowing it will creak otherwise. 

The door to the laundry room is open, you can hear him moving around inside, uncapping detergent in a bottle that squeaks as it opens. You almost feel guilty for plotting to scare him when he might be doing your clothes, but you don’t let it deter you as you make your way down the hall. Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees, bare skin sticking to polished wooden floorboards, you’re careful not to shuffle so the squeak doesn’t give you away. 

You peek around the doorway, low, finding him with his back to you and an arm outstretched with– 

Your panties are stretched between his fingers, twisting, turning them, and you could almost cry when you see the crotch is dark, damp with the two orgasms you’d wrung from yourself too late last night, still shiny with your slick from the one early this morning. 

Your muscles tense, already readying to lurch forward so you can snatch them from him and then cry in your room until you die of embarrassment, but then he moves. 

Leaning against the washer, you can see the anguish written all over his face, as his hands dip below his waist. You see him clearer now, a heavy outline through the thick material of his sweatpants, and as his fingers hook in the waistband to pull them low, the breath catches in your throat when his cock kicks as it's freed, bobbing heavy in the air and swollen. It’s already throbbing when he wraps your panties around it, the head lined up against the arousal you’d left behind. He chokes out a groan that sounds like an apology, and the first pump of his hand makes his knees buckle. 

“Fuck–” He gasps, free hand hurrying to clap over his mouth, then it rises to rip his glasses off and put them to the side. 

He leans his weight fully against the washer, head tilted back, chest heaving as he fucks the tight clench of his fist, the muscles in his thighs tensing with every thrust, sweat beading at his temples. He works his wrist in little half circles, squeezing tighter near the tip and letting out a moan that makes you tremble. Neck bared and flushed red, you can see him struggling to swallow his voice, choking on each pathetic attempt at cutting off a needy whine of regret, like he wants to stop so bad but it feels so good and he’s so sorry–

You watch, horrified, enthralled, as he works himself up to the brink, the drip of pre heavy from the tip of his cock, soaked into the blue cloth wrapped so tightly around it. He shudders hard, voice pitching, peaking, the pace of his hips jerking to an abrupt stop when he nearly falls over the edge.

He throbs so hard that you can see it, see the way it pulses against the impossibly tight grip he has on it, fingers curled at the base to stop himself from spilling. 

Kei whimpers, such a soft, sweet sound, and can bear to wait only a moment before he starts again. His chin tucks down to his chest, lips twisted and trembling, brow pinched with his skin flushed like a peach. He looks so guilty, so aroused that it hurts him. Teeth pull on his lips until they bleed, and his back arches, head falling back once more as his hips buck with a stuttered cry catching in his throat. 

Again, he holds it, panting so hard that you’re worried he’ll start to hyperventilate. 

“God…” He breathes, chokes. “I’m going to hell.” 

Mesmerized by him, the ripple of muscle as he curls in on himself, a rough inhale and hair falling in his screwed-shut eyes, so messy, so desperate. He fists his cock with a sudden sense of urgency, mouth dropped open in a silent cry when his whole body shakes, his free arm braced against the washing machine so he doesn’t fall. 

“I can’t.” He groans, hips twitching, trying to slow but his hand chases it instinctively, warring with himself. When he cums, your name is on his lips, soft, a shameful secret as he paints your panties white. He strokes himself through it, until he’s whining from oversensitivity but even then he doesn’t stop. 

You watch in a strange mix of emotions as he brings himself to the edge again, nearly sobbing with it, and as he pulls the soaked fabric away thick strands of cum stretch from the tip of his cock, glossy and heavy as it drips, and he lets out a strangled noise at the sight.

He stands there for a while, just staring, watching the way it sticks to him, the smear of shimmery arousal that must be yours leftover on his skin. Before he can recover, you’re quick and careful on the trek back to your room, trying so very hard not to combust with everything you just saw. 

It replays on loop, over and over, burned into your eyelids, like a sickness. 

You make yourself cum with his face in your mind twice, three times before it feels like you can breathe again, twitching, sweaty, shame hot in your cheeks. It’s new, and it’s not. Having it confirmed is dizzying, to see it so intimately, to see your infallible big brother weak in the knees because of you. 

After sitting with this revelation for over an hour, you take a shower. Cold water beats down on you, numbing you, but you still feel too hot inside, burning up with fever. 

You have no idea how you’re going to get through an entire party, not after this. 

When you come out of the shower, hair dripping, wrapped in a towel, you freeze when you find Kei waiting in your room. 

He’s holding your laundry, and at the sight of you the basket falls, clothes spilling onto your floor, the two of you too shocked to pay it any mind. 

“I didn’t hear you come home.” 

You swallow, tightening your grip on the folds of your towel, watching his eyes dip and then rise just as quickly. “Class ended early.” You lie, raspy. “Sorry, should have called but I wanted to start getting ready for tonight.” 

“Tonight.” He repeats, a little dumbly. “Tonight?” 

“The party?” You step closer, watching as he falters and then steadies, like he’s holding his ground for your approach, though his shoulders loosen when you move past him to your dresser instead. 

Defensive, like he’s scared of you. Does he know that you know?

“Right. The party.” He tries not to look at you while you lean over to sort through your drawers, but he stares, he can’t help it anymore, oblivious to the way you watch him from the mirror resting against your wall. 

It’s like after crossing that single line, he’s lost control of himself. Frantic, in a way, as he tries to find solid ground and only continues to scramble. He doesn’t know how to act, how to look. 

And, oh you have a mean streak just as big as his. 

You smile at him, sweet, and step into his space with the towel looser in your hands. “You don’t have to come, Kei.” You murmur, reaching to ghost your fingertips along his jaw. 

Kei is good at spotting lies, but all he sees right now is the water on your skin, the way your flimsy cover dips and he can almost see, like you’re taunting him. How is he meant to spot any signs of deception when you’re so pretty like this, when you sound so nice, and how the sugar of your affection sweetens him, leaves him candied. 

And it’s so hard when you’re so close, when he knows you’re a single width of cloth away from being naked in front of him, still dripping wet and flush from the cold-turned-hot shower that’s left you softened with steam. 

0%

For the first time in his life, Tsukishima Kei is incapable of looking at you like you’re his little sister at all.

“I want to.” He lies, because you’re so sweet and he can still smell the body wash–his– on your skin, because he’s pretty sure he’d do anything if you asked him to with the euphoria and guilt of his earlier mistake still in his system. He can’t tell you no like this, because he wants you so bad, because he feels like he should be dead for it. 

Your smile slips, teasing, a wry upturn to the corners. “No you don’t.” The towel falls, just a little, as you shift closer, as he backs up to make space for you until his legs hit your bed frame. “It’s okay, though. I told you already, I don't mind going by myself.” 

There is no way he is letting you go alone, not when he’s like this, not when he needs to know there won’t be other people putting hands on you. You know that, can see it with the way his brows draw together, frustrated at your suggestion, frustrated at himself for knowing why he doesn’t want it. 

“It’s not safe.” He argues, a truth but for selfish reasons. “You’ve never been to a college party before, and the last time you even drank was your graduation. Which you barely remember.” 

Low blow. 

Your pretty expression morphs into a scowl, pushing at his chest in an attempt to shove him back with the expectation that he’ll resist. He goes, but he drags you with him by your arm, pulling you into his lap as he does.

It’s clear too late when he realizes what he’s done, your legs split wide around his thighs, the towel parted up to your stomach, leaving you completely bare and drenched and dripping water onto his clothes. 

“Oh god.” He breathes, looking up into your face that is twisted with anger, and feeling like he’s more hard than he’s ever been with you pressing down on him and basically naked. 

Kei is not religious, but he prays to every god and ideal he can think of that you do not move any more to the left. 

“That was so unnecessary!” You hiss, pride wounded. “It was one time, and I don’t even know what my limit is so how am I supposed to know how much I can drink? You said we wouldn’t talk about it anymore!” You’re ranting, disregarding his distress, the way his eyes roll back when you push forward and his hips jut up in little aborted rocking motions. 

But it clicks when he shoves you off, when he’s snapping at you to ‘just hurry up and get dressed!’ as he flees your room, red creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears.  

You wear a cheshire’s smile for the rest of the time spent getting ready. 

– 

It’s your first time wearing a dress to a party. 

You prefer comfier clothes, slacks and button-downs are nice and more convenient to wear than a dress with a hem you have to fidget with. 

But you still have them. Short and slinky, long and sexy, hung up in your closet simply because you’d gone shopping with your friends and had been coaxed into buying things that would make you feel good to wear if you ever had a chance to wear them. 

And now you do, so you take advantage and peruse your little collection of nice dresses, wondering what would best suit a casual college party. Short and slinky seems more the play, something long better saved for a nice night out, not a party with solo cups and mixed alcohol. 

Black and ruffled, lace accents with straps that hang loose off of your shoulders, a pretty blue necklace that sparkles at the hollow of your throat. Clingy, shaped to your body but not skin-tight, not suffocating, as comfortable as can be while looking the way you do. Makeup is light, relying on the alcohol for a flush later as opposed to blushing your cheeks now. 

You have fun with it, legs smooth and silken, scrubbed with sugar in the shower. Lotion, buttery and very lightly scented. Phone in hand, heels in the other, you pad down the hallway and knock with your phone on Kei’s door. “Almost ready!" 

You hear the wheels of his chair as he pushes back from his desk, the door opening just as you’ve entered the living room to put your shoes on. 

He chokes, behind you, and you turn to him with a demure smile, a little coy. “Want me to send you the address, or do you already know where she lives?” 

Lips parted, he sucks in a low breath, the sound hissing between his teeth. His eyes track you, head to toe, lingering on the long stretch of bare skin that you usually do not display. Ignoring your question, he scowls. “You look like you’re trying to get laid.” 

He expects you to laugh, to cackle and wave him off like you always have any other time he’s accused you of trying to hook up. You thought it was teasing, back then, you can hear the jealousy for what it is now. 

You smile, lower your lashes, pluck at the material of your dress and roll it between your fingers, lifting the skirt just a bit higher in the process. “Maybe.” 

His face falls, slack with shock, before it tightens into something nervous just as you turn your back to put on your heels. 

“Absolutely not.” 

A smirk, fingers fastening the clasp. “I’m a grown woman, Kei.” You muse, tightening the strap a little to make sure it’s secure. “Don’t worry, I won’t bring anyone back here without permission, I’m nicer than that.” 

“You–” He drags a hand down over his face, taking his glasses with it before shooting you another glare, sharper. “You can’t, you don’t know anyone there.” He argues, stepping into your space, frantic now. His eyes are a little wild, breaths coming quick, and he’s crowding against you without even realizing it. You’re backed against the arm of the couch, nearly sitting on it as he presses in. Your legs part around him, and he pushes closer, jaw grit. 

“I don’t need to.” You shrug with one arm, deceptively disinterested as he hisses and pushes you down by the waist when you try to move, pinning you as he struggles with what he wants to say, the reply that burns at the tip of his tongue but refuses to come out. 

Because it’s wrong, and he knows it. 

“Mom told me to keep an eye out for you.” It’s such a weak argument, relying on mom when the nature of his intentions is so much more twisted. Still, he’ll use whatever he can, anything to stop the thoughts of you twisted around with another body, someone holding you, touching you, tasting you– 

“Mom isn’t here.” 

His pupils dilate, lips parting, and this time he goes when you push him back. Staring at you with wicked eyes, he doesn’t fight it when you move away from him to put on your second shoe, following like a ghost as you lead him out of the apartment. 

A little too strong, maybe, but his feelings for you are written all over his face, his mask ripped clean off. There’s no doubting it, now, so you can finally play a little. 

–