#I could never know how to optimize tagging these two

[okiroash]

Redlucas just before classes starts again

[peachylynnie]

you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his. 

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?” 

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far. 

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good. 

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble. 

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body. 

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck. 

oh. 

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck. 

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?" 

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding. 

"anything for my beloved bride." 

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

[finniestoncrane]

Virginal vault dweller reader you say?? I'd eat that up (and so would Cooper, heh) but seriously I would read the hell out of that if you're up for it <3

Different Up Here

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 6.3k anon thank you lmao i had already started drafting this, so vault dweller reader isn't quite a virgin but they are definitely inexperienced and have never known pleasure like the kind that cooper can offer 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: power imbalance, dubious consent because once you've said yes to cooper you can't change your mind, overstimulation, crying, oral sex, fingering, instructional, full penetration babiessss i realised i never tag that shit but yeah it's in here lmao, cumming inside, no protection, sweet coop afterwards but only briefly

If anyone else had asked you in that moment how you were, you couldn't have answered accurately without any hint of sarcasm and irritation. You were being worn down, like buildings by the sands of the desert. Each little molecule of your optimism being torn away from you, painful like plucking a hair. But when Cooper asked you, you tried your best to push down your knee jerk response.

"Let's see, shall we? Since leaving the vault a month ago, bravely in search of resources and supplies for my friends, I have killed, maimed, and eaten things I hope to never think of again. I'm in a constant cycle of very, very stressed and then very, very bored where there is no happy medium between fearing for my life and wishing for death. And oh, by the way, I'm sweating buckets the whole time because it's deathly fucking warm. Thank you for asking, Cooper!"

Instead, you shrugged and offered him at least a partial truth.

"It sounds silly... but I'm kind of bored."

A dry chuckle passed over Cooper's lips.

"Heh, that's a new one for out here."

Sensing an opportunity to at least get some conversation out of him, you sat up on the rusty bed frame, your body sinking into the almost entirely flattened mattress as you crossed your legs and did your best to get Cooper to talk more than a sentence at a time.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be bored a lot, especially when there's no raiders, or mirelurks, or scavengers, or feral ghouls, or super mutants, or roving gangs of-"

"See, this is why I'm never bored. Always somethin' or someone to be killin'."

"But what about like... now? When there's nothing else to do. There's no magazines, no books, no TV."

You watched as Cooper turned from you with a slight smile. You knew the one, the familiar grin that meant you'd divulged some information about your life in the vaults, something he always found so amusing. It was your naivety, your optimism. He was endlessly fascinated by it, as though listening to you talk about it reminded him of something he had before.

That fascinated you. It made you want to stay around him, the way he listened silently as you talked about the old films that were on the holotapes, the food that was still fresh and available, the music you could hear whenever you wanted to, not reliant on some two-bit radio host. He paid attention to you. And any time his deep, brown eyes focused on your lips it made your heart flutter in an admittedly unexpected manner.

Remembering that feeling, you tried again, hoping that your next approach might be something that interested him a little more than just conversation.

"You know how we used to pass time in the vaults?"

Over the sound of the evening breezes that whipped up the sand you could still hear Cooper sigh before he spoke.

"Now if you tell me that you wanna go out there again tonight to find an old blast radius board... well I am just going to have to shoot you."

You laughed at what you hoped was a joke and waved him off, despite the fact that he was still turned away from you, unable to see your gesture as he tried ignoring you in what you assumed was the hope that you might shut up and leave him alone.

"No, no no no no no. Just..."

The lump in your throat felt like it was about to choke you, so you swallowed the clump of nerves quietly, your voice trembling as you finished your sentence.

"... fooling around... y'know?"

Cooper turned to face you. You had piqued his interest, and you couldn't help but show the giddy glee on your face, the smallest smile crossing your lips as your eyes widened. But his words wiped away all hope that you had garnered in that short span of time.

"Oh... oh darlin'."

He laughed a little, each little sound of the short, sharp giggle like a slap to the face.

"I don't think you're ready for that at all."

You raised an eyebrow, defiant, irritated, and keen to know how he thought he had you pegged so quickly. You'd never talked about anything like that with him before. Was he assuming that you were a virgin based on how you behaved around him alone? Maybe he figured that the lack of flirting on your part was down to a complete lack of experience, when in reality, it was because every flirtatious quip he threw your way made you so nervous and flustered you felt like you might throw up.

"How come I'm not ready? I mean, I've... I've done stuff... I've done it!"

"The fat you're not saying it how it is makes me think that you are absolut-"

"I've had sex, Cooper. I've fucked before. I've been fucked."

Blinking off the irritation at being interrupted by you, Cooper pushed up the brim of his hat and stared directly at you, as though he was examining your, to see if you would stand up for yourself any further.

"By who? One of your little buddies underground? Fucking like little bunnies? I don't think that qualifies you, sweetheart."

"Why? Sex is sex..."

You said it with such confidence. As if you really knew. As if you hadn't spent your teenage years practising on your hand, holding a pillow close, lining up for that one girl in the vault who would sell practice kisses for extra bubble-gum. You'd had sex before, of course. You weren't a liar. Just because you'd only ever done it once didn't render it nonfactual. Just because it had only lasted for all of four minutes. Just because you weren't sure you even orgasmed, and your friend had told you that you'd know if you'd orgasmed. Just because it was all over so quickly, and he'd run off before anyone could catch you both, avoiding you at every opportunity after that.

"... Isn't it?"

"Oh no it ain't. Besides, like I keep telling you, it's different up here. Everything's different up here. And that includes fuckin'."

The way he said the word, consonants enunciated with such grit and vigour, filled your stomach with knots that began to tighten as you considered in what way things were so different.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Cooper sighed, exasperated, resigning himself to the fact that you were going to keep talking to him regardless of his short replies and attempts to end the conversation.

"You are a dog with a bone, huh? Ain't gonna let it go."

His yellowed teeth were exposed as his lips pulled back in a baring, mischievous smile. Those knots doubled, the ends being pulled by tension in your nervous system as Cooper's smirk put you into a dazed stupor.

"No, sir."

"Now, I don't remember signing on to be your personal tutor in all things apocalypse. Do I really need to show you how everything works up here?"

As your cheeks began to blush, you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, sir."

You were hopeful for just a bit of a distraction. Something to help take the stress away. To relieve the tension that had been building up between you and Cooper as of late. You'd been studying him, watching the way he looked at you, fascinated by your perceived, and frankly obvious, innocence. The way his fingers moved, contributing to the skilful way he handled his gun and his ropes. The confidence, the charisma, the charms.

You wanted him, but you weren't quite sure how to broach the situation without it seeming desperate. But you were past that now. You were desperate For anything, just something. Something to cure the monotony of walking and hiding and fighting and surviving. You didn't want to just survive. You wanted to at least find a semblance of fun and pleasure in this nightmare you had found yourself in. And in the vaults, when board games and books and debates got boring, there was always fucking. That was what you desired most right now. The fact that Cooper happened to be the closest target for your desires was just a sweet miracle, or a cruel tease depending on how willing he was.

And luckily, he seemed agreeable.

"Well then, how about you come over here and let ol' Coop show you a little thing or two about how dirty you can really get up here in the mean, dusty Wasteland, hm?"

Your excitement was palpable, even though you were trying to keep your composure. There was no escaping the echo of the giddy squeal you let out as you jumped up from the bed and made your way over to Cooper. He waited in the far corner of the room, setting himself down on an old armchair as you stepped towards him, slapping his thighs as an indication of where he wanted you. And you did as you were told, following his instructions, knowing they hadn't led you astray so far in your time together.

It felt awkward at first, being so close to him. You shifted your weight nervously, trying to get comfortable while making sure Cooper was still at ease, which of course, he was. He always was. Nothing stirred him, he was forever at peace. Competent in any situation. Quick to adapt. And as you fidgeted and fussed, you felt his strong hands pushing you forward on his lap, until your chests were practically pressed together, his hands skirting over your lower back as he held you still. In command. In control. The sudden sensation of his hands on your body made your breath hitch, a soft, surprised squeal on the inhale that had Cooper raising his brow at you.

"Now... you agree that you asked for this, alright? Because I am not going to put my effort into entertaining your little whims if you're gonna get fussy and decide it's too much for you. I did warn you."

"Yes, you did, and I really don't think you needed to. I doubt there's too much different about it, and I've picked up what I needed to know pretty quickly from your other lessons, haven't I?"

Your retaliation to his insistence that you needed him to teach you everything, and that some things just might prove themselves a little too hard even for your levels of enthusiasm, had irritated him when he'd first met you. But now your optimism and sheer refusal to believe anything was too much for you were a source of entertainment for him. A challenge.

"That's fine then, darlin'. But I'll remember that."

His eyes bore into your soul, keeping your focus on him as he dared you to look away. They sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips, the pretence of preparing for his next words covering the obvious flirtation in the way he dragged the flat muscle along his chapped skin.

"So, gimme a benchmark here, lil lady. How much foreplay was involved in your previous encounters? I'd hate to leave you high and dry."

"Foreplay...? What... uh, what is that?"

Cooper sighed, rolling his eyes before closing his eyelids over gently.

"Well, it's something like this."

He pushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, rough fingers following the curve and grazing over your neck as he let them drift down the front of your chest, tickling the exposed skin as far as your jumpsuit would allow before he took a hold of the zip at the front. A quick flit of his eyes up to you seemed to ask for permission, and your small, almost imperceptible nod, told him to keep going.

Slowly, painfully so, he pulled the zip down, watching as the centre of your torso was slowly revealed to him. Smooth skin, in comparison to his anyway, clear of any unnatural blemishes or war wounds. One calloused digit followed down your sternum to your stomach and back up, hooking under the left side of the fabric and pulling it over, then the other, exposing the top half of your body to him.

Cooper traced his fingertips over the top of your breasts, watching as your chest moved in and out, slowly, but exaggeratedly. The knots in your stomach felt like they might burst with the tension as his sharp, ragged nails crossed over your hardening nipples, a gentle tingle coursing through your veins.

"Well?"

"No... n-nothing like that... just grabbing..."

"Oh yeah? You like that? How about this?"

He closed two fingers around your nipple, one hand still on your back to keep you balanced as your body reacted to his touch. Between the two digits, you felt your nipples heating up, the slight, burning pain from the way he squeezed them sending a signal down your spine that seemed to affect every part of you. Tighter, tighter, and then as your eyes closed a little more, eyelids pressed tight, he would ease up to offer some relief.

"You like that? Like it rough?"

"I think... I think I like both."

"So, something like this?"

He teased your nipples once more, pressing harder with his fingertips, pulling them out and jiggling your breasts as he tugged at them, this lewder act interspersed with a gentle caress as he held your breast against the palm of his hand, carefully cupping it as he flicked his thumb over the sensitive and completely erect nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, Coop's hand moved swiftly from your body to your cheeks, popping the lip back out as he pressed his thumb and forefinger into your face. Understanding the message, and seemingly showing this in your wide-eyed gaze, he let his rough, leathery hand make its way back down to your breast, cupping it once more as he spoke.

"Different, see? Pleasure is hard to come by out here. You gotta do it right when you've got the chance."

Cooper leaned into your neck, whispering the words low and slowly, his dry, chapped lips skimming over your skin as he continued.

"I bet down there they didn't know the first thing about real pleasure. Takes time, something like that. You gotta learn the body, gotta make it feel good."

His teeth grazed over your shoulder and back up along your neck before he pulled back, watching your eyes refocus from the haze of arousal.

"Did they make you feel good?"

"No."

You were confident in that statement. It hadn't felt good. It felt rushed. Clumsy. Shameful. And as you pondered it, your mouth remained open in a slight pout which trembled as Cooper asked his next question.

"And what about your pretty lips... did they kiss them?"

"A little..."

Cooper leaned in, his rough lips pressing onto yours with firm contact, his tongue staying in place as though he imagined that might be a bit too much for you right now. But that same level of restraint didn't keep him from letting his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, pulling it out, only letting go when you winced in surprise as the suddenness of the action.

"Didn't bite them either. Of course not, what am I thinking? That would be a little too adventurous for your kind."

His face took on a darker tone as he smiled knowingly towards you.

“And what about these pretty lips?”

Before you could piece together the question, his hand was diving into your jumpsuit, pushing down the front and past the waist, stroking against the front of your underwear which, by now, was soaking wet with your arousal.

“They touch these lips, huh?”

You gasped as he pushed your underwear to the side, stroking his fingers along your slick, plump pussy lips, withdrawing them soon after to taste you on his tongue, the way you had watched him taste the blood of enemies, the blood of victims.

“Stand up, darlin’… Why don’t you take that suit off, hm? Get yourself comfy.”

As you raised yourself up from his hips, your legs wobbled under you, not quite steady enough to support you so soon after being reduced to jelly by Cooper’s touch, his caramelised words that filled your ears, the sharp twang of his accent, the delicate cadence, the power rumbling underneath like an almost silent bassline.

“Do it slowly though.”

Cooper watched carefully as you stood nervously before him, shuffling out of your suit, stripping for him, your hips moving from side to side slow and steady, unintentionally sultry in the way you moved. Without taking his eyes from you he reached for his canteen, taking a long sip from it as you let your suit fall down over your legs, stepping out of it and pushing it to the side with your feet.

“That’s it, darlin’. Can’t do this half-hearted. I need to have access to all of you there. Now come sit back down.”

You held your arms in front of you, feeling far too exposed for the shelter you’d found for the evening. No windows, no locks on the doors. But it was difficult to focus on that worry for too long as you watched Cooper’s tongue flit back out over his lips, clear strands of drool sparkling in the light as he took you in, hungrily, dreamily.

“Turn around though. You face that way.”

The metal buttons on the front of his duster coat were cold against the skin of your back, but you leaned into them anyway. Cooper’s hand curved around your neck and up under your chin, holding your face forward.

“You keep an eye out, holler if you see anything coming. I’ll do everything else.”

A faint clicking sound, the safety on his gun being flicked to off, before those same fingers draped over your mound and down on to your lips, spreading them apart, the cool air of the decrepit room cooling the heat of your hot, aching cunt. With two fingers holding your lips apart, he let the middle digit tap against your clit, each tiny sensation turning your blood cold before heating it exponentially, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow as you felt a tingle in your abdomen.

The finger that tapped the sensitive bud began stroking it from side to side, laying flat against it length wise as Cooper strummed your body, still holding your chin in his hands, smiling to himself every time your back arched away from him in intense pleasure. Every nerve-ending was at his mercy. He was right, it was different up here. But you wondered how much of that was the Wasteland and it’s effect on sexuality and pleasure, and how much of it was just him. Cooper Howard, Wasteland bounty hunter, a past life he refused to talk about, the most charismatic monster you had ever met. His fingers, daintily crossing over your clit, as you felt his breath, silent except for an occasional hum of satisfaction in the form of a long moan. Maybe it was just Cooper who was different.

It was hard to focus on this new line of though as his hard fingertips clamped down on your clit, pinching it as he rolled it between his fingers. Even harder when he let his hand drop from your neck and instead began teasing at your nipples once more. Soft, cruel flicks over the hardened bumps, his fingers at work on your body, his lips kissing at the back of your neck. Moans growing louder, more frequent, as he let himself enjoy the act of making you squirm. You could tell he was having fun, as you rolled your hips back a little, feeling the thick bulge of his stiffening cock against your rear. You wondered how it might feel, how it might look, and what he could do differently with it.

“Cooper… Coop… I think I’m going to cum…”

His movements quickened, cock twitching against your body as he pinched tighter and pressed his fingers harder against your cunt.

“Don’t you dare, little lady.”

“Ok I’ll… I’ll try but… you have to… stop… please stop… Coop…”

He ignored your please, the whining, desperate begging as you tried to stop your body from the natural, encouraged reaction.

“Have some self-control, sweetheart.”

“Cooper, I really can’t… please… please stop touching me…”

“I absolutely will not.”

Your fingers dug into his thighs, but you noticed that you refused to move away from him. You wanted to do as he asked, wanted to hold yourself back from the brink of orgasm to prolong his touch, but you couldn’t risk him actually stopping, fearing that your body might crumble if his fingers left your quivering, pathetic body for only a second.

Each stroke against your increasingly wet and sensitive pussy had you trembling and shaking, and Cooper had to remove his hand from your breast to keep you steady, placing it under your chin and holding you steady by the neck.

“I am warning you, missy.”

“Cooper… I can’t stop…”

You shuddered and whined as your body gave in to the temptation, feeling a rush of heat and relief as you came on his lap, your arousal coating his pants, adding to the collection of stains and wear on them. But he didn’t stop then.

“No wait… seriously, Cooper… I can’t… I can’t take much more, honestly…”

“Listen, I told you. I said you better not cum. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Your eyes began to sting with tears of exasperation as your body kept on pushing to its limits, conjuring up another wave of climax, tormenting you with never-ending bouts of arousal that kept you rutting against him, despite how painful it was to keep writhing into his body. You could feel your stomach knotting again, not much time between each orgasm to relax, and you dug your hands into his thighs, pushing your body up off of him as you tensed completely.

“Ok, this time, you do it on my command. You do it when I say you can, alright?”

“Cooper…”

“Don’t give me that pleading shit, you asked me to show you how things are done. Well this is how Cooper fuckin’ Howard does things. So are you ready? You gonna come for me?”

“C-coop… I’ll… I’ll try…”

“Good girl, now you keep that mouth making those whines and moans. I don’t need you to call out my name or anything, I know I’m all you’re thinking about.”

The praise, the self-confidence, the way his fingers seemed to be pulling your orgasm out, motioning for it to come closer to him.

“Come on, darlin’, come on…”

Your vision blurred as the climax came over you, body rolling and convulsing as you came once more at Cooper’s insistence, your cheeks stained with tears, salted water rolling through the layers of grime and clearing paths to your chin.

As you settled back down onto his lap with a shudder, you felt Cooper’s fingers stroking through your hair. He was surprisingly gentle, oddly calm, but you supposed that you deserved his kindness as you had done as he had asked, making up for your previous indiscretion. He was almost cooing, shushing you as you found your breath, establishing your sense of self once more after the overstimulating orgasm that shook your core.

“You seen enough of the big bad world for one day then?”

You probably had, but you still found yourself shaking your head, ignoring the way your body reacted with a violent twitch at the notion of Cooper’s hands delivering intense pleasure.

“A glutton for punishment, hm? Or just keen to learn?”

As you pondered your answer, Cooper seemed to have come to the conclusion for you, as he tapped your hips and began to shift underneath you.

“Alright then, get onto your knees.”

Positioning yourself at his feet, you couldn’t help but look up at him, catching his eyes as he looked down at you with that unique brand of disdain and intrigue he had somehow mastered. You knew what was coming, what was about to happen, and your mouth began watering at the thought. What he might taste like. What he might look like.

You didn’t have to imagine for long though, as you could see his fingers working the belt of his pants, loosening it, unzipping his fly, and gripping his semi-erect cock at the base as he took it out, brandishing it. He kept close attention on your own eyes, a soft sigh of relief imperceptibly escaping his chest as he noticed your pupils widen, your mouth opening in preparation for him.

It was exactly as you had expected. The texture of the shaft was similar to that of his cheeks and his forearms, a similar colouring, though darker at the base and on the shaft which was tinted red. Thick, purple tinged veins covered it, winding around the length, cutting across the ridges of the scars.

“You can come closer, darlin’. I don’t know what they told you about mutations and radiation effects down there in your little utopia, but I can assure you… it doesn’t bite.”

The fear was palpable, clearly, but it was nothing to do with Cooper’s body and everything to do with your lack of experience, which, despite you arguing otherwise, was becoming plainly obvious even to you. You had only ever touched a cock with your hands outside of being quickly fucked. Several times you’d been cajoled into quickly stroking an erection under the blankets before your partner ran off to the bathroom, clean and tidy, flushing away the sins. And you were very well aware that there was always the option to suck on one, but it had never presented itself. It had never seemed that appealing to you. Until you were faced with Cooper’s.

He hadn’t even asked you to do either yet, but you found yourself curious, salivating over the thought of him, mind racing as you imagined how he might feel against your tongue.

“Can I taste it… you?”

Cooper smiled warmly, one of the few times you had seen him look at you with genuine pride.

“Now that is using your initiative. Of course you can.”

You kept your hands to yourself as you leaned in towards his body, content to let Cooper wield his length at you, his hand firm around the base as you inched closer, tongue pressed out over your lips. A strand of drool collected and spilled forward, hitting the floor in a soft patter just before the tip of your tongue came into contact with the tip of his cock.

A lot of the movements were instinctual, following your desires more than what you thought might be protocol as you dragged your tongue up the shaft and swirled over the blushing head of his cock. It tasted bitter, but in a pleasant way.  Savoury, not sweet. Salted, a tang that stayed there for a few seconds after your tongue had moved on to another spot. A flavour you found yourself craving now.

Cooper gripped tighter and pushed forward, taking you by surprise as he slid himself into your mouth, his free hand moving to the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. As the taste of him hit the back of your tongue, cock almost touching your throat, you coughed and spluttered a little.

“Fuck me, darlin’… do you need me to show you how to do this too?”

He looked down at you, filled with pity as he saw your face. Red cheeks, puffed out, lips stretched over the girth of his cock, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

“Breath through your nose… breathe in…”

You followed his instructions, instantly calmed when you found your lungs filling with air once more. Almost immediately back to enjoying yourself, the feeling of Cooper inside of you, the control he had as he held your head against him.

“Now… you don’t want to choke too much, so keep your tongue flat… yeah, just like that…”

It was so much easier like that, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer and redder as you realised that not only had you embarrassed yourself with your spluttering and lack of knowledge, but that Cooper had clearly done this a lot.

“And your teeth… well, usually they’ll tell you to keep ‘em outta the way, but you know me… gotta be different…”

Taking the hint, you let your jaw close slightly, the pain of the stretch lessened, your teeth scraping along the top of his shaft as your tongue worked the underneath, sucking and rolling as much as you could while keeping it flat.

He didn’t say much else, and you couldn’t tell if he was particularly enjoying himself. It worried you, the fact that he had specific preferences, the way it was so clear how much more experienced he was than you. How many others had there been? And were they all better than you? As your mind wandered to your anxieties, you completely missed the fact that you had begun to drool all over yourself until Cooper relaxed his grip on your head and wiped at your chin with his thumb. Catching your eyes and sensing some of your worries, he was surprisingly quick to soothe you.

“You can swallow or spit or let it all spill out, I don’t mind makin’ a mess darlin’. But whatever you’re doing, you keep that up.”

You were so pathetically grateful for the encouragement, for the tiniest semblance of praise, that you felt yourself moaning involuntarily. The soothing motion of sucking on his cock, the taste of something new, the comforting knowledge that he was happy with your efforts. You could feel your clit throbbing, aroused by Cooper’s satisfaction, how pleased he was with the way you worked him over.

Which is why it surprised you so much when he pulled his cock from your mouth, your lips slipping off of it with a disgustingly lewd popping sound, drool spilling onto your chin in long strands which stretched from your lips to his cock and tore apart as he distanced himself from you.

And again, that sympathetic gaze, the way he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it.

“Oh, don’t you look at me with those big, sad eyes. You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. That was good, ‘specially for a first try…”

He winked to you as he spoke, causing your heart to skip enough beats that you thought you might die there and then.

“… It’s just that I’m all slicked up and ready to go now… so you wanna bend over for me? Or do you wanna come sit on my lap?”

“Uh… lap, please… I was kinda bent over for the last… first time.”

“Well, you come and take a seat then, darlin’, let ol’ Coop show you something new.”

You nervously settled your entirely nude body back down onto his thighs. Cooper’s hands were gentle against your shoulders as he pulled you backwards with him, leaning at a slight angle in the chair, his cock rigid and firm as it sat against your waiting cunt, coated in your drool which almost seemed to shimmer with the dancing light of the fire.

Then, so carefully, so gently, far more than you’d ever seen him be before, Cooper took hold of his cock at the base and slid it inside of you, one hand on your stomach as he braced you, keeping your body steady as he inserted himself further and further between your clenching walls.

“Bigger than before?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt the distinct stretch, his rough, textured cock forcing its way inside your cunt, pressed up to the hilt, testing your limits.

“Better?”

“Mhm…”

“Speak up, darlin’.”

With your voice strained and breathy, you managed to form some words.

“Yes… it’s better.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now, I’m gonna buck my hips, ok? You just try and keep your balance.”

Below you, Cooper shifted a little, his hips rolling backwards, inches of his cock escaping your tight, aching cunt, before he rolled them forwards and upwards, back into you. A slow, steady pace that he focused on keeping until you felt warmer, more relaxed.

“You got this, it’s like riding a horse.”

“I’ve never… hm… ridden a horse…”

Cooper chuckled, a low and rasping sound that sent shivers over your skin and seemed close enough to you that it was coming from inside of your body.

“Never ridden a ghoul before either, but you’re handling it alright for a first timer.”

You were coping ok, you had to admit, but you could feel your stomach muscles tensing, the knots back in full force as they tensed and tightened, loosened and frayed with each pump of his cock within you.

“Ah… Cooper…”

“Too much, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

There was a sense of genuine care in his tone, as though he had taken it upon himself to show you that yes, things were different up there in the Wasteland, but that didn’t always mean they were worse. Some things were good, if not a little bit difficult to take at first.

“A little…”

Cooper tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lean back completely against his shoulder. In a delicate move, one far more romantic than you imagined from him, he ran his thumb over your lips, angling his neck to look at them, his own mouth open ever so slightly, a monotonous panting as he kept his hips moving, increasing the speed and the force at which he entered you.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, looking into yours, catching your gaze and holding unblinking eye contact as he spoke.

“I know… I know… Just a little longer, though…”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock pushing against your body, enveloped in your hot, wet, velvety interior.

“I know it hurts… but I ain’t stopping, so don’t even ask… here…”

You watched as he brought a finger to your lips, offering it up to you.

“…you bite down on that if it gets too much, ok… but don’t hold back on those sweet sounds… I wanna hear you scream.”

With that vaguely threatening remark, he thrust up into you, banging against your body, spurring on your orgasm but unleashing a dull ache that spread through every sensitive part of you.

“Won’t… be long… keep it together… good girl…  good girl…”

It felt good, the pain, the sting, the ache, the shivers. The fact that he was using you, finding pleasure in you. All of it culminating in Cooper’s nearing orgasm which you could sense was closing in on him. His movements were becoming more frantic, sloppier, and he was mouthing all manner of sweet nothings as he let his façade slip away.

And those soft mumbles opened up into a wide roar as he clung to your body, the hand on your neck cutting off the air to your lungs only briefly, one hand on your lap pressing sharp indents into your skin as he forced himself into you. The last few moments of his fevered thrusting, fucking you wildly, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he rutted into you in a dazed stupor before his body gave in. His cock throbbed, each pulse sending another rope of cum against your insides, filling you with his seed as he shuddered finally, slinking backwards into the chair and taking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from him.

You’d only managed to take a few steps forward before Cooper addressed you, opening his eyes to watch you standing there awkwardly, his cum dripping down your thighs, a warmth that quickly turned cool in the air of the room.

“Did I say you could get up?”

Panic settled in your chest, aware that you had waited until you felt his muscles relax, his body retreating from you, before you slid off his cock, expecting him to push you away anyway, like your first time. You assumed he was finished, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the idea that he might not be done with you.

“Are we… oh, Cooper, I really can’t take anymore.”

Even as you stood, you could feel your legs shaking, weakened by the intense orgasms, the way they tightened against his every movement.

“That’s different up here too then, I suppose.”

Cooper stood up from the chair, pacing towards you with a purposeful stride as he pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he reached you. You inhaled sharply as he placed his hand at the back of your head, those knots in your stomach beginning to form again, worried that a further, albeit pleasurable punishment was on the cards. But you were surprised as he slid his free hand around your back, tugging at your waist as he pulled you in close to him. A quick smile before his lips were on yours, the brim of his hat pushed upwards as he leaned into the kiss. Warm, gentle, the kind of kiss you’d seen in movies. Practised and confident, meaningful, sincere.

When he pulled back, your body following him a little before you settled back onto your feet, he smiled warmly.

“Sweet with the sour, darlin’. You gotta keep ‘em wanting more.”

“M-more?”

More as in now? Or more as in the idea that Cooper had enjoyed himself and would be willing to offer that kind of pleasure to you again. And he answered with a wink.

“Definitely. There’s a still a lot you’ve got to learn.”

[jweekgoji]

Can you do another part of yandere D-16, please 😭 I love the stories so much! Make us pleasure him so bad until he's wimpering, then tons of aftercare! And make us love him, not just a one-night stand 😭

Yandere!D-16/Reader

tw: some minot changes in canon, slight yandere themes, valve fingering (MDNI), gn!reader, D-16 has a valve, sub!D-16, soft dom!reader, power dynamic cogged!reader/cogless!d-16. word count: ~1650 a/n: this can be considered as a second part to this. but I think (??) it also can be related to this. probably somewhere between the other two I wrote before. there are a few similar requests about d-16, but I want to do all of them differently as much as my creativity lets me. tagging since I was asked: @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main

The day D-16 met you felt like experiencing one of those vivid dreams he constantly had. His whole body was in pain; the loud ringing in the processor made his optics see the tiny stars circling around him in the air. Thank you, Pax, this is exactly how he wanted to spend his day! And totally not to ogle your sleek, shiny alt mode from his seat..!

Oh no, oh, Primus. You probably saw it all too, aren't you?

D-16 groaned in pain as he tried to sit up. He leaned his frame against the wall, holding onto the dented shoulder. Orion left him waiting here, all alone, as the blue-and-red mech tried to endlessly explain the situation they were in. The optimism this guy sometimes had...he can only pray in his mind that somehow you hadn't seen him failing on the race.

Maybe you had never noticed him, just passed through without paying attention. Yeah, this is more like true. After all, he's so  gray in every sense of the word; among all the other miner bots, how is he any different? Too small in this world to be noticed.

The day was a disaster of any means. The cold looks he received from other racers as he waited for the repair, that awkward meeting with Sentinel, and of course, Darkwing just had to be there too. The moment Orion and him leave this area and go back to mines, there's no escape from their supervisor. How much more lucky does he get today again?

D-16 was nervous to the core of his spark. The thoughts of “Why did I even follow him...especially on the day when Sentinel Prime arrived?” or “I hope they don't know it was me” flooding his mind.

Another worst thing was, you hadn't even won the race! Chromia got before you just in mere seconds, and the possibility of him, being the reason behind this fail only made D-16 sigh in disappointment. 

“You and your friend put on quite a show today,” your voice suddenly came from beside him.

D-16 almost jumped up from his seat at the sight of you, and for a moment, his spark stopped beating. He barely had time to process what you told him before suddenly, the little miner rises to his feet and looks up at you with those big optics.

You saw that his mouth was open, but not a single word came out from his mouth. The poor thing was so scared, he had so many thoughts running through his head, but he couldn't pick a single one to voice it to you. You could only calm him down slightly by holding your hands in the air, trying to show that you didn't mean any malice.

“I'm sorry, I probably ruined your chance of winning this race,” his optics ran his eyes around as if he was trying to find the right words to say to you. “I'm a big fan, and I would never want-”

“I was going to say that you two actually made this race a little more interesting than usual,” you interrupted him. “Racing against the same bots isn't as interesting as it used to be. I admire that.”

You admire him. D-16 falls silent again, but even though he's stopped saying anything then, his optics perfectly captured all the thoughts in his processor. Love.

He never thought he'd ever meet a bot in a higher position than him who would treat him with a speck of kindness. That brief moment when the Sentinel shook his hand was the first such occasion. His idol, standing right next to him, shook his hand. Somebody pinch him harder!

Then there was you. Someone who had always held a special place in his spark. So small, incredibly fragile in your hands, but every time D-16 is near you, it beats so hard, as if your mere presence is enough to give him more strength.

He doesn't know what you see in him. He's an ordinary and insignificant miner, there are hundreds if not thousands like him. Even Primus didn't give him any bright colors.

He never had a chance to think about standards of beauty, certainly there was barely enough time to rest after hours of non-stop work. There were one time he could hear the conversation between the supervisors as they discussed the celebrities of Iacon. Blurr, Windblade, Rosanna, they all just glowed in relation to the dull, battered frames of his coworkers, definitely not the ideal of beauty that exists on Cybertron.

And yet, here you are, right next to him, and your hands are holding him so gently, so close to your chassis. He moans softly as you move your fingers inside him. Only two, no more, no matter how often he begged and whimpered for you to add another, you always denied him.

“Just relax and feel every touch from me,” you kiss the corner of his mouth softly.

Right. Calm down, D. You're already giving him too much time, begging you for more would be wrong, he doesn't want to seem pushy to you. If this continues, you'll just get disappointed in him and walk away.

“Mgggh...!” D-16 instinctively arched his back. A loud, needy moan once again escapes his lips.

Sometimes he feels like, aside from your obvious charm, you can definitely read his mind, and your every slightest movement is calculated to make him forget his rank.

He's so wet, the lube coating your fingers and already managing to slowly flow down his inner thighs. For a second, you think about just flipping him over on his back and burying your head between his legs, making him scream and beg to give him a break from the endless round of overloads you're giving him.

But no, that would be too much for the first time, wouldn't it? You don't want to scare the poor, little miner away with your twisted thoughts. Not now, anyway.

In the time it takes you to give yourself to daydream, D-16 only gets more impatient. Moving his hips, he practically fucks himself with your fingers. His head is thrown back, and the servos cling tightly to your shoulders, squeezing gently, each time he lowers his own body down.

He feels so full, but that small, carnal desire for more can't help but pollute his mind. More, more, please give him more. Perhaps because of a sliver of fear that you're about to leave again, he'll be left alone and with nothing, and all he'll have are memories. He wants to get as much as he can while there's still a chance.

“Careful, or you'll hurt yourself,” you gently lay your other servo on his waist.

Tiny. You can't help but want to run your finger over every little bump on his body, every little rough edge...something about him fascinates you, that slight naivety and eagerness to make you proud. He's just hard to say no to.

You gently guide his movements. He's inexperienced, but the desire for something more, even though he hardly knows what he's doing, clouds his mind. You feel his tight, small valve squeezing your digits like a vise. His initially quiet, needy meows grow louder, and by the little blush on his cheeks, you realize he's embarrassed.

“Can I overload? Please,” he whimpers shyly, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. “Ahhh...I'm so sorry, I can't take it anymore.”

How sweet. You've convinced him so many times that it's okay, he shouldn't have to keep hiding his pretty face every time you hold him like this. You don't care what position he takes, miner or not, you want him to feel like an equal. He deserves to be pleasured just as much. To love and be loved.

You nod, making a mental note to talk to him about it later. His habit of pleasing bots ranking above him just kills you.

D-16 wraps his arms around your neck, leaning slightly closer, as much as he can. He so wishes it was your spike instead of your fingers, stretching his valve with every thrust.

But he'll never admit it, he'd rather take whatever you offer him, because he loves you so much. Every touch from you, every glance in his direction, it's all so overwhelming.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” he repeats over and over, his hips desperately meeting every thrust of your fingers inside him.

You feel him squeeze your digits again, his breathing halting for a moment before he exhales heavily and then nearly collapses on top of you.

D-16 leans his forehead against yours, closing his optics to slowly gather his thoughts. You barely move your fingers, still deep inside him, and even a slight twitch earns a whimper from him. Still very sensitive, you should definitely work on his stamina.

You gently take his chin, tilting his head up to give him a small kiss. He moans softly, but reciprocates the kiss.

D-16 has never seemed plain to you. Unusually strong despite his height and lack of t-cog, his body covered in many scratches after cycles of hard work. But now you are treating him with such care.

 He cherishes it so much. Sometimes he wonders if you have any idea how many times he's touched himself, with you in mind? How an embarrassingly lot of pictures of you he keeps plastered all over the wall? I guess that's a question for another day.

You may not have won the race, but you got more than that today.

[teamatsumu]

where we left off. (hinata shoyo x reader)

summary: “you confess because you think you will never see him again, so it doesn’t matter ” - for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions

word count: 1981

tags: @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass s @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties

event masterlist

There is a light in Shoyo that just won’t dim. Not that you want it to. It’s your favorite thing about him.

There are ten million reasons to like Shoyo (though Tsukishima would disagree and say he can barely find one. He’s lying. No one can dislike Shoyo. It’s not possible). But you like him for the simple reason that he is the best person you have ever met. He is dedicated and kind, loyal and friendly. You have known him since your first year in high school, and you have seen him face every adversity that comes his way with full confidence and optimism.

It’s no wonder you’re hopelessly in love with him. How could you not be? Shoyo entered your life and made everything ten times brighter and easier to deal with. From day one, he was your confidant and your cheerleader. In all those three years, Shoyo stood by you like you stood by him. You had grown by leaps and bounds with him as your friend.

Friend.

The sun was low in the sky, spreading a warm orange light over the clouds as it set. The color reminds you of Shoyo’s hair, and you have to curse yourself. It seems you can never stop thinking about him, and the world is adamant on making sure you didn’t even try to. You sigh and lean back on the bench you were seated on, closing your eyes and mentally preparing yourself for what was coming.

High school graduation had come and gone. Tomorrow, Shoyo will leave for Brazil. For two years minimum. And who knows? He says he will return, but there is a very real chance he won’t. An up-and-coming volleyball player like him, he could be snatched up by a local club. Or he could fall in love with beach volleyball and continue living there so he could keep playing it.

Two years is a long time for a person to change. You can change. He can change. You can’t trust yourself to leave this until then. Now, before Shoyo leaves, you will confess to him all of your closely guarded feelings. Before he potentially leaves your life for good, he has to know that he is the reason you are where you have gotten.

Heavy footsteps slowly fade in, making you turn your head to follow the sound. You spot Shoyo barreling down the sidewalk towards you, skidding to an abrupt halt when he reaches your bench. He takes a few deep breaths before grinning wide, and just the sight of his million watt smile has your own lips tugging up to return the gesture.

“Ready for dinner?”

Homey, comforting ramen is Shoyo’s choice of last meal in Japan. You both trudge into his usual ramen place, one that he loved to frequent often after practice. He talks your ear off all the way there, telling you about his day. He had been getting his affairs in order, saying goodbye to all the important people and packing up some last minute stuff. You let him catch you up to every tiny detail, (He is like that. He doesn’t like leaving anything out) and you hum along to his stories.

When steaming bowls of ramen are set down before you is when Shoyo finally shuts up, instead choosing to immediately wolf it down. You watch him with blatant adoration in your eyes. You know you do, and you don’t bother to hide it. Sharing this one last moment with him, you don’t want to hold back. This might be the last time you can look at him in leisure. So you drink him in the best you can, trying to seal this moment in your memory forever.

“Are you excited for beach volleyball?”

He nods around a mouthful of noodles. “I have just two years to learn it, so I’m a bit nervous. But I can’t wait to start!”

You smile at his usual unending enthusiasm. “You’ll be great, Shoyo. I have never met someone as hardworking as you.”

And there is that smile again, so bright you almost have to squint to withstand it. He was so different from how he was in first year. He had come such a long way in just three years. Imagine how much he would change after two years in a completely foreign country, on the other side of the world.

You can feel your shoulders drop.

After dinner, Shoyo insists on dessert and you both end up getting ice pops. He finishes his before you can even take one bite of your own, and then ends up finishing half of yours as well when you tell him you are full and he can have it. No wonder he has unending stamina. He eats the food of three people. You smile at the thought.

As per routine, Shoyo walks you home afterward. The sun has fully set by this time, and the streetlights periodically illuminate the two of you as you walk along the sidewalk. Your figures cast long, moving shadows on the concrete, and you keep your eyes on them as you walk. Shoyo is humming something under his breath, occasionally breaking the silence to comment on something. You bask in the moment.

When you slow to a stop at your front door, you realise it is finally time to do what you had been psyching yourself up for all this time.

“I have something to say.” You comment. Shoyo blinks and nods, encouraging you to continue. You take a deep breath.

“For the last three years, you’ve been the best person in my life. By a long shot. I can’t believe I met someone like you. You’re always so supportive, Shoyo, and you’ve really helped me be the best version of myself.”

You cringe at your corny statements, but Shoyo’s face has softened. He stays silent. You muscle on.

“I like you. A lot. A lot. And before you leave, I just wanted you to know this.”

Because I may never see you again. You let the last sentence die in your throat.

Shoyo looks down at the ground, fiddling with his hands a bit. You realize you have made him nervous. And no wonder. You just dumped a huge revelation on him the day before he leaves the country.

“You don’t have to say anything!” You add on, as soon as Shoyo opens his mouth to speak, trying to soothe his nerves. “I don’t want you to reciprocate. I just wanted to tell you all this before you left.”

You step forward to wrap him into a hug, feeling him freeze at the gesture. You don’t let yourself linger, pulling away mere seconds later. Shoyo opens and closes his mouth like a fish. You giggle.

“Do your best in Brazil, Shoyo. I’m counting on you.”

And then you pull open the door, shutting it behind yourself with one last smile at his surprised face.

……………………

Tokyo is a big city, and you lose yourself in the hustle and bustle of it.

Miyagi was quiet, peaceful, and you knew more or less everyone there. In contrast, Tokyo is continuously moving, and you have to run to keep up with it. It’s a big change, going from Tokyo to Miyagi, but it is a welcome one. You can feel how you change and blossom along with the city.

Your apartment is small. One bedroom, open kitchen, tiny bathroom. It’s a starter apartment and you are still a student, so it doesn’t matter. Every night, you cook yourself a modest meal and plop yourself down in front of the television, continuing some show you have been watching for the last few days. Afterwards, you have a warm cup of tea and then begin your nightly routine, ready for classes the next day.

Today that routine is disrupted by loud knocking on the door.

You pause your chewing, reaching for the remote to mute the TV. You don’t hear any sound, not even shuffling, but ten seconds later you hear another, longer knock. Sighing, you set your bowl down on the coffee table and throw your blanket off, trudging to the door. When you look through the peephole, all you see is one shoulder. You roll your eyes at the person who chose to not stand in your view.

You undo the lock and pull the door open, immediately freezing on the spot.

He has grown so much taller, and broader. His skin holds a wonderful bronze tan, and his hair is shorter than the last time you saw him. But his smile is the same. Bright and blinding, endlessly welcoming. Your heart skips.

“Hi.” He breathes. His voice is deeper too. A little scratchier. You continue to stare, mouth agape. You cannot believe it, and your brain cannot process it.

“Shoyo…” Your grip on the doorframe tightens. A small silence extends between you two. Shoto shifts a bit.

“Can I come in?” He asks sheepishly.

You abruptly jerk back, nodding vigorously. “Of course! Sorry, sorry. Come in.”

You allow Shoyo to pass through the threshold, toeing his shoes off and stacking them next to your own before looking back at you expectantly. You lead him into the living room, mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

He was back. From Brazil. Taller and tanned and just as bright. And he’s back. You reel with the revelation.

“How have you been?” He asks, seating himself on the couch and looking up at you with a small smile. He seems…. calmer somehow. More present instead of how flighty he used to be. More grounded. You nod a bit.

“I’m- I’ve been good. You?”

“Me too.”

“Okay good.”

Awkward silence stretches between you two. You feel your face heat up.

“I’m going to make tea!” You announce, bustling towards the kitchen before Shoyo can protest, trying not to think about the last conversation you had with him right before he left, over two years ago.

Once you settle before him with two steaming hot cups, the awkward air disperses a bit. You aren’t surprised. It always did with Shoyo. He had a talent like this. You ask him about Brazil and he goes on a whole storytime for it, telling you about the vast beaches and the burning sun. How much he learned and how much he changed.

That part is true, you can tell. Shoyo has changed. But despite all that, you can feel the way your heart skips, the way your palms get clammy. All those old feelings are coming back, and you cannot stop them. As you watch the way Shoyo laughs and reminisces with you, you’re not sure you want to.

A lull hits after Shoyo stops talking, and you watch as he fiddles with his hands a bit before speaking again, his voice lower this time, more serious.

“Can we….. pick up where we left off?” He doesn’t glance up at you, playing with his hands.

You blink at his words, trying to process them. He gives you a crooked smile that lights your nerves on fire.

“You never let me reply that day. And…. I didn’t think I should either, because I was leaving. But now…”

He trails off, you feel your breath catch. Is he implying what you think he is? You try not to get your hopes up, but Shoyo’s next words seal the deal.

“I like you tons.”

You can’t help your breathless laugh at his choice of words. Your skin buzzes. Shoyo scoots closer to you. You let him. His leg brushes against yours and you can feel the way electricity zips through you at the feeling.

“I like you tons too.”

Ten minutes later, when Shoyo drags huge suitcases into your lobby from outside your front door, you realize he came here straight from the airport. And it only makes you love him more.

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 11

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: i have returned with another, not-so-interesting part. i apologize to those who might have asked to be tagged previously, i *think* i have everyone now! but again, pls feel free to yell at me in my askbox if i didnt get you! the next part is gonna be way more fun, promise :) trying to bring in more of our jjk favs (including our baby boy toru)

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Monday

“Kento, are you stupid or dumb?” Haibara coldly spits through the phone. “You have what, like 5 days? My god, where is your brain dude?” 

“I’m a businessman,” Nanami responds, with shaky sighs escaping from between his lips as he enters the lobby of their job. “I made a deal, and she accepted the terms. When have I ever lost a deal?” 

“This all could have been avoided if you just said the other shit you told me,” Haibara groaned. “How she’s pretty, and the way you are able to open up to her.” 

Nanami lets out his own sigh, as his friend was probably right. “She… made me nervous. I only know how to be professional and talk in working terms. I’m not good at anything else.” 

“And now she’s pissed off, so fantastic work, Head of Department,” Haibara says before sucking his teeth. 

Nanami walks into the elevator, one hand buried in his pocket while the other holding his phone tiredly at his ear. A few other colleagues enter, giving Nanami a curt bow before pressing their floor button. “Is she in yet, by the way?” Nanami asks, a twinge of optimism in his tongue. 

“Of course she is,” Haibara hummed, the sounds of papers being sifted in the background. “She even asked for me to get your cup of coffee since she’s in a meeting right now.” 

Nanami’s eyebrow raised, “meeting?” 

Haibara murmurs a ‘hold on,’ the only sound to be heard was Haibara walking past several cubicles and work conversations. After finding a quiet place, Haibara brings the phone close to his mouth while cupping it with his other hand, “she’s in a meeting with shacho. ‘m not sure what it’s about, but he went to her desk the moment she clocked in.” 

What? “Did it seem like she was in trouble?” Nanami questions, his heart skipping a beat or two. 

Haibara shrugs, “‘m not sure, but I think it has to do with her promotion. Shacho mentioned it during the client lunch the other day, remember?” 

“That’s right,” Nanami lets out slowly, recalling that day in his head. That day, your usually tidy hair had a small lock of it sticking out from behind your ear. That same day is why Nanami wishes for hindsight almost constantly. “I wonder…” 

“Right?” Haibara whispers curiously. “Whatever promotion she gets, she earned it for sure.” 

The elevator doors open, and Nanami quickly rushes into the office. “Meet me in front of Takada shacho’s office.” 

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right there!” Haibara calls out. Nanami turns around to see his dark-haired partner behind him, sheepishly waving his phone in the air. Nanami hangs up and walks up to him, curious of his intentions. “You’re gonna owe me about $150 after this.” 

Nanami looks around before getting close to Haibara’s. A few strands of blond hair escape Nanami’s usually kempt hair. “What the hell did you buy?” He whispers, practically hisses. 

Albeit his nerves, Haibara looks up at him with a smirk, “when have I ever let you down, Kento?” 

“Never, but you best not start today,” Nanami growls, pulling away before making a quick stride over to Takada’s office. 

As he did, he noticed many of his colleagues peer curiously from their cubicle over to Takada’s office as well, with other eyes peering at your own desk for your return. A sea of whispers then started to surround Nanami as everyone noticed his arrival. Quiet, respectful greetings and curt bows create the aura around him as Nanami nods in acknowledgement. It was all just too curious for Nanami, as he felt the itch to know what he didn’t. 

But he could swear his eyes were deceiving him when he saw the backs of both Geto and Ieiri. 

“Geto, Ieiri,” Nanami addresses them in a firm, yet soft tone. 

Geto is first to turn, his long raven hair flowing from his movement. He usually had the top part of his hair bunned, but he decided to let his entire mane out today. Peculiar, Nanami mentally noted. It was also peculiar that Geto himself had a large bouquet of winter white lilies. “Kento,” Geto begins, a warm yet deceitful smile is pulled from each end of his lips. He offers his free hand, in which Nanami reluctantly shakes. 

Nanami has no issues with Geto, of course. All of them went to school together, Shoko and Haibara included. There has never been, and will never be, any beef between the two gentlemen. Of course, Nanami felt hesitant with him now, considering Geto hired you initially, and you were now under Nanami. There was a sudden and inexplicable feeling within the hazel-eyed man. Nanami was… nervous. 

Geto’s obsidian orbs weren’t helping with that, either. 

“Why so formal?” Ieiri sounded from his right side, pulling him out of his locked gaze with Geto. Nanami snatches his hand back, and quickly offers it to Ieiri, who teasingly just shakes the tips of his fingers. Her free hand held a small red box with a gold ribbon tied around it. “It’s been a little while, Kento. You never come up to visit.” 

“It’s because I work,” Nanami hums, letting her hand go to shove both his hands in his pockets. He needed some sort of solid ground, and his pockets felt safe. “And so do you both, considering we’re all department heads here.” 

“That we are,” Geto hums, “it has been quite crazy in Legal, considering how many clients the both of you have been pulling in.” 

Ieiri stows away a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear, gently lowering the cigarette she had hidden. “Sales has been quite crazy,” Ieiri said slowly, “hence why I’m down here. ‘m looking for my girl that you snatched from me.” 

Nanami squints his eyes, staring Ieiri down. But after realizing her words, his eyes slightly widened, “do you, by any chance, know what her promotion is about then?” He looks over at Geto as well, silently extending that question to him. 

Ieiri widened her eyes in confusion, with Geto raising his eyebrow in curiosity. “You… don’t know?” Geto asks, each word burned off his tongue in humor. 

Nanami was annoyed from not knowing, “I don’t if I’m asking. Why would I know?”

Ieiri taps at her bottom lip with the tip of her index, “well, you are her manager. You’d be the one that Takada shacho would talk to regarding Y/N’s growth within the company.” 

It did raise curiosity that Takada would mention Y/N’s promotion aloud in front of him and clients that have no relevance. But, Nanami did have some expectation to talk about your future promotion with Takada, whatever that would pertain. It felt somewhat like betrayal, considering how much Takada confided in him. Nanami could only hope it was with right intentions that he was not included in his assistant's promotion. 

“I have no say in how he makes his decisions,” Nanami’s eyes narrow at the door before them. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm his nerves. “I can only hope it is a promotion that is to her liking.” 

“I can give you a hint if you want,” Ieiri teases with a toothy grin. Geto clutches the bouquet a little tighter as she piques Nanami’s interest. He looks over to her, noticing her adjusting her long, black dress. She pulls off pieces of lint, torturing him purposely with the wait. “I heard a rumor that… this promotion is a role that is above all of ours.” 

Nanami, at the moment, was beyond proud of you. He couldn’t even conceal his smile, feeling pangs of excitement in his heart. He was glad that you were seen exactly the way he sees you. Intelligent, capable, overachieving, and approachable. You work with such grace, and exude so much warmth as a person. You getting promoted to a position much greater than his is truly an honor. He was lucky to have a small role in your success, if you considered his significance. 

“But supposedly she will still reside within one of our departments,” Geto hums quietly. Nanami gives him a look, but Geto shrugs, “that’s all I know.” 

Nanami’s smile calmed, “I don’t see the need for her to transfer out of Finance, though.” 

“Is that right?” Geto questions with a smirk. “You have your department completely sorted, besides how nosey they are.” The three heads look back to see all of his colleagues eye them like fish, having them awkwardly turn back to their work. “What help is needed here?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nanami replies, an accidental hint of offense weaved in his words. “Just know that her skill set would be best utilized and appreciated here.” 

Geto’s smirk still played tricks in Nanami’s head, “and yet she applied and was initially hired for Legal. She was first recognized and utilized for her skill set in the Legal Department.” 

“She clearly is a woman of many talents, considering her contribution to all of our departments,” Nanami points out. He adjusts his tie, and sweeps his hair back in a more tidy manner. “She has done wonders for my department, and I intend to keep her flourishing here.” 

“I hope you boys didn’t forget that I’m here, too,” Ieiri pipes in, slightly annoyed at being ignored. “Nonetheless, it’s not about us. It’s about where she would like to go, and where Takada shacho believes where her role would be best fit.” 

After her words, the three hear frantic running from behind. Nanami turns around to see two bouquets of white roses make their way towards them. They were large, almost the size of two small bedside tables. The person halts, with staggering breaths emitting from the bouquets. Nanami notices the hair just barely sticking out from the top and knew right away that it was his closest friend, Haibara. 

“Nanami,” Haibara spews simply, forcing the two bouquets into his arms. The scent of florals intoxicated Nanami’s nose as he looked over the bouquets at his exhausted friend. “Looks like.. I made it right on time,” he lets out through sporadic, heavy breaths. From the corner of Nanami’s eye, Geto looked slightly annoyed at the fact that he was slightly one-upped. 

Before Nanami could even express his gratitude, the click of an unlocking door sounded from behind him. They all look over to see Takada shacho with a wide smile. To his right, you stood there, your body completely stiff from nerves. Nanami could tell that, despite everything, you still looked at him with those eyes, finding some sort of solace in them. 

Takada jumped a bit, humored at the sight of 3 of his Head of Departments. “Well, good morning to you all,” their boss hums heartily. All of them, including Haibara, bow. “I haven’t seen you 3 together since last year's Holiday Party. The only person we’re missing here is Satoru.” 

Satoru Gojo, the Head of IT. 

Geto nods, “they’ve been quite busy since changing the system for our company hub.” 

Takada nods, “I need to go visit them soon. See if there’s any relief I can send to their department. Speaking of…” Takada then moves away from you and allows you the spotlight. “Everyone, please turn your attention here.” 

You felt your nerves right at your throat. Though this was a good thing, you were never a fan of being front and center of anything. You always had stage fright, surely since you were younger. Having the attention and eyes of many was something you could never get used to, even now in your adult life. Nanami could see you remaining frigid while expressing a sheepish smile. 

As Takada begins to congratulate you on your new role as Office Manager, Nanami quickly walks up to you and puts the two bouquets in your hand. Although it was sudden and the bouquets held some weight to them, it provided a shield from your fellow colleagues staring at you. Nobody questioned it as claps and quiet cheers erupted in the office. 

You noticed Nanami standing firmly to your side, smiling at everyone while gently nudging you with his arm. You look up at him, uncertainty glimmering in your eyes. He mouths a silent ‘congratulations’ with a very wide and proud smile. You knew he was going to ask you about it later, but right now, it felt nice to just get a simple praise. It was the one bit of calmness within the chaotic sounds of claps and praises. 

“I hope everyone can join me in wishing Y/N much luck in her deserved promotion,” Takada announces, causing the crowd to quiet down. Praises continued to stream, but you could barely pay attention as you stared up at Nanami’s hazel eyes. But you did get interrupted by Ieiri’s hand latching onto your forearm. You look ahead to meet the eyes of both of your previous bosses. 

While anxiously holding onto the bouquets, you quickly bowed before the both of them, “a-ah, Ieiri kacho, Geto kacho! It is wonderful to see you both!” 

“And we you, Y/L/N,” Geto hums with a soft tone. “Many congratulations on your promotion. May your transition be as perfect as your work ethic.” 

You bow once again, attempting to find calm in Haibara’s frantic thumbs up shaking in the background. “Thank you very much… I would have never been able to even get here without you, Geto kacho.” 

Geto emits a hearty laugh before grinning, “you said it first.” 

Ieiri promptly shoves him a bit, smiling down at you, “why don’t we all have celebratory breakfast?” Ieiri looks over at Takada with a pearly smile. “Can Y/N delay her work so she can celebrate her monumental accomplishment with us?” 

Takada smiles before nodding, “please, feel free to take your time. I’d love to join you all, but my entire schedule is booked with meetings. Enjoy in my absence. And again, congratulations, Y/N.” 

They all bow before Takada, who takes his leave back into his office. A brief silence ensues before Geto goes up to you and begins to take the bouquets from your arms. “A-ah, Geto kacho, you don’t have to,” you insist, attempting to keep them in your arms. “You are already carrying one yourself.” 

Before Geto could even advance, Nanami quickly holds your elbow and tilts you so you’d be facing him. Without another second, he takes back the two bouquets from your arms. “Let me carry them for you, Y/N kacho,” Nanami says quietly. 

Your heart melts. Your mind was going blank. You could vomit from excitement, anxiety, and enchantment from Nanami’s teasing. “Th-thank you, Nanami kacho,” you say shyly, feeling your cheeks erupt in heat. 

“I’m no longer your kacho,” Nanami quickly spews, “feel free to drop that honorific for me.” There was something brewing in those hazel eyes, and you were left to wonder what goes on behind those beautiful orbs.

Taglist (OPEN)

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

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@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

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@gradmacoco @nymphsdomain @whatelsecouldgowrong @myynameisbuckyy @nanamjai

@a-sor @typicalchels @celestialzdiviner @satoru-is-the-way @sannieworshipper

@shibataimu

[elizabethsnuts]

i dont know if you've written something like this but if not, do you think you could write something like how winterwidow would handle their toddler having a tantrum or something similar? Thanks!

Toddler Tantrums

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You are having a tantrum but Bucky and Natasha are there to calm you down.

———

Natasha paced the living room, her eyes never leaving your tiny, furious figure on the floor. You were in your terrible two-stage and were in the midst of a loud tantrum, your face red and tears streaming down your cheeks. You were sprawled out on the living room floor, kicking and screaming. Toys lay scattered around you like fallen soldiers, casualties of your wrath. Bucky and Natasha exchanged a knowing look as your high-pitched wails echoed through the compound.

Bucky was leaning against the doorway, his metal arm glinting in the soft light of the living room. He watched Natasha with a mix of amusement and sympathy. "She's got your stubbornness, you know," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Natasha shot him a look, her green eyes flashing. "Not helping, Barnes."

Bucky held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let's tag team this. You go first."

Natasha knelt down beside you, her voice calm and soothing despite the chaos. "Y/N, malyshka, can you tell Mama what's wrong?"

Your response was another ear-piercing scream, followed by a string of garbled words that were barely intelligible. Natasha took a deep breath, her patience unwavering. "It's okay to be upset, but you need to use your words, not your screams."

Bucky, standing a few steps back, watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. He remembered how Natasha had once handled much tougher situations with the same composed demeanour. Stepping in, he crouched down next to Natasha and offered you a comforting smile.

"Hey, baby doll," Bucky said softly, "I know you're upset, but we can't understand you if you're yelling. Can you take a deep breath with me?" He exaggerated a deep inhale and exhale, demonstrating for you.

Through your tears, you watched your father, curiosity momentarily overriding your frustration. You mimicked Bucky's deep breath, though it came out shaky and hiccup-ridden. Bucky smiled encouragingly. "That's it, good job. Now, can you show me what happened with your dolly?"

You sniffled and pointed at the doll, your little face scrunched up in anger and confusion. "She... she broke," You managed to say between sobs.

Natasha reached for the doll and inspected it, her trained eyes quickly identifying the problem. "Ah, I see. Her blankie came off, huh? But guess what? Daddy can fix it."

Bucky nodded, taking the doll from Natasha. "Yep, let's fix it together. Do you want to help me, Y/N?"

The prospect of helping your dad swaddle the doll shifted your mood from distress to cautious optimism. You nodded, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Bucky grabbed the baby doll blanket and laid it out on the ground, putting the doll in the middle of it. With you watching closely, Bucky swaddled the dolly tightly and smiled. “You know, I used to do this when you were a little, little baby.”

“Really?” You asked curiously as you sniffled.

Natasha nodded. “Really. It was to keep you all snug and warm while you slept, it stopped you from crying too.”

"There we go," Bucky said, handing the doll back to you gently. "She’s all warm now."

Your face lit up with a smile as you took the doll, immediately cradling it in your arms and rocking it back and forth. "Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, Mama!"

Natasha stroked your hair affectionately. "You're welcome, dorogoy. Remember, it's okay to ask for help when you're upset. We’re here for you."

Bucky nodded and kissed your cheek, letting you run back and play. He wrapped an arm around Natasha's shoulders as they watched you play contentedly with your baby doll. "You handled that like a pro," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Natasha leaned into him, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Team effort," she replied. "Just like always. But she sure is a loud screamer."

Bucky chuckled and nodded, rubbing his ears. “That’s for sure. At least we’ll know when she’s in trouble.”

Handling a toddler's tantrum was never easy, but Bucky and Natasha had faced far greater challenges together. Your tantrums were worth it for all the love you gave them every single day.

[soap-ify]

cw — angst, hurt / no comfort, major character death. italic paragraphs are flashbacks!

moon, tell me if i could / send up my heart to you ?

It wasn’t that the love between Johnny and you ever died.

It was still there. Pure, unadulterated, always burning just like a fire. And Johnny, too, was like a fire — boisterous and powerful, smart and fiery.

He kept you warm, but he stung too.

Marrying him was the best decision of your life. But everyone gets selfish sometimes, and the selfish part of you started craving his presence more in your home, rightfully so. You knew that there would be instances like this, where he’d be gone for too long and with no contact, sometimes making it feel as if he was just a hallucination you had fallen in love with all along. Given the radio silence, of course.

Him coming back had started becoming less joyful. You no longer ran up to hug him, and he no longer smothered you up with kisses. You were exhausted, and he was too. A brief eye contact and a soft smile was enough to show that you were grateful he came back alive. A mutual understanding between you two.

You knew he never stopped loving you, and it somehow hurt you even more. Love wasn’t always going to fix a marriage, it seemed. No matter how much you cry and swatted at his chest, distressed whenever he’d come back with a new injury.

You were the one who watched him change after all. More distant, more tired, too focused and tense. He was scared just like you. Yet never short in giving you his love.

“M’gonna get us a wee kitty.” He said one random morning, hair all messy after just having woken up, a sleepy grin adorning his lips, arms lazily wrapped around your waist. “We’ll raise it together.”

You sometimes wished you had his optimism.

“I love ye, I do!” He raised his voice in agitation, blue eyes wide in desperation while you were on the verge of tears, anger simmering beneath you. “But I can’t just quit my work like tha’...”

“I miss you, Johnny… I-I am tired of being scared all the time when you’re gone!” You choked back on a sob, shifting on your feet, careful to not step on the shattered pieces of the vase you had bumped against earlier.

“I know…” His voice cracked too, and something in your heart broke, knowing that he wasn’t going to back down from this mission. “I’ll come back, I promise. I promise m’never gonna leave ye alone like this.” He tentatively stepped forward before wrapping his arms around you, letting you cry on his chest.

Johnny never stopped loving you, and sometimes a weird part of you wished he did, because it wouldn’t hurt this much when he’d break his promises.

It wouldn’t hurt this much when the knock on your door turned out to be Johnny’s Captain and not him. It probably would have stung less if you both had stopped loving each other.

“John was the best of us. He’d’ve fought the world bare handed.”

Price’s words were forever ingrained into your brain, bitterly so, and it made you want to jump on that Captain and wrap your hands around his neck tight. You couldn’t even protect my Johnny.

You didn’t touch Johnny’s dog tags for a good two weeks, not even looking at it, simply pretending that he was still on his mission

“I won’t let you step into this house when you get back.” You said in a broken, frustrated voice while he stepped out of the house with that damn duffel bag, not giving you a single response.

You don’t recall what the argument was. Just a silly thing that got you both frustrated. All you remember was that those were your last words to him, and it hurt. You never meant it, and you knew he didn’t mean all the stuff he said to you too. That’s just how marriages were, right?

But if you knew that was going to be the last time you’d see him, you’d cry and hold him tight, ramble about every single thing you loved and hated about him, tell him about everything.

You wished you were more selfish, somehow able to convince him to not leave the house. Just for once.

Your hands mindlessly reached out for the dog tags after what felt like an eternity, wincing at the cold material. The warmth was no longer there, replaced with this icy air that was rotting you slowly.

Your fingers slowly wrapped around the dog tags, bringing it towards your face, your lips gently pressing a kiss against his name while beads of tears begin rolling down your cheeks for the nth time since the last two weeks, a broken hic leaving your mouth as your breaths gently fanned the steel in attempt to warm it up, your wedding ring gently grazing against the chain.

Your legs finally led you out of your bed, taking you towards his office that was just a few steps away from the bedroom. You never really stepped in there — especially not since he died, and you didn’t want to, knowing that his scent had probably vanished away.

Your trembling hand gently turned the knob down, opening the door with a click while your other hand tightly clutched onto his dog tags, too terrified to let him go.

His office was neat, just a few papers tucked out of a slightly open drawer. The place was sickeningly cold, making you feel nauseous while your eyes stung with the incoming tears, your throat burning up.

Your eyes landed on a canvas at the edge of the room, right beside the window, a stool placed in front of it while a white cloth was neatly draped over the canvas, some paint smudges adorning the visible wood of the canvas’s stand. He never told you he was working on something.

Your body worked faster than your brain and before you knew it, you were in front of the canvas, hand hastily reaching out to remove the piece of cloth and—

You.

It was you on the canvas, a big goofy smile adorning your lips while you held someone’s hand, probably his. You looked so happy, warm colours adorning the painting, only half done. It was unfinished.

Your legs gave out and you fell onto your knees, your hands covering your mouth in shock, the dog tags slipping from your fingers and hitting the ground loudly. Tears blurred your vision and a loud, distressed wail finally left your lips while you crumbled, hands desperately clutching onto your hair, chest heaving.

He was drawing you. He was drawing you before going on that mission. He was always drawing you, every inch of your face forever memorised in his brain, never letting you go. He couldn’t even finish the painting, he hadn’t even started coloring his hand — the only visible part of him in the painting.

A distant meow halted your sobs as you looked around, the cute little ginger kitten he had gotten you two walking over to you, another soft meow leaving it.

“It’s just you and me now…” You sniffled and gently pulled the kitten on your lap, fingers running through its fur in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, your eyes moving back onto the painting, every fiber of your body feeling as if it was punched and squeezed tightly.

“When I die, m’gonna send ye little angels from above.” His drunk words caused you to giggle softly, nuzzling into him while his hands held you by your waist, both of you lazily swaying in the living room to some sappy old song.

“Don’t say that, Johnny.” You huffed playfully, though still meaning your words.

He chuckled and pressed an affectionate kiss on your nose, smiling cheekily. “Ye are bloody right. We’re gonna die old and happy together, yeah?”

Johnny really never stopped loving you. Though just like a fire, he too, vanished into thin air and left behind this undying cold.

[insane-brit]

Royalty (Ch. 1)

Muzan Kibutsuji x Soulmate!fem!reader

Part links: Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three

Tags/warnings: Dialogue, slow burn, dark story/themes, enemies to lovers (or maybe just enemies. who knows), spoilers for Mugen Train Arc, slight spoilers for Entertainment District Arc, slight jealousy, talks of death, worry, anxiety, past memory, some pain, masking worry with optimism. 

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love on the Prologue. I am excited to continue this story and feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming chapters. This story will be a slow burn as I don’t want to rush it.

Also, I plan to stray from the canon story as this is a fanfic and AU, but will loosely have parts of the canon story incorporated.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word count: 2.5K

“That little girl is not even 8 yet! She shouldn’t be feeling this way Sakonji!” The older woman whispered.

“I know, but there’s not much you can do.”

“Not much I can do? Well, there must be something! I’m not going to stand idly by and watch my granddaughter’s mind deteriorate!”

Hina’s eyes drilled into the angry red mask. She was at a loss, and no one knew how to aid her. There weren’t many people she could go to, much less that she trusted, but out of anyone she thought Urokodaki would have something for her.

“What do you expect me to do Hina? Call upon the spirits and command them to give her a bond? I understand that this is devastating, but that is not how this works.”

The lantern burned low in the hut. A mere hour or two of fuel left before it would cast the room into darkness. The two adults sat next to each other, and farther in front of them, a little girl lay on a dark futon seemingly sound asleep. A lighter-colored blanket covered her form up to her neck, her back facing them. Hina lowered her head to her hand, palm raised to cover her eyes.

“Don’t take me for an idiot. I just don’t know what to do. How do I explain to her that she may never receive a thread?”

Urokodaki remained silent looking at the sleeping child. Turning his head barely to look at the woman.

“You be direct. False truths will only cause more pain in the end.”

She took a sharp breath in, letting the hand fall from her face and onto her lap with a faint smack. “You’re telling me what I don’t want to hear.”

“I know, but you already knew what I was going to say. Now it’s up to you to inform her. I refuse to be the one to do so.”

She paused, looking at her granddaughter before nodding her head.  

He gently put his hand on her back, an attempt at consolation. “Get some rest. You traveled a long way and need your energy for the journey home.” He stood up, walking over to the door before turning to look at her sitting form. “I won't be long. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

Hina lightly scoffed at his remark, rolling her eyes as he closed the door softly behind him. She scooted over to the little girl, leaning down and placing a kiss on the side of her head.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry fate has treated you this way,” She brushed some hair away from the girl’s face. “But I know in my heart you’ll do great things. Soul tie or not.”

Hina turned over, snuffing the lantern out before laying down herself. Unbeknownst to her, her granddaughter opened her eyes, gazing at what little she could see of the wooden walls. Her eyes were dull as the conversation between Urokodaki, and her grandmother circled in her mind. May never get one? Why? Did she do something wrong? Did-

“Hey… are you even listening to me?”

A hand waved in front of her face, knocking her from her stupor. Startled, she whipped her head to gaze at the white-haired man stationed next to her.  His fuchsia eyes glowered at her form, which was off in its dream world.

“Yeah,” she blinked a few times. “I’m listening.”

The former smile on his face was downturned. His eyes narrowed as he raised an eyebrow.

“You know, you're a terrible liar, and it’s not very flashy of you.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Tengen, I don’t need a lecture. Especially from you.”

Hands raised in defense; he leaned back against the stone in front of the Butterfly Mansion. The sun’s rays reached far into the sky as it lowered itself on the horizon. Igniting the land in warmth and an array of rich tones. It was almost blinding, and she raised her hand to shield her eyes. The Sound Hashira hummed next to her; eyes closed with a small smile on his face. Ever since the arrival of Tanjiro Kamado and his younger demon sister, Nezuko, tensions were high among the slayers. As much as she wanted to think she wasn’t wary at first, the Echo Hashira would be deceiving herself if she did. However, with the bittersweet victory of the Mugen Train, her judgment of the small slayers had shifted. She supposed Tomioka was right to have given them a chance, but it amazed her that it was him of all people. She would have to show her gratitude to him but at a different time.

The death of Kyojuro Rengoku following the defeat of Lower Moon One exhibited the harsh reality of their day-to-day life. She was cognizant of the dangers and death that danced in their shadows, but this was another kind of pain. A wound that wouldn’t stay closed and leaked as if weeping for the fallen Pillar. Which she did often alone late at night. No one was around to see her walls barren, unguarded and splayed for anyone to see the rising tide that was her emotions. While she wasn’t as close to the Flame Hashira as she would’ve desired, she knew him well enough to call him her friend. Tengen on the other hand, was closer to Kyojuro than anyone. On a handful of occasions, she had caught him mourning. She never approached him in these moments no matter how close they were. It felt too raw and private, and if he knew she had seen him, he never confronted her about it.

“Were you thinking about your bond again?” Tengen said cracking one eye open.

“When am I not?”

“So, you were thinking about it!” He teased, a wider smile gracing his features.

“Bold of you to assume that’s the only thing on my mind.” She grumbled massaging her temple. Tengen was the only person besides the Master, Urokodaki, and her grandmother to know that she didn’t have a soul tie. It is well known that bonds form in the early stages of life and it has never been heard of to have one materialize after 5 years of age. However, it has also never been heard of not having one at all. At least, until she never got one. She waited for years, staring intensely at her wrist to see the red thread assemble itself before her eyes. Stretching to the one that was supposedly meant for her, but it never came. Over the years she had wishful thinking that dwindled to a mere flame that had eventually snuffed itself out. There was no point in longing for one when she was now at the ripe age of 22. Her time had come and gone, but regardless of saying that, deep down she still hoped. Why? She had no idea, but it constantly plagued her. Even more so, she had no idea why she decided Tengen out of all people was the one to confide this information to. The Master, Urokodaki, and her grandmother made sense, but him? She’s surprised he hasn’t run that mouth of his. The anxiety she felt at anyone else knowing weighed on her mind daily. She did not doubt that people would find it taboo, no matter how progressive the world became.

Tengen sighed at her words. “I assumed nothing. I only made an observation and I have no doubt there are more worries in that head of yours.”

“And what about you? Don’t you have your own? What about Suma, Makio, and Hinatsuru?”

“I haven’t heard from them,” she turned to look at him as he spoke. “Their letters stopped coming a while back.”

Silence rose between the two of them. She could see the conflict in Tengen’s eyes. He cared greatly for his wives as they did him. She had met them a few times and saw first-hand just how important and beautiful their relationship was. Lucky bastard. Though his family was known for having multiple soul ties. She couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy, but happiness for all four of them.

“Will you be going to look for them?”

“Yes,” he grunted standing up from the cobble where they both were sitting. “You can come along if you want. I could use that breathing style of yours.”

She stood up alongside him, wincing, her back aching from the firm ground. Aoi and the others would have her head knowing that she wasn’t maintaining her health in light of recent events.

“That all depends on the Master, but I would be happy to lend a hand,” the corners of her lips upturned slightly as she looked at him and then at the darkening sky. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Despite his growing smile, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. “Great! I need to gather a few more items,” he drawled, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “But then we should be ready to head out in a few days.”

She shook her head. Whatever was going on in that bare brain of his she sincerely hoped it was something good, but she didn’t pry.

“I think I’ll go on ahead of you. I can see if I can get any leads on those three and meet up with you in Yoshiwara.”

“Come on,” Tengen groaned. “I would like to have someone I like to talk to travel with me.”

She shook her head in defiance. “You know my breathing style does better when I’m alone. It’s not as big of a risk, and I don’t think the Sound Pillar”- she pointed at him- “wants to lose his hearing.”

They both smiled at each other, a few breathy laughs escaping from their mouths. Her style, Echo breathing, relied on high frequencies that were known to be a danger to group efforts. There have been more than a handful of accidents in the past, many she’s not proud of, which is why the executive decision was made for her to do missions alone. However, Master Kagaya occasionally granted her to travel in the company of others. It did get quite lonely at times, but she preferred the safety of others over satisfying the sociable aspect of herself.

Tengen hummed, “I suppose you’re right. Though, it would be a very extravagant way to retire. Having a comrade kill off my hearing.”

She kicked some stones his way. “I’ll let you know what the Master says. If granted, I’ll leave at dawn, but for now, I’m going to get some well-deserved rest.”

He let out a loud laugh and gestured some form of what she assumed to be a goodnight. “If not, I’ll drag you there myself.” He exclaimed before strutting off to who knows where.

She studied him as he disappeared into the estate’s shadows. He couldn’t fool her. Despite his optimistic exterior, he was terrified. She could recognize that kind of spirit anywhere as many of the same haunted her. And for his sake, she hoped that those three were alive. If they were to perish, she didn’t think he would ever recover. He would be a shell of a man and taper off into misery. She couldn’t bear to see his downfall.

 --------------------------------------------------------

Lying in her room in the mansion, the Echo Pillar was restless. Sleep evaded her and instead, her psyche was infested with dread. Shinobu had been kind enough to offer her residence temporarily following her previous assignment, along with Aoi and the butterfly girls helping her in any way they could. She was forever in their debt and thinking of them brought a smile to her face despite the growing pit in her stomach.

Earlier, her crow had returned with word from Master Kagaya. Said message permitting her to venture out to Yoshiwara, a red-light district all too familiar. It’s not that she had any history with the district, but rather passed through it on multiple occasions. Therefore, becoming acquainted more than she ever thought she would. Lucky for her, that will come in handy.

What she didn’t understand was why she was filled with apprehension. It was like her body and mind were working against her. This had only ever been a problem when she was a beginner slayer, but as she rose in the ranks she learned to deal with these sentiments. Fear was a constant. It never went away, but confidence and vengeance outweighed it in every circumstance. So why was it so prominent now?

Sighing, she turned her head to gaze at the aperture that granted the moon entry. Its rays highlighted every surface in a delicate glow. Night, despite its tendency to harbor barbaric creatures was a time she always looked forward to. The darkness leaked like ink and grasped at the innocent, but it provided comfort to those in need. She could never loathe it.

Her muscles ached. No position good enough to lull her into unconsciousness’s sweet embrace. Abruptly, what felt like a fire erupted down her arm. Its path licked under her pallid flesh and burned away at her veins. Sitting up faster than ever before, she clutched her forearm. Biting the inside of her cheek so hard, iron filled her mouth in a matter of seconds. Nails dug into tender flesh as something slithered through her arm. Confusion swarmed her mind. Was this from the previous demon she fought? There was no way, that thing’s blood demon art couldn’t have done this. It would’ve already taken effect and finished her off by now. Regardless, she was dangerously close to finding a solution to the rapidly growing pain. Tucking her arm, she hoisted herself onto her knees. Her head ducked low and her eyes went wide, her skin felt clammy. Under the palm of her hand that was grasping her arm, a deep red glow oozed out. Limbs shook as she slowly raised her hand away from the skin. The vessels excreted a scarlet substance under the complexion of her arm. Spreading agonizingly slow towards the wrist. Her breathing grew heavy as terror’s maw tore her insides, and through a clouded mind, she watched as a thread, red as wine, circled her wrist. It traveled through her fingers caressing them before pulling taught. The tightening in her arm caused her to clench her fist. The thread continued, creeping around her extremity before elongating to the slightly cracked door. Its length was ongoing. A feeling of bliss stroked up her arm replacing the pain and she let out a shuttering breath. The thread pulsed and she could feel it dilating under her skin.

Pure shock all but made her heart stop. “How…how is this possible?”

She gently rubbed the thread between the pads of her fingers. Its texture was coarse and some of the bristles pricked her skin.

She finally had the sanctified bond she had always longed for. 

Her other half.

Her soulmate.

[noproofread]

The Painter

"Would you ever try to leave me for somebody who deserves you most?"

Inspired by Million Dollar Houses

Luffy wants reader to sail with him, reader decides to stay.

bittersweet fluff~

word count: 1,262

masterlist here

tag list: @fanaticsnail @vangowithit @dakingsu-blog

You held the paintbrush tightly in your hand as you stared out to the crashing waves on the shore. Your tongue slightly peeking out of your mouth as you focused on the scene in front of you, carefully color matching the bright blue color of the waves before placing the brush onto your canvas. The brush glided effortlessly across the painting, blending beautifully with the base color you had placed beforehand. It was therapeutic for you, you loved painting. And Luffy knew it. As you continued working on your piece, two hands covered your eyes, breaking your concentration. “Guess who?” A cheery voice spoke from behind you, a voice you recognized immediately as the straw-hat pirate whom you had grown to adore. “Luffy! I was working” You whined as his hands left your eyes and landed on your shoulders. You turned to face his smiling face, placing a small kiss on his cheek before turning back to the canvas in front of you. “You’re so talented wow! That looks incredible!” Luffy praised your art, as he always did. He believed you would become a famous artist, he told you that once he became king of the pirates he wanted you to paint a portrait of him and his crew in commemoration.

You were always critical of your art, but you appreciated Luffy’s optimism regarding your career. You never fully believed it as a possibility for yourself. You did believe Luffy would become the king of the pirates. You would watch him train and fight, he was unbelievably strong, and charismatic. He had such a vibrant magnetism that made people like him, believe in him, support him. It worked on you as it worked on everyone on his crew. “I’m going to take you away from this beautiful work of art you are working on because it’s our last night here before we head off to find the One Piece.” His hand found yours, prying you away from hours of work. “You’re leaving tonight?” You echoed his words, you felt a pit in your stomach at the thought of him leaving you. “No, we are leaving tonight. You thought I’d leave without you, silly?” He spoke through a wide toothed grin, running across the beach with you grabbing onto his hand.

You never imagined yourself going out to sea. You were perfectly content living your life in a small town, painting houses for a living and canvases as a hobby. The only excitement in your life came from Luffy. As you approached a high cliff, Luffy wrapped an arm around your waist before stretching his other arm upwards. “Hold on tight!” He exclaimed as you shot up quickly. The wind pressing down on the both of you, you heard Luffy laugh as the two of you fell onto a tree with him breaking your fall. “You’re crazy!” You laughed. He always got you to laugh, it was his favorite sound. “Imagine how many cool adventures we can go on! You have to come with me!” His arm was still wrapped around you. You looked down at him, smiling. You didn’t know if you could leave and set sail with him. “I’ll think about it” You whispered. “No time to think! We’re leaving tonight and you are coming! Come on!” He whined, helping you up. He moved to stand in front of you, hunching over with his back facing you. “Get on! Sanji is cooking a delicious feast and I’m hungry.” You giggled at his request before mounting him. Your arms draped over his neck as he hooked his arms onto your thighs.

“The whole town is throwing us a going away party! There’s going to be music and so much food!” He spoke excitedly. Drool fell from his mouth as he talked about the amount of food he was planning on eating. You nuzzled into his neck, smiling. You loved hearing him talk with so much enthusiasm. You were strongly considering leaving with him. The sea would offer you the freedom to venture onto a life you had given up on. You could quit your job and focus on painting. Being with Luffy would be a bonus, and you would be able to see him become the king of the pirates. You would be there. The scent of grilled meat pulled you out from your thoughts as Luffy let you down. You were greeted by a couple of members from his crew. Zoro barely acknowledged you, being buried in cups and bottles of alcohol. Nami called you over to sit next to her and Usopp.

You turned to tell Luffy but found him already happily chowing down on some food. You giggled to yourself and made your way towards Nami. “Hey! I heard you guys are leaving tonight” You started the conversation, taking a seat next to the orange haired woman. “Yup! The journey never stops!” She exclaimed, looking over at Luffy. “I thought you were coming with us? Luffy told us.” Nami said before taking a sip of her drink. “Ahh. I’m thinking about it” You shrugged. You looked over at Usopp for a moment before deciding to change the subject. “Any new stories to tell, Usopp?” His face lit up at the request. He stood on his chair and began the tale of how he defeated 47 enemies single handedly.

The day quickly turned into night. You were enjoying the party more than you thought you would. Between the drinking, eating, and dancing, you thought about this being your life if you chose to go with the Straw Hats. With Luffy. Luffy noticed you were standing alone and decided to steal a moment with you. He walked over to you, taking your hand and smiling. “Come with me, I have something cool to show you.” You smiled back at him, walking up a small hill located only mere feet away from the booming music. As you arrived at the top of the hill, you could still hear the faint sound of laughter coming from the party. Luffy sat down, pulling on your hand for you to do the same. You sat next to him, looking up at the moon in the sky. It seemed to brighten up the sky much more than usual. You leaned into Luffy, resting your head on his neck as the two of you watched the moon. The silence between you grew thick as you traced circles on his arm as you held onto it. “Have you thought about it?” Luffy broke the silence, still looking up at the sky. You took a deep breath, holding him tighter. “I can’t go with you Luffy.”

“Yes you can,” He argued. Luffy was known for not taking no for an answer. “I would just hold you back. I don’t want to hold you back.” You let go of his arm and looked up at him. “You wouldn’t-” He began, meeting your gaze. “I would.” You reached over, cupping his cheek. You smiled, it was a bittersweet feeling. “And that’s okay. Just promise to come back when you become king of the pirates. I promise I’ll paint that portrait you wanted.” You pulled him in for a gentle kiss. His lips were soft against yours. You pulled away, looking into his eyes. He was sad, but understanding. He wasn’t going to throw you over his shoulder and take you to the sea against your will. He nodded his head, looking over at the sky once again. “I’ll be here waiting for you.” You said, making him smile. “I’ll come back.”

[tuliptired]

hi! could you write anymore little looks at a humanities ta!reader x egon in college?

Do Wah Diddy Diddy

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Ta!Reader

Warnings: Reader is drunk for most of it

The egon/reader tag is so barren ;( Why nobody else dressed like a slut tonight?

INSANELY better formatting on Ao3!

 Egon left his lab, surprisingly, stressed. His major didn´t often stretch him too thin, he knew what he was doing and how to do it best, but it was just that time of year. Lots of work, and not a lot of time to do it. He always managed, with lots of coffee and little sleep, it was just a fact of academia.

The outside world reflected the inside ecosystem of his fellow students, buzzing with life and blazingly hot. Plagued by the heated air trying to cling to the classroom, you cracked a few windows open as you taught in place of the absent professor. This wasn't out of the ordinary- the man trusted you enough to run a class, and you ran it like a natural, admittedly. But today was a little strained, your daily seminar not getting to the level of intensity it usually did. Egon would’ve made a comment on it as he got the last word in, but he decided against it. While you were a TA, there was more emphasis on the “A” in times like these, evident in how you scoured through notes for other classes when you had a spare minute.

They worked independently, before you lifted your head out of a notebook, one of many fans blowing some of your hair off of your forehead. You glanced at the clock, before quickly setting up a projector and unboxing a handful of identical, thick books.

“Big assignment,” you started, a few complaints sounding from the students, “it wasn’t even me this time, blame Mr. Coulms.” 

He left the lecture room in a worse mood than he entered it, the thick tome under his arm. A play. He was a great reader- he could read each edition of Tobin's Spirit guide cover to cover in an hour if he was looking to cite something. Scientific journals were light entertainment to him. But plays? You actually had to dissect a play. To dissect it, you had to read it- well. 

He leaned against a bookcase, in the not-leaning-but-leaning way that he does, so as not to disturb the books. He would be searching for something like Ray was, crouched on the ground and investigating the bottom shelf, but he wasn’t in the mood, glaring at the text he was given before placing it on an empty shelf beside him. 

They were tucked away in the basement of the Public Library- it was one of the few places that they could ask for books about harnessing pure protonic energy and campfire stories of the 30’s without being looked at weird. Peter messed with the straps of his bag, ready to go and saying so for the 3rd time.

“In a minute, Peter.” Ray placed a few books next to him, searching for the right one that happened to be inconveniently smaller than the one’s surrounding it. He looked up at Egon sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry, Spengs. But I did this one in high school, and it was a lot of fun!” His optimism was cut short as the rest of the books along the wood fall towards the middle like dominos. 

“It won’t be hard, Egon. Do the voices.’ Peter procured a rubix cube from his bag. Egon seriously didn’t know why he carried it around, as it was never once solved.

Ray fumbled with the books as he tried to Dewey-Decimal their placements in his head. “I’ll help. Just, uh…” He looked around at the mess he made. “Can you look around for ‘Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian’? We’re gonna need it, too.” Egon only nodded, eager to clear his head a bit. He remembered the author well enough, weaving through aisles to find the proper section. 

He didn’t make it far, there was a reshelving cart in his way, his feet coming to a halt. As he looked up from the roller, you were standing there, hands on your hips. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re studying very hard.”

He sighed a puff of air out his nose, as you peered over his shoulder. You saw two men on the ground, grabbing handfuls of discarded books. “And your friends are messing up my hard work.”

He glanced back at the men, then back at you. “Is there anywhere you don’t work?” He didn’t intend to be in a confrontational mood this afternoon, but a bad class will do that to you.

You pointed to a pin on your chest, which read your name in small print under ‘BOOKKEEPER’.

 “Nope. How many people do you know have a gold plated name tag?”

“Waste collectors and prison guards.”

“Did you need a book? Because you’re in the library?”

He had his hands resting on the handle of the cart, not noticing until you dragged it to the side, taking away the partition between you. “Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian by Gregory Lederer.” He expected you to not know what he was talking about, and stand there dumbfounded. But you pushed past him, making your way to the “L” aisle of the General Knowledge section.

Your eyes scanned the spines of various options. “I don’t remember this play taking place in Appalachia,” you moved on to the next row. He followed you like a dog, unsure of what to do while you helped him.

“It’s personal. Scientific.” 

“The title’s a little oxymoronic, then, no?” You finally found it, examining the covers quizzically.

As he reached out for the book, you pulled your hand back. Egon wanted to be annoyed, but it wasn’t in him.

“Actually read the play. Do the voices.” Your own voice had the tone of someone trying to reason with a child. He reached his hand out, again, and you placed the book into his palm, conceding. 

Though you had a modest smile, Egon couldn’t help notice your tired look, under eyes darkening despite your efforts otherwise. He could understand, this was a hard time for everyone, no matter their field. Before he could show you his commiseration, against his better judgment, you let the book go limp in his grasp, passing by him with a small “see you, Mr. Spengler”.

Peter appeared in his line of sight amongst the maze of shelves, as Egon stood dumbly. A voice told him to “clean up my basement” as he passed by.

“It appears we’re not wanted here. Let’s go, Egon.”

When it was officially late, you sat in your dorm, finally having time to sit and work. You had to skip a proper lunch, mindlessly putting a baby carrot in your mouth every 10 minutes as you snuck a binder under your desk at the Public Library. By the time you were on your bed, feverishly taking notes, checking notes, and reading notes, you were barely halfway done with your studying itinerary. This week was sufficiently kicking your butt, to say the least.

The door opened and shut, revealing your roommate, Christine, setting her bag down on the chair nearby. You barely verbally acknowledged her, looking for a specific page in your textbook. She gave you a once over, before making her way to the fridge, but unable to stop taking you in. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Christine asked you, skeptical.

“Don’t think so-” Page 392.

She poured herself a glass of something, eyeing you as she did. “I said, you need to relax a bit.”

That was easy for her to say. As much as you appreciated her and her companionship, all Christine did was relax. Still, your flow was disturbed, and you reluctantly put your materials down.

She continued now that she had your attention. “You don’t hang out anymore. It’s Friday.” She crosses to stand in front of your spot on the bed, effectively tapping you in the conversation.

“There’s some guys in my advertising class throwing-” You can tell what’s coming next, and you shimmy past her as she exclaims in protest.  

“Come on,” she follows you around, nearly pleading with you. You sighed, stopping as she leaned up behind you. It wasn’t that you didn’t like fun, or being with friends- parties just stopped being your scene a few semesters ago. How’s that for maturity?

“I’m telling you like I’ve told you a million times before. That’s just not my domain.” Christine spun you around, intent on not giving up until you caved.

“You guys always get drunk, then you get pissed, then I’m dragging you home and helping you puke it all up.” She rolled her eyes.

“We’ll only have a little- and,” she pointed an accusatory finger to your chest, “to be fair, you wouldn’t have to do all that if you drank a little yourself.”

You pointed the same finger back at her. “So we can all puke together? What a fun night.”

Christine made the sign of the cross then, pointed her fingers to the sky virtuously. “I swear on my life; we’ll know when to stop.” When she opened her eyes, you still weren’t convinced.

“Pleeeease? If it’s lame, we’ll leave and rent a video and get a pizza. But you might have fun.” She looked at you with those big blue eyes, and it took all of your strength to resist. She pleaded with you again, until you finally broke, covering your ears.

You groaned dramatically. “Alright, fine, fine. I’ll go to your stupid frat party and get smashed on cheap beer.” Christine cheered, making her way over to the phone. 

“I’ll call Dean and Lisa and-” you flopped back onto your bed. Staring at your long forgotten work, you wondered if this was the right choice. 

Egon read the line, waiting patiently for Ray to respond from the copy he borrowed himself, as the man read for all other 11 characters of the play. It was about two rulers from warring countries forced to live together in a dungeon, but he just couldn’t grasp what was so special about that. It was late into the night, the dorm only illuminated by a few lamps and the little bit of light pouring in from under the door. After hours of trying to evade it, both men had only made a small dent in the long drama.

Ray pushed his reading glasses up. “You need more conviction, Egon, I don’t feel like your wife right now.” Egon closed his copy, putting his forehead in his hand against his desk.

“I don’t think this is working.”

“Are you doing improv? ‘Of course it’s not working, you-”

“No, Raymond. This book isn’t working.” Egon slid it away from him, the bright red cover hurting his eyes, and his pride.

Ray looked sad for his friend, taking off his glasses. “The only way to do it is to read. I’m sorry.” He tossed his book onto his bed. “But we can take a break. Whaddya wanna do?”

Egon remembered it was Friday, the day most young adults would use to unwind. He reached into the drawer beneath him, emerging with a miniature Tesla coil Ray had fashioned.

“You read my mind, Spenges!”

The two men were engrossed with messing around with it, placing numerous objects on and around the transformer- granted that any other flammable or conducive thing they owned was moved out of the way. As Ray teased the sparks with a pencil, he suddenly recalled something, eyes flashing and wide as he dropped the writing utensil.

“Peter has my car!” He grabbed each side of his head, almost comically as he could picture it- a nice, clean Camaro being trashed by beer and bodily fluids.

Ray was just short of spiraling, stuck on either racing down to the party himself or bawling in the spinny chair. “I’d go there myself- and strangle the life out of him,” he nearly wept, covering his eyes.

Egon let his eyes shut, before willinging himself to his feet. He’d never, ever associate with any sort of party, let alone one at a fraternity. But Ray loved that car, his dad’s graduation gift to him that’s been his pride and joy since freshman year. His friend barely even drove it around, afraid to raise the mileage too much. He didn’t doubt Ray’s conviction, or ability, to show it to Peter for going against his wishes, but the engineer was in hot water with the hosting students. One complicated party trick gone wrong, and the front lawn was ablaze quicker than he could control the little ball of plasma. It was their sophomore year, but he still wasn’t welcome near the block of brownstones he managed to devalue.

“Thank you, Egon, I promise I’ll repay you,” Ray’s eyes were glossy with tears as he pressed his face impossibly close to the glass of the window, trying to spot his baby driving somewhere down the street.

Time lessened the heat, Egon thought to himself. It was dark, but not a long walk off campus and a block or two away from the party. It wasn’t hard to find it, either- the music was loud and the bacchanal activities spilled out onto the street and into neighboring yards. No sign of the car. He wrinkled his nose. In the last stretch of freshman year, Peter tried convincing him and Ray to join a fraternity, rattling off a laundry list of reasons that it’d be a thrilling experience for the trio. He was obviously unsuccessful, and dropped the idea when he realized that it’d be hard to make friends in the already tight knit community. 

Egon didn’t dare touch the doorknob, evading people lounging on the stoop as he entered the large house after someone, using his foot to keep the door open. It smelt strongly of booze in the hot, dimly lit apartment, music still blaring from an unknown source. Not to mention the hazy smoke that was billowing through the air, hard to avoid with his height, much like the sounds of two people making out behind the couch. Infection central. How were all these people still going this late? He had to step over the passed out body of some guy without a shirt to get to the kitchen. 

As he stepped from the carpeted area to the tiled floor, arms quickly wrapped around his middle. His head snapped down, and there you were, head buried in his chest.

“Hi, Egon,” you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes glazed over and voice syrupy, not as precise as you made sure it was. He blinked a few times, noticing not only your shoes standing on his, but the fact you called him by his first name.

“Hi.” He reveled in the confusion, before pulling you away from him, gently. “Have you seen Peter? Peter Venkman?”

You thought about it, before the memory flashed back into your recollection. “Dr. Love? He left with my friend Christine.” Your voice slurred the words “left” and “with”, the same way Ray did when he was so smashed he couldn’t stand. Junior year was a sight to behold. 

He remembered how he handled drunken Ray, noting how warm your shoulders were under his fingers. “You’ve been drinking?” He asked despite himself. Being a gentleman was above personal vendetta. It was odd, seeing you dressed like this, out of the professional attire you took pride in every day. Your ability to pick clothes with an anal retentiveness rivals even him- the only college student in a pressed dress shirt, a sweater vest, and slacks. 

“Like, one or five. Itsfine, I’mfine,” you waved your hands around dismissively, before placing them over Egon’s. “I didn’t know you could party, Egie.” He ignored the heat that stung the muscles in his cheeks.

“I don’t.” He went along with it as you started swaying the two of you back and forth lightly. “Did you come with any other friends?”

You went silent, thinking again. It was evidently hard to think and sway, and you eventually fell back into him, unable to keep your balance. “DeanandLisa went to get…food. And they told me to stay here. So I took’a nap.” You nodded to yourself.

“When?”

You couldn’t answer. He peeked sideways at the clock- 3:19. Wherever your friends went, they weren’t going to be back for a long time. 

Your arms were still around him, head back on his chest as his hands hovered over you, awkwardly. It was barely audible, but you were mumbling along to the song playing throughout the rest of the house. He should’ve felt a smug pride, watching you who were once so confident drool on yourself, stumble over your words, and paw at him, but he couldn’t. Egon felt a lash of guilt at the idea of leaving you behind, telling Ray that Peter was long gone, and going to bed. You were obviously inebriated- with no friends and too juiced to know not to sleep on the floor, he couldn’t just let you stay in this dump. 

That’s how he ended up herding you out the door, but not before you stumbled about the apartment, saying good night to everyone. He was on your heels as you banged on a socked-bedroom door, bidding whoever was on the other side farewell, but he wasn’t quick enough before you were shouting your goodbyes down the stairwell of the basement. For being wasted, you were surprisingly fast. He finally got you outside, the skin under his fingers actually cooling as you left the cramped party.

“I didn’t take you to be a party-person,” he confessed, hand on the small of your back to stop you from running across the street to greet the cat staring you down.

“I’m- wait,” you did in fact run, having to kick off your shoes for efficiency before bending down rather ungracefully to pet the feline like a child would, fingers splayed and pushing its ears back unintentionally. He watched on as you skipped back to the sidewalk, grabbing a street sign for stability when you reached him.

“I’m not,” you resumed as he steered you on. “But- it was Christine! She showed me her’fake eyelash…es and convinced me!” You looked to him to share your disbelief as you told the story, shoes waving around as you moved your hands. “I’couldn’t say no!”

Egon found himself smiling. “I have a roommate very similar.” You were surprisingly easier to talk to when drunk. He wasn’t burning up, or scrambling for his words like he normally did when you teased him, making the scientist detest you more and more for your ability to confuse him. His thoughts ceased, as you got closer to campus, but walking with increasing difficulty.

It was when he had to catch you before tripping over yourself that he swallowed his inhibitions, wrapping a hand under you. He wasn’t the strongest out there, maybe even a little weak, but he could support your weight until you reached home. As you let out a small noise of surprise though, he felt a primitive sense of manliness, your figure pressed to his in a bridal carry.

“Soooo strong.” You praised him, voice trailing off as you let your head hit his shoulder. He had to remind himself that you were drunk, none of this really meant anything. You’d wake up, and decide to torment him after taking an aspirin. His grip weakened as his smile did.

“Don’t drop’me,” your hands clawed at the fabric of his shirt, and he adjusted his hold.

“I won’t,” he watched you close your eyes, face content. “I won’t.”

 You were halfway back to the dormitory. He could feel you stirring, looking down and finding your eyes fixed on the night sky. 

“What’s up there?”

“Ursa Major.” You pointed lazily.

“That’s a plane.”

You stiffened in his arms. “No, it’s’not. I know this. It’s the bear.” You managed to cross your arms over yourself while in his hold. He felt bad, provoking you while inebriated. 

“Then it’s the bear.”

“Put me down,” you hit him on the chest a few times, willing him to reluctantly place you on your own two feet. You shook off his attempts at still holding you, intent on trying to make it home on your own. You stormed off along the path, nearly veering off into the grass.

“Where are you going?” He couldn’t hide the concern behind his voice, trying to keep up with you as you took on a sudden irritation towards him.

“Home.” You kept your pace, before slowing, battling something in behind your eyes in your drunken state. “You think I’m dumb.” Egon stopped in his tracks in a moment, before walking behind you again.

“That’s not true,” he said simply, throwing away his feud with you when sober. He thought of you as one of the smartest people he knew. And you managed to make him look like a mere child while baring your smile at him.

“Maybe I’like being drunk,” you retorted to no one in front of you. As you slowed, so did Egon, watching on as you looked on down the dim, street lamp lit path. When he followed your gaze, he saw nothing but the darkness of night ahead of him. Suddenly, you fell forward, uncaring and weightless. He wasn’t quick enough to catch you, heart dropping to his toes before you simply rolled over onto your back. Your knees were scraped, rapidly drying blood mixing with the gravel and dust of the ground over your lacerated skin. Before he could worry too much about it, you merely laughed, full of glee as your eyes were transfixed on the stars, arms out like you were a star yourself. 

You passed out pretty quick after that, a little heavier in his arms. To say Egon was uneasy was an understatement, but at least you were out for a bit. He struggled to get the door to the building open, and even more so getting up to your dormitory floor, only narrowly avoiding hitting your head against a door frame every so often. Taking a quick look at the plates on each door, he was relieved at finding your surname printed on one. After a few discreet knocks, however, no one opened up, either passed out themselves or simply not home. Searching for solutions, he sighed, again, gently laying you against the baseboards. It wasn’t his most elegant idea, but it’d have to do as he reached in his pocket for a pad and paper. He simply scribbled the words “Passed out, sleeping in 244. Please pick up when you get home.” Pressing it in the space between the room number and the wood, he picked you up for the third time and made the trek back to his own place.

You looked peaceful, as Egon decided on putting you in Ray’s bed, alcohol and cotton pads ready. Ray wasn’t home himself- and it’d be unbecoming of him to put you in his own. He hummed to himself, your current state reminding him of the deuteragonist in the play you gave him. They were affluent and sybaritic, imprisoned while drunk and jovial, to the aggravation of the protagonist, tied to tradition and analytical. He hoped that whoever you were in chains with took the liberty of cleaning your open wounds like he did. 

Apparently, the sting of disinfectant is enough to rouse the unconscious awake, as the liquid being pressed to your skin made you jolt back to the present, sucking in air between your teeth and nearly kneeing him in the nose. You rushed to sit up as properly as you could, bringing your legs to your chest.

“What’re you doing?” The pain must’ve been worse in this state. He suddenly felt very, very bad about not waiting until you were awake to take care of it, but he remembered that you couldn’t make proper decisions for yourself like this. He wet another pad, though warily. Who was Egon to say that he could make proper decisions for you, sober or otherwise?

He approached you gently, showing you his materials. “Sanitizing. It could get infected.” Maybe that was a bit overzealous, but germs love untreated, open flesh.

You calmed, letting your legs dangle over the bedside again, the exaggerated idea of losing a leg scarier than the cleaning agent in his hand. “Oh.” He figured you were sobering up, even by a bit, from the way your words slurred less and you clung Ray’s blanket to yourself, night’s activities catching up with your tired body. You looked around as he worked quickly, taking in the room.

“You’re messy.” Egon raised his eyebrows once at that, prepping another pad.

��We’re scientists. And Peter.” He could hear you laugh weakly above him. It felt nice, to make you feel nice. Egon felt oddly at ease, on his knees, cleaning you up- as dubious as it sounded. He moved on to your other leg, remembering your situation. “Would you like to stay here? Your friends aren’t home.”

Silence as he wiped away the grime. Your voice sounded again. “A sleepover.”

He resisted a yawn, letting it escape through his nose before catching sight of the clock. “Sure.”

You didn’t say anything else. Better for him- he was sure you didn’t have a key and he was a terrible locksmith. You were leaning back on your hands.

“My doctor.”

He bit back the smile and blush that spread over his face with a clench of his jaw. You were still drunk, no matter how coherent. And wrong. “Not yet a doctor.” He was done bandaging both your injuries some time ago.

“Doctor Egon,” you drew out the word, giggling to yourself. He’d let it slide, this time. Misused titles were disdainful in academia. But he supposed being a stickler didn’t matter so much, now.

Eventually, he rose to his feet, eyes honing in to a surface level scratch on your cheek from the fall. He held your jaw lighty, thumb careful to not graze too much over it. It wasn’t severe, but he assumed you’d prefer to not have a deep scar there for the entirety of the summer to come. He thought about summer. He’d be here, on an internship, while you’d be away, probably away with your friends again. You’d get drunk, seemingly trusting the people around you far too much until you’re hurt- worse than you are now. Whatever meathead you’d spent the night with wouldn’t know first aid if it was thrown at him. Egon soaked in his jealousy, eyebrows falling over his eyes, before coming back to his senses, soaking one more piece of cotton and gently tapping it to your face, a small adhesive placed to protect it. 

“Kiss to make it better?” He let go of your face, moving to the kitchen sink to wash his hands as you giggled to yourself again. It was awfully late, now.

“You should get some sleep,” he dried his hands off. He would miss you, but time was the only fool-proof remedy- and daylight was quickly approaching.

“No fun,” you complained, but you still settled into Ray’s bed, pulling the comforter around yourself. He contemplated what to do, get into his own bed or just wait for you to sleep instead. You rolled over to face him.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help with the play? I’m not supposed to, though. But I can do the voices.” Right. The play. He eyed the book, forgotten about in the corner of his desk.

“I’d rather you rest.” 

“You should sleep, too.” He could tell you were fighting your own exhaustion. He pulled out his chair, moving Ray’s coil to the side to make work of his assignment again. 

“I’d rather you did, first.” He opened to the page he left off on.

“Egon.” You sounded scarily sober. He turned in his seat to face you.

You freed yourself from the blanket a bit. “You’re tired. You always look tired.” Another state of inebriation was taking hold of you. Maudlin. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.

He chewed at the inner part of his bottom lip before speaking again. “You’re very stressed. And you’re going to wake up feeling like hell.” He searched for the right words to convince you to let yourself go. “I’ll sleep too, and we can talk to each other in our dreams.” A little ridiculous, but it’s not the craziest thing he’s said to a tippler.

The hammered part of you was contemplating it, before you smiled and nodded. Before he went back to his work, you called for him one more time.

“Egon?”

“Yes?”

“I need a lullaby.” You had the same devilish, teasing look in your eye as you did when you were sober. He looked around in confusion as you looked towards him expectantly, before he surrendered, winding up a small snow globe that Peter kept out, even in Spring. As it played, you shook your head.

“No, sing the one by Manfred Mann.” He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over your head as you laughed uncontrollably to yourself.

“Goodnight.”

Egon had fallen asleep over his book some time later. As he came to, he looked back, hopeful to still see you, sleeping soundly. His hope faltered as he took in the empty space, neither his roommates returned or your spot on Ray’s bed filled in by your shape. There was a strange emptiness in his chest, knowing you were gone in a matter of hours. The only proof of your presence was the used bottle of isopropyl in the corner of his desk.

His breath slowed, light of the early morning burning into his eyes as he slowly rose out of his chair. Walking off, not sure if he was going to shower, or eat, or what, he noticed a small paper on the pillow. He picked it up, wondering if it would disappear in his hands.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He folded it back. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything. But he still smiled.

[creative-crybaby]

Birds of a Feather (Flock Together)

PAIRING: yan!timeskip!Kageyama Tobio x fem!reader

GENRE: smut | dark content (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: yandere themes, toxic friendship, nipple play, light manhandling, semi-public sex, creampie

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

SUMMARY: What was supposed to be a helping hand became an unhealthy relationship when Kageyama mistakes your kindness for something more. All characters are 18+

@creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

Now that you think about it, you’ve always been too nice for your own good. 

Not that it’s your fault. Your parents raised you that way; show kindness to others whenever the opportunity presented itself. The limit of knowing when to stop never came up, opting to believe that your positive behaviour would be contagious. Wishful thinking, of course. You don’t blame your parents for those drawbacks—their boundless optimism, perhaps, but that’s all. 

You wished reality showed some mercy when slapping you across the face. Sooner, too, maybe. 

When you especially wished for a backbone, you were in your first year of high school, standing before your anxious friend after offering your help. You know her pretty well, having gone to the same middle school; your brain saw no reason to process possible consequences. (Not like you could ever predict your current outcome, anyway.) If anything, the muscle was too busy thinking about how the blonde’s spine would break eventually. No ill feelings behind the idea, but it doesn’t stop your brows from furrowing in guilt. 

You worried for Yachi, that’s all. And with her bent over at a 90° angle before you, a position you both seem familiar with, you couldn’t help but sigh. 

“Hey,” you began softly. The sheepish blonde didn’t budge, and it wasn’t until you said her name a bit louder did she tilt her head to peer up at you. “It’s no problem, okay? I’d be happy to help. Besides,” you quipped with a smile for good measure, and your classmate rose from her deep bow, though kept her position so you remained above her, “this could look good on a resumé, no?”

By now, Yachi’s posture returned to normal as she offered a nervous chuckle. “I guess you’re right. It’s just that those two can be a handful sometimes, especially with each other. I don’t want to put any stress on you.”

Your arms crossed as you arched a brow, considering the new volleyball manager’s words. “Then, how about I take care of one of them and you keep the other? It’ll be easier to help if you focus on one person’s struggles, and that way they won’t bicker all the time.” A small smile graced her lips as she pondered your idea, and you leaned forward curiously. “You make them sound like an old married couple. There’s no way they’re that bad, are they?”

Yachi’s eyes widened ever so slightly before she frantically shook her hands in front of her. 

“No, no, no!” she insisted, voice raising a bit more than probably intended. A few classmates paused their conversations to glance at you two; you waved them off apologetically. “I don’t mean to make them sound terrible or anything! It’s just that they care so much about their club that,” she paused, searching for the right words, “they can’t seem to focus on anything else.”

You hummed, head tilting in thought. A valid concern, but it was a drawback most teens had with studying. Not that you needed to remind Yachi: with keeping up with a team where she somewhat understands the sport, tutoring her teammates and keeping up with her schoolwork, stating the obvious may not put her at ease.

Instead, you grinned reassuringly, and light pink dusted across the blonde’s cheeks. “Nothing I can’t handle. I got this.”

It didn’t take long to find your tutee upon entering Class 1-3. Based on Yachi’s description, you were sure you’d seen him a few times in the hallway, a scowl seemingly stuck on his face. That expression remained as he stared at whatever was in his notebook. And with other students in the room tiptoeing as they passed his desk, you were even more sure that was who you were looking for. 

“Kageyama.” Despite your voice’s volume as you attempted to gain his attention, your tone carried its usual gentleness. It did the trick, his frown softening as his brows lowered to a neutral expression. Not as intimidating as his previous look, but you understood where Yachi’s hesitance came from as she tried to describe him. 

“You’re Yachi’s friend?” It sounded more like a statement than a question, but you nodded. He hummed. “What’s your name again?”

You are–were–kind, not a saint. The question irked you, having put effort into knowing who he is and how he worked to help him raise his grades. He can’t bother to remember your name? Surely, Yachi gave it to him.

There’s no need to get mad, you remembered. Reminded. Wired. It was just introductions; give him a chance. Give him as many as he’ll need to open up in his own way. Yachi said he wasn’t the best at communication. He’s trying. You were both trying.

You gave him your name with a smile.

The first lesson had more to do with diving deeper into his brain than helping him study. With only a summarized description to go by, you needed more information. 

Kageyama understood onomatopoeias better than imagery. Tone flew over his head while clear instructions prepared him for the journey ahead. Studying English and Japanese had their wins and losses. (Mostly the latter, though some battles must be lost to win the war.)

The next couple of sessions weren’t any different. You wondered if the environment distracted the setter, and while it didn’t appear that way, you suggested meeting up at the library. A minor improvement, though his brain’s wiring still wasn’t completely translated to you. 

Whenever you and Yachi sat together for lunch to update each other on the tutoring, you tossed in some enthusiasm in your tone as you promised her you were getting there. Following up was a back-and-forth of the blonde insisting that you could back out of the deal whenever and you assuring her that everything was going smoothly. (Can’t say “fine.” No one believes in fine anymore.)

Now, you observed the twitch of Kageyama’s eye as he glared at the graphs, angles and equations in his notebook. You didn’t blame him: not when you were slowly running out of methods to help him. 

As time passed, so did his patience. The ravenette slammed his notebook onto his desk with a groan, hands flying to slap his face, making you jump in your seat across from him. Other students flinched as they turned to face the commotion, whispering to one another before trying to look away. 

“This is a waste of my time,” Kageyama muttered. 

That makes two of us, a fleeting thought grumbled. You swatted it away, ignoring the tightening of your chest.

His glare trailed toward the window to his left, muttering about how he could be improving his technique—or rather, something more about a certain pipsqueak needing to work on his spikes. 

You hummed. “Tell me about volleyball.”

His gaze snapped to you, brows still furrowed, though curiosity replaced the aggression in his eyes. “What about it?”

“Whatever you want,” you shrugged, placing your pencil on the desk. “I only really know the basics of the sport, but there’s no use stressing yourself out over something you’re stuck on. Consider this a little break.”

A slight pout formed on his lips, either from hesitation or pondering where to begin. 

Kageyama lived and breathed volleyball. Not his words verbatim, but his rambling told you as such. He knew his strengths and his weaknesses (even if he’d rather not discuss them), and his irritation toward his teammate sounded like complaints on the surface. Still, it came from high expectations and confidence in the ginger’s potential, and it wasn’t until he rambled on about A passes and C passes did a light flick in your brain. 

“There it is!” you exclaimed, a grin tugging the corners of your lips. You slid the notebook closer to the setter. “Try what you were just explaining to me and add it into these questions.”

It took him a few seconds to process the order, his head tilting to the side as that pout returned. A cute look on him, but that wasn’t relevant then, nor now. 

“What, my passes?” Kageyama blinked, and it seemed to click. 

You nodded. “You’re so precise with your sets. Just apply all the knowledge to these situations. It may not be exactly the same thing, but it’s possible.”

Kageyama looked at you for a bit before returning his attention to his notebook, taking his time looking over the written words before skating his pencil across the paper. You figured Yachi was exaggerating when she told you about his passion for the sport, but that assumption went out the window soon enough. But weaknesses can be strengths if you view them from a different angle, and soon the setter’s distraction became his motivation.

Not all the questions he answered were correct, but the improvement was impossible to miss. You beamed, praising him for finding his way. Despite his resting face, Kageyama’s eyes shined from the encouragement, his posture straightening ever so slightly. The baby pink dusting his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you, either, and you had to refrain from cooing. Holding back a chuckle as he stammered an invitation to his team’s next practice match wasn’t possible, and you agreed should he continue to work hard.

The study session ended early, with you wishing the ravenette good luck at practice and his upcoming quiz. You slouched while walking in the opposite direction, pride washing over you like a warm shower. An accomplishment, a job well done. Completed.

You remembered thinking how you could only go uphill from there, academically speaking. What else was there? Aside from volleyball, there wouldn’t be anything else to worry about, and you weren’t even responsible for that department. All you could do was observe the sport and those who play it, learning bit by bit as you cheered for your school’s volleyball club. 

You didn’t know the opposing team or their capabilities, though you could only assume they were a challenge. Yachi sat beside you, scribbling notes and occasionally explaining whatever she learned herself. 

“I heard you found a way to help Kageyama,” she said between sets. “How’d that go?”

As if he heard you, the setter trailed his gaze toward you two, giving you a curt nod before drinking from his water bottle. You returned a small smile before giving your attention to your blonde friend.

“Figured things out a few sessions in,” you responded as the remnants of pride from that day of discovery still swirling in your chest. “He should get the hang of it soon enough. I’m sure getting to stay in this club is more than enough motivation for him.”

Yachi perked up at the news. “That’s great! Thanks again for helping out. I owe you bigtime.”

“Don’t say that.” You shook your head with a giggle. “How’s your tutoring process coming along?”

Movement teased the corner of your eye, but the shriek that echoed throughout the gym was impossible to ignore. Your attention went to the source, and the new manager almost dropped her notebook at the sound.

Kageyama held a death grip on a ginger teammate–Hinata’s–hair, roughly tugging the locks as he glared at the shorter teen. The latter continued to beg, though aside from who you could only assume to be the team captain, no one paid them any mind. As the senior student handled the situation, the setter caught your gaze. His glare faltered, but his frown didn’t disappear as he seemingly analyzed your expression. He walked away with a huff, and soon enough, the second set began.

It was normal, apparently. You got to interact with a few of the other teammates, one of which–Tanaka, if you remembered correctly–barked out a laugh as he assured that Kageyama and Hinata fought like an old married couple all the time. You weren’t sure what kind of elders he’s been around, but so long as the explanation put you at ease, you’d take it. 

You eventually got used to the random quarrels as well. A deal was made between the setter and you that you’d see his games should he continue to work hard academically. Or rather, he’d let you know when his upcoming practice matches would be like you’d already planned on showing up. Not that it bothered you; it was probably his way of connecting with you outside of tutoring, and with your first impressions of him, you assumed making friends wasn’t his forte.

The only downside is that you also had your own club to go to. The boys’ volleyball team didn’t have practice matches too often, so you had yet to miss any, at most showing up a bit late as you’d wrap up your club’s meeting for the day. You’d catch Kageyama with his usual frown until he found you’d shown up, and his expression would soften as he straightened his posture. Having already been in the game, he couldn’t say anything about your tardiness, so you’d sneak to the balcony and observe from above, cheering on a little harder to make up for it. After the game, he’d approach you with a pout, though he’d only discuss the match with you.

It was late fall when you first missed a match. Kageyama informed you a few days prior, as you helped him with Modern Japanese, that a practice game would partake. You thought nothing of it until that day arrived, and you had yet to dismount your seat in your own clubroom. The calligraphy club was pretty straightforward, though that day, there was a meeting, one you barely recalled as your eyes continuously glanced at the clock. Along with cleaning up the classroom, you lost more time than expected, and rushing to the gymnasium did little to fix the issue. 

The game was in its second set by the time you arrived. The first thing you noticed upon entering the gym was the starting setter’s head whipping toward your direction. His alertness subsided, but his gaze stayed on you for a few seconds too many before he served the ball. You assumed things would go as usual, with you sneaking to your designated spot and watching the match until it was over. 

It wasn’t until the opponents requested a time-out did you discover how wrong you were. While the other boys went to fetch water and towels, Kageyama stomped over to you, his sweat-slicked bangs hovering over his eyes in a way that made his glare all the more intimidating.

“Where were you?” His voice was of normal volume, but his tone matched his furious expression perfectly. Your body froze.

“I had this thing,” you stammered. “My club meeting took longer than I thought, and—”

“I was waiting for you,” he seethed, stepping closer. “I even asked Coach to wait a bit so you could make it. I shouldn’t even have to make excuses for tardiness. You couldn’t have told your club that you had places to be?”

Your mouth went dry as he got louder, and by now, most of his teammates were watching the commotion. You’ve seen him frustrated, sure, angry on bad days, too. At least he’d take it out on his homework. 

Still, your habit of patience was second nature, even when it wasn’t called for. “I’m sorry—”

“Kageyama.” Daichi was behind the ravenette with a hand on his shoulder before you could further explain yourself. His tone was stern, sharp even, but nowhere near as intimidating as what you received. A warning. “Go take a breather, why don’t you?”

The setter’s gaze stayed on you a little longer than necessary. He scoffed before walking away, his back facing you as he sipped from his water bottle. You politely dismissed the captain’s apology on his junior’s behalf, assuring him you were all right.

“His Majesty’s probably just upset his girlfriend couldn’t watch him show off,” you heard Tsukishima mutter to Yamaguchi. You weren’t sure if he intended for you to catch his comment, but he wasn’t exactly out of earshot, only a couple of feet away. Regardless, you didn’t bother responding. It didn’t take long for everyone else to leave the little incident in the past, and the tall blonde’s snarky words lingered in your brain for the remainder of the match.

No one else showed up to watch these games. You were there for the tournaments, too; aside from Tanaka’s older sister and a few of the coach’s old friends, the boys’ volleyball club didn’t have much moral support. Much less Kageyama, from what you could tell. You’ve heard about his behaviour back in middle school from Hinata and Tsukishima, the latter with taunts, and the new fragments of information added pieces to the puzzle. 

Kageyama was trying. He didn’t always succeed, but it didn’t stop him from attempting to steer away from the tyrannical path he was heading. You’ve seen him reach for Tanaka’s high-fives, albeit with a confused expression, but it didn’t falter his senior’s enthusiasm. His compliments (if you could even call them that) came out as awkward and forced when he gave them to Hinata after the ginger won a point, and he wasn’t afraid to ask Azumane if he needed to adjust his sets to suit the Ace. 

Maybe you were supposed to be his tutor and nothing more. Maybe it would’ve been better that way. But with very little assistance and even lesser options, Kageyama might have considered your listening to his ramblings as a sign of friendship. You supported him in staying on the team, and now you’re watching him flourish as a result. That’s what friends do—it was only fair for him to ask you to stay as such. You’d ask yourself why not indulge, though you were probably in too deep to call it that anymore.

The following morning, you find Kageyama waiting by the school entrance, two milk cartons in each hand and a strained apology on the tip of his tongue. You smiled, the two of you sipping on your refreshments as you waited for the first bell to ring.

Your calligraphy club disbanded at the beginning of your second year. You weren’t all that surprised at the time: there were barely enough students for it to exist in the first place. Why certain members decided to leave was beyond you, but you saw no point in pushing them to stay if they didn’t want to. Still, you missed your club: you were left to your own devices, the black ink dancing across paper lulling you to a place of comfort.

It was Yachi who suggested you joined the boys’ volleyball club as another manager. She figured you learned some things from Kageyama here and there while tutoring him, and she has no problem helping you catch up. 

“Besides,” the blonde smiled, handing you the sign-up sheet, “it’s pretty lonely now that Shimizu graduated. It’d be nice to have a friend around.” You take the paper from her, staring at it somewhat skeptically. You didn’t voice your hesitance, and after a few seconds of silence, your friend added, “I’m sure the others will be happy to have you around, too.”

With how often you dropped by to watch the team practice and compete, the club members have grown to know you. It didn’t take too long for you to warm up to them, too, usually sitting with Ennoshita, Kinoshita and Narita and having them explain the gameplay whenever you were lost. Otherwise, it was mainly Kageyama who kept you to himself either because you had time to assist him in his studies or simply because he wanted your attention. 

You later found out it was his idea to have you join the team as another manager, and Yachi agreed immediately. Who would complain about that? Another sweet and pretty girl to help and cheer them on was a dream come true for most. You were the only one that had yet to vocalize content, and you handed in the application sheet soon after receiving it. 

Even with the progress, you still tutored Kageyama. Seeing him more often after classes only gave you more opportunity to support him, especially when Coach Ukai would remind certain members to keep their grades up. 

Not that any of this bothered the setter. He had no problem having you continue helping him with his schoolwork. He’d listen to your instructions, try out new learning techniques whenever he struggled on a particular unit and remained patient (by his standards, anyway) with you when things didn’t work out.

You had no issue continuing your support. You knew Kageyama was trying his best, even when his brain could only focus on volleyball, and you figured you could still learn more about how he interacted with others as he tried to come out of his shell. 

His one-track mind came to a disadvantage at times. When Hinata suggested studying as a group, Kageyama quickly shut the idea down. He’d sometimes go on tangents about strategies and new techniques for the sport while you tried to help him. Tanaka and Nishinoya would quip that the setter had a crush on you and didn’t know how to express it, though you knew better than to take those two seriously. Kageyama told you that becoming a manager would be more suitable for your future than your previous club. He’s grown used to your routine of getting all your attention for tutoring, and having others there would throw him off his game. As for his rants, he’s merely passionate about the sport—you don’t need a reminder.

So, you became a manager for the boys’ volleyball club, continued your one-on-one tutoring sessions and instructed him to only speak of team strategies in English as practice. And you do so until you graduate. 

It’s where the connection between you and Kageyama seemingly disappeared, set ablaze before dwindling into disintegration. He didn’t even give you the time to say goodbye to your friends outside the club before asking them if he could steal you away. (It was more of a declaration—the questioning tone was a mere formality.)

“Ready to take your volleyball career to the next level?” You didn’t know what else to say: not after the abrupt isolation. He’s brought you one of the many hidden corners the school had to offer, away from all the other graduates and their loved ones. Sakura petals fluttered through their descent, softening an otherwise overwhelming atmosphere full of completed chapters and new beginnings. You read manga: it felt like prince charming would swoop in with a confession, second gakuran button in hand. Having blueberry eyes boring into your awaiting frame in such an environment should make the butterflies in your stomach perform their very own acrobatics number, the anticipation eating you from the inside out. And it did, the churning in your belly boiling your face as you tried to meet his gaze. Kageyama’s resting face was always a disadvantage regarding his approachability, but with three years of getting to know him under your belt, you still felt a ghost’s kisses up your spine. 

“Obviously,” he answered. You would have chuckled at the comment in your first year of high school. But even the smile you’ve managed to muster no longer seemed convincing. Part of you wondered if you could find your friends once more to keep in touch before you all left. “I should be asking you that, though.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, yet you kept the corners of your lips upwards. “I don’t know if being a manager for a volleyball team counts as a volleyball career.”

Kageyama didn’t laugh at your quip. You didn’t expect him to, but his response caught you off-guard.

“When will you be joining me?”

Your tiring performance of halo and white wings evaporated at his question, brows further creasing as your smile dropped. A clear indication of confusion, though a hint of offence found its way into the mix. 

“What are you talking about?” Your body instinctively inched closer to your corner. The setter noticed. 

“One of the biggest reasons I’ve managed to get as far as I am with volleyball is because of you,” he stated. “From helping me keep my grades up to becoming manager. I can grow to adjust to any team I become a part of, but I need someone who gets me to be by my side if I want to continue to prosper in my career.” 

The butterflies once performing in your belly dropped dead before they had the chance to bow. The love confession you dismissively thought of boomed with laughter as it slapped you across the back. Your lungs were empty as your brain progressed his words, your face slowly morphing from one expression to another. 

Did you do this?

“Kageyama,” you began, barely knowing where to go without a map, “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but that’s not the path I’m taking.” His resting face grew sour. You forced yourself to continue. “I’m flattered, but really, you did most of the work. I just gave you a little push.” Kind words didn’t weaken the blow—his staredown didn’t falter. “I have a life outside of the sport. I’m no prodigy. I don’t work anywhere near as hard as you do. I don’t feel the same about volleyball the way you do—”

“Bullshit.”

The snap from harsh lips forced yours shut. You shrank back once more, a scolded child fearing further punishment. 

You dared to glance at him. Kegayama was seething, leaning forward with clenched fists and jaw. You didn’t want to peer out to the crowd; had anyone heard him? They either didn’t or were too afraid to jump in. You knew you would be, too. 

“You think some sweet talk is going to make any of this okay?” His voice grew in volume, and you flinched. “You learned past the basics, you understand strategy better than the average player. You’re throwing it all out the window for what? That damn club you were in before had nothing to offer. I can vouch for you if you just follow me.”

There he was: King of the Court. You always thought Tsukishima would exaggerate to gain a reaction, but that title came to be for a reason. You just never thought you’d fall victim to it. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I led you on,” even in a situation like this, your feelings seemed to fall to a second priority, “but I’m telling you now that I don’t love the sport as much as you think I do. It’s not in my future.”

“I showed you opportunity and you throw it back in my face,” he sneered, getting closer. 

“I joined because of Yachi and my old club disbanding,” you defended, voice quivering. “I don’t understand why you’re yelling at me.”

A petal landed on your cheek, and you went to brush it away until you discovered the soft touch was a stray tear. It seemed enough to silence him, if only momentarily, though his glare remained just as deadly.

He wanted to say something; you knew he did. More words of anger, most likely, but he tightened his jaw instead, opting to walk away after giving you a final look of disdain.

You didn’t hear the hopeful and cheerful banter between graduates, nor did you catch Yachi calling your name until she laid a hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your daze. Kageyama lingered in your head for the remainder of that day; no harsh words in particular—mainly the darkening of his blue eyes as his tone became aggressive. Part of you thought you also heard a twinge of betrayal, but after such a whiplash of a confrontation, you weren’t sure you could recall that moment in your state.

Wherever he was during the remainder of graduation, you didn’t see him.

To be more precise, you didn’t see him afterwards, either. With moving to another prefecture for school and time passing by, you eventually put that memory behind you. That isn’t to say it didn’t make your body temperature drop; on the rare occasions Kageyama would be brought up, the daggers his eyes threw your way would flash in your mind. Of course, you saw no reason to voice the issue—you only ever heard about him from Yachi whenever you’d catch up, which isn’t as often as you’d like. From what you know, he’s out of the country, furthering his career like you assumed he would. And while the setter was right about how being manager brought more skills and opportunities, your studies had nothing to do with volleyball. 

Neither does your career.

You never thought you’d set foot in Italy, much less work there after university. Your parents told you that your kindness paid off, much to your irritation. (Was school not already enough of a hassle? And the extracurriculars? The people?)

Even though the conversation was over the phone, you found yourself putting on a smile as you told them about taking the opportunity, your tone hopeful as if you still needed their permission. 

It took you who knows how long to realize you didn’t. And as soon as it hit you, you packed your bags and flew halfway across the world with barely the basics of the Italian language in your brain and newfound perseverance in your heart.

Whatever bits and pieces made you a doormat evaporated into the air as that airplane took off to your new home, and you planned on making what should be the next chapter of your life a completely different book.

Easier said than done, of course.

The last person you’d expect to see at this pub meets your gaze, and your eyes widen from instant recognition. 

Kageyama hasn’t changed all that much. His resting face is hard to miss, the light crease in his brows making him appear far angrier than he is. And with his increase in height and muscle, his intimidation goes up, too. His hair is also somewhat shorter, though that’s all regarding his changes. 

You continue to gawk at him, though his expression remains calm like you two were back in high school and you showed up to one of his games. You should be there.

He’s wearing his jersey, you realize, and grouped up with other men in the same attire. You don’t recognize the team; you haven’t been keeping track of the setter’s career. 

One of his teammates follows his stare, and Kageyama mumbles something before approaching you. You don’t hear what the other man says in return, your attention stuck on your old high school friend. (Can you still call him that? Could you ever have called him that?)

He says your name; your feet plant themselves on the ground. “It’s been a while.”

You blink away the myriad of emotions before nodding. “Still playing volleyball.”

It wasn’t a question, but it doesn’t make you feel any less stupid for bringing it up. Kageyama tilts his head back a bit, motioning to his team with a hum. “Yeah.”

“Can’t say I’m all that surprised,” you try to quip, your fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. Even if the ravenette’s height wasn’t a prominent factor, he’d still tower over you with how his eyes bore into your frame.“Last I heard, you joined Schweiden Adlers.”

His frown deepens. “I’m part of Ali Roma now.”

You bite your lip, your face growing warm. Kageyama appears offended, what with how he slightly tilts his head back for his eyes to look down on you. His brows furrow more, and you’re surprised you still remember his quirks even after all these years.

“An Italian team? Congratulations!” You don’t mention living in the same country, working on the same soil where he now lives and breathes his beloved sport. In fact, you don’t say anything for a little too long, and your eyes glance behind him. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your team. It was nice seeing—”

“Don’t worry about them,” he says, moving towards you. “I plan on catching up with you. They’ll understand.”

He’s making you approach a corner booth, and neither your feet nor your voice can protest. Even once you’ve sat down, all you do is shift in your seat, seemingly never comfortable. And whatever you originally planned on ordering is replaced with a glass of water. If Kageyama noticed, he doesn’t comment. He sips his beer occasionally; you’re halfway with your drink in a minute. 

“So,” you hum, “you like your new team?”

The setter looks at you for a few seconds before responding. “Yeah. Full of great players.”

He sounds more like he’s being interviewed than catching up with someone from high school. You try not to deadpan at his short answer. Your habit comes back crawling, keeping up performances and your back straight, head forward and heart thumping.

Your glass is almost empty when Kageyama speaks once more. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in Italy?”

He didn’t sound offended or hurt. The question came out as curious and casual like you two were going on about your day. But you know that’s not what’s happening, and his eerie calmness makes you nearly choke on your drink.

“We kinda lost touch,” you answer steadily, briefly. “It was a pretty quick decision, too. Only a handful of people knew.”

Not a complete lie, but you consider it necessary for now.

“Had to find out from Yachi that you were here last time I played in Japan,” the setter grunts, eyes glued to his drink. Your hold on your glass tightens at his words as your head snaps up to face him, a mix of confusion and a twinge of fear making your expression. You don’t get to ask him anything, not that you’re sure you can, and he continues. “Kind of a hassle not being able to reconnect with you whenever I had time back home. Switching teams was a good call, especially with my previous contract coming to an end. And it’s not like I wouldn’t have made it into Ali Roma anyway. I guess you leaving was a blessing in disguise.”

Whatever he says afterwards, if anything, drowns out as you stare past his shoulder, and your stomach drops. The strength you gained found its cowardice as the old you that disappeared into the clouds crashes down on you like a rainstorm, soaking you to the bone and making you shiver.

You rise from your seat a little too abruptly for your liking. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Also not a complete lie, but who’s keeping track? Not a drop of alcohol touched your tongue, yet you stumble down the hall towards the sign with a female stick figure in a dress and clumsily push the door below it open. You’re unsure if you should hunch over the toilet or splash water on your face, but you aren’t rewarded with a choice, nor the time, to make it.

A knock rinses the blood out of your ears, and you can hear the cheerful and far-from-sober banter back in the bar.

“Occupied,” you stammer hurriedly, carrying yourself to the sink. The creak of the door opening has you inhaling sharply, and who you see in the reflection keeps the air in your lungs.

Kageyama stands a couple of meters from you, his brows lightly furrowed. “Why do you keep doing that?”

You don’t answer him. The ravenette takes a step forward. You flinch.

“I was right, you know,” he begins, strangely calm. “That old club of yours–the calligraphy one–it was a waste of time.” His movements are slow as he approaches you. “It’s a good thing everyone left. Even if your new job has nothing to do with volleyball, your manager position definitely brought you to where you are now.” As vague as he may be, you can’t help but move back every time he gets closer, your fist tightening near your chest. “It would’ve been better if you’d just joined me, though.”

Your back hits the wall, and you don’t register what happens afterwards as your jumbled thoughts decipher possibility after possibility over the athlete’s implications. You don’t realize he’s kissing you or grabbing hold of your face to make you return the forced affection. You’re elsewhere as he lifts your top over your breasts and your skirt past your hips. Your mind is groggy as he gropes you through your bra, soon sliding past the material to tweak your nipples. 

It isn’t until his hand slides down your body and into your panties do you awake to a nightmare. 

Your front presses up against the tile wall; you don’t recall when he turned you around, the dead end’s coolness painting goosebumps all over your body and juxtaposing the warm fresh tears cascading down your squished cheek. Kageyama’s fingers languidly glide across your lower lips before he clicks his tongue. You can hear the irritation; you always could.

Not as wet as he’d like you to be. But the setter only has so much patience. He’s human, after all. He’s human.

The thought barely registers when you hear a faint zipping sound behind you, and suddenly his hard-on presses into the small of your back. Your breathing picks up as he spreads your legs with little effort, further pushing you into the wall before doing the same with your panties, revealing your entrance to him.

He doesn’t grace you with sweet nothings and mercy: just a blob of spit in his hand to pump his cock followed by heavy panting. And when he finally enters, the silence deafens you as he chokes on a gasp. 

That’s the moment that felt never-ending; he went in and never stopped, it seems, dragging himself into your insides until he was everywhere. He is everywhere. He is inside and behind and looming and crushing.

The nicest he was to you was when he waited to let you adjust, and you hate yourself for being the sweet little high school girl who tried to see the best in people. He doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve this.

Kageyama makes his first few strokes slow, but they’re still deep enough to have you gritting your teeth. It isn’t long until he gasps your name and picks up speed. 

“All this way,” he rasps in your ear, almost masking the slapping noises his hips would make when colliding with your ass. “All this way to another part of the world, joining a new team, starting over and getting better, all to see you again.” You don’t hear him when he speaks, nor as he grunts extra loudly as you tighten around him. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

A large hand slides back into your bra, squeezing your breast, calloused fingers tugging at the hardened bud, while the other one further shoves your panties aside to hastily rub your clit. The dry friction does little to soothe you, and with his lack of patience, the nub receives no pattern except whatever it's offered. Still, the added stimulation makes you tighten and the ravenette more restless. Even in your position, he finds a way to slam his lips against yours again. His tongue makes its way into your cavern as his thrusts get sloppier. You can’t breathe.

Not when he pulls away from the kiss. 

Not when his hips sputter as hot ropes paint your insides white. 

And certainly not when your high follows soon after.

It wasn’t strong, and it didn’t last long, but the shame that creeps into your stomach lasts an eternity. 

Your heavy breathing syncs with his as everything finally settles into your slowly-sobering mind. Kageyama’s still inside you, his hot breath fanning the back of your neck as his hands find your wrists to grab hold of. 

You’re in high school all over again. His actions have evolved to more dangerous heights, but you’re back in that gymnasium watching him practice. Even when he finally pulls out, even when he pulls you close, even when he snuggles into the junction of your shoulder. 

Kageyama hasn’t changed one bit.

@creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[eddiediazismyhusband]

I think part of the problem I have (and this may be an unpopular opinion) is all the hopes and opinions and ideas people (fans) have about the new season. And I don’t just mean things like the “mustache = obvious gay Eddie” that’s happening. But thoughts on Bobby, his and Athena’s living situation, Gerrard as captain, let alone Buck, Eddie, and others.

I know a lot of spec is just for fun, but some people take it quite serious. And I know I’m newer to this fandom but sometimes I read serious takes and go “….but that would never actually happen?! I know many of us don’t trust Tim and the writers but realistically that would never be a storyline on a tv show.…that’s a fanfic.”

So I can’t blame you for your pessimism or want to avoid spec. I hope we don’t get a lot of bts stuff either too, because I feel like fans will be trying to (over)analyze everything to figure things out. Only to likely be disappointed because I don’t trust these writers to write/do anything half as creative, original or logical as fans come up with. Expectation is the enemy and I’m afraid a lot of fans have theirs set too high for this season already

anon i have disgraced you by leaving this burried in the inbox and i feel awful 😭😭

i think fandom in general (and i mean any fandom not just 9-1-1) have this tendency to blur the line between cautious optimism/spec and actually convincing themselves of something happening…

i think a lot of people (and if you are one of these people this is NOT a dig at you) still want to have faith that the writers are actually going somewhere with the story, and they do so by speculating and putting actual thought into what the overarching storyline could be but unfortunately after 6 seasons of waiting, i’m getting tired of the whole thing being dragged out.

it’s no longer a will they/won’t they between the characters for me because multiple times they’ve reached the point where they don’t need anymore of that build; the only will they/won’t they is in terms of the writing team actually going somewhere rather than continuing to bait us

i have no issue with spec/theorizing (i may not wanna see it but i just filter out the spec tags) but my issue lies with some of the more popular buddie blogs having this whole “i can sense that buddie is happening” and then treating people who are validly apprehensive towards getting our hopes up like we’re brainless idiots who don’t know what we’re talking about

even though we literally went through the same thing of buddieblr being like “s7 is our year i can FEEL it there is no way they aren’t going canon”….. just for them to not go canon bc the writers (yet again) changed their minds last minute when they got an early renewal and realized “oh- we don’t actually have to commit anymore, we can just keep baiting snd dragging them along— and they technically can’t call it queerbaiting anymore bc buck’s bi now!”

like everything surrounding this season has been screaming to me (NOT anything from oliver and ryan— ive spoken before about how i think they are where we’re at in terms of being strung along by the writers every season) that we are just being baited again.

and as far as the over-analyzing, i’ve seen so many people saying things like “omg oliver and ryan posting candids/photos and tagging each other buddie is obviously happening”……. as if oliver and ryan aren’t friends…. like i fear the two of them posting eacg other doesn’t really mean much if anything when they’ve done that throughout their friendship.

and just because there are some deranged people on the internet spewing hate about them being friends doesn’t mean that their posting is a sign of anything either other than the fact that they’re probably blocking the lunatics and posting each other anyway…. it’s not some gotcha to anyone in the fandom, it’s not a sign that buddie is coming, it’s two castmates being friends, and doing things that friends do all the time

overall, like i said, i have no problem with people (other than myself) engaging in spec and at this point the people who are getting their hopes up will only have themselves to blame if we’re let down again… my issue mainly lies with some of the bigger blogs being dicks to people raising valid concerns over the new season and not trusting the writers when the writers haven’t done anything to earn that trust; in fact having only done things to the detriment of that trust.

anyway, sorry for the super delayed and super long response, anon 😭😭 i’ve been neglecting my ask box lately in lieu of a spike in temu stans sending me hate yet again but i was just scrolling through and noticed this one and wanted to make a response!

[vivalas-vega]

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / prologue

new series alert !!!! I’m really excited about this one :) I’m still brainstorming a cute nickname for our reader here so if anyone has any ideas lmk and as always lmk what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist for this!

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / prologue

to be tagged in future works, please turn on post notifications for @vegaslibrary 

part one

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none :) series will include language, drinking, smut, the whole nine lol

You knew thoroughly and completely that this was supposed to be the most exciting time of your life… It was the time for new beginnings, to embark on new journeys and gain new perspectives but it didn’t feel that way at all. It felt like the sky was falling and your life was ending though it was truly just getting started and Jake was feeling the same way. Of course he did, you shouldn’t have been surprised, your families had joked you shared one brain since you’d first met at ten years old. A screaming match at recess landed the two of you in the principal's office with your parents and while you’d walked in as mortal enemies, you teamed up in your disdain for your parents and teachers assessment of the situation and left as friends, never to be seen far from the other for the following eight years. 

“We knew this was coming, sweetheart…” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead as you nestled into his side. It was rather dramatic and you knew it, because he was right but that didn’t make this any easier. You weren’t leaving yet and neither was he, it was a simple question he’d asked… wanting to know if you’d made any college decisions yet and halfway through your answer you’d broken down. The weight of that decision had hit you like a freight train and left you wracked with emotion as you cried into his chest.

“I don’t want to leave,” you blubbered and he rubbed soothingly along your back.

“Yes, you do. I do, too. Trust me, if there was a Navy flight school in California I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

“If there was a good biology program in Florida, I’d be there in a heartbeat,” you replied and he just chuckled.

“Wouldn’t do much good anyways, I’d be off to Rhode Island before you graduated anyways.”

“Why would you say that right now?” you asked, another wave of tears cascading down your face. Theoretically you knew Jake’s dream career would leave him bouncing around not only the country but the world for seemingly the rest of his life and it was a disgustingly bitter pill to swallow. 

“Hey, you’re going to be all over the place, too… after Stanford who knows where you’ll go for residency… then you’ll have your pick of fellowships because why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m offended you didn’t say Massachusetts for residency, you have to speak it into existence, Jake.” you mumbled.

“Your plans could change… it’s okay for plans to change,” he pointed out and you looked up at him deadpan. “Right, forgot who I was talking to,” he laughed. “We’re going to be okay.”

You shook your head, “no… we’re not.” This was where you and Jake differed. He had an unwavering optimism for your relationship's survival after graduation but you didn’t share that same hope. You knew what was coming, you knew how few relationships actually survived the first year of college. By some miracle if it did, it would only grow more strained once medical school started, and residency was a completely different beast… not to mention the fact that he would be frequently deployed only god knows where with no ability to call or check in. 

“Honey…” he started, but you just cut him off.

“We have to be realistic,” you muttered. “I think we should…” you trailed off, feeling your throat grow thick, almost as if your body was forcing you not to say it because once you did everything would change. You felt him stiffen beneath you and your body’s attempt at self-preservation was in vain anyways, he knew where you were going.

“We should what? Break up?” he asked, hurt lacing his voice and you sat up to face him as you wiped your tears.

“No, I… I don’t want to break up, Jake, you know that… I just-”

“Think it would be easier?” he asked and you shook your head, taking his hands in yours as you tried to keep him from spiraling.

“I’m not saying this because it’s what I want, Jake. It’s the furthest thing from what I want, if I could make myself have the same dream as you and go to flight school with you so we could keep doing everything together like we always have I would. God, I’ve even tried to want that but we’re just… we’re on different paths. We both dream too big and eventually it was going to catch up to us.” 

“So is this… are you ending this right now? Are we over?” Tears were forming in his eyes and you reached up to swipe them away as they fell.

“No. I’m saying that… I’m saying that we should soak up the time we have together, make the most of it before we both leave and when we do…” you trailed off again, and he cradled your head in his hands.

“When we do, we’re over.” You nodded, your face curling with pain and he couldn’t bear the sight. He pulled you in close, hugging you tight as if he loosened his grip you’d vanish into thin air. “I love you,” he mumbled into your hair and you nodded as you wrapped yourself around him.

“I love you too, so much…” 

And you did just what you said you would. You made the most of the few weeks you had left. Your parents knew what was coming and loosened the reins, sleepovers that had stopped the moment you got together were no longer forbidden and despite their own grief at their babies moving out and moving on they allowed you to spend all of your time together because secretly your impending doom was just as hard on them as it was on you. The four of them had all known your relationship was an inevitability, even had wagers on when it would happen… your mom had won, something she boasted about frequently, she’d even gotten it right down to the day, your junior prom. They also knew what you did, that it would never survive the rigors of college, the unpredictability of the Navy, or the grueling schedule of residency. They’d raised two kids that were larger than life, two kids destined to become the greatest at what they did and you just weren’t old enough or mature enough to figure out how to make each other fit. 

You helped each other pack, studied for finals, danced the night away at prom and walked with each other onto the field for graduation and when the time came to load you onto a plane to San Jose he was right by your side until he couldn’t be.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said, sensing your body language as you turned to face him before entering the security line. 

You nodded, “I know… I’ll see you at Thanksgiving,” you said softly and his hands rested on your hips. You had said your goodbyes to your parents this morning, they suggested Jake drop you at the airport to let you have your final moments in privacy… as much privacy as the airport would allow. 

“We’re making the right decision,” you weren’t really sure who he was trying to convince but in the end it didn’t really matter. Neither one of you were sure this was true, but it seemed to be the only way to handle things right now.

You nodded again, “it’s not an ending it’s just… all we’re saying is not right now.” He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you as close as he possibly could and you felt tears spill out and onto your cheeks. “I’m going to go learn how to become a doctor, you’re going to go learn how to be the best damn pilot the Navy has ever seen and we’re going to be good.” Again, who you were trying to convince was up for debate. You pulled your head back to instead bury it in his neck as you threw your arms around his shoulders and breathed in as much of him as you could. 

“We’ll be good,” he mumbled and you knew you had to pull away… you knew you had to turn around and walk away from him but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet. You wanted to stay here, right here in this airport wrapped up in his arms for the rest of your life, but you couldn’t… you had a plane to catch and dreams to follow and he did too. You pulled away suddenly, keeping your arms around him as you looked at him seriously.

“Promise me something,” you said as you fought another wave of tears.

“Anything.”

“You’re not going to wait for me, we’re not going to hold back and miss out on life waiting on a maybe.”

“Honey-” he started to protest but you shook your head.

“Promise me, Jake, otherwise I can’t get on that plane. Promise me you’re not going to wait.”

He cursed under his breath, “okay, honey. I promise.”

“And promise me you’re still my best friend,” you said, letting the tears fall now.

“Oh sweetheart, not being your best friend was never an option,” he replied and you nodded, letting your hands rest on his cheeks as you looked him over. This was the last time you would hold his head in your hands and this was the last time you would look at him as your boyfriend, because the second you boarded your plane you would be single and embarking on a whole new journey. He placed a hand on the back of your head and pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours so gently, as if he applied any pressure you’d crumble beneath him. You had other ideas, kissing him back in almost a frenzy as he matched your pace and allowed his tongue to slip past your lips, tasting you for the last time and savoring the moment as he knew it was the last. You pulled away slightly, giving him a few more gentler kisses as you swiped away the tears wetting your hands, 

“I love you,” you whispered and he kissed you again.

“I love you too, honey.”

next part

[neonhellscape]

so i got ideas about mr haneumann and the local murder elf being compatible so. this is with the tone of them getting together as a couple, though theyre both insane enough they would never call eachother boyfriend yknow??

reminder ive not played the game so if i characterise them wrong or whatever please forgive that. im running off my partner's discussions and screenshots, one video of the party members chatting to eachother, and then just my own pure undiluted mental illness.

idk if this needs warning tags, like. theres some details where wow these two are freaks but all pretty par for the course with tech priests and drukhari yknow? if you're interested in that lot youre used to them being a bit fucked in the head, theres nothing startling i dont think. let me know if otherwise

wibbly wobbly keep reading link time

It was a slow discovery of his- that perhaps flesh may yeild some purpose in this life beyond being a target to strive against. Soft, squishy bits of pale meat interspersed between severing masses of silver… it was clear which he preferred.

Despite what may be presumed were he to word such observations, this was not a statement contradictory to his faith. Rather… one that coexisted, within his personal classification of it. While some permitted their metalwork to rust or tarnish, some polished it to a bright shine. He personally had tended to a delicate patina over many years- a cultivated, gentle age that took time and life to create, and became a point of pride. There was purpose to his cleaved respirator, scarred as it might be, remaining his, rather than being replaced as another might insist upon.

His skin bore the same scar as it. For weeks his reflections had considered that perhaps, by logic of his own fondness in that unique mark, his skin should be cultivated in the same tender way. Where he desired it be kept, at least. There was at least a small list he intended to act upon yet.

Leaning further into the mirror, he squinted. Then opened his eye wide. Blinking once, then looking left, then right. The lens of his optic allowed him to observe the function in entirety, not drifting in the same manner as the organ embedded in his skull. In tandem, it was optimal- a demonstration of his latest discovery. Manifestation and observation within one unit. Flesh and machine working cohesively.

A trilogy of satisfyingly tuned clicks permitted him to see closer in increasing magnification, the creases settling heavy around his eye seeming cavernous with the observational closeness. It downturned from the central point, practically heavy with itself and lending to a sadness or dismissiveness that had been inquired of cause from him numerous times- often followd by frustrated statements noting how his expressions were little showing even within the expanse of his face that remained uncovered. More recently, the frustration was instead an apparent care, expressed by a Rogue Trader keen to know his emotional wellbeing and not satisfied with the statement that his emotions could be vaulted and were already minimal in days before then.

Sparse, fine hairs darkened the border of each eyelid- he had forgotten the term for such hairs, likely so obscurely referenced and commonly known he had purged the record of it to provide space for another. Web-like blood vessels sprawled across the white of his sclera, and with the soothing touch of metallic fingers he prised away the lower lid to see where they stemmed from. With it gapping away, he could see closer inside himself than he'd found possible without wounding, a mass of veins and a… squishy casement.

Everything about flesh was squishy. There was no better word that contained both the textural description and the inherent desire to poke or squeeze. It… was gradually losing the sickening revulsion that it had previously held for him. Fascination at the intricacy distracted from the goreless yet undeniably visceral sight.

A slight pain, weak enough to be felt purely by his original nervous system rather than entering the network of alerts, appeared in his cheek. Permitting it the focus it meekly requested from him, he looked to the staples still decoratively lacing his scar, and the slight soreness between the two that had pinched together with his inspection. Pressing the cool fingerpad of the fourth digit between them, a cascade of neural connections expressed themselves in a marginally deeper, relaxing exhale through his respirator. A fascinating cause and effect.

Perhaps the Omnissiah would impart news of his yeilding to the Biologis who once argued so feverently to her cause.

Of course, there was reason to these new contemplations beyond the practically ancient conversation with a Magos of whom he could scarcely recall. A reason that he had long believed was rejected through petty ignorance, now more than ever, yet endlessly unnerved some part of him aware of repercussion.

It was no longer enough to deter him. Were he to be challenged, he would have argument enough to any wise Magos and the protections of the intriguingly considerate Rogue Trader to excuse him- a feral devout would brand him for any number of more minor transgressions, and he cared little for their opinion as a result. There was no need to justify himself to anyone lesser. With no sign from the Machine God to the contrary, he held confidence in their mutual safety.

If a threat were to emerge against those odds, Marazhai was certainly capable of defending them both. Getting him to cease and retreat when was wise instead of following the delighted urge to create more bloodshed would be the issue.

Depicted in a bloodstained memory was his smile. A sharp, taunting thing that even on recall brought a small flutter to the complicated systems that comprised his vastly spanning heart. The sensation made him feel somewhat queasy with awareness of his internals and their movements, yet… he decided to settle with that awareness, rather than seek to avoid it.

Marazhai had often mentioned such things, talking about it more casually and knowledgably than any other. Enjoyment seemed not just in tandem with the concept for him, but directly tied to it- within it, inherently part of it. The internal sensation of a pulsating circulatory organ rotating the order of contractions within its chambers at an elevated rate was apparently part of what was thrilling to him. Particularly in unison with one of said circulatory organ held in his hand. Whether it was somebody else's or his own seemed open for discussion.

Hand raising to his chest, he felt the bulky plating that simultaneously served as armour and external structural support to keep the sheer weight of his own body from punching clean through the select parts of his ribcage he had kept. Aware that concealed beneath the plate and gently threaded into it's supports was a structure of spokes of different lengths throughout his torso, at least three requiring openings be constructed through the artificial lungs that connected directly to his respirator. The various extended chambers, sub-chambers and adjoining injectors that marked the core of his circulation laced between it all like vines about a trellis, cables threading into the thick plating encasing his spine to relay fuel and power back and forth.

Slim, prising fingers had already forced their way through that casing once, nails scraping along the brittle vertibrae without the reasonable fear of the metal clamping down and crushing the spindly, intruding digits. Perhaps- 80% chance- even enjoying the thrill of the threat. One that had never manifested- it had taken diverting and shutting down a number of automatic systems, but he had remained curled up on himself for the curious touch, head bowed to the floor and back curved to keep the spacing as wide as possible without permenant damage. The most he had moved was to constrict a mechadendrite around the skinny figure looming over him, squeezing his waist in need for a grounding touch that earned shallow, gasped breaths and nails raked down the patches of skin at his sides. In sheer overwhelm, he'd forgotten himself, beginning a binharic trilling that concisely conveyed every alert, sensation of panic and pain that he'd felt. Not once had he requested cessation, and enjoyment had been interspersed far more frequently than he'd anticipated- the recall could never be misinterpreted as begging.

Marazhai's feelings on the matter required no clarification. Prising through the tubation of his respirator to grip his throat and draw his head close, hissing praise and encouragement for the sounds. Nails finding the seam where his skin had been tucked in against the metal, splitting it away slowly, sinking in to his knuckles with audible desire in his voice at the distorted screech it earned. Encouraging him, taunting him, urging him for more-

There were things that needed to be done. Recalling this before doing them was unwise.

The first step he took was with weak enough legs to sway, instinctively driving his mechadendrites into the ground to stabilise himself.

Certainly unwise.

-

It was rare to see pure, untainted anger in the Drukhari- an expression of unenjoyed frustration. The matter brought an ominous intensity to him, intimidating between his towering stature and the unusual shuffling clicks of his armour.

Turning his back, he began finalising his prayer to the machine spirit, raising a hand in a request for a moment he hoped would be respected.

With the wrenching snap of two metallic digits and the firing of a spring into some distant corner of the voidship, it was not.

"Iron mon-keigh!" his voice boomed, spinning the unit away from his task to hook a fist around the collar of his chest plating, weaponising knowledge of his precarious balance to lean him back and force him to stagger into the wall and be pinned. The snarl on his face was one of hatred, yet by that uncomplicated existence openly proclaimed vulnerability. The fact he had taken to petty name calling and careless damage only reinforced that fact.

"What am I to you?"

Hesitant to provoke him with misinterpretation, the list of potential answers was kept aside for a moment. "This unit requests clarification."

"Well, let us see. The teachings you devote yourself to demand my eradication, and yet here you are- pliant in my hands. You are taught to deafen yourself to the words of the xenos, and yet we have had any number of conversations to date. I am keen to know- am I a curiosity to you? A thing to observe while you have the chance, to prod and poke with no intention of indulging anything to completion, let alone satisfaction? Or am I perhaps here to prove to your fellow mon-keigh that their path is correct, informed by our inevitable- mutual- destruction in your idiocy." A snarled smile then crossed his face, the taunting look hollow compared to its usual enthusiasm even as his fingers flexed in a dramatic display of squeezing the main intake line of his respirator. "Or am I perhaps a contradiction that you are oblivious to, unable to differentiate between the feelings of your meat from the determination of your metal…"

Feeling his lungs seize as the automation attempted to cycle air that never came, he latched on for stability, staring into his eyes with an unchanging expression. Marazhai's pupils had contracted somewhat, revealing more of his iris colouration than could usually be witnessed.

"Remove the obstruction of the air intake and this unit will provide an answer."

With a hiss, he squeezed tighter, presumably then seeing the flaw in demanding answers while inducing a loss of consciousness. Sighing, he released the pipe, permitting a few seconds for him to recalibrate before snatching his hood. Leaning in close, sharp elbows resting on his shoulders in a way that no doubt tore into his robes, flicking the magnification lenses over his optic idly with a sickly tone to his voice. "Now, indulge me. Explain."

Briefly reducing the function of the optic to ignore the irritating distraction, he turned his head enough to compensate and maintain a direct visual contact. "The observation of the x-" he stalled, refiling the name allocation in a way that only seemed fair given context of his impending argument, noting the curiosity masked behind impatience in the face looming close to his own. "-of the unit Marazhai lends to new observational data of the unit Pasqal."

It had captured his focus, if not his approval yet- with a twitch to his eye that eluded to a smirk, he continued his infuriating assault on the magnifiers. "An unusual statement. Elaborate on… 'the unit Pasqal's' observations."

It was hard not to be irritated by the accumilating taunts, encouraging him to employ the division of such emotions from himself. Automatically announcing, "This unit has employed emotional vaulting procedures due to persistent irritating behaviour."

Had he not already removed such feelings, he'd have been annoyed further at the fact Marazhai stopped his fidgeting in response. He could've at least had the courtesy to continue after that effort. "Summary: this unit has taken note of numerous observations contradictory to it's prior stance."

"So-"

Clamping his hand over the impatient Drukhari's mouth to prevent him speaking further, he was consequently reminded of the damage dealt as the two damaged digits hung slack. Despite the damage preventing proper silencing, it enabled the same result with apparent compliance. "The prior stance concluded the teachings of the Biologis to be inferior and misguided, and that of the common attachment to the flesh to be deluded. Flesh could not be refined and moulded in the manner of metal- an inherent degredation and deterioration that cannot hope to compare. With observation…"

Despite his emotional containment, he felt dread. A combination of truth and fear combining to form an abomination assaulting his being, an internal conflict spanning a lifetime that had been entertaining to contemplate until now. Until offering it to a location it may be witnessed. The increasingly bored eyes watching him pressed him to proceed. Taking granular comfort from the nature of the man recieving the discussion and the near impossible threat of a betrayal from him, he continued.

"This unit has observed xenos processes that warrant the maintenance of flesh. Through the application of Drukhari cultural phenomena, there is merit to the study of the flesh."

"What does this mean, iron-"

Snapping, he allowed a static hiss to briefly distort his communication. "Name-calling is beneath you. Demand for cessation, communication will resume once applied." On being met with an exhausted silence that made his pulse deafening, he continued. "The statement was intended to notify an observation of compatibility in practices. This statement is not to be relayed further."

"My, my…" his voice practically purred, "your fear… Is your conviction truly so fragile in such an obscure statement?"

Allowing his eye to close, he bowed his head in a way that caused his hood to slip and obscure Marazhai from his vision. Rapidly, the fear melded into hollowness- if nothing more, he had hoped for the statement to yeild a conversation of interest to merit the risk it posed. Instead, it seemed…

"No- no! What is happening within you? This-" he trailed off in frustration, seeming to struggle articulating his feelings. "Why does your fear retreat in such a manner? Surely you had not hoped I would be pleased with this wittering-"

"It was this unit's belief that, by communicating an alteration in perception of practices, it would convey a keenness for discussion. Academically or recreationally. It would seem this statement is false, it will be logged-"

"You speak in such riddles. If I am forced to to entertain myself in the midst of further droning I will prise those sweet, shrill sounds from you once again-"

"Compliance with will identified. This will be satisfactory."

Somewhat taken aback, he allowed his weight to sway to one hip. "Satisfactory? Do you wish for me to make you scream once again?"

"Keenness to experience, observe and analyse expressed."

"…do you wish to learn from me?"

Taking his broken fingers in the opposite hand, he began inspecting the damage for repair. "An exchange. To learn and to educate."

Scoffing, the Drukhari settled his hands on his hips with an aggressive sneer. "And what could you possibly teach me?"

Extending his hand forward abruptly, he insisted plainly, "Repair." On recieving a confused look and hesitation to comply, he insisted again, "Repair."

"You mistake my intentions and my skill, I-"

"This is the education this unit will provide."

"And why would I allow a creature such as you to learn from me, let alone indulge the concept you could educate me? The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a mon-keigh, and there is no knowledge of value that you possess which I do not already know."

Allowing silence and contempt to build, he began the process of repair, returning his hand to primarily functional use- the loss of the spring prevented the flexing of the last knuckle on his index finger, and he mentally logged to locate a replacement for later. By the time he was done, Marazhai was leaning in to watch, some depraved concept visibly concocting in his mind.

"This is the education the unit will provide. Relay, edited: 'The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a xenos'. Relay end." Grasping his face with the now repaired digits, he squeezed, pressing the metal into the hollow of his cheek. "Magos is a title and knowledge bestowed to few. Unit Marazhai has previously identified and expressed keenness toward this unit's persistent suffering under the rites of augmentation. Unit Marazhai would learn to better utilise the blessed machine within his… lifestyle."

"If you intend to express yourself as my equal-"

"Equal to or greater than," he hissed, squeezing tightly enough to make him decide: part his jaw or grit his teeth and permit them to be broken. The former was selected, adjoined with a rough shake to pull free- hooking his fingers in Marazhai's mouth, he pinched behind his lower teeth and under his chin to create a steel loop that all but pierced him. Watching his attempts to wrench free at the indignity, biting fruitlessly into metal that would not yeild to mere bone and drooling as he was held, snarling as it was used to pull him down to an even height. "My lifestyle has been earned through the blessings of the Machine God and precise augmentation to craft the body into a unit even the great Marazhai has expressed appreciation and desire for," he spat, allowing a sarcasm protocol to emphasise the 'great'. "To aspire to perfection through agony is to aspire to this unit. You have much to learn. Proposal to begin education: a more satisfying purpose for that ignorant, sharp tongue."

The wording held a significantly more sexual implication than he had intended. Marazhai's eyes lit up on it being expressed- in both desire and amusement, all encapsulated in a desire to taunt. He refused to correct the implication for the risk it would be misconstrude as yeilding. A swift redirection back to the point at hand.

"The proposition is one of equal exchange. It requires mutual cessation of ignorance and mutual acceptance of equal role in varied manner or expression. It requires unit Marazhai learn to repair and maintain this unit in proper fashion and timeliness. It requires unit Pasqal learn to repair and maintain unit Marazhai in proper fashion and timeliness." Leaning closer, he used his free hand to tenderly wipe the line of drool from where it threatened to drip from his sharp jaw. "It includes a bond that, on severing, revokes all access to each unit beyond baseline social protocol. Is the proposition understood?"

Head held still by the grip on his jaw and pride, the resulting nod was felt rather than seen, followed promptly by a tongue openly dragged along the fingers in his mouth in some convoluted statement of… presumably an oddly expressed approval. Perhaps a request to speak. Withdrawing his hand before there was risk of drool seeping between the joints, he offered the opportunity, noting how Marazhai rubbed his jaw and almost hesitantly straightened- not through fear, but through something else. An unusual submissiveness.

"I will say, that was quite the experience. An intriguing proposition too, much akin to arrangements I have had before, although… I retain one question."

"Ask."

"You have not clarified what I am to you in satisfying enough terms."

Nodding, he pressed his fingertips together as he considered the best way to conclude what he had struggled to articulate. "You inspire curiosity for this unit's flesh, in ways that had been previously unrealised. In this way, in the parallells to the state of xenos, you are my flesh. A thing containing many marvels and yet neglected for a not insigificant quantity of time, now entering a period of research where it may be better enjoyed and appreciated. …does this satisfy your question?"

Seeming lost in contemplation for a moment, he finally returned to the conversation with a smirk. "Only if I am permitted to truly indulge us in our mutual education, Magos."

[rebelscum218]

Sometimes when I think about the Ahsoka series, I think of how much I would have preferred if Sabine was the one who pulls Ahsoka out of her jaded and weary self. The more I think of Ahsoka and Sabine's respective stories, the more I think the show has missed the opportunity of bringing us a fleshed-out and strongly-connected relationship, because there is much these two have in common.

They both share a similar eagerness when they were younger, a desire to prove themselves (Ahsoka to show she's not too young to be a Padawan learner; Sabine wanting Hera to trust her with more details of the Rebellion), they were both survivors of genocide (Order 66, the Mandalorian purge), they both know what it's like to be named a traitor by their family (Ahsoka being accused of bombing the Jedi temple, Sabine being shunned by her clan after creating the Duchess), they both knew what it's like to walk away from home, as well as being a wanderer without much purpose (Ahsoka tagging along with the Martez sisters, Sabine being a bounty hunter with Ketsu), they both have a snarky sense of humor etc etc. The list can go on even longer if we look deeper into their stories in the animated shows.

So to bring these two characters together in the Ahsoka series and not touch on any of that is a pity, because I can imagine the interactions they could've had that would give us much more reason to invest in their relationship. (For example, finding solace and understanding in knowing that they are both relics of a past they could never return to, comparing notes about Jedi and Mandalorian values/training methods, how they reminded each other of previous dynamics with other people while working together, how Ahsoka is not affiliated with the Jedi anymore but still behaving like one is similar to Sabine's own confusion about whether she can still identifiy as a Mandalorian given her new role as Jedi apprentice etc etc.)

And as much as I enjoyed Sabine in the series, I couldn't help but think how it would be like if she was a character that acts as a reflection of Ahsoka's Rebels-era self: centered and reserved, but still forging ahead with a clear purpose. And that she was the one calling the shots during their journey, the one who reminded Ahsoka what it's like to believe in and fight for something again, and how much Sabine represented the youthful optimism she once had, making her realize how much she's hardened and changed, liberating her from the ghosts of her past and returning her to the Ahsoka Tano people once knew. It's difficult to come up with an arc for a character that has been developed for over 13 years already, but by bringing Sabine into play, the depth and dimension of the story as well as the possibilities it could bring are still yet to be fully utilized.

Anyway, these are some stray thoughts I've had from time to time, and it's been on my mind long enough that I feel like putting this out here. Comments and thoughts are more than welcome.